"That's horrifying."
"The children loved me. I made balloon animals while his body was still warm in the next room."
"That's MORE horrifying."
Jace's contribution is surprisingly mundane. "Wedding dress. I was posing as a bride to get into a ceremony. The mark was the father of the groom."
"You wore a wedding dress," Elliot repeats, delighted. "Please tell me there are pictures."
"There are not pictures. There will never be pictures."
"I'm going to find pictures."
"You won't."
"I have very specific skills."
Jagger, when pressed, admits to a three-piece suit made entirely of denim. "It was the 90s. A Texas oil baron needed to be erased for stepping outside the bounds of the Silent. It seemed appropriate at the time."
"A denim suit," I say. "A three-piece denim suit."
"I'm not proud of it."
"You should never be proud of it. That's a crime against fashion."
"The mission was successful."
"That doesn't make the denim okay."
By the fifth round, I'm drunk. Properly drunk, the kind where the room tilts when I move too fast and everything seems funnier than it should be. Jinx has moved from the couch to the floor, sprawled on the rug like a very chaotic starfish. Jace and Elliot are curled together in the armchair, Elliot practically in his lap, their fingers interlaced.
And Jagger is looking at me with soft gray eyes that make my heart do stupid things.
"Tell me something no one else knows," Jinx demands suddenly. "Something secret. Something embarrassing. We're bonding. This is how bonding works."
"That's not how bonding works," Jace says.
"It is now. I'm going first." Jinx sits up, swaying slightly. "I'm afraid of birds. All birds. Even the small ones. Especially the small ones. They have dead eyes and they're everywhere and I don't trust them."
"That's... surprisingly specific," Elliot says.
"A pigeon attacked me when I was nine. The Foundry tried to condition it out of me. It didn't work." He shudders dramatically. "Horrible creatures. Flying rats with better PR."
"Okay," Jace says slowly. "I'll go. I can't whistle. Never could. Jagger eventually gave up trying to teach me."
"Everyone can whistle," I say.
"I can't." He demonstrates, producing a pathetic wheezing sound. "See?"
"That's tragic. That's genuinely tragic."
Elliot kisses his cheek. "I think it's cute."
"It's humiliating."
"Same thing."
My turn. I think about it, digging through the fragments of memory that have been slowly returning. "I used to sing in the shower. Not just casually. Full performances. Broadway numbers. My neighbors complained."
