The Graves of Saints Read Online Free PDF Page B

concerns. But Octavian told himself not to be reckless, that he was overreacting.
    Nikki’s fine
, he reassured himself, or tried to. It wasn’t working.
    This morning he had been only vaguely concerned. It was unlike her not to call him back, but there were so many possible explanations. The fastest way for him to get from Brattleboro to
Philadelphia had been to drive the ninety minutes to Bradley Airport in Hartford, Connecticut and hop a flight from there. During that hour and a half in the car, he had resisted the urge to call
Nikki, telling himself that the messages he had left were enough, that he didn’t want to seem like a mother hen or, worse, a jealous lover. It wasn’t that he was jealous; he
didn’t think Nikki had found someone else. But a tight ball of worry had settled into his gut and would not disperse, so when he had reached the airport, turned in his rental and seen that he
had nearly two hours to wait for the next flight to Philly, he couldn’t help himself.
    Her line rang and rang and then went straight to voicemail, but now he couldn’t even leave a message because her mailbox was full. Which meant that other people were leaving her messages
as well – leaving her messages and not getting a reply. Nikki had a sold-out gig tonight at the Union Transfer and there would be no way she would let down the people who had bought tickets
to come and see her.
    During the flight, he told himself that by the time he landed she would have sorted out whatever the problem was with her phone. Or perhaps, he thought, she’d been feeling ill and been
trying to rest in order to recover in time for the show. Though he didn’t like the idea of Nikki being sick, he tried to persuade himself it was possible. He ignored as best he could the
little voice that whispered in the back of his head that she would at least have sent him a text.
    He realized he should have checked her social media sites to see if she’d posted any messages for her fans. His phone was in the front right pocket of his jeans and he kept touching it
through the denim. Flight regulations required that it be turned off and he wanted to crawl out of his skin, wishing he could check those sites, and thinking that she might even now be calling him
back. The idea quickly began to make him feel a bit better and he promised himself that there would be a message from her when he landed.
    There were no messages. Worse, a quick search proved she had not posted any messages to fans. As far as he could tell, the show at the Union Transfer was still on. The moment he’d gotten
into the taxi and told the driver to get him to the Hotel Sofitel, he tried ringing Nikki again with the same results. No answer. Mailbox full.
    She’s fine
, he told himself again as the cab slid along 17th Street toward the hotel. All those messages, someone would’ve checked on her. The club promoter. Her agent or
manager, getting no answer, would’ve sent someone, maybe even asked the hotel’s front desk to send someone up.
    But you didn’t. It’s only been a day, so you didn’t
. Octavian knew it was the truth. He hadn’t called hotel management because it was only a day and wasn’t
it just possible that Nikki was pissed at him, or pissed at the world, and hibernating? Of course it was. Perhaps she’d learned about Keomany’s death somehow, or had some other
emotional crisis that had caused her to retreat from the world for a while. Anyone might decide to hide from the world for a single night and day.
    Except she wouldn’t
. The thought turned that anxious knot in his gut to lead. After all they had been through together, all of the horrors they’d faced and the dangers
they’d survived, Nikki would have known what her radio silence would do to him. Even if he’d somehow pissed her off so badly that she never wanted to speak to him again, she’d
make one last exception to tell him that.
    The taxi drew up in front of the Sofitel. Peter shoved two