Page 15 of Kazimir

He almost smiled, then leaned forward. “Was thinking of other types of abilities. Why did you choose my club?”

“I didn’t know it was a club,” I said. “I was just running.”

He looked at me, then at the table, then back at me, as if comparing the two. “I wish to ask you questions. Will you answer honestly?”

I nodded, though my mouth was dry.

He poured water from the pitcher and slid it across to me. “Drink.”

I drank. It was ice cold, sweeter than any water I’d ever had.

Kazimir spoke. “Do you dream?”

I flinched. “Sometimes.”

“What of?”

“Nothing real,” I said. “Weird stuff. Light. Falling. Sometimes flying, I guess.” I looked up. “That’s stupid.”

“Not at all,” he said, as if flying were the most natural thing in the world. “Do you have scars?”

I went cold. “Yeah.”

“Show me.”

I hesitated. “Just a few,” I told him. “The worst are on my back. Two long scars between my shoulder blades. No offense, but I’m not stripping for strangers.” He didn’t press, only nodded as if he’d known already.

Yuri, who’d been silent, spoke up. “She fought like an animal. When Amara tried to remove her.”

Kazimir’s eyes flickered. “Interesting.”

There was a lull. I was exhausted, but the caffeine of terror and confusion kept me upright.

I couldn’t stop staring at Kazimir. He was so beautiful it was almost grotesque; the symmetry of his features hurt to look at. His suit was cut to perfection, but I could see a dusting of scars peeking from his cuff—evidence of damage and of survival.

He caught me staring, and the corner of his mouth twitched. “You have questions for me.”

It wasn’t a question.

I swallowed. “What kind of club is this?”

“A place for the unusual,” he said. “Sanctuary. Court. Market. It is all these things.”

He almost smiled, the corners of his mouth twitching, then returned to business. “Tell me about the man who followed you.”

I told him how I was a waitress at Margie’s Diner and how he’d been my last customer of the night. I described him: rough face, greasy trucker hat, the way he’d stared at me from the booth in the diner for hours before following me when my shift ended. Kazimir’s face grew harder the longer I talked, eyes narrowed as if he could see the man in his mind.

“Did he speak to you?”

“He said a few things. Stupid stuff. Called me sweetheart over and over.” My hands were tight on the table. “He drank his weight in coffee.”

“You feel he is still out there?”

I nodded, then felt ridiculous for it. “Yeah. I think he may have been around before.”

Kazimir drummed his fingers on the table, a sound barely audible but hypnotic. “Would you recognize him again?”

“In a heartbeat.”