I had done this to me.
“This,” I said to myself in the mirror, “is why I can’t have nice things.”
Chapter Twelve
Although the cat—Duke—was already out of the bag—the book—I went upstairs and washed my face and hair to get the remainder of the dust off me. The dust had worked its magic already and was now powerless. Unfortunately, that power had been spent on one of Duke’s books and not on the book that I needed now—the book that had been stolen.
When I returned to the library, Duke remained sound asleep on the sofa. But he had company now. Koshka lay curled on his chest, his small gray head tucked under Duke’s chin.
Intellectually, I knew having Duke here was a huge mistake, and if I didn’t get him back in his book soon, I could be in even more trouble than I was already. Once he was awake, I’d send him home, where he belonged. But for a long moment I watched Duke and Koshka, letting myself luxuriate in the simple, stupid joy of being in the same room again with the only man I’d ever loved.
And my cat.
“My boys,” I said softly, smiling.
Koshka briefly lifted his head and looked at me.
“Don’t wake him up,” I whispered as I sat on the floor in front of the fireplace to air-dry my hair. “I know you missed him. But don’t get used to him because he’s leaving as soon as he wakes up.”
To that, Koshka hissed at me, then put his head down again, closed his moss green eyes, and fell asleep.
At some point, I must’ve fallen asleep too, because a few hours later, I woke with a start.
Disoriented, I looked around and found myself in a bed. My bed? I switched on the little lamp on the side table.
Yes, my bed in my room that overlooked the garden. In the mornings, silvery light poured in through the windows, but now the windows were dark. Pale blue walls and built-in bookcases painted white. A queen-size bed, more than big enough for me and Koshka, who somehow took up half the bed every night even though he only weighed nine pounds. A glass door led to the balcony and the little secret garden I made up there of potted plants and hand-painted fairy houses.
It was all so familiar, so peaceful, that for one moment I thought that maybe I’d dreamed the whole crazy evening. I dreamed about Duke all the time anyway. If it had all been a dream, that meant Duke wasn’t really in the house, which meant I wasn’t about to get on Dr.Fanshawe’s bad side for all eternity and be expelled from the Ink and Paper Coven—and possibly from the International Order as well.
I threw off the covers and called for Koshka. He usually slept with me, glued to my side or curled up between my feet. I checked my bedside clock. Nearly three in the morning. Breakfast was hours away so she should’ve been there.
“Koshka?” I called a little louder. Mrs. Turner had hung my bathrobe on the back of the closet door. I put it on and crept out of my room, heart pounding.
Silently, I made my way down the dark stairs to the library. Peeking in, I saw…nothing. I inched inside and turned on the table lamp.
By lamplight, the Pilcrow House library looked like a professor’s secret reading room—the sort of shadowy place where one is compelled to study alchemy, the transmigration of souls, or how to slay vampires. In other words, it looked perfectly normal to me. Maybe Ihaddreamed the whole thing.
As I was about to let out a sigh of relief, Duke waltzed through the door with a teacup in one hand and a piece of cake in the other.
“Duke!”
“Hello, darling,” he said as he strolled over to the fireplace. “Glad you finally woke up. Now I can kiss you properly.” He bent and brushed his lips against mine, then smiled. “There. That’s better. How was your nap? Shouldn’t you still be asleep, love? It’s barely the witching hour.”
The old carriage clock on the mantel chimed threea.m.
“I…” I stared at him for a long time and for multiple reasons.
Reason one—he looked incredible. Sometime while I’d been asleep, he’d woken up and changed into a new suit. A pin-stripe charcoal gray three-piece with a light blue button-down shirt. He wasn’t wearing the jacket or a tie now, so his collar was open at the throat, and I admit most of my staring was concentrated on that area.
But mainly I was staring at him because he was there, in my house.
Duke waved his hand, beckoning me to continue my sentence.
“You were saying, my love?” he asked.
“Youarehere. I didn’t dream it.”
“Yes and no. I am here. But you were dreaming about me. And it must have been a good one, the way you said my name in your sleep.” He sipped more tea. “I came to shortly after midnight, and you were asleep right there.” He pointed to the rug that lay in front of the fireplace.
