Chapter 35
I took Cillian’s words to heart, setting aside the vague yet disturbing information I’d learned in Malignant Manor to be revisited after some much-needed TLC. After all, no matter what they had planned, one night wouldn’t be enough to change much in the grand scheme of things, right?
I made my way into the bathroom and surveyed myself in the mirror, pulling at a curl that was more baby blue than teal now, faded and blah. First step: touching up. I fumbled about under the sink until I found the tube of hair color alongside a bowl and brush.
Forty-five minutes later, the application was complete and my playlist had shuffled its way into my chill-step mix.
I danced across the bathroom, perched myself on the bathroom counter, and dumped my makeup bag in the sink.
Smokey eye. Definitely a smokey eye. I blended my shadow to perfection, smoothed on a thick layer of winged liner, followed by two coats of mascara.
I examined my handiwork, and my reflection smiled back at me.
It’d been way too long since I’d done any self-care, or taken the time to make myself feel pretty. And damn did I.
Yeah, I needed to invest in myself more often. I felt good.
The alarm I’d set jolted to life, causing me to nearly fall off the counter and onto the floor.
Careful not to smudge my makeup, I leaned my head into the shower and rinsed until the water ran clear, finishing my hair up with a quick towel dry and a good scrunch.
The longer I looked at myself—really looked—the more confident I grew.
I’d slain Lores, and escaped Misery and a Fright, for shit’s sake. What was a simple date in comparison?
But the butterflies in my stomach remained.
After a quick shuffle through my dresser, I decided on a black-and-white striped pullover, ripped jeans, and my faithful combat boots from high school that somehow miraculously still managed to fit.
Last but not least, I smoothed some tattoo butter over my arms, making my inked sleeves vibrant and pop.
My alarm screamed again: 5:55. I made a quick wish on the lucky number and headed for the door.
Game on.
One look at Cillian was all it took to chase away the festering nerves.
He’d slicked back his hair—faded sides crisp from a fresh trim, the mandala tattoo on his temple perfectly visible for the first time—and a black button-down hugged his lean frame like it’d been custom-made for him.
He waited at the bottom of the stairs, hands in his pockets.
I paused at the top of the stairs and watched as he slid the tip of his boot across the floor before smoothing and resmoothing his jeans.
Wait, was he … nervous? He’d done this with me life after life; what did he have to be nervous about?
Funny, I hadn’t considered it until that moment …
did he have previous lives too? No, that couldn’t be.
Fiorenza’s journal called him by name. Mentioned those same emerald eyes now peering up to meet mine.
I stowed the question away for future use and coaxed my feet down the stairs.
“Hey,” he said with a grin and looked me over. “Wow, you look beautiful.”
The light in my veins swooned. “You don’t look too bad yourself there, Lionheart.”
“My Gods, we have to revisit that nickname,” he teased.
“Not going to happen. I’ve grown far too attached to it now, I’m afraid.”
“Fair enough. For you, milady, I shall wear the name proudly.” He winked, taking an overdramatic bow. “I wonder, might I bid you to join me for the evening?”
I returned him with an overly dramatic curtsy. “Why, most certainly, good sir. What shall it be? Tea in the library? Maybe a stroll through the gardens?”
A mischievous grin swept across his face. “For a woman who hunts beasts, I hardly think such an evening would suffice.”
He reached a hand up to me and I took it without a second thought. My skin buzzed at his touch as we swept through the foyer, out the back door to the gardens, and started straight toward the toolshed. “Yard work, huh? You sure know how to make a girl feel special.”
“Har-har, very funny.”
He released my hand, and I instantly longed for his touch again. Craved the buzz of energy his magic instilled in me. He disappeared behind the shed, a gruff engine turning over a second later. A classic pickup in candy-apple red hummed out onto the drive.
He hopped out, opening the passenger side door for me. “Your chariot awaits, milady.”
“Such a gentleman.” I smirked. “She’s beautiful, is she yours?”
“Who said it was a she?” he asked with a grin, climbing back in the driver’s seat.
“I don’t know, isn’t it like an unspoken rule that men name their cars after hot women?”
“Oh, my sweet, innocent little shadow, you have a lot to learn about me.” He chuckled, pumped the clutch, and put the gear shift in drive.
“For one thing, this isn’t the only stick I know how to handle.
