Page 117 of The Witch They Fear

"You have a security detail, not a curfew."

"I—I don't—I haven't actually had—"

I stop. I realize I’m not saying no because of my tail, she’s right–it’s not a curfew. I dig down deep inside myself and decide that I can be honest here, in front of them.

"I can’t remember the last time I had a slumber party," I say.

Nellie's face does something I can't watch. A little pity pinch that hurts my chest.

"Okay," she says. She's already standing up. "Hold this."

She presses her empty cider glass into my left hand, throws her curly hair out of her face, and marches out into the hall.

She leaves the door open so everyone and God can hear what she has to say.

"Corvin!"

Corvin's voice, faintly, from somewhere outside: "Miss Marchand."

"Your charge will be staying the night."

A pause. "Uh–Miss Dellaby hasn't informed me of any change to her—"

"Yes she has. I'm informing you. On her behalf. She's currently very busy laughing at me, so this is the official communication."

Another pause.

"Miss Marchand—"

"You have two choices, Corvin. Choice one: you go home. Get some sleep. You look exhausted–do vamps sleep? Anyways… Cal is safer in this dorm than she is in her cottage and you know it. Choice two: you sit in the common room downstairs and wait all night. There are couches. And at eight in the morning I'll personally walk Cal back to her cottage so you can resume your professional anxiety."

A very long pause.

I’m laughing into the empty cider glass Nellie pressed into my hand. Tess has slid sideways off the couch onto the rug, her face buried in a throw pillow, her shoulders shaking. Margo hasn't even pretended to look at her textbook in the last thirty seconds. Shandy is smiling at the ceiling.

"I'll sit in the common room, Miss Marchand."

"Excellent choice."

Her boots come back around the corner and she appears in the doorway, hair still flying, a look of supreme satisfaction on her face.

"Margo, go take the vamp a blanket, please. He looks like he hasn't slept in a week."

"On it." Margo is already up and moving, her textbook abandoned. Tess is hooting into her pillow. I'm still laughing—I can't stop, my face is wet again, my shoulder hurts, I don't care.

"Come on." Nellie reaches for me. "Up. We need to get you in pajamas. Shandy, make a snack plate."

"I just made one yesterday," Shandy says, from the rug, not moving.

"Yes, and it was a masterpiece, and Cal hasn't lived until she's eaten one of your snack plates."

"Fine." Shandy unfolds upward. "Cal, allergies?"

"I—what?"

"Allergies."

"No. No, I don't think—no."