32. Syneca #2
“You could come?” the demon prince offered. “Whenever you’re allowed to leave? Shopping, of course, not back to the Underworld. Might do you some good to get out of this house. Staring at that file of papers you stole isn’t going to get us any more answers.”
Pip gasped. “I told you she didn’t steal it. She rescued it from the Chancellery ruins.”
I exhaled and sat at Dez’s desk, unfolding the Brathen Chronicle.
I smoothed the newspaper flat and read it the way I always did now, methodically, starting at the edges where the smaller stories lived.
Watching the headlines shift. Really I was looking for my own face.
For Calder’s. For anything that suggested the hunters had found a thread worth following to a city two days north of Grimora.
But so far, things had been blissfully silent.
The gate swung open two bells later and Silas came through first, Dez a step behind him still shaking snow from his coat.
“How was the ride?” Calder called from the kitchen doorway.
Dez didn’t miss a beat. “Drafty.”
“I meant on his back.”
Dez scrunched his nose, dropping his stack of books on the desk. “I know what you meant, asshole.” He reached into his coat and produced a small box, crossing the room to where Pip hovered near the window. He held it out without ceremony. She opened it.
The sound she made was not words. It was something that existed beyond words, high and breathless and immediately followed by her throwing herself at his face with both arms, nearly dropping the box.
Inside held a set of miniature enamel buttons, each one painted with a different constellation, small enough to fit her palm and detailed enough to be genuinely extraordinary.
“Dezzie,” she managed.
“Don’t make it weird,” he said, but he was smiling.
Calder crossed the room. “Did you get the spices?”
“I did.” Dez settled into the new chair. “I also decided to donate them to the bistro on the corner. They seemed like they needed them more.”
Calder stared at him.
“The owner was very grateful.”
“Dez.”
“She had kind eyes.”
“Give me my spices.”
“No.”
Calder headed right back toward the kitchen. “I’m not feeding you tonight, demon.”
Dez leaned back. “No problem. I’m still full from the bistro.”
Pip waited until Calder was out of earshot before she whispered, “I’ll share my dinner with you, Dezzie.”
But then I noticed the way her large eyes slipped to Dez’s satchel. If he was hoarding spices in there, they’d be gone before he could hide them from Calder.
Silas fell into step beside me without a word, which was fine because I didn’t have any for him either. The morning was cold and bright, but at least the snow hadn’t fallen again. This far north, late fall was really just winter, and while I loved the beauty of it, I hated the chill.
I wasn’t even angry that he’d insisted on coming.
We were finally doing something. Even if it led to nothing, we were moving, and moving had always been the thing that kept me from losing my mind entirely.
Especially because this gave me the silent task of counting the banners that continued to fade away, though no one else seemed to notice.
“I preferred the red,” he said.
I touched the blonde hair Ramiel had given me at the gate and kept walking. “Yes. I do know that one true, pointless thing about you, but I don’t particularly care what you prefer.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “Lie to me again, Ith Noem. I think I can feel it through this insufferable bond.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
“Because you want to know if you can feel it?” Was that humor? From the world’s most serious asshole?
I snorted, keeping my eyes forward. “If I wanted to feel disappointment that deeply, I’d just revisit my night with Wickett.”
I wasn’t sure if the surge of anger in the bond was about the mention of the Ripper’s name or the reminder of him in my bed, but he said nothing else and we walked the rest of the way in silence, levity immediately gone.
Something peculiar brushed my spine as we walked past the train station.
It’d been abandoned, just like the one in Grimora, but as the pressure of the air increased, I could hardly concentrate on the road.
I knew that feeling. I looked at Silas, searching for any hint that he’d noticed, as typically only a witch would, but his eyes hadn’t moved from the road.
As soon as it’d come, it was gone though, making me question if I’d felt it at all.
The bookshop sat at the end of a narrow street and a green painted sign hanging above the door read: Hemlock & Honey, Buy it or Borrow.
Inside, the space had been loved into softness over a very long time.
Shelves climbed every wall, some so tall they were accessible only by ladders on brass rails that moved on their own when you got close enough.
Candles burned in glass holders throughout, their flames holding steady against the draft from the door.
A feather duster worked its way along a high shelf without a hand to guide it, and in the corner, a stack of returned books sorted itself.
Silas’s hand found the small of my back as we moved inside, the lightest possible pressure, steering me away from a display I’d been about to walk into.
He dropped it immediately. I felt the absence of it more than I should have.
He was such a jerk in private, but in public, Silas moved through the world like it was his job to make sure nothing touched me first. Not even him.
A small woman looked up from behind the counter, adjusting her glasses as she smiled. “Looking for something specific, dears?”
“A chronicler’s history,” I said. “The years surrounding the Staren Falls incident.”
“Oh my. That’s a sordid history.” She looked between us, her gaze dropping briefly to where Silas’s hand had found my back again without him appearing to notice he’d done it. Her smile warmed into something conspiratorial. “Bit of a dark interest for lovers, but I’ve seen stranger.”
Heat crawled up my neck before I could stop it. “We’re not—”
“She has a morbid curiosity,” Silas said, fingers pressing firmer. “I’ve learned to indulge it.”
He glanced down at me with something warm and insufferably fond, a look so well-built I almost believed it myself. The bastard was enjoying this.
The woman laughed, delighted, and came around the counter. “Ah, the ones worth keeping always do.”
She led us toward the back of the shop, where the history section ran the full length of the wall in tight, dense rows. Her finger moved along the spines before stopping at a gap. “We did have it.” She frowned at the empty space.
“Do you know if it was bought or borrowed?”
“Let’s go check, shall we?” She moved back to the counter, opening the ledger there.
Silas followed close enough that I was aware of the warmth of him at my shoulder in a room that was already warm. He leaned in slightly to read the ledger alongside me, his jaw near my temple, and I kept my eyes on the page with more effort than it should have taken.
The bookkeeper’s frown deepened as her finger moved down the column. “Borrowed, which is good news, but the return is late.”
“Can you tell us who has it?” Silas asked, his voice low and close.
The woman licked the tip of her finger and turned the page, following another column down.
“Virella Ashby, earth witch, Number 75 Cauldron Way. Oh, dear.” She paused, flipping back to the other page to double check her column before she closed the book.
Her hands stayed flat on the cover and she took a breath.
“I’m afraid we won’t be able to track this one down. ”
“Why not?”
“Because Virella was found dead several nights ago.” She leaned in to whisper. “They say there was a lycan outside the house. His throat had been cut.”