“And that’s all she ever told you?”
“Once I realized she wasn’t coming out of it, I moved on, unwilling to let the trail cool. I had competition to eliminate. For the first time since man learned to keep written archives, the Sinsar Dubh had been sighted. Others were after it. I needed to kill them while I still knew where they were. By the time I returned to Devonshire, she was dead and buried.”
“Did you dig—”
“Cremated.”
“Oh, isn’t that just convenient. Did you question Tellie? Voice her and her grandmother?”
“Look who’s all ruthless now. They were gone. I’ve had investigators hunting for them off and on ever since. The grandmother died eight years ago. The granddaughter was never seen again.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Yes, it stinks. That’s one of many reasons I don’t believe you’re the king. Too many humans went to too much effort to conceal things. I don’t see humans doing that for any Fae, especially not sidhe-seers. No, there was something else going on.”
“You said one of many reasons.”
“The list is endless. Do you remember what you were like when you first came here? Do you really think he’d wear pink? Or a shirt that said I’m a JUICY Girl?”
I looked at him. The corners of his lips were twitching.
“I just don’t see the most dreaded of the Fae wearing a matching thong and bra with little pink and purple appliqué flowers.”
“You’re trying to make me laugh.” My heart hurt. Thoughts of what to do about Dani, fury at Rowena, anger at myself for having misled everyone tonight—there was a knot of emotions inside me.
“And it’s not working,” he said, as we stepped into the alcove of Barrons Books and Baubles. “How’s this?” He drew me back out into the street and cupped my head with his hands. I thought he was going to kiss me, but he tipped my head back so I was looking up.
“What?”
“The sign.”
The placard swaying on a polished brass pole read: MACKAYLA’S MANUSCRIPTS AND MISCELLANY.
“Are you kidding me?” I exploded. “It’s mine? But you just said I was on my last chance with you!”
“You are.” He released my head and moved away. “It can be removed as easily as it was hung.”
My sign. My bookstore. “My Lamborghini?” I said hopefully.
He opened the door and stepped inside. “Don’t push it.”
“What about the Viper?”
“Not a chance.”
I moved in behind him. Fine, I could deal without the cars. For the moment. The bookstore was mine. I was feeling choked up. MINE with all capital letters, just like the sign. “Barrons, I—”
“Don’t be trite. It’s not you.”
“I was just going to thank you,” I said crossly.
“For what? Leaving? I changed the sign because I don’t plan to be here much longer. It has nothing to do with you. What I want is nearly within reach. Good night, Ms. Lane.”
He vanished out the back. I don’t know what I expected.
Actually, I do. I expected him to try to get me into bed again.
Barrons has been predictable in his treatment of me since the day I met him. Initially he used references to sex to shut me up. Then he used sex to wake me up. After I was no longer Pri-ya, he’d returned to using references to sex to keep me on edge. Forcing me to remember how intimate we once were.
Like everything else about him, I’d begun to count on it.
Innuendo and invitation. Eternal as the rain in Dublin. I was the one the dangerous lion licked. And I liked it.
Tonight, when we’d walked back to the bookstore, talking, sharing information freely, I felt something warm and new blossom between us. When he’d shown me the sign, I melted.
Then he’d splashed ice water on me.
For what? Leaving? I changed the sign because I don’t plan to be here much longer.
He’d walked off without making innuendo or extending an invitation.
He’d just left.
Giving me a tiny taste of what it felt like. Barrons walking off, leaving me alone.
Would he really go away for good when this was done? Vanish without saying good-bye the moment he had his spell?
I trudged into my fifth-floor bedroom and threw myself across my bed. I usually pretend there’s nothing strange about sometimes finding my room on the fourth floor and sometimes on the fifth. I’ve become so inured to “weird” that the only thing that worries me much anymore is the possibility that my bedroom might one day disappear entirely. What if I’m in it when it goes? Will I go, too? Or be stuck in a wall or floor as it makes its grand exit, yelling my head off? As long as it’s still somewhere in the store, I feel reasonably secure with my parameters. After the way my life has turned out, if it does disappear, I’ll probably just sigh, gear up, and go hunting for it.