“Forgive me.” My brows knit. “Is that not a rather generous lifespan for a…cat?”
His tail whipped back and forth in what I presumed to be amusement. “I’m no ordinary cat.”
He offered nothing further for a time, attention fixed upon the fire.
“I used to burn,” he said at last. “Not like this.” His paw waved lazily toward the dying flames. “Proper burning. Celestial.”
“How do you mean?”
“I was a star,” he said, whiskers lifting in a sad, private smile. “I hung in the firmament for millennia…until I fell.”
It may have been foolishness on my part, but I was inclined to take him at his word. A peculiar depth lived in those bright eyes. They were far too luminescent for this world; everything else dulled in comparison.
“I believe you,” I said, scarcely above a breath. “You look as though you remember.”
The affirmation earned me pause, a slow blink, and a grin.
“Most don’t,” he said. “But I suspect you and I share this fate—being believed less often than we deserve.” He lowered his head to his forepaws. “Do you remember?”
I drew my knees closer. “Memory is a fickle mistress. There are faces and hours I would willingly forget that haunt me. Others I would ransom any sum to recollect, yet they fade.”
“What do you wish you remembered?”
“In truth?” I glanced aside, shying from the sharpness of his gaze. “My mother’s face. Her perfume warmed by her skin. The timbre of my father’s laugh. The rich sweetness of the dewberry pie my grandmother baked during the winter solstice. The feeling of being…home. Of having one to begin with.” A thread had escaped the cushion; I twined it absently. “Perhaps it is childish to long for such things.”
Vesper shook his head. “It’s not. If I learned anything in my thousands of years watching from the heavens, it’s that life is an accumulation of small, meaningful things.”
Silence settled. The fire cracked faintly, as though reluctant to be forgotten.
“Does Mav know?” Vesper asked, licking one paw with studied indolence.
“Know what?”
Those bright eyes fastened upon mine. “That you’re a Twilight.”
Icy terror spilled through my limbs. My heart stumbled. “I…how did you?—”
“Relax, I’m not going to say anything to Thistle, though she’ll probably figure it out. And I can smell it on you.”
A sigh escaped my lips. “Thank you for your discretion. I promise you I am no threat to anyone.”
A crackling laugh. “I didn’t think you were. But youdidtell him, right? There’s no way that affable idiot would figure it out otherwise, and he should know that he’s aiding and abetting a criminal.”
Choosing to ignore the barb delivered at Mav’s expense, I nodded. “He knows. And my only crime was being born with a certain gift.” My brows creased. “You said you could smell it on me. Magic gifts have scents?”
“Obviously. It’s stronger for higher-order magical gifts.”
“Indulge me.”
He appeared put-upon, but obliged with a huff. “Tether smells like a forge—molten metal. Tempest is the air after rain. Tremor is stone on a hot day. Time is cedar and citrus. Twilight is my favorite: lavender, vanilla, and sun-warmed linen.” He stood, arching his back in a stretch. “I’d recognize it anywhere. I knew the moment you walked through the door. I haven’t smelled a Twilight in ages.”
I supposed there were far worse scents one could be associated with. Curiosity got the better of me, and the question spilled out before I could rein it in. “Do you know if Mav is gifted?”
A wicked grin curved Vesper’s mouth. “Ah, he’s embarrassed to talk about that, but I can’t tell you. He’s threatened to skin me alive on multiple occasions if I told people. I’d wager revealing that secret to the woman he fancies wouldnotturn out well for me.”
A scoff slipped through my lips. “Mav does not fancy me,” I said, shaking my head. “He is merely stuck with me for the present.”
Vesper offered a swift series of blinks before his ears flicked toward the hall. I turned, sensing him before I saw him. Mav stood just beyond the arch, shoulder braced to the frame, arms folded loosely. He made no pretense of not watching, yet he did not enter.
