Briar said, “Not to put too fine a point on it, but I think that thing is evil, and we shouldn’t be touching it.”
Rowan’s brows rose. He looked at the sphere in his open palm like it might sting. “What should we do with it?”
Suppressing a gag, Briar took a fabric scrap from the counter to wrap it in. “Let’s set up the same containment in one of my drawers. I want to know what it is, and why your dad had it.”
Briar led the way upstairs. He’d forgotten, until seeing his larger bed and Rowan’s ever-rising eyebrows, that the flat looked much different from before. He set the cloth-bound sphere on the desk and emptied a drawer of its contents.
“Linden’s been helping me while I’ve been ill,” he said by way of explanation about the bed.
“I see,” said Rowan.
“You sound surprised. You don’t like him?”
“He’s very… posh,” Rowan said neutrally.
Briar studied him. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected. A selfish part of him hoped for jealousy to mark that his feelings were reciprocated even if circumstances prevented him from acting upon them. Instead, Rowan looked conflicted and confused. He shoved his hands in his pockets and resumed fidgeting.
Vatii flapped over to greet Rowan, walking along his shoulder to sidle up to his beard, the traitor.
Briar set to work replicating the runes from Éibhear’s drawer. He worked by lamplight, with Rowan’s phone on the desk showing the photo for reference. The silence was filled only with the scratch of charcoal on wood.
Rowan’s phone buzzed. A quick notification slid a text from Sorcha across the screen.
>>Have you told him yet???
Briar’s heart knocked hard against his sternum. He returned to the drawer and pretended he hadn’t seen it, but the words stuck in his head. Did she mean the magic sphere? It wasn’t the first idea that sprang to mind. The first idea made him heavy with hope and hurt both. He wished he could lock up his feelings with the same ease he would this magic bauble.
“Finished.”
He put the sphere in the drawer and touched the pads of his fingers to the rune chain. Unthinking, he cast the spell, taking tithes from the natural wood of the drawer. He had not considered that, in his state, it would drain him too much. A wave of dizziness turned the room to runny watercolors, and he swayed.
Rowan caught him. He’d moved quickly, Vatii exploding off his shoulder, and Briar found himself cradled in strong arms that carried him to the bed.
“I’m fine.”
“Briar.”
“It’s nothing, really! I just forgot, spells can be tiring.”
Brow creased, Rowan looked over at the drawer. “Then you should rest.”
Briar didn’t argue. He lay down and watched Rowan close the drawer with the sphere inside, then put the food he’d brought in the fridge. Hepaused, hovering halfway between Briar and the door, uncertain how best to say goodbye. It occurred to Briar that Rowan struggled to express himself with words. Where before he could kiss Briar, now he didn’t know what to do.
Briar tried to help, his bed already making his eyelids leaden. “Will you come by again tomorrow?”
Rowan’s shoulders sagged. “I will, yeah.”
CHAPTER 20
After a nap, Briar cracked a few books to search for information on the strange enchanted sphere, but discovered nothing.
Vatii suggested, gently, that he ask Gretchen. Though a good idea, Briar’s pride still stung. The news of his impending death had made him emotionally volatile and thin skinned. Perhaps his reaction had been overblown—Gretchen had spent most of her death trapped in spectral limbo, unable to manifest through the layers of salt keeping her at bay, and he’d thrown those fears in her face quite literally.
Still, he wasn’t ready to reconcile.
He called Linden.
Minutes later, the shop door clicked open. Linden unlocked it with magic so Briar wouldn’t have to limp downstairs. He appeared on the landing, Atticus weaving between his feet.
