“Because—” I falter. Because it changes things? Because I need to know who I’m kissing, who I’m teaching, who I’m trusting? Because my mother’s voice in my head is screaming that this is exactly the kind of chaos I’ve spent my whole life avoiding?
“Because you’re hiding something,” I finish lamely. “And I don’t like not knowing.”
“You don’t like not being in control,” he corrects gently. “There’s a difference.”
“Don’t psychoanalyze me.”
“I’m not. I’m just pointing out that your need for information isn’t about safety. It’s about maintaining your carefully constructed walls.” He steps closer, and I don’t step back. “You want to categorize me and put me in a box. To decide if I’m worthy or unworthy, safe or?—”
“You have an imp,” I interrupt. “A talking, stealing imp that you’ve been sending to spy on me. I think my concerns about safety are valid.”
“Nix wouldn’t hurt you.”
“How do I know that?”
“Because I wouldn’t let him.” His voice is suddenly fierce with the kind of intensity that makes my breath catch. “Whatever else you believe about me, believe that. I would never let anything hurt you. Not Nix. Not anything.”
The silence that follows is thick enough to taste.
Nix has stopped arranging his nest. His enormous yellow eyes flick between us, and his skin shifts to a soft, uncertain pink.
“Boss likes the dance lady,” he announces. “Nix can tell.”
“Thank you for that observation,” Mal says dryly.
“Nix likes her too.” The imp hops off the filing cabinet, waddling toward me with surprising confidence. “Dance lady has good energy. Warm. Like fire but soft.”
I stare down at him. He stares up at me.
“Nix is sorry for taking the shiny things,” he says, extending one small paw. In it rests a single ribbon—pink, slightly crumpled, one of my favorites. “Nix will give them back. Most of them. Not the straw.”
I relax, just slightly.
“Keep the straw,” I hear myself say.
Nix’s face splits into a grin full of tiny, pointed teeth. “Dance lady is kind. Boss picked good.”
“Boss didn’t pick—” Mal starts.
“Boss picked.” Nix nods sagely. “Nix has watched. Boss watches dance lady when she’s not looking. Boss’s heart does the fluttery thing when she laughs. Boss?—”
“That’s enough, Nix.”
“—talks about dance lady in his sleep.”
“Nix!”
The imp cackles, a high-pitched sound that shouldn’t be as endearing as it is. He scurries behind my legs, using me as a shield against Mal’s mortified glare.
“Is that true?” I ask, fighting a smile.
“He exaggerates.”
“Does he?”
“Imps are notorious liars.”
“Nix doesn’t lie about boss.” The imp peeks out from behind my legs. “Nix just observes.”
