“What’s going on?” her sister asked, rubbing at her eyes.
“Nothing. Just some bats. Possibly a shadow. And then the groundskeeper… I’ll tell you in the morning. I just need to sleep in here if that’s okay.”
“Seriously?” Eustace asked sleepily.
“They are like rats with wings, Eustace,” Cordelia shot back at her.
“Fine, but if you pull the covers off me, so help me God, Cordelia Bone—”
“I don’t do that anymore,” Cordelia grumbled, adjusting her pillow and sinking down, her back to her sister.
“Can John vouch for that?” Eustace asked.
“Not exactly.”
Her sister sat up. “Why? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Can we talk about it tomorrow?”
“Cordy, I can hear it in your voice,” Eustace insisted.
“I am not doing this with you at—” Out of habit, she tried to check her wrist, then sighed, realizing she’d left her watch and her phone back in her room. “Whatever o’clock,” she muttered.
“Okay,” Eustace agreed, lying back down. “But this is not going away. Tomorrow… we talk.”
“Yeah. Sure. Whatever. Can we just sleep now?” Cordelia hated the way her sister could make talking sound like a death sentence. It was a gift she’d inherited from their mother.
“Good night,” Eustace whispered as Cordelia closed her eyes.
Too late for that,Cordelia thought. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d shared a bed with her sister, but for the first time in weeks, the terrible pall of loneliness that hung over her seemed to ease. She hadn’t realized until this moment how alone she’d felt these last five years, even when things were at their best with John. Maybe trading her sister for a slice of suburban pie hadn’t served her so well after all. Whatever their history, she determined to do things differently with Eustace from this point forward. Before she fell asleep, she squeezed her sister’s hand.
CORDELIA WOKE ANDwas greeted by a hooked beak and two beady black eyes inches from her face.
“Christ.” She recoiled in shock, remembering with sudden force where she was.
“Morning, princess,” Eustace drawled. She stood beside the window in her bathrobe, looking out over the back garden.
Cordelia leaned her head against the cool iron of the headboard and eyed the stuffed bird anxiously. A raven, it appeared to be. Two, in fact. One on a driftwood perch and the other leaning down to inspect unsuspecting sleepers.
“Did they really think the bedside table was the most appropriate place for this?”
Eustace grinned. “I like them. I’ve named them Hocus and Pocus.”
“You would,” Cordelia grumbled.
“You were snoring,” Eustace told her. “I thought you’d never wake up.”
“Don’t be ridi— What time is it?”
“Almost nine,” Eustace told her. “That’s practically noon in Cordelia hours.”
Eustace was right. She never liked to be caught in bed past six in the morning. Another quirk John couldn’t understand. “What are you drinking?” she asked her sister, zeroing in on the ironstone mug in her hand.
“Tea,” Eustace told her. “English Breakfast. I found it in the kitchen. No coffeemaker to speak of, I’m afraid.”
“What?” Cordelia’s voice pitched unnaturally high. Even the bats hadn’t solicited such a reaction. “How is that possible?”
Eustace shrugged. “You’re not going to go into withdrawal, are you?”
