She rolls her eyes, and I wonder if she might call me out on yesterday’s infraction. But the witch is nothing if not clever, so it should come as no surprise that she takes the less obvious method.
Emotional manipulation.
“Please, Dr. Sutherland?” She blinks up at me, eyes wide and innocent, rosy lips shaping a fresh pout. “It’s super important. Ineedit.”
“Do not confuse desire with need, for that is the surest path to Hell.” Ignoring the heat of her body, a beacon in the damp, I reach into the pocket, careful not to linger. I retrieve a familiar box.
Oliver’s unseemly gift. I never should’ve allowed it.
“Lighter too, please,” she adds, and I fish that out next, holding it while she retrieves a hand-rolled marijuana cigarette from the box, minding her freshly painted nails. Pale pink today, with a shimmer like the inside of a seashell. Popping the joint between her lips, she leans close, nodding for me to light it.
“For the love of hellfire.” I oblige, and she smirks as she inhales, her gaze holding mine like a dare.
After an infuriatingly long beat, flame still flickering in her green eyes, she draws back and exhales a delicate plume into the sky. When she finally speaks, her voice is froggish. “Fair warning… The woman we’re meeting today—Helena?”
“The bat-woman.”
“Yeah. She’s a little intense.”
“In what way?”
“In the way that makes you grateful you took the edge off beforehand.” She helps herself to another deep inhale, thenholds the joint out to me. “You’re not a people person, Professor. And Helena is… Well. She’s a special kind of people. Trust me. You need this.”
“What did I tell you about conflating need and desire?”
She grins. Far too adorably. “Um… not to?”
With an admonishing glare, I pluck the offending specimen from her fingers, intent on pitching it straight into the gutter. It’s damp from her lips, glossed with a shimmering pink that matches her nail polish, and I remember that all-too-brief touch again, the round “o” of her mouth, her eyes as green as the forest and just as inviting, and suddenly, with neither precedent nor warning, I draw the joint to my lips.
I close my eyes, and a thought emerges from the depths.
It’s almost as if I’m kissing her…
Well, I’m committed now. No backing down without looking like an absolute wanker. I take a deep drag.
Too deep.Damnit.
“Pardon me,” I cough. “I haven’t… indulged in… in ages.”
“There’s your problem right there.” She takes it back and puffs away, making it look as natural as breathing. “Give it time. It’ll come back to you. Like riding a bike.”
She holds it out for another go, but I decline. One of us must keep our wits about us, and clearly she isn’t volunteering. She shrugs and continues to imbibe, finishing up just as we reach the shop.
A soft light glows from inside—open, it seems. Stretched out in the display case, a black cat waves its tail, leering at us.
The door chime announces our arrival, and I take moment to absorb our surroundings, grateful we’re the only patrons. It’s less a bookstore and more a museum, each towering shelf crammed with trinkets and statues and books.
Rows upon rows of glorious, well-loved books.
I relax.
“There you are,” comes the call, and a woman emerges from the stacks, green spectacles akimbo, hair in a wild bun, bracelets tinkling on her wrist. Her skirt is long, edged in tiny metal bells. Stealthy, she is not.
“I’ve been expecting you, Lizzy,” the woman says with a knowing smile. “Butyou…” She turns to me and narrows her eyes, scrutinizing me furiously. “Straight from the pit, eh? Didn’t waste any time.”
“Not by choice,” I reply, as if this might bolster my standing. “I was sent here by?—”
“The great and terrible Council,” she says with a mocking air. “I’m aware.”
