“How about a big mug of Stop Dodging the Damn Question?”
“We’re fresh out of that. You’re getting mint.”
She sighed, cutting and reassembling her cards.
I let her stew. I still wasn’t a hundred percent convinced it’d actually happened. Hanging out with Sophie in our sunshiny kitchen, pouring hot water into the chipped blue mug she’d painted for my birthday last year… the whole magic scene felt like a hallucination. A trick of the mind brought on by the stress of being jumped, the fight, the proximity to vampires—yes, that had to be it. Their presence always made me light-headed—something about my blood reacting to the threat.
You did this to me, witch.
You.
You did this.
To me.
You.
“Gray? You okay?”
“Huh?”
“What’s going on? Really?”
“I… Nothing.”
The silence that fell between us was so complete, I could hear the tea steeping. The tension made my insides itch.
“Sophie, seriously. I’m cool.” I grabbed our mugs and sat down across from her. “I’m just—”
“Full of shit, like I said.” At least she was smiling again. “Where’s Ronan?”
The sound of his name sent a shiver down my spine. The good kind.
“Haven’t seen him in a few days.”
“God, I hate when he does that.” Sophie sighed. “Are you planning to tell him about this?”
“No. And neither are you.” The last thing I needed was an overprotective demon trailing me on my deliveries. It was bad enough he made me spar with him once a week, just to keep my reflexes and fighting skills sharp. If he saw me like this, I’d never hear the end of it.
“He’ll find out. He always does.”
“Not from you.”
She blew across the top of her mug, steam curling up around her face. “Speaking of your sex life—”
“Nice transition, and no, we aren’t speaking of it.”
“Exactly my point.” Sophie's eyes lingered on the cut above my eyebrow. “You do realize that you’ve been in more fights in the last month than you’ve gotten laid in, like, years?”
“Really? I’d totally forgotten about my pathetically lonely nights and desperately unfulfilled longings! Thank God my best friend is keeping track for me!” I nodded at the Tarot cards stacked between us, eager to get back on neutral ground. “Draw your card before I fall asleep. I'm beat.”
“Classic Gray Desario redirect.” Sophie smirked and pulled a card for herself, setting it face up between us.
Her smile vanished.
I glanced down at the card—Seven of Pentacles. The image showed an apprentice witch using a rusty nail to draw blood from a tree. Seven silver pentacles bloomed on the otherwise barren branches.
I knew right away what it meant… And it wasn’t about me.
