“It does to me. She had it rough growing up.”
“Everyone had it rough growing up,” Floyd said.
“Yeah? After Rid turned Dark, her own mother wouldn’t even take her in.”
Floyd nodded as if she understood, but her expression said otherwise. “You don’t have to tell me about having a crappy childhood. My dad is the head of a Dark Caster bike club in the Underground, remember?”
“I can’t even get my head around that,” Link said. “My mom wouldn’t let me take off my trainin’ wheels until I was ten, and my dad spent most of his free time at Civil War reenactments—mainly to avoid her.” He shrugged. “I can’t blame him. All that prayin’ and fussin’ gets on your nerves pretty fast, and if naggin’ was an Olympic sport, my mom woulda won the gold medal for sure. Drape a flag over her housecoat and skip that woman straight to the victory lap now.”
A waitress walked up to the table with an unappetizing plate of mismatched food on it, at least as far as Link was concerned. “One traditional ploughman’s,” she said. “Cheers.”
Floyd popped a piece of cheese in her mouth. “It’s actually good. Best traditional ploughman’s I ever had.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” he said. “But where’s the plow?”
She stared at him. He shrugged. “Mortal food all tastes the same to me.”
Floyd nodded and turned her attention to her food. It seemed like talking about her dad bothered her, so Link left it alone and went back to writing crappy songs on napkins.
By the time Link finished writing his fourth song and Floyd had moved on to mushy peas and french fries called chips—which made no sense to him—he was starting to worry that John wasn’t going to show. He was about to bring it up to Floyd when the front door of the pub opened and he caught a glimpse of the familiar blond braids.
Liv, John’s girlfriend and Link’s friend before that, looked exactly the way he remembered her: blond and tall.
TDB. Third Degree Burns hot.
That was what Link had said the first time he saw her. It seemed weird now that he only thought of Liv as his friend and John’s girl.
Even if she was John’s hot girlfriend.
Liv was wearing the periodic table of elements T-shirt she’d had on when he met her. It only took her a moment to zero in on Link, and he could tell from the look on her face that she wasn’t happy. She headed toward him, arms crossed and scowling, with John behind her.
Sorry, John mouthed.
“Wesley Lincoln.”
The only person who ever called him that was his mom, and it was never a good sign. Liv followed with a tight hug that was equal parts intimidating and affectionate. Link backed out of it as quickly as he could.
He smelled danger.
Liv pulled out the chair across from Link and sat down, glancing at Floyd. “Olivia Durand. I apologize in advance for my foul mood. I’d like to think I’m normally rather personable.” She turned to Link. “But I understand you want to take John with you to go after Silas Ravenwood.”
“Aw, Liv,” Link began. “It’s just—”
She held up a hand. “Hence the mood.”
John sat down next to her and put his hand on the back of her chair.
She pushed it off and glared at him, then turned her attention back to Link. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but Abraham Ravenwood almost killed both of you—all of us, really.”
“Well, you’re not so wrong—”
“And now you want to go after his great-great-grandson?” Liv asked. “What part of this seems like a sensible idea to you?”
Link tried again. “Not exactly sensible—”
“I told you, Ridley’s in trouble,” John said.
“I want to hear it from Link,” she said without taking her eyes off Link. “What kind of trouble are we talking about, precisely?” She held up her ring. “And why did this only go off on your behalf, rather than Ridley’s?”
Link sighed. There was no point trying to pull punches on Liv. She was too smart for her own good.
And mine.
He didn’t really know where to begin, so he just plunged right in. “Silas Ravenwood knows that me and John killed his granddad, Abraham, and he wants us dead: me, John—and Lena and Rid for helping us. Maybe you and Ethan, too. I’m not sure. But he’s the head of the Syndicate—it’s like the Mob of the Underground.”
“That’s an understatement,” Floyd added.
“Technically, it’s a statement.” Liv silenced her with one look. “And I’ve heard about the Syndicate from the Keepers training me.”
“It’s bad, Liv.” Link let himself sound as miserable as he felt. “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t. He’s got a thing for Sirens. And Rid’s missin’. I don’t know what he’s gonna do to her if we don’t find her.”
Liv’s expression softened. She glanced at the strange-looking device on her wrist. Link hadn’t seen her selenometer in so long that he’d almost forgotten about it. It looked like a crazy black watch, but Link knew it measured all kinds of stuff, like the moon’s gravitational pull.
She’d used it before, when things were almost this grim. The sight of it brought back all kinds of crazy, terrible memories.
He looked away.
“You and Ridley should never have gone to New York. I had a bad feeling about it from the beginning,” Liv said. “I never should’ve helped you fake that acceptance letter.” Liv had been a key part of Link’s Escape from Gatlin plan, especially the part that involved a little forgery and the invention of a fictional Bible college named Georgia Redeemer.