Tainted: Book Three - Enslaved

25. Peri

Kerry

The peris' atelier is pretty, I suppose. In warm months, flowers and vines grow all over the building, which takes up a whole short block. Even in the dead of winter, plants and trees make a green frame around it. You can smell roses from the sidewalk and hear the peris singing, their voices like a balm to the weary soul.

Or so they say.

I wouldn't know.

Every time I got near the place, I only ever felt agony. That's why I stopped walking as soon as I felt the heat. I wasn't a coward and I could take pain, but why be tortured if I could avoid it?

Life was torture enough most days.

"Nightingale Gardens." Jax read the fancy gold-lettered sign. "This is the atelier? Looks like a flower shop."

"Yep. Have fun."

"You're not coming in?"

"Can't."

"Why not? Is there bad blood between you and the peris, too?"

"No." I didn't need him to add the 'too' like that. "But this place is Holy, and I ain't."

I didn't add that, even if I could go inside, half of everything in there was Blessed. If I bumped into something, I'd have third-degree burns to deal with on top of my simmering temper.

"It's warm." Mira held her hands out and spread her fingers like she was standing before a fire. "Not bad, though. It's like it was inside that old church at City of the Future."

"It's the grace Kerry gave you," Rome explained. "Plus, your taint is fading quickly."

"Well, I don't feel anything." Jax opened the door and held it for Gigi.

I crossed my arms over my chest, propped my hip against the newsrack, and settled in to wait. Rome stopped next to me.

"Do you want me to wait out here with you?"

In a heartbeat, my temper exploded.

"I'm not a baby! Lemme alone!"

"Fine." He caught the door and ushered Mira through it.

Really out of sorts now, I paced to the fire hydrant and back and tried to get myself under better control.

#

Mira

I'd never been to France, but that's what the atelier made me think of with its blue stucco walls, pink and white striped awnings, and wrought-iron scrollwork arches. It was a piece of Old World charm plunked down in the middle of Manhattan.

Even from the sidewalk, I could hear a sweet, chiming song that sank into my bones and encouraged the ever-present tension to relax.

Be easy, it seemed to tell me. You are safe. You are loved.

It almost made me believe that I could be easy, that I didn't have to stay so tightly coiled twenty-four seven.

Then I entered the shop, and those whimsical thoughts evaporated. Everything glittered and gleamed and seemed small and delicate, including the peris flitting around as gracefully as ballerinas.

Maybe it was the taint stirring, but I felt like I grimed up the place just by stepping inside. I tucked my elbows close to my body and tried to dwarf my giant self by standing next to Rome, who'd make some pro athletes seem small. I figured that if anyone was gonna destroy one of the intricate floral arrangements or knock over a peri, it'd most likely be him.