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Sultry stayed with me at my apartment until Monday morning. She was companionable enough, not complaining about my lack of chairs as she settled in with translations spread around her on the floor, but she would not leave until she got a call saying that the Scholar was stable and wouldn’t be a threat to me. Then, she gathered up her things, smiled at me with her sharp teeth, entirely black eyes shining, and told me that she’d see me at the lab.
I took Pansy out for a walk, and then, while I was in the middle of tuning a lamp, my phone rang. It was an unknown number, but I answered anyway.
“Hello?”
“Miss Morell, this is Michael Stead.”
My heart skipped a beat, then thundered ahead without me. “Good morning. How are you feeling? I’m sorry that I didn’t warn you about the spiders, and that I missed that one. I should have?—”
“Please don’t apologize for anything, particularly my own carelessness. I was wondering if you would be available this evening for a rescheduled experimental outing involving tuning lamps and a possible dinner? Actually, I thought we could go to dinner first, then I could walk you home after, um, the lamp business.” He tried so hard to make my musical maintenance gig sound normal and respectable for a former librarian, but it wasn’t. He continued, “Unless you’ve decided that I’m not stable enough after the experience in the hospital. That must have frightened you.”
For a moment, I thought that he was talking about the kiss, before I realized it was the part where he went feral. “You were poisoned. How could I hold something like that against you when I knew that assassin spiders usually come in threes? Is this your phone number? I’ve been meaning to ask you for it.”
He hesitated, then said softly, “Yes, this is my number. I got yours from Mr. Pepshaw. I hope you don’t mind the intrusion.”
“Not at all. As for the, um, outing, that should be reasonable.”
“Excellent. I will pick you up at eight, then?”
I grinned idiotically at Pansy, who was absently gnawing on the lamppost. “That should work. I’ll see you then. Oh, could you bring the spider with you? The big one I made a point not to crush?”
“If that’s what you’d like. Do you collect assassin spiders?”
“I have an acquaintance who has done a lot of research on the subject. I thought that he could help me pinpoint the manufacturer and maybe the buyer.”
He was quiet for a long moment. “I’ll bring it this evening. Good day, Miss Morell.”
“Good day, Mr. Stead.” I hung up and saved his number to my contacts, hesitating for a moment before I put it under, ‘date.’ There may have been other Michael Steads in the world, but there was only one date for me, which was probably pathetic, but I couldn’t care.
I spent the day working on translations in the lab, enjoying my work no matter what language Sultry or Trombull passed to me. The elf kept his distance, which was normal for his race. He’d take a few years to warm up to me, weigh whether or not I was valuable enough to add to his close circle of friends, probably decide that I was not, and keep me at arm’s length for the rest of his life. That was fine with me, since I only needed one prickly elf in my life. What was interesting was the way he didn’t stay away from the human woman, Trombull, but found reasons to ask her about this or that text, as though he actually liked talking to her. She had no idea how honored she was, but it didn’t seem like she had much interest in anything other than clashing colors and her work.
The work was too enjoyable to have any sense of immediacy about the topic, because was it truly so essential to learn about eternal and infernal fyre now? What could that possibly have to do with Jazharad and his followers, if he really was the one responsible for Horace’s death?
The day passed quickly, and soon enough I was at home on my phone with Anna, trying to get her to tell me what to wear. She wanted me to eat at the sushi bar instead of going to Song, so she could talk to him about other possible scholarship opportunities. She really was worried about Gabby. Maybe I could say something to him, because if he created scholarships, he’d know other ones, probably.
At any rate, by eight o’clock, Pansy was walked, fed, and I was ready to go. I was wearing one of my librarian working outfits because the only other thing I had to wear was the gold dress. Maybe I should go shopping for experimental dating outfits, but why spend money on clothes when you could buy sushi?
The Scholar knocked on the door and I was out, locking it behind me before Pansy could escape. I turned and then stared at him because his suit was blue, a color that wasn’t quite bright, but was still mesmerizing, catching the light in a million different ways. I leaned closer to peer at it.
“That is interesting fabric. Is it experimental to go with the dating? It’s very eye-catching. Probably the gold dress would go better with it. Do you want me to change?”
He cleared his throat, and I realized how awkward my position was before I straightened up.
“I have a secret streak of color beneath this monstrously black soul. Do you mind? You are perfect as you are, of course. No changing allowed.” He offered me a slight smile and then offered me his arm.
I smiled back and took it, my heart pounding as his hand came over mine, warm skin above and silky suit beneath. It was silk and looked and felt like water if you made it wearable. It was woven with magic of some kind, but probably not death. No, I’d recognize death magic, and it wouldn’t be that color.
“Your magic was blue when you fixed the window,” I said as we walked towards the elevator.
“How extraordinarily observant of you. I chose an unusual venue for our dinner, that is, I made reservations, but if you’d rather go somewhere else, it can be arranged.”
“I’ve never been anywhere in Song to eat. How unusual is it? I’m not eating anything human, or anything else sentient.”
He laughed, a low rumble that slid down my spine like butter. “No, Miss Morell. That would be illegal. I’m taking you somewhere unusual, not illegal. It’s dinner and a show. The food should be passable, with the usual entrees you would find at an upscale steak house.”
“Steak? What kind of steak?”
“Nothing sentient is the only thing I can promise you in Song.” He smiled at me and we stepped into the elevator. Riding up to the top floor so that we could get access to the penthouse elevator shouldn’t have been anything, but in that small space, I could feel his energy pinging from wall to wall, and soaking into my skin like tiny acupuncture needles. It wasn’t very relaxing, and then I thought of kissing him, and couldn’t stop thinking about it. What did he think about it? Maybe he’d been so far gone from the poison that he didn’t remember it. Is that what I wanted? If he did remember, was he wondering why I’d kissed him? I was wondering that almost as often as I was wondering about the Jazharad cult.
