Her smile melts away. “You asked me to go check on your grandmother and mother and to pack your clothes. If you want me to stay, I’ll stay.”
I sigh. “No, no.”
“Fal . . .”
“No. Go. Just come back quickly. Maybe with them? You think they could be convinced to move here?”
She smooshes her lips together and side-eyes the lump of wet fabric on the floor. “Don’t get your hopes up, all right?”
I nibble on my lip as we reemerge inside my bedroom where Phoebus is still dead to the world. At least,he’sstaying. I try to take comfort that I’ll have one friend and ally in Reebyaw’s realm.
After I sink onto the bed, Syb vanishes into the adjoining closet. “Dress or pants?” Her voice sounds muffled as though she’s wedged herself in between the preposterously dense row of outfits.
“Neither.”
She pops out of the stone chamber, balancing a slew of hangers that clink like bones.
I shake my head, which angers the throbbing between my temples. “I’m not wearing any of those clothes.”
“Then I guess you’ll be wearing that towel for the remainder of the day.”
It barely covers my intimate bits. I glance around the room for Gia’s pants but cannot locate them.
“There was a wine stain down one leg, so I tossed them.”
“What do you mean,you tossed them? Where?”
“Into your laundry chute.”
“I have a laundry chute?”
She nods toward the closet. “There’s a trapdoor in the wall that leads to a washroom. It’s mystifying that you haven’t explored your new bedroom.”
“This isn’t my new bedroom; it’s my provisional dungeon.”
Sybille rolls her eyes. “It’s the nicest dungeon I’ve ever seen.”
“Still a prison.”
“Must you argue so loudly? I’m sleeping,” comes a deep grumble.
“Clearly.” Syb grins. “We’re about to leave, Pheebs. I thought you may want to wish us a safe passage.”
“No. I just want to go back to that dream I was having of Connor.”
“Rude.” Syb blows a lock of wavy black hair out of her eyes. Although she hates the natural curl, I think it softens her. “So”—she holds up two different outfits—“dress or pants.”
“Towel.”
She tosses the hangers onto the foot of my bed. “You aresucha Crow.”
I tuck my sodden hair behind my ears. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“That you’re stubborn,” Pheebs mutters.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spy apple-green. I toddle over to Phoebus’s discarded shirt. “You don’t mind if I borrow your shirt, do you?”
“The only thing I mind is your yammering right now.”
