Chapter 19Blaze
“And then we got the phone call and came here,” Arik finished. He sat in an overstuffed armchair covered in gold fabric and red peonies. One leg was crossed over the other at the knee, and one foot was bouncing to a manic beat. “That’s it. That’s the entire story.”
Mister Ţapul—Lucas, please call him Lucas, he’d said—sat in a chair that matched Arik’s at another corner of their triangular seating arrangement. His dark grey slacks were impeccably pressed, his shirt had been starched within an inch of its life, but his shirttails were out, and the cardigan he wore was well-loved and patched at the elbows. Blaze liked him. Blaze liked anybody who approached chaos with an air of curiosity and fearlessness. It was rare and beautiful and damned handy.
After Blaze had fallen in
