I whirled around, and Remo bumped into me.
“Really?” I didn’t even try to tamp down my enthusiasm even though the last thing I wanted was for Remo to think I was desperate.
Studying my parted lips and wide eyes, he said, “Really. Now can you create a sword or something useful out of Karsyn’s dust, so we have a chance of gettingbackto Neverra?”
It was silly but knowing someone—several someones—wanted to date me steadied my hands. Not only did mywitarespond this time, but I made one hell of a weapon—a dagger so sharp its tip gleamed lethally.
“A little motivation goes a long way,” I said proudly.
“I see that.” He shot me a wry grin, that instead of being cold, calculating, or disdainful, seemed genuine.
And sort of sweet.
I frowned because I didn’t think Remo was capable of sweet.
He ticked his head toward the upper floor, and I lowered my dagger to my thigh, then followed him up the flight of stairs that creaked like old bones. The hallway on the landing was wide but dark. Still I could make out several doors. From the metal numbers nailed to each one, I was guessing this was where travelers spent the night back in the real inn.
Was one of these bedrooms presently occupied by the pie-baking person?
“Can you trade your butter knife for a gun?” Remo murmured.
I gaped at my dagger, then at him. “It’s not a butter knife.”
His expression, which had softened during our conversation in the hallway, narrowed again. “Well, can you turn it into a deadlier weapon?”
“Say please.”
“Excuse me?”
“Asking nicely won’t injure your masculinity.”
He snorted, but his mouth curved. “Please, oh great Amara Wood, can you make a scary weapon out of your”—he gestured to my knife again—“what’s it supposed to be?”
“A dagger.”
He smiled, and I swore that for a minute, I felt like I was hanging out with Sook. “Can you turn your stunted dagger into a gun,please?”
“Stunted.” I shook my head in indignation but squeezed my weapon’s handle. A moment later, the blade transformed into a gun barrel, the rounded cylinder gleaming wickedly.
Side by side, we walked toward the first door. I raised my fist to knock, but Remo caught it before my knuckles could graze the wood.
“Why don’t you hum them a little tune while you’re at it?”
I glowered at him. “Surprising people isn’t sm—” The-artdied in my throat when Remo flung the door open.
I clapped my free hand on the gun’s grip and swung my arms, directing the muzzle toward the bedroom. No one shrieked or raised their arms, because there was no occupant. The bed was done up with a flowery bedspread tucked around fluffy pillows, and the dresser surface was empty save for a white crocheted doily. Nana Vee was a huge fan of doilies and tried to teach me how to make them, but crocheting wasn’t for me.
Remo ventured into an en suite bathroom. He flicked up the light switch, and although I didn’t expect any bulbs to flare to life, the ceiling lights buzzed and flooded the white-tiled space. He thrust open the shower curtain, and I gasped. Tiny bottles of soap crowded a wire mesh holder. I shoved my gun into Remo’s hands and unscrewed the lid off one of the bottles, almost purring when the scent of sun-warmed honeysuckle hit me.
I swung around toward him. “I call dibs on the shower.”
“How about we go check out the rest of the place before you bathe?” He extended the weapon.
I eyed it, then eyed him, and it hit me that I trusted him. “You can keep it. For now.”
His pupils pulsed in surprise.
“It’s a better weapon than your pen,” I added a touch mockingly.
