“Felix,” I say.
“I’m not going to do anything stupid. I’m going to do something very considered and extremely deliberate.” He takes a sip of tea with an air of absolute serenity. “I have some reading to do first.”
I open my mouth to ask what reading, exactly, but before I can say anything, the temperature in the room does something.
Not drops. Not the way it did with Night and Dark, that sudden plunge into cold. More like a shift in pressure. A change in the quality of the air, the way it changes just before something unexpected happens, before lightning strikes from a clear sky.
Someone is sitting on my sofa.
Not appearing. Not stepping out of shadows. Just suddenly, between one breath and the next, sitting right next to Felix as if they have always been there and we simply failed to notice.
Felix looks to his left. Then very deliberately back at his tea.
Hex grimaces and seems to brace himself, but he doesn’t hulk out, so I guess this visitor is nothing to worry about.
I stare.
The shadow person on my sofa is not large. Not physically imposing. Not built like contained violence the way Dark is, or radiating quiet authority the way Night does. He’s not a seven foot tall baby duckling like Hex. And he’s definitely not a creepy, eldritch horror like Wraith.
No, this shadow being is slight and fine-boned and small enough that my sofa, which is not a large sofa, fits him very comfortably. He is wearing something dark and impractical that has no business looking as good as it does. His hair is extraordinary. Waist-length, a black so deep it seems to absorb light rather than obscure it, falling loose way past his shoulders and pooling slightly on the cushion beside him.
His face is unreasonable. That is the only word for it. The kind of face that makes you feel that the universe was showing off when it made it, cheekbones and jaw and mouth all arrangedin a configuration that has no practical justification. His eyes are purple. Like the brightest amethyst in existence. All bright and strange and lit from within with something that might be amusement and might be something considerably older and harder to name.
He is looking directly at me.
He smiles.
Something about the smile makes the back of my neck prickle. Not because it’s threatening. Because it’s too knowing. The smile of someone who has seen a very great deal and finds most of it privately hilarious.
“Oh,” he says, and his voice is light and musical and somehow manages to convey the impression that this single syllable contains an entire sentence. “I see.”
Hex has gone very still in the armchair.
The extraordinary person on my sofa turns to look at Hex, and his smile does something complicated. “My betrothed,” he says warmly. “You look well. Considerably better than the last time I saw you.”
The silence that follows is enormous.
I look at Hex. Hex is not looking at me. He is looking at the person on my sofa with an expression I have never seen on his face before. It takes me a moment to identify it because it is so completely foreign on him.
He looks caught.
“Fiend,” he says, and his voice is very carefully controlled.
“You remember.” Fiend presses a hand to his chest with an expression of delighted relief. “I was worried you might have forgotten me in your exile. All those long lonely years. Did you think of me?”
“It hasn’t been years, it’s been weeks, and no,” says Hex.
“Liar.” Fiend says it without any heat, cheerfully, as if being called a liar is a perfectly pleasant thing. He turns back to me. The amethyst eyes are very bright. “And you’re Adam.”
“I am,” I say, because what else is there to say.
“He’s always talked about you,” says Fiend. Not like Night said it, warm and careful. Fiend says it the way someone says the punchline of a joke. “Constantly. It was quite tedious before I understood the context, and now it makes considerably more sense.”
“You’re not supposed to leave the palace,” says Hex.
“So I’ve been told,” says Fiend pleasantly. “But I go where I like. You know that.” He looks around the living room with great interest, taking in his surroundings with the expression of someone reading a very interesting text. “Lovely flat. Very organised. I particularly like the spice rack.” He glances at Hex. “Your doing, I assume?”
Felix, who has been watching all of this with the focused attention of someone filing everything away for later use, raises his hand. “Sorry. Who are you?”
