My transmitter buzzes on the coffee table, and Case, hanging around hoping I’ll change my mind about going to the brothel with him, braces his arms on the back of my chair. He leans in to read the message from Ember as if it’s for him.
We like the same things —people, not their genders. And if the six messages he sent me after hauling her away from the Allwitch temple are any indication, he doesn’tdislike Ember. Regardless of how frustrated he is because of my Death Bonds. He knows it’s not her fault. She doesn’t know about them.
Ember Blackburn:You don’t need to Refresh my things anymore. Thank you for the gold.
Leland Stray:Hi, Ember.
Case blows out a judgmental breath. “Acomma?”
I glare at him to back up, but it doesn’t matter because she’s turned her transmitter off, which I know because my reply is stuck in the status ofWaiting To Be Delivered. I figure she’s still mad about the coin I stole from her and lied about. It’s good, though. Ignoring the tightness in my chest and how I want to flip the coffee table, this is good. It’s what I want.
Leland Stray:Coin was yours.
Leland Stray:Glad you messaged though because I wanted to tell you something. Skye Ambrosia’s taking you shopping in the morning. She likes bacon, cats, and I’ve told her to put twice as much on my tab every time you refuse to spend my gold.
I type a third message,Sleep well, but I don’t hit send. My teeth grind, my blood itching again. It’s enough to make me relent and give Case the answer he wants.
We leave for the Silverstone brothel, spending the night with company in complete and total darkness, my blood pounding the entire time to remind me I’m not with her. My Counterpart.
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
EMBER
The Familiar will not appear until the Allwitch tastes her first sip of magic from the Circle of Seven. That is to say, an Aspirant will gain her Familiar after Selection.
— Charley Starvos, Echelon to the
School of Creation Magic
Leland returned in the morning, with a witch at his side who I assumed was Skye Ambrosia — never mind I’d told him not to come. He hadn’t shaved, he was smiling more than usual, and there was a lighter, refreshed aspect to him. I suspected I knew the reason. His short sleeves were annoyingly tight around his biceps, but I tore my eyes from his arms — his Death Bonds — and took in Skye for a minute. A black cat sat on the top porch step behind her.
“Hi. Hello,” she greeted me. “Leland says you need bras.”
I opened my mouth to yell at him, but —
“You look nice today,” he said, a corner of his mouth twitching upward.
My eyes rolled. I was wearing his sweatshirt.
“Does she?” Skye tilted her head in assessment. “The impression I was getting was more like” — her head tilted theother direction — “wounded?”
“Ember,” Leland said. “This is Skye. You’ll be in the same year. Skye, please be nice to Ember.”
“Hi,” I said. “Not wounded.”
“Sure,” said Skye, unconvinced.
She had the most sparkling green eyes I’d ever seen, the brightness of them contrasted by her short, deep-black hair, which was shaved on the sides, and a short side bang fell over her left eyebrow. She’d cut the sleeves off her oversized T-shirt to show off her tattooed arms and rib cage, pairing the baggy shirt with fitted black pants partially tucked into laced-up boots. Careful not to stare too much, I quickly glanced at one of her tattoos, a watercolor one on her upper arm of a cat chasing a dragonfly.
I stepped back from the door, inviting them in and trying my best to look energetic and pleasant. The cat, which I guessed was Skye’s Familiar, wandered in behind her and leapt on the table. Skye surveyed the layout of the living room, taking stock of all the doors and windows.
Leland met my eyes then lifted his chin toward the porch. “What’s with the keg?” he asked.
I looked up at the ceiling, contemplating my answer. I doubted “Jaxan slashed the flask after I refused to make a Dark Deal with him” was the right thing to say in front of the Echelon Hector Ambrosia’s daughter. Even if she did seem different, with her laid-back clothes and six silver rings across her fingers and thumbs.
“Technically, it’s a half keg,” Skye, who I had thought wasn’t paying attention, added helpfully. “I’m surprised you don’t know this. And whydoyou have one? You don’t realllly seem like thepartytype.” Her eyebrows wrinkled as her eyes passed over me like she was considering changing her answer, then they flattened.
