And I couldn’t wait to show it to her again.
Her attention shifted beyond me. “Oh, hello, Cordelia.”
I turned, seeing nothing but empty air. “You two have made up?”
Cyrene leaned closer, lowering her voice. “This is the first time I’ve seen her since last evening. She says she’s miffed with me, but she’ll forgive me this time.”
“Every time,” I growled. I wouldn’t allow anyone to make my wife feel sad.
Cyrene signed. “Really?” She rolled her eyes. “Alright.” Her gaze met mine. “She says you look less constipated today. I think that’s her way of saying you seem happy. The blue shirt that matches your eyes could be part of the reason.”
I snorted. “Please convey my thanks for her assessment.”
“She can hear you.” Cyrene’s lips twitched. “She says you’re welcome, and that perhaps she should’ve studied medicine instead of literature. She might’ve made a better diagnostician than a poet.”
“I wasn’t aware she wrote poetry.”
“Oh yes. Terrible poetry, though those are her own words. She’s reciting some now, something about blood and moonlight and eternal despair. Very vampire-appropriate.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “I wish I could see her.”
“She’s quite dramatic,” Cyrene said. “Lots of flowing ghostly garments and elaborate hand gestures.”
I glanced at the empty space again, imagining a vampire from a prior generation with theatrical tendencies.
“Has she been keeping you company?” I asked, nodding toward where I imagined Cordelia might be standing.
“When she’s not haunting the east wing,” Cyrene said. “She’s quite good company, actually. She makes me laugh when I’m struggling with spells.”
“Speaking of which…” I nodded toward the overturned plant. “Is dancing vegetation the latest trend in joy magic?”
She groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I was trying to enchant it to grow faster. Apparently my magic had other ideas.”
“It did dance well, for a plant.”
Quandary made a sound suspiciously like a snort.
“Everyone’s a critic,” Cyrene muttered, glaring at her companion. “As if you could do better.”
The small drake lifted his head, then pushed her teacup an inch to the left with his tail.
“He says your magic lacks focus,” I said, though I had no idea if that’s what the creature meant. “Too much emotion, not enough precision.”
Quandary bobbed his head in agreement.
“Oh, so you speak drake now?” Cyrene raised an eyebrow, but her lips twitched. “Next you’ll be telling me you understand ghost poetry too.”
“I’m a man of many talents.” I leaned back in my chair, enjoying the banter between us. “Some of which you’ve recently discovered.”
Her cheeks flushed that delicious pink again. “Shameless.”
“Accurate. Would you like me to demonstrate again?”
Quandary made a gagging sound and dramatically flopped onto his side.
Cyrene’s laugh bubbled up, bright and infectious. “Not in front of the children, apparently.”
“He can leave.”
