“It’s black.” Even if wine had soaked into the fabric, it wouldn’tshow.
“It’s also wet,” Jarodsaid.
“It’ll dry.” I wasn’t putting on one of the dresses from his closet of oddities. Even though mine wasn’t the most comfortable, it was mine. It hadn’t touched some other woman’s skin; it hadn’t absorbed some other woman’s perfume. “I’m sorry I broke your glass,” I said mechanically. “Let me know how much I oweyou.”
The heavy fluted crystal would probably cost me my entire allowance. Everything in Jarod’s house struck me asexpensive.
“I have enough wineglasses to last me sixlifetimes.”
Not that he would get a single more if he didn’t amend his ways. I made a deal with myself: if I lost one more feather, I’dleave.
No more lying forme.
“Would you like dessert, Leigh?” Muriel asked. “I made chocolate mousse for the staff thisafternoon.”
Even though my stomach felt like a giant knot, I murmured, “Sure.”
She came back a few minutes later carrying a single crystal bowl filled with mousse so dark it resembled Jarod’s eyes. After she placed it in front of me on a fresh table setting, she demanded to see the cut. I hesitated to show her, sensing my skin was healing. What if the flesh had already hemmed shut? How would I explain where the blood had come from? I thumbed the slender wound, wincing as I coaxed the skin apart, then raised myhand.
Delicately, she unwrapped the napkin and sprayed my palm with antiseptic, blowing to lessen the sting before affixing a Band-Aid. No one had tended to me since I’d developed wing bones, and her careful ministrations stole some of the despair of having lost anotherfeather.
“Thank you,” Iwhispered.
She smiled as she gathered up the soiled napkin. “Let me know what you think of themousse.”
When she was gone, I asked Jarod, “You don’t wantany?”
“I don’t likedessert.”
I frowned. “Howcome?”
He shrugged, lifting his freshly filled wineglass to his mouth. “Just never did.” He closed his lips around the rim and tipped the glass. I watched him swallow, watched his spiky Adam’s apple jump in his elegantthroat.
Before he could catch me staring, I turned to the mousse, which was so airy it weighed nothing. I slipped the bite into my mouth and all but moaned when the lush chocolate hit my tongue. I’d often wondered why chocolate wasn’t a sin. Not that I was complaining. If it had been, I would’ve had to live without it, and what a drab life that would’ve been. I took another spoonful and buried it inside my mouth, sealing my lips, so no embarrassing sound escaped thistime.
After swallowing, I licked my spoon clean. “You’re missing out. This isdivine.”
He swirled his wine, then lifted it, but before taking a sip, he said, “More for you.” The timbre of his voice had turned huskier, as though the alcohol had chafed his vocal cords. “I’m trying to decide how old youare.”
“How old do you think Iam?”
“How about you just tellme?”
“Twenty. I’ll be twenty-onesoon.”
“Where were youborn?”
“I was born . . .” I was about to say in Elysium but couldn’t speak about my first home to mortals. “I grew up in New York but was born somewhere I have no memory of.” Not a lie, since I’d been carried into a guild the second my umbilical cord wassevered.
“Do you havesiblings?”
“Two sisters. One who’s fifteen and another who’s myage.”
A small groove appeared between his eyebrows. “So, atwin?”
I patted the mousse with the back of my spoon, evening out the top. “Sort of. We’re not blood sisters.” When he frowned, I added, “We grew up together. In an all-girls boardingschool.”
“Because your parents aremissionaries?”
