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I sat down on his bed and ate more quickly than I should, but I really was starving.
“I noticed the small book wasn’t with the others that the Song idiot returned,” he said without looking up.
I licked egg yolk off my fingers, because I hadn’t wanted to use the same fork he’d had. “Right. I should return it.”
“Bring it to me or keep it and study it. I don’t want you to confront Mrs. Hanley with it, although getting your infected arm ripped off might slow down your transformation. Do you have the book with you?”
I pulled it out of my backpack and held it out to him, but he didn’t take it, just frowned in concentration at the messages he could read in those zeroes and ones. It had been so much bother to check the books out, the least I could do was read one of them.
I crossed my legs and leaned on my knee while I read the book. The trouble was that after a few minutes of his methodical clicking, with a full stomach and a soft bed, I found myself nodding off. I’d eaten and felt fat and happy while he clicked away, and all those late nights and early mornings caught up to me. I passed out, sleeping in Percival Marigold’s bed as I’d always sworn was an impossibility. Oh well. It went with kissing a gargoyle and being turned to stone.
Chapter
Seven
Iwoke up in the most comfortable bed I’d ever slept in, not curled up awkwardly, but sprawled across the mattress spread-eagled, like I was claiming it for good.
“You’re awake,” he said from the desk where he sat in his usual suit. “I have a few contenders for your consideration. I wanted to compare your face to theirs, but you were determined to sleep through my delicate prodding.”
I stretched and curled up in a ball, wrapping the luxurious comfort around me for another moment before I sat up and rolled off the bed. I shoved my hair away from my face and went over to the computer. Instead of numbers, there was an official-looking portrait of a man with red hair, but it was pale, anemic instead of my own bold hue.
“Look official and self-important,” he said.
I raised a brow while my lip curled on its own free will, and he snapped a picture with his phone. He compared the two images and then shook his head, and slid the man’s face away, revealing another one. A bowl of apples that hadn’t been there before was sitting on the desk. I took one and ate, then pulled a tall stool over so I could sit next to him and watch the process.
The next guy had a beard and arm hair that you could tie knots in. My mom didn’t like hairy guys. “Too hairy,” I said, waving a hand, then biting again into the crisp, juicy flesh of my apple. “These are good apples,” I said and took another bite.
“What do you mean by too hairy?”
“My mom wouldn’t date that guy. She likes pretty boys, like you probably, only you’re too young for her.”
“Does she like older men? That would change my parameters considerably.”
“No, around her age, and very handsome and dangerous.”
“Dangerous?”
I shrugged and then ate until there was nothing but the core left.
“What about this one?” He clicked a button and brought up another face, a man so spectacularly handsome, brooding, arrogant, with a well-tamed coif of dark red hair that I pointed at him stupidly.
“She’d definitely go for that, but I’m not sure about vice versa. Who’s this guy?”
He leaned back, arms crossed over his chest while he studied the images, mine and the guy. The computer drew some measurements over each face, comparing the features, eyes, cheekbones, noses, and mouths.
“This guy can’t be it,” he said with a slight shake of his head, but he kept staring at the computer, like he was willing it to come up with a negative match and move on to the next, but no, instead it came up with a ninety-two percent positive. Ninety-two percent positive. That was pretty positive.
I shook my head. “No way. This guy’s my dad? Why aren’t I prettier?”
He gave me a disgusted look. “Because you don’t groom and you dress yourself out of a dumpster. This has potential as well as some drawbacks. Your father is probably the current Gray Master, or the leader of the Gray Society, the single most powerful order in our country and probably the world. Congratulations.”
I stared at him and he stared back. I leaned over to get a closer look at the guy. “Huh. No, that makes no sense. I mean, it kind of makes sense, but there’s no way.”
He sighed heavily and then clicked some buttons on his computer. “I have to agree, there really is no way that makes sense, but what kind of friend would I be if I didn’t immerse myself in your wilderness of chaos?”
“We aren’t friends.”
“Exactly. That’s why I’m organizing things. Your chaos is terrifying. On the positive side, he’s extremely powerful, talented, and wealthy, so if he wishes, he most likely can solve the turning-to-stone issue. On the negative side…”