Or did you really think my love was so finite as to care about what body your soul was wrapped in? ”
My cheeks warmed, the thought never having occurred to me before. “God, take a woman to dinner before you get her all hot and bothered, will you?”
“Oh, I plan to.” He pushed on the gas and sent a shower of pebbles across the cobblestone walkway behind us.
The old oaks encompassing the main drive struck me as they had my first night at Saint Peter’s, though their branches proved barer than before in the embrace of the changing season, autumn officially in full swing.
They flew by, the wind whipping my curls about through the open windows as we stopped at the dirt drive’s end.
“Which way?” he asked over the engine’s hum.
“What? I thought you had this all planned, Mr. Impressive.”
“I do. But, unlike many of your other decisions in life, I wanted this one to be entirely yours. We will go wherever that brutal heart of yours desires.”
“Brutal, huh?” I quirked an eyebrow.
“Brutal and beautiful. The woman who walks between worlds.”
My heart thrummed in my chest. After being forced into nightmare after nightmare, bounced between families, called broken and unfixable for years and years … I had a choice. I leaned over to whisper in his ear. “Take me on an adventure.”
His hand tightened around the steering wheel, a little purr rolling up his throat. “Yes, ma’am.”
I soaked up the fresh autumn air as the trees swept by in sharp twists and turns, the road tightening ahead.
Fallen orange and yellow leaves swirled in the wake of our speed, and time escaped me.
And I let it. The engine’s hum didn’t quit until we’d wound our way onto a bustling Main Street drag, a hefty sign at its entrance boasting, Welcome to Humboldt County.
Cillian guided the truck into the first available slot, hopped out, and circled around to open my door again.
He offered me his hand, and I expected the same disappointment when he inevitably pulled his hand from mine like before, only he didn’t.
Instead, he wove our fingers together. My stomach jumped as he brushed his thumb against mine.
“Humboldt is known for its local artists,” he said, guiding us onto the main strip of historical shops. “But given you seem to have a book in your hand more often than not, I thought we’d stop here before heading to dinner.”
He motioned to a bookstore two stories tall, forest-green paint sweeping up between wide, frosty windows.
I squeezed his hand. “You are winning some serious brownie points tonight!”
A quick tug, and the shop door dinged, announcing our entrance.
We wandered through the tall shelves, my heart singing as the perfume of old paper hit me.
The bookstore was like a labyrinth, twists and turns leading into various nooks and crannies with something new to discover around every corner.
The man was a saint, never pressing me to hurry, searching the stacks himself.
“Pick anything you like, it’s on me,” he said with a wink, eyeing the stack in my hands.
“Oh, you really have a lot to learn about me. Rule number one? Never give me free rein in a bookstore unless you’re content with early-onset bankruptcy.”
He chuckled and kissed my forehead. “Thanks for the heads up. How about we go with three this visit and get some food in that grumbling stomach of yours, huh?”
“Deal!”
After whittling down my stack to one fantasy novel, a dark romance—which he studied with great interest, as the masked man on the cover led to a handful of hilariously entertaining questions on his part—and a collectible edition of Grimm’s Fairy Tales, he paid the kind old shop owner.
We headed two doors down to a small diner, the scent of maple syrup luring us in.
“Welcome to Winnie’s,” the waitress greeted. “Right this way.”
She led us through the back door to a patio dotted with umbrellas, a brook sweeping beneath the deck below. The Elemental magic inside jittered at the autumn trees lining the hillside, the sun tucking her face below the mountain as we sat.
“How’s this?” The chipper waitress motioned.
“This is great, thank you.” Cillian nodded at the woman and gestured for me to choose whichever side I preferred.
After a rundown of the day’s specials, Cillian and I settled on the very thing that’d lured us in the first place: waffles. With another smile, the waitress left to put in our order.
Cillian propped his hands under his chin, full attention fixed on me. “So, come here often?”
“Funny.”
“Had to,” he jested, his smug grin exposing his dimples. “Seriously though, tell me about yourself.”
“All right, but under one condition.”
“Anything.” A spark of intrigue glittered in his eye.
I sipped my water and flashed him a playful smirk. “An answer for an answer.”
“Hmm …” He bit his lip, and my heart fluttered. “Fair enough. So, where are you from?”
“Lake Tahoe; born and raised.”
“I’ve always wanted to visit. Is the lake as impressive as they say?”
“It’s absolutely beautiful, especially in the summer.”