“Drainage. I think I’ll use it as a plant pot.” He sat back, beholding his work and leaning into me like it was the most natural thing in the world. He turned to look over his shoulder. A few strands of navy hair stuck to a smear of slip on his cheek. It felt as though I’d swallowed my tongue with the effort not to brush it back.
What if the curse cure hadn’t worked? What if the wraith came through the wards? What if I wanted more than a one-night stand? What if I wanted the morning after, and date nights to small-town artisan markets, holidays spent massaging each other’s sore feet after walking a new city?
My fears far outnumbered my singular desire to kiss him, but the intensity of that desire was a blaze next to a few sparks.
I looked at his arms, where my hands had left a perfect print in clay around his elbows. I wanted to leave the same ones around his ankles, his wrists, his hips.
Kessian met my eyes. “What are you thinking?”
I couldn’t lie, and I couldn’t answer, but my gaze flicked down to his mouth—the dagger slash of his upper lip, thin and perfect for smirking.
“Thank you for teaching me,” he said. “Anything else you care to impart?”
“Maybe I could teach you glazes another day?”
“Not what I meant.”
“It’s late.”
He sighed. “Most would say that’s the perfect time, but if you insist, let’s get ready for bed.”
He got up, wincing as he straightened up, bones cracking. We left my studio behind.
I let him spin the clock’s hand once more, this time to the bed icon. He tried to turn the knob, but it wouldn’t open. He rattled it.
“Er, it’s locked,” he said.
“Let me.”
I tried, but the knob wouldn’t budge. “Lunaris, stop joking around,” I chided lightly. To reset it, I spun the minute hand back to my pottery studio and opened the door.
There it was, just as we’d left it.
I closed the door again, turned the hand to the bed. This time, the door opened.
Onto a wall. Made of bricks, no less.
“I think she’s trying to tell you something,” said Kessian.
“I think she’s being a brat.” But no matter how many times I opened the door and closed it, the spare bedroom didn’t appear.
Kessian said, “It’s all right. I can sleep on the sofa—”
A noise like a car boot slamming issued from the living room as the sofa in question folded up into the wall like origami, leaving no soft furnishings in sight for either of us to rest our heads.
My familiar had betrayed me. There was only one bed left, and we’d have to share it.
Chapter 12
Iled the way to my bedroom door.
“Nice paint color you chose. I wonder where I’ve seen that before?” Kessian said.
I flushed. “Lunaris picked it. She’s trying to make you feel—”At home. “—comfortable.”
My “bedroom” was more like half a room with a loft bed and storage underneath. I started rooting through my drawers for a spare pair of pajamas. Given I normally slept naked, there wasn’t much to choose from. I found one pair of flannel bottoms.
“Will these be all right?” I asked, holding them up.
