We all went to Sheridan's and it was actually a fun and light-hearted moment, but my nightmares weighed on my mind.
When brunch came to an end, Rich drove Ella to her apartment, Kaid went to work right after, and I asked Kendra to drive me to Baker's Coffee instead of going home. Finally, some quiet time to be alone with my own thoughts.
The Cafe was not too crowded. I sat alone on a bench outdoor, lit up a cigarette and took a long drag.
Maxine..., I reached out to her, how are you doing? You've been pretty quiet.
Hey, she responded quickly, I've been doing some thinking.
About? I asked. I sipped on my flat white slowly.
I was thinking that nightmares — no, premonition — should really serve a purpose. There has to be a meaning, Max mused.
I agree, I told her, but I don't think Siona can be of any help. She would only tell me things I already know.
Let's find Madam Grant and ask her ourselves, Max requested.
It's way too dangerous, Max, I retorted, what if we start by asking Jerry?
I have just finished that sentence in my head when my ringtone startled me. Jerry was calling. What a strange coincidence.
I took another drag and answered, "Hey."
"Hey, there," a warm voice greeted me, "How are you doing, Trinity?
"Same old. I was just thinking about you," I told him.
"Ah, do you miss me?" He gladly replied.
"Can't really say," I answered, "Do you have anything to update me?"
"Ouch. Can't a man miss his woman and simply make a call?" He jokingly complained. My heart fluttered. "But yeah," he continued, "I do have something to tell you — or to be precise, I have someone to introduce you too."
I could feel Maxine aching for him. But no, it's not love. At least not the kind of reciprocal feelings Jerry expected from me.
I cleared my throat and said, "Well, go ahead."
"I'm putting this call on loudspeaker, okay. I have Pyotr right beside me," Jerry cautioned.
"Greetings, Lady Trinity." A stern voice of a seasoned warrior greeted me.
"Greetings, warrior," I responded.
"My name is Pyotr Sideris. I used to be your father's warrior before I came to Paris looking for a sanctuary. Frankly speaking, I....I witnessed the whole thing unfold back then. It was a very difficult time..." Pyotr tried to sound gallant but his voice wavered at the end.
"I thank you for your service, warrior," I appreciated him.
"With all due respect, my Lady, call me Pyotr. I'm no longer the proud warrior I used to be," his tone was gutted, "Yet, we do have news for you."
"Trin, we found Madam Grant," Jerry stepped in, "Pyotr found her."
"Didn't you tell me she was with Luna Slaton?" I was confused.
"Yes, but she was not really there. She lived on the outskirts of her territory, pretty much kept to herself, and she used an alias. She changed her name to Carol Atkins," Jerry explained.
"That's why it was rather difficult to find her," Pyotr added, "but now we know where she lives."
"Her coven didn't know who she was?" my voice cracked.
"I guess not," Jerry concluded.
"Okay," I inhaled, trying to calm myself, "What do we do with this information, then?"
"I think it's really not safe to see her in person," Jerry advised.
"Jer, I had another nightmare. It was bloody. Very bloody," I shivered despite under broad daylight.
"Seeking her won't solve it, love," Jerry softly replied.
"I have to know."
"We could send her a letter. Untraceable anonymous letter. We could simply wrote that we wanted to meet and ask her to read cards," Pyotr shared his idea, "She was a well-known tarot reader."
"That's possible?" I asked.
"Yes, and let's see how she reacted. She cannot know that I knew her from before. She would run and hide from us," Pyotr answered.
"Can you do that for me and let me know, Pyotr?" I requested.
"Yes, my Lady," he steely agreed.
"Trinity," Jerry demanded, "Promise me you would be careful. Very careful."
"I promise," I whispered, "Thank you so much, Jerry. Thank you, Pyotr."
The call ended in a click. I lit up another cigarette and smoked in silence for a very long while. Selenite dagger, I remembered, I should get my hands on it before finally meeting Madam Grant — or Mrs. Carol Atkins — as she preferred to be called.