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My heart does a twist in my chest that feels like it’s taken flight at the thought of her wanting to remain surrounded by my scent. “You can have my room as long as you wish.”
“Oh.” She drops her gaze, her long lashes falling, and she’s more gorgeous than ever. “I couldn’t take your?—”
“It could be ours.” I rush to add, “Atticus and I don’t sleep much in a proper bed. We turn to stone, remember? I brought you in here because I wanted to see you in my space, with some of my favorite things, but if you’d like to stay here, you’re more than welcome.” Please let her say she’ll stay.
“Your things,” she says with an impish emphasis on the last word. “Like cartoon characters and tabletop games?”
“You went through my stuff.”
She huffs a laugh. “I did. You’ve quite the collection. Does…” When she goes quiet, I nudge her to get her talking again. “I can’t imagine your brother keeping up with the latest movies or wanting a bunch of action figures.”
The thought has me grinning. “No. Atticus and I have very different approaches to staying current with human culture. I prefer to watch TV to learn your ways. My brother reads.”
“Reads what?” she asks. “Machiavelli’s guides to making friends and manipulating people?”
“I don’t know. He doesn’t talk about it. I figure he sticks to nonfiction, maybe the classics. You’ll have to ask Atticus.”
My brother speaks from the open doorway, the sneaky bastard. “Ask me what?”
14
ROSEMARIE
SEVEN OF CUPS: LIVING IN A FANTASY WORLD CAN BE A DREAM.
Or a Nightmare.
Huey flies in behind Atticus, perching on my shoulder as if he belongs there and like I belong on Jace’s lap. The owl fluffs his feathers before settling. Guess I’m staying put.
Answering Atticus’s question about the innocent topic Jace and I’d been discussing might be the only thing to take my mind off the not-so-innocent embarrassment that’s currently making me flush. “Your brother says you read a lot.”
Atticus props against the doorframe, still not coming into the room. “You don’t?”
He doesn’t make the question sound like an accusation, but still, suspicion worms through me. My dyslexia makes reading for pleasure sound more like torture. Does he know that? Would he have figured that out while stalking me? Is he asking because it’s a weird one-upmanship for him? I pretend I’m not wondering about his ulterior motive. “I prefer audiobooks. Perhaps you could read to me.”
Atticus grins.
What’s that about?
“I’d enjoy that,” he says. “Especially if I get to pick the parts to read out loud to you.” The wickedness threading his tone has me wondering exactly what he’s planning to read to me, but before I can ask, he gestures to the fallen tray. “What happened?”
Jace answers first. “She was at the open window looking down at the River of Souls.” His grip on my waist tightens as though he’s worried his mention might have me leaping toward the window again. “I…uh…panicked.”
The discomfort in his admission has me patting his forearm, trying my best to focus on offering solace and not checking out the muscles beneath my fingertips.
Atticus nods as if he understands why his twin dropped the tray and went for me. “She’s nothing like Dyphena, brother. Our Rosemarie is strong and brave.”
Our Rosemarie. He made the possessive sound so endearing. My heart stutters and spins into a faster beat. What do these two men do to me? And what on earth could I have done to convince Mr. Grumpy Gargoyle that I’m brave or strong?
“Understatement,” Jace says.
“Besides,” Atticus continues, “it’s safe up here. No flying threats would dare to cross the River of Souls.”
“Wait. What flying threats?” I look between the brothers.
“Harpies and furies,” Jace says.
“Don’t forget the striga,” Atticus adds before ticking off a few others I wouldn’t be able to pronounce no matter how hard I tried.
