Lou went to Isadora. It wasn’t a hard choice. She hated hospitals and she’d already walked into those garish bright lights twice tonight. Perhaps it was also because she trusted the woman. Not necessarily because she was in Konstantine’s employ but also because there was something in the old woman’s manner that Lou liked.
She was steady. She was certain. She had the lovely, no-bullshit manner of someone who had seen it all and took whatever she saw at face value.
As soon as Lou appeared in her clinic, bleeding from her upper arm, she knew she’d made the right choice.
Isadora took off her glasses and arched a brow. “The hell is this?”
“I’ve been shot,” Lou said.
“Sì, I can see that,” Isadora replied, her accent melodic. Its rise and fall wasn’t helping Lou to stay conscious as the dark
