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Chapter Twenty-eight

Caligo

How curious that the person I’d watched before Rowan was here. In truth, Laura had only ever held my attention because there was no one more interesting to occupy me. I’d liked the way her eyes widened when she was scared and the way my presence made her doubt her own sanity. She also had one of the loudest and most ear-piercing screams I’d ever heard.

Scaring her had become a game, as had seeing how quickly the medical staff would come running. You would have thought their response times would have improved, but they got slower and slower until eventually they stopped responding at all because they didn’t believe I was real.

Not once had I felt the urge to talk to her, whereas from the first moment Rowan arrived, there was nowhere I wanted to be other than in his room. I’d wanted to talk to him—talk, kiss, touch, follow home, and save his life when he needed it.

I followed them into the kitchen. Interestingly, Laura seemed to sense my presence for a moment before dismissing the feeling with a shake of her head. Apparently, our time together had left her attuned to me, even when I remained invisible. I amused myself by testing the theory, even going so far as to touch her to find out whether she would notice. She did, snatching her hand away fast enough to make Rowan frown.

I took the hint and left them to it. Rowan didn’t need protecting from her, and I couldn’t imagine them discussing anything that fascinating.

Chapter Twenty-nine

Rowan

Laura’s initial twitchiness, followed by the way she eventually relaxed, led me to believe that Caligo had been in the kitchen but had since left. I pondered why she could sense his presence when I couldn’t, as I made tea for us both. Maybe I just hadn’t tried hard enough? Or maybe it was because, apart from his prolonged disappearance at rehab, he was always around me and I’d grown accustomed to him.

“Nice house,” Laura said appreciatively. “Do you rent or own it?”

“I own it.”

She let out a low whistle. “I knew you were a little rich boy, but I guess I didn’t realize quite how rich.”

“You did?”

She rolled her eyes. “The designer clothes kind of gave it away. And then once I got out, I looked you up to see what I was getting into if I became friends with you.” She noticed my expression. “Don’t be offended. I do it with everyone. So Daddy’s an earl. Does that mean you’ll be one someday?”

I joined her at the table, pushing a mug across to her. “It does.”

Rather than looking impressed, she pulled a face. “That sounds incredibly boring. What do you even do as an earl?” She held up a hand. “Wait. Don’t tell me. Let me guess.” She thought for a moment. “Shoot pheasants, hunt foxes, drink port in your wood-paneled library, attend Royal Ascot, and ski in Switzerland.” She sat back with a dramatic sigh. “I don’t think we can be friends after all. I like foxes, and port will never be a good drink for getting wrecked.”

“They’d have to tie me to a horse to get me to go fox hunting.”

“So what will you do if you’re not hunting foxes once you’re an earl?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. It won’t be for years. My father is pretty healthy for his age.”

“Is he hot?” She winced before I could answer. “Can we pretend I didn’t ask that? I was going to make a joke about marrying him, but considering what happened to your mother, that would probably be in really poor taste.”

“Probably,” I agreed.

Laura’s scrutiny of the kitchen suggested she was eager to change the subject. Her eyes lit up when she spotted the vase. “Am I supposed to ignore the fact that your home décor consists of daisies and dandelions?”

I’d gotten so used to seeing them I’d forgotten how weird they might seem to someone else. “I’m trying to be less consumerist. Buying flowers that people have flown halfway around the world feels ridiculous when wildflowers grow right outside.”

Laura blinked. “Right? Do you know how I combat that?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “I just don’t have any, rather than putting weeds in a vase.”

“Weeds are just wildflowers growing in the wrong place.”

“You should get that printed on a T-shirt.”

“I might.”

Laura smiled, but it didn’t last long. She lowered her gaze to the tea and stared morosely into it.

“Something wrong with it?” I asked.