Absolutely uncanny.
“Damn, there really is two of you and this isn’t a dream. Okay. I think I need to go… Um… Individually, I’m okay with you two. That…wow… Wow, that’s going to take some getting used to. You know what, I’m going to go check on my table’s food before I forget how to breathe. I’ll be back.”
Her nervousness is too fucking cute.
She walks away from us and disappears into the kitchen, and both of us tilt our heads to get a better glimpse of her ass as she walks.
Jasmine snaps her fingers. “Eyes up, Rumpus,” she says, lips pursed.
We chuckle, and I join North to lean against the bar. I see him frown from the corner of my eye and realize he’s staring at the statue. He grabs it up and turns it over in his hands.
“This looks nothing like the drawing I left him,” he says about the artist.
“I think it looks exactly like the drawing,” I retort.
“You painted a mustache on my face,” he says, turning it toward me. “And look, you’ve taken more time with yours.”
“I did yours in a rush this morning.” My jaw clenches at the memory, and North pushes both of the statues away from him.
“More sprites?”
“More fucking sprites.” I lean my elbows on the bar, glancing around for anyone within earshot. “We have a problem.”
North mirrors me. “Yeah. Wait—which problem are you thinking of?”
I squint. “Which one areyouthinking of?”
“Just… I was thinking of your little plan. And how you think Juniper is going to agree to it once she finds out we’redemons,” he says, voice low.
He’s right.
I hate that he’s right.
“What were you thinking about?” North asks me.
I reach into my coat and take out the black envelope that was sitting on my stoop when I got back from Juniper’s.
“First letter,” I say, handing it to him.
“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath. He quickly opens the envelope and takes the letter out of it.
I don’t need to tell you why you’re getting this. Cut her off, or I will.
“Well. She could have asked how we were. Really rude not to check in on her sons. ‘Hello, how are you,’ goes a long way.” North rolls his eyes and rips the paper in half. “What now?”
I scoff at how cavalier he’s being about this.
“She’ll send three letters before she begins to hunt us. That’s the rule, remember? Three warnings. After that, it’s?—”
“Open season,” North mutters.
“Yep.”
“Do you remember when we were the hunters?” he asks, voice filled with nostalgia.
Terrible memories replay behind my eyes, and I pick up the drink North is nursing to take a sip of it. “Vividly.”
“Who does she have under her control now?”
