Before Thomas, or anyone else, managed to waylay us.
Connor and Deborah followed me outside and down the short number of steps to the circular driveway.
From the outside, the Gargoyle looked like a three story Gothic mansion built around the turn of the century. Pointed buttresses and dramatic roof lines provided interesting architectural details that made it a staple of the neighborhood.
I was pretty sure the “don’t look here” spells papered around the outside were the only reason they didn’t get a ton of requests to rent the mansion out for marriage ceremonies or other celebrations.
At some point, either during the day or the early evening, someone had moved Gwyneth from the garage and parked her near the front door. A gesture I appreciated as we made our way toward her.
“That’s a lot of luggage,” I said, staring at the three large suitcases sitting next to her trunk.
Embarrassment showed on Deborah’s face as she looked from Gwyneth to her suitcases with the realization that they—and her—were never going to fit in Gwyneth’s non-existent back seat and tiny trunk.
“I didn’t know how long I would be away from the mansion. I wanted to be prepared.”
She’d certainly done that.
Connor stepped forward to salvage the awkward situation as he offered his hand in a gentlemanly gesture that had me staring.
What was he up to? Politeness and Connor were rarely mentioned in the same breath.
“You’ll have to forgive my sister,” Connor said. “Her other companions have warned me that her grumpiness is not a barometer of her true feelings.”
I jerked my head back to give him a “what the fuck” look. Where was this madness coming from?
Deborah moved slowly, placing her hand on his with clear hesitation.
“Her personality is reminiscent of a hedgehog’s.” Connor bowed over her hand before straightening. “You’ll find she is rarely honest.”
“Bullshit,” I snapped.
I might as well not have spoken.
“It will take some adjustment, but I’ve found ignoring what she says in favor of examining her actions a much better method to understanding her,” he continued.
“Says who?” I demanded.
Connor finally graced me with his attention. “Inara. And Lowen.”
“You can’t trust either of them.”
Exhibit A—the rash on my shoulder courtesy of their pixie dust.
“On the contrary, I’ve found their observations to be spot on so far.”
“You—” I started and stopped, resisting the urge to shake my finger at him like he was a naughty school boy.
“See what I mean?” Connor asked with a sidelong look at Deborah.
She didn’t look like she knew how to respond as her gaze flitted between us.
“I’m not like that,” I burst out.
Deborah’s nod held enlightenment. “I do.”
Connor patted her on the shoulder. “Then you’ll fit in with the rest of us just fine.”
The throaty purr of a vehicle prevented the homicide I was about to commit as an SUV pulled up next to Gwyneth.
