Bo would do better in the morning. Be clearer. Not be the prick who made Everil guess about what to do.
Definitely not be the asshole who thought about leaning just that much closer to taste the freckled curve of Everil’s neck or lace their fingers together.
Yeah, better. Somehow.
Chapter eleven
Everil
Despite Everil’s misgivings, Talia’sdiner proved more than adequate. The place Bo brought them was busy and cheerful, and it smelled of syrup and bacon. While the servers didn’t wear pink, both the woman who seated them and the one who brought Talia a plate of pancakes significantly larger than her head used “honey” like a punctuation mark. That, apparently, was enough to please the Gate.
Bo and Talia made conversation over their heaped-high plates of pancakes while Everil sipped his black coffee and tried not to be envious. Better to keep his attention on the scene outside the window than interrupt their chatter with his fumbling.
They liked each other. Talia had a guardian she liked. Bo had … well, Bo was saddled with a soulbond who couldn’t manage “basic hotel courtesy” and burned with yearning at the man’s innocent, unconscious seeking for warmth.
“Everil! Everil, look.” Talia leaned on the table, speaking in a stage whisper. “There’s agrizzled old manat the counter. Do you see him?”
All four of the men sitting at the counter fit the definition of ‘grizzled,’ but Everil nodded all the same. “And?”
“He’s even wearing a baseball hat. Can I talk to him? No magic, I promise.” She turned to Bo, all sad brown eyes under her hoodie. “Please?”
“Does the baseball hat mean something important?” Bo asked. He glanced in Everil’s direction, then back at Talia with a shrug. “Any other kid, I’d say fuck no. Somehow, I don’t think you’re in much danger around him. If he asks you who you’re with, tell him we’re your older brothers, okay?”
“You can’tbothbe my older brothers,” Talia said, looking from Everil to solid, tired-eyed Bo. “I’m your foster daughter, and we’re on the road, solving the murder of myreal parents. Bo, you left the force under mysterious circumstances. Everil, you’re secretly a vampire.”
“A vampire,” Everil echoed, incredulous.
“That way, if the guy’s mean to me, you can eat him.” Talia gave Bo a quick, sideways hug, then jumped to her feet. “Don’t eat my pancakes. When I come back, I’m going to have a hat.”
“If you don’t make it back before I finish my pancakes, I’m taking yours.” Bo’s tone was light and teasing, and Talia giggled as she turned away, heading toward the counter.
“She really doesn’t need me to eat him,” Everil murmured, distracted by watching Talia as she perched on a stool next to an appropriately grizzled man. “She’s more than capable of protecting herself.”
“She promised no magic. You didn’t.” Bo’s words came with a brief laugh. “I don’t know if I’d peg you for a vampire, though. Apparently, they can’t cross running water.”
“To be fair, I didn’t cross the river. Only splashed around a bit.” Everil attempted to meet Bo’s laughter with a smile. It was refreshingly free, the way Bo laughed. Like he didn’t have to think about it. “Or so I’ve been told.”
“You’re a kelpie,”Bo whispered in Everil’s memory. Like it was a wonder, not a complaint. And his lips had brushed Everil’s temple.
“It was a small river until you stepped into it. You probably could’ve crossed it.”
“Perhaps. Though, if we are being pedantic, sluagh are much closer to vampire mythos than kelpies.” What an incredibly boring thing to say. Everil lowered his gaze to his coffee, though he made no attempt to drink it. “You’ve been exceedingly patient with us.”
“I’m pretty sure I’ve–. Right, fuck, okay. Before I go saying a bunch of things about myself you might not realize are negative traits yet, how do you mean?”
It was a strange question. But Bo was full of strange questions. Given that he was a human dragged into fae matters without warning or explanation, that was more than fair. Admittedly, Everil had expected his questions to be closer to “how do I do magic,” or, given that it was Bo, “how the fuck do I do magic.”
But no. Bo wanted to know what Everil meant by patience.
“Talia has been shamefully isolated, without proper education in fae or human mores. As far as she’s concerned, we’re taking a stroll through one of her favorite books.” Everil would have words for his mother on all of that, but the woman was dead. There was no one left to blame but Everil himself. “And I manage to put my foot wrong nearly everytime we speak. I suspect I am doing so even now. I am terribly inept at social niceties. And still, you’ve been very kind to both of us.”
“Talia is great, and her and Robin will probably light things on fire. Figuratively speaking.” Bo laughed, a quiet, mirthless sound. “Yeah, so, we’re on the same page with the saying the wrong things mindset. Me saying the wrong things to you, I mean. Or shit that makes you feel bad. You’re not saying the wrong thing now if that helps any? I like you both.”
Everil couldn’t even begin to imagine why. “Talia is quite charming in her way.”
That, at least, they could agree on.
“Would it make you feel better about your mastery of social niceties to know I told Declan to go eat a bag of spiked dicks?”
