I nod and take the opportunity to check out his injured arm. Red and angry, the skin of his forearm is already peeling. “Do you want some ice for that?” I ask, tilting my chin toward the freezer.
Alistair shakes his head, but his scowl smooths out. “I’ll be fine. It’s starting to heal.”
I nod, then check on Celine. She’s staring absently out the window; her arms and wings wrapped around herself. Sighing, I give her space to think, digging under her sink until I find the cleaning supplies I need to fix the walls.
When Alistair reaches for a rag, I grunt and pull it out of his reach. “Can you make me some coffee?” I ask, making sure to stay between him and the chemicals. If he gets even a single drop of heavy-duty cleaner in that fucking burn, he’ll be in agony. It’s not worth the risk.
Alistair frowns, running the fingers of his good hand through his hair. The black strands are messier than I’ve ever seen them. He watches Celine walk away, frustration flashing through his eyes.
“You can’t push too hard,” I whisper.
He groans up at the ceiling. “Would you believe me if I told you I was holding back?”
“Yeah, I believe it.” My basilisk is hovering beneath the surface, rattling in my chest. Now that Celine is out of sight, it’s going to steadily get worse.
By the time she comes back, dressed in ratty sweats, the kitchen smells like coffee. Celine stops in front of Alister, staring at his burned arm. Her own twitches a few times at her side before she goes up on her tiptoes to kiss him, then disappears into the pantry.
He blinks at me, his face twisted in confusion. I choke on my laugh. No matter what happens, I have to stay on her good side. If we both get booted, there will be no one around to watch her back.
Celine reappears with a gallon of green paint in one hand and a plastic tray and brush in the other. Eyes determined, she follows behind me, silently painting after I clean the red paint off the walls. We cover the runes slowly—they’re all the same—matching the ones that glow on her skin when she uses her magic. Between the cleaning products, coffee, and paint fumes, the smell is nauseating.
Alistair breaks the quiet after about half an hour has passed. “Can I stay until dusk?”
Celine’s head snaps up, a smudge of green paint on her chin. “Do you think I would kick you to the curb to burn?” I swallow a groan as her wings begin to smoke.
“No?” Alistair doesn’t sound convinced, and from the frustration on Celine’s face and her glowing wings, she doesn’t appreciate that at all. She carefully places the lid back on the paint can, then bashes it closed with her bare fist.
“Damn, baby.” I wince. “You should do that with a hammer, not your hand.”
“I’m fine,” she shouts. “And, Alistair, since it apparently needs to be said, you can stay until dark. I asked you both to stay. I’m not going to murder you because someone is after me. What kindof person do you think I am—or does my character not matter, since I’m fuckable?”
Her wings burst into flames, the ultimate exclamation point to her rampage. Before Alistair can say a word, Celine disappears down the hall. Alistair glares at the ray of sunshine blocking his path, a crazed glint in his eye.
“Nope,” I snap, pointing at him with my spray bottle of bleach. “Don’t even think about it. She will cool off, and when she does, you can discuss it. Let it ride for now, Ali.” The nickname slips out. Neither of us acknowledge it.
“I hate that advice,” he hisses. “I need to get to her now!” He stumbles back a step, bracing against the counter, and shakes his head, surprised by his own intensity.
I take a deep breath, regretting it as soon as the bleach hits my nostrils. “Chill out and make me another cup of coffee,” I tell him, hoping an occupation will make him less likely to run through a gauntlet of sunbeams.
Alistair snarls. “I’m not your fucking barista.”
“The sun says you are, though,” I joke. “If you make me another cup without giving me attitude, I’ll see about blocking that window so you can go to her.”
He stills. “You’re holding me hostage.”
“No,” I correct him. “That big orange star is; I’m just not rushing to help. This is for your own good.”
“How?”
“You were fucking everything up.” I shrug. “Now sit over there and help me figure out how we’re going to keep her safe.”
Alistair slams my full mug of coffee on the edge of the counter, then sinks to the floor angrily. Once I’m sure he can’t see me, I let myself grin. Because as mad as he is, and as stressed as Celine feels, I’m confident we can fix it.
TWENTY-FOUR
Enclave Edict #9:
Seek enclave intervention when
