Chapter 9

Rain laughed. “I don’t have all of them here, no. My husband—I mean, my ex, kept some of them at the house.” Milo was holding his creations hostage, Rain suspected. He’d get them back. Every last one. Those were his creations. He’d put so much of himself into those marionettes.

Tristan stared at him and narrowed his eyes. “And you make a living out of doing this?”

Rain glanced down at his knees. “No…not for now.” He looked up. “But I might. That’s why I moved here, to Montreal. There’s all kind of possibilities here.”

“I could see it happening,” Tristan said. “Something tells me you’ve got a touch of creative genius in you.”

“Creating is the way I keep my handle on things. It’s kept me sane. It’s my perfect drug, I guess.”

“Much healthier, too.” There was a shadow in Tristan’s eyes, but then he smiled again. They shared a long and easy silence and Rain realized he wasn’t uncomfortable or searching for something to say. After a few minutes, Tristan spoke again. “And the ex?”