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He shrugged and leaned back against the sink. “I imagine it does to you, but I promise it’s not. The Folk have always existed right under human noses, but you have a funny way of not noticing us. Witches, fae, dragons, and the like have always been around you. You just hadn’t noticed them until tonight.” He eyed her with curiosity. “I’m surprised you’re taking this as well as you are, to be honest.”
Gwen huffed a self-deprecating laugh. “Who says I am?” She felt like her brain was full of mushy oatmeal, and that was putting it mildly.
“You’re not screamin’ or mumblin’ to yourself, so I say you’re doing pretty good given the night you’ve had.”
“Don’t sell me short. I’m just tired,” she grumbled. Exhausted to the bone, more like. Which was the honest truth. If she wasn’t so utterly fried, she was sure she’d be huddled in a corner, rocking back and forth, mumbling incoherently.
Barith chuckled. “I do have hope you’ll fare well enough. Bridgette told me you were sharp. And tough.”
Her heart sank, and a lump formed in her throat. Miss Jones had known about all of this—for two years!—and hadn’t told her anything. Gwen wished she were here now to explain and glad she wasn’t, because she might scream at her. She couldn’t help but feel confused and betrayed, and more than a little hurt.
“Don’t be too hard on her,” Barith said, reading her expression perfectly. “She thought she was doing the right thing by not telling you.”
“She lied to me,” Gwen snapped with more bitterness than she cared for.
“True, but witches can be strange Folk,” he replied, countering her bitterness with softness. “She cared about you. Worried about you. Made me promise we would watch out for you.”
Gwen reached into her pocket and pulled out the little baggie of purple cookies Miss Jones had packed for her. She swallowed. Her neighbor had been the only person to really care about her in years. The only one who had looked out for her. She just wished she’d felt comfortable enough to tell her about all this magick stuff. Though, if she were being honest with herself, Gwen understood why she hadn’t. It was insane. If Miss Jones had told her, she probably would have just written her off as yet another nut living in New York.
“Are those her lavender cookies?” Barith asked, intrigued, leaning in a little closer, drawing her attention.
Gwen cocked a brow and glanced up at him. “You want them?” she asked.
He nodded. “I had a few when we were chatting in her apartment. Can’t say they taste like lavender, but I like ’em. Remind me of the biscuits my gran used to make.”
She nearly opened her mouth to say something questionable about his gran’s cooking but thought better of it. “Here,” she said, sliding the cookies to Barith over the counter. “I won’t eat them anyway.” Her stomach was messed up enough; she didn’t need to add questionable baked goods to the equation.
Barith snatched up the little bag with delight, and Gwen eyed him strangely. She’d never met anyone who liked Miss Jones’s cooking. Not even her cats would go near it.
As he nibbled on a cookie, she started to ask something, then stopped.
“Come on then,” he encouraged, digging for another treat. “I’m an open book. Ask away.”
Gwen was still hesitant, but Barith did seem more than willing to answer any questions she had. “Sirus—is he really…a vampire?”
Barith stilled, his eyes darting to hers, a lumpy purple cookie dangling from his lips. Gwen’s insides twisted anxiously at how sharply his soft expression had changed. Clearly, it wasn’t a question he’d been expecting. He grabbed the cookie and replied with a weight of seriousness, “He is, but he won’t hurt you, if that’s what you’re worried over.”
Gwen’s face scrunched with unveiled frustration. She’d not meant it like that. “No. I’m not worried about that,” she declared.
The dragon’s eyes narrowed. “You aren’t?”
She let out a deep breath of nerves. “It’s just hard to wrap my head around, you know? Him being a vampire and you being a—” Gwen’s eyes fell on Barith’s tail. She was tempted to ask him if she could touch it, but she pushed the thought away. Something about asking felt indecently rude and very weird.
He grinned, catching her gaze. “You’ll get used to it fast enough. Soon you won’t even notice. And there’s no need to worry about Sirus. Vampires are a cold lot, but I’ve known him a long time, and I’ve never seen him do anyone harm who didn’t deserve it.” His smiling eyes turned curious again. “Though you don’t seem to be afraid of him like most. He really doesn’t bother you?”
There was no missing the blatant skepticism in his voice. Gwen was starting to get the impression that her not being freaked out by Sirus was more than a little weird. “I didn’t say that,” she grumbled. He definitely bothered her. Just maybe not in the way he assumed.
Barith seemed satisfied enough with that answer, though she couldn’t help but feel like he still thought she was a bit odd. Welcome to the club. Gwen cleared her throat.
“Is he always like that? So—” Stiff? Cold? Gorgeous? Oh boy.
“Worse, most of the time,” Barith replied with a soft chuckle.
Lovely.
Keen to get off the topic, Gwen sipped her drink. Barith washed down his cookies with a swig of scotch, his tail flapping at his back. “How do you hide them?” she asked without really thinking. “Your wings?”
“Now that’s my own little brand of magick,” he told her with a more genuine smile. His wings suddenly appeared at his back. One of which hit a copper pot hanging over the stove.
