A rush of almost-painful gratefulness welled behind my eyes,thankfulness for Daziel’s support, and joy that hewantedto support me. I squeezed his hand back.
Surely tonight, by the river under a bright moon, I could be bold enough for romance.
Eventually, a few of Yael’s friends joined us, and at some point, Gidon and Stefan returned, notably giddier. By the time the moon had reached its zenith, Daziel and I had wandered off for more drinks. I kept staring at him, at the way he glowed from within, at the dark wells of his eyes, the gleam of gold on the surface. He was so beautiful. And he had calledmebeautiful, twice, and crocheted me a scarf and laced his fingers through mine. Maybe he was also shy. Maybe I did need to be the one to say something.
We refilled our cups, then sat on a rocky boulder high up on the beach, nestled against the cliffs. We looked out at the cove, the river, the crowded platform in the distance. The stars twinkled above us, their winter light colder than usual.
A gentle breeze floated by. Wind tugged at my ankles. It smelled like summer, like green growth. Where was that scent coming from? I turned, trying to catch the direction. It shouldn’t smell like summer.
But my gaze locked back on Daziel as I turned my head, and I forgot about the tugging wind. I’d never found myself as captivated by anyone before. “Tell me something. What do you really look like?”
“Does it matter?”
It didn’tmatterso much as it intrigued me. I knew parts of Daziel so well—his tastes in food and outfits, the crinkle in his brow when he was upset, the way he really liked munching on glass when he thought he could get away with it. But I didn’t know what he actually looked like. “Indulge me.”
He hesitated, twisting his signet ring distractedly. “I don’t want to scare you. Humans are notoriously high-strung about appearances.”
I didn’t want to be grouped in with humans; I wanted to be me, unique. I nudged his shoulder with mine, trying to put him at ease. “Do you have a tail?”
“Hm.”
I took the noise as an affirmation. Which, admittedly, not my favorite. “Wings?”
He didn’t say anything.
“Chicken feet?” I teased. The small spirits were said to have chicken feet; one way to tell if you had an infestation was to scatter ash on your floor and look for tracks in the morning.
He frowned. “I don’t have chicken feet.”
“That’s good,” I said with mock relief. “I don’t think I can get behind chicken feet.”
He examined his talons with deep concentration. “I do have a rear dewclaw.”
“I’m sorry, what?” While I was aware not only chicken had vestigial claws protruding from the backs of their legs—dogs did as well—I found it unappetizing.
He gestured to the back of his foot. “It’s to help with climbing.”
“Where are you climbing?”
He shrugged.
Okay, moving on. “What about a beak?”
He touched his nose primly. “I would call it noble and full of character, not a beak.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Is it a beak or not? Is it made of—what are beaks made of?”
“Bone,” Daziel said. “Covered by a thin sheath of keratin.” Atmy blank look, he extended his hand, black talons gleaming. “The protein that covers hair and makes up fingernails.
“Really?” I placed my hand next to his, aware of the scant space between them. “What do you think is the biggest difference between humans and shedim?”
He shot me a look, a grin slowly growing, but didn’t say anything. I frowned. “What?”
“Don’t be mad.”
I got ready to be mad. “Tell me.”
He smiled. “There’s a pureness among humans. A naivete. An earnestness. I like it.”
