Envy (Dark Waters Book 1)

Chapter Eleven:

Before we started down the streets, Priscilla darted back inside the gallery for a t-shit for me to wear. She'd tossed it at me; merchandise from her art show. If wearing an oversized shirt meant hiding my injuries from curious eyes and making her more comfortable, I'd do it.

But I tugged at it the entire time we walked.

"I'm not far from here," she said, the sound of her shoes echoing on the sidewalk as she dug into her bag. She pulled her phone out and glanced at the screen. A small sigh escaped her. She huffed, rolled her eyes, then looked ahead. As she pushed her phone back into the back pocket of her bag, she pointed at the building at the corner. "Right there, third floor."

I blinked as I looked at the building. Standard apartments. No one outside. That worked in my favor; no eyes, no witnesses. Not that I planned on doing anything to her, but if something happened to me, there wouldn't be the nosey neighbor who'd call the police. Unless they lived right next door to her and listened through the walls.

Priscilla touched my shoulder before letting her hand slide down my arm. "Are you feeling okay?" she asked.

Considering my condition, I felt fine. The pain subsided. Rather than exploding all over my body, it was just an ache under my skin. Annoying, yet tolerable.

I shot her a weak smile. "I'm okay."

"Good," she said.

And we were quiet after that, just walking beside each other, looking ahead. I also looked at my sides, just in case. The last thing we needed was a sneak attack from the other Sins. I hoped I'd feel them coming if that happened. If I couldn't, well... I tried.

Once we reached the building, Priscilla quickly let us inside. I followed her up the flights of stairs, noting the dimness of the hallways. There were at least four light bulbs that needed to be changed. There was also an odor. I clenched my jaw as she stopped at an apartment door, pushing her keys into the lock above the doorknob.

"Sorry." She looked back at me with an awkward smile. "Struggling artist, you know," she motioned at the hallway. "I live where I can afford."

Was the disgust obvious on my face? I didn't want to come off as rude. And I didn't want her to think it was about her, either.

"No, don't apologize," I said. "I get it. I take what I can get, too."

And that wasn't a lie. For at least the last twenty years, hotels had become my home. It was easier to bounce around establishments that didn't care to notice much about me than sign a contract in a building where people needed to know me. I was a shadow in this realm and preferred to stay that way.

"Well, I'm glad I'm not alone," she chuckled, stepping inside. I followed after her.

Contrary to the building's upkeep and funky hallway, the inside of her apartment was lovely. Clean. Flowers heavily decorated the front table. The floors were covered with finished art; portraits placed in their frames, photos enlarged into rolled-up posters. The walls, too. On the far left wall was an unfinished painting, sitting on an easel, a small table with supplies beside it.

Rather than follow Priscilla past the flowers, the couch, and into her kitchen—where I was sure she'd probably prepare more tea—I went to the incomplete artwork. The corners were blue and green, much like the painting at the gallery. But the streaks were different. It reminded me of a deep sea's waves or the view a soul would have when they passed into the other realm.

I knew it because blue and green swirling waves were what I was shown when I joined the Seven—forfeiting my afterlife for a 'better' life.

"Sorry for the mess!" Priscilla called out from the kitchen. She rummaged through her cabinets, and I heard mugs clinking against each other. "I wasn't expecting anyone, other than Megan, you know." The cups hit the counter. The cabinet door closed. The fridge promptly opened. "Do you drink?" she asked suddenly.