We follow Callum to the kitchen and crowd around the table. There’s a replica river made of resin running through the middle of the wooden top. It’s beautiful. And expensive.
Callum dumps the greasy bags right in the middle without hesitation. “I got you your usual,” he tells Ciprian before glancing at us. “And I ordered you each a Kitchen Sink combo.”
I blink at him. “I’m scared to ask.”
“It’s got everything.” Ciprian grins. “Includingthe kitchen sink.” He digs into one of the brown paper bags and starts pulling things out: home fries, eggs, bacon, sausage, ham, biscuits—oh my gods, is that French toast?—and a stack of pancakes the size of my head. Stamped on top of each to-go box is a smiling,anthropomorphized sink. The handle on the cold side of the faucet is somehow giving me a thumbs up.
“Dig in,” Callum says. “It won’t be nearly as good if it gets cold.”
No one argues.
I would be embarrassed by the way we’re eating—Fringe supernaturals do have some manners, I’m sure of it—but Gideon and Ciprian also eat with gusto... or careless abandon, however you want to categorize it. And Callum is barely better. The only person following strict etiquette is Idris.
The fae carefully cuts his French toast into evenly shaped bites, always chews with his mouth closed, and periodically dabs at his mouth with the cloth napkin he has tucked in his lap.Where did he even get that?
Callum tosses a roll of paper towels down next to the discarded takeout bags, and the rest of us use those to mop up the grease.
I eat until I’m stuffed, then give in to the urge I’ve been fighting since we sat down and begin to sort the food. Bacon in one box, sausage in the one next to it. The eggs are cold and rubbery now. They should be tossed, but I’ll leave that up to our hosts. Methodically, I consolidate the leftovers before lining the boxes up in a neat row until eight smiling sinks are staring back at me with mischievous, matching grins.
“Wow,” Gideon blurts. “Idris, you should have given her a fancy napkin, too.”
Heat floods my face. I’m not a person who blushes, but I feel exposed. Give me a stripper pole and a song with a dirty beat, and I’ll blow minds without hesitation... but micromanaging the to-go boxes is too revealing.
“I’m not a control freak,” I insist, wincing as my magic zaps me for the lie. “Well, I guess I can be. I want things to be organized.” I fold my hands in my lap, fighting the urge to squirm.
Callumclears his throat, braces his elbows on the table, and leans toward me conspiratorially. “Until very recently, Gideon only owned one towel.”
Gideon shrugs, unbothered by the disgusted looks he’s getting. “So what? I got more, didn’t I?”
The sound of a door opening reaches us, and Sheena walks in with Riven and her human boyfriend, Quaid. I glance behind them for Hyacinth, but she’s not there.
“We got an apprenticeship for Hyacinth,” Sheena says, beaming. “And I gave her a phone, too. She’ll call if she needs anything.”
I study Riven. His face gives nothing away, but he doesn’t appear worried. If anything, he looks like a weight’s been lifted from his shoulders as he says, “She needs to be around other witches.”
I nod slowly. He’s right, but I don’t want her to think we abandoned her.
Sheena squeezes my shoulder. “When I was her age, I was on my own, too. I felt like a freak on my best days and prey on my worst. If I had had someone to teach me about my magic things might have been easier. I think this will be good for her.”
I force a smile. She’s right. And the fewer people close enough to me to draw my father’s attention, the better.
We make room around the table, and no one mentions the organized boxes of food. It’s nice, and from Ciprian’s constant smile, I know it means a lot to him that we’re all getting along.
“Have you told Mom I’m here yet?” He glances at his brother.
Callum shakes his head. “Hell no. I didn’t tell her you were missing either. Keep a lid on that and maybe we’ll all survive this.”
Gideon grins, revealing dimples in his cheeks. “It’s tempting to let it slip that you’re here withfriends.” He waggleshis eyebrows.
Ciprian punches him in the shoulder. “I’m not here with friends. I’m here with my girlfriend and my boyfriends. And Riven.”
“Thank you for the distinction,” Riven drawls.
“Oh, shut up.” Ciprian tosses a bite of wobbly, scrambled eggs at him. Scowling, Riven catches the yellow glob and gingerly tucks it inside his napkin.
Quaid clears his throat. “Do any of you want to train?”
Sheena’s answering groan is loud, but there’s nothing I’d rather do. I shoot up from my chair and step out of the way as my wings burst from my back.
