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“So can I,” he countered. “Have a seat, I’ll make it for you.”
Kylar was flipping through the newspaper. “Tea’s in the cupboard two doors to your left.”
Loren sat down beside Paxton, who was shoveling huge bites of waffle soaked in syrup into his mouth, a long-limbed puppy Familiar draped across his lap. Eugene sat beside him, watching a video on his tablet. He was so distracted by the screen that he missed his mouth when he tried to take a bite, soaking his cheek in syrup.
Tanner opened the tea cupboard and sifted through the many boxes inside. “What kind of tea would you like?” he asked her.
“What kinds are there?”
“Peppermint, orange pekoe, jasmine green, hibiscus, a boatload of white tea, and…matcha.” He pulled a tiny tin out of the cupboard and held it up.
“That one, please.” She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a good matcha latte.
Kylar said, “Do you even know how to make it?” He flipped to the next page of the newspaper. The front-page headline spoke of new strains of the Tricking and the desperate need for more healthcare workers.
“I can read instructions,” Tanner said, already scanning the label with sharp, gray eyes. He grabbed the eyeglasses that were perched atop his head and put them on. Loren fought a smile, knowing he didn’t need those to see. “Who’s the tea drinker?” he asked Kylar.
“Roman. He needs an intervention—he’s a junkie.”
Tanner began making the tea, even using the little wooden whisk to break apart the lumps in the hot water. The only time he seemed unsure was when he opened the fridge—staring into it with a frown. “Roman’s only got dairy milk,” he said, leaning around the door to see her.
“That’s fine.” She wasn’t about to be picky at a guest’s house—especially not when the hacker of the Seven Devils was making her tea. And especially not when he seemed to know that she preferred a plant-based milk, her stomach sensitive to lactose.
Yup, these people definitely weren’t trying to kill her. She started to wonder again if she was dreaming.
A few minutes later, Tanner set the mug of steaming matcha in front of her.
“Thanks,” Loren said.
“You’re welcome.”
She rested her elbows on the table and cupped the warm mug. Her fingers were cold and stiff, but she hoped it didn’t mean anything bad. She was used to far warmer climates; aside from on television, she had never even seen snow. Yveswich was a lot colder than Angelthene, and the house was big and prone to the morning chill.
Joyce slid the plate of waffles her way. “Please, eat. No one wants to see you faint again.”
She served herself up a waffle and spooned some fat blueberries on top. “Where’s Darien?” She took a sip of the hot, velvety matcha, the taste like heaven. For someone who’d never made matcha before, Tanner was a pro.
“Still sleeping,” Ivy said.
Still sleeping at nine thirty in the morning. But last night he’d seemed so tired. So…distraught.
And mysterious. There was a lot to figure out about that one, and Loren had to admit she was a little curious about him.
A little.
Darien slept like the dead.
By the time he woke up, he could hardly remember what day it was or what planet he was on.
He stirred, slowly taking in the room. The dresser, the closet, his bags that sat on a cushioned bench at the end of the bed, sunlight streaming in through the curtains.
This was Roman’s house, but it wasn’t the same room he’d slept in before. Not the same bed.
He jolted up, kicking off the sheets and blankets, and crossed the room, bare feet pounding on the icy floors. His heart started thundering, his vision spinning like he was stuck in the heart of a hurricane—
Voices floated up from the ground floor. Kylar, Jack, Tanner, Ivyana, Joyce, the kids, and—
Loren.
