"Yeah, I think I'm done for one night."
Wylder's thumb brushes my jaw before he drops his hand. "Then I'll go and let you have a quiet night. You've earned it."
I manage a tired smile. "Thanks for helping me with the research stuff. And for… everything."
He winks, and it hits me all the way down to my toes. "Anytime, Hallowind."
He heads for the door, and I realize how right he is. I'm drained after a long, eventful night: the kiss, Vale's visit, the summons to the Order of the Arcane, Davina's ghost, and then telling an angry woman that her daughter didn't die like everyone thought.
The weight of it all presses in on me.
I need a hot bath, comfort food, and mindless television.
By the time I come downstairs, my muscles are loose, my mind is clearer, and I find Asher exactly where I expect him—sprawled across the couch in the family room, a bowl of popcorn balanced on his stomach.
I flop onto the couch beside him, stealing a handful of popcorn. "Whatcha watching?"
"The Great British Bake Off. Steph's soufflé just collapsed."
He shifts to make room, and I curl into the cushions, pulling a blanket over my legs. "Good news for David."
"Yep, he's cool enough under pressure to make the most of it, too."
I snuggle in and zone out. After a few minutes, Somebuddy and Nobuddy jump up and claim their spots on the blanket. When they've hunkered down, I reach over and give their adorable snausage bodies a little pat.
Asher glances at me. "Your thinking face is showing."
"Can't help it."
"Wanna talk about it?"
"Not really."
He tosses a piece of popcorn into his mouth. "I'm here if you change your mind. Otherwise, we're just two cool cats watching people stress-bake."
And that's exactly what I need. No probing questions, no heavy conversations. Just Asher being Asher, offering comfort through his mere presence. I steal more popcorn and let the mundane drama of a baking competition distract me from the chaos swirling through my life.
I'm going to find my sisters. Whatever it takes.
But for tonight, this is enough.
CHAPTER TEN
"Stop fussing, Pops. You look amazing." Asher slaps my hand away from where I'm tugging at my corset to make sure my girls are secure. "Your ride is here."
The mantel clock in the study is still chiming the half hour as the sleek black sedan glides up the driveway.
Vale takes punctuation seriously.
Asher shrugs my great-grandmother’s peacock feather wrap across my shoulders and kisses my cheek. "You're sure this is safe?"
"As far as I know. And Mom seems to think the members of the Order are honorable folks, so I'm going to hope she's right."
The two of us step out onto the covered porch, and I straighten and try to portray an air of confidence while my stomach does gymnastics, tossing around my dinner.
Vale's driver parks the car and gets out to open the back door. My centuries-old solicitor unfolds himself from the back seat, and I blink.
He's wearing a purple velvet suit with a fur collar—white and luxurious. It’s like something a wealthy Victorian gentleman or possibly a ‘70s pimp would sport. The ensemble is completed by a green felt hat with a feather so long it nearly brusheshis shoulder. His split-colored hair catches the porch light, half shadow, half snow.
