Page 65 of The Exquisite Torment of Loving Your Enemy

Osric had a sneaky glance at her notes to see whether these ideas involved further sex, but they consisted of words likeimmunohistochemical, and honestly, it was no wonder she had a headache.

Had she entirely forgotten what they’d got up to last night? Tragic.

Osric’s tacn tingled suddenly with a zingy, snappy sort of seith. It was Sacramore’s deofol asking for permission to materialise. Osric went onto the balcony, drawing both curtain and door closed behind him.

Sacramore’s deofol was a secretary bird composed largely of eyelashes and impatience. Her head plumes bristled in annoyance at Osric as she took shape.

“Where were you last night?” she asked. “You missed the meeting.”

“I had other business to attend to.” Osric did not specify that the business involved sex that meant nothing and was, incidentally, going to supply his wank bank for the rest of his life.

Sacramore’s deofol took in her surroundings: the sunlit lake, the early walkers milling about on the promenade below. “Business? It looks like you’re on holiday.”

“What does Sacramore want?”

“We’re moving headquarters, which you would know if you’d attended the meeting. Sacramore has identified locations that need to be scouted. You’ve been partnered with Leofric.”

“I don’t need a partner.”

“Consider it punishment for not being there to argue for yourself.”

“What’s the location?”

“Leofric will brief you. Enjoy the rest of yourbusiness,” said the deofol, and she disappeared in a cloud of feathers and bad temper.

When he returned indoors, Osric found Fairhrim packing up. He wanted to talk about his cock, she wanted to talk about logistics, so they compromised and talked about logistics.

“I’m going back to Swanstone,” she said. “I shall send my deofol when I’ve worked out what clinic we can go to, to get a diffractor reading. It’ll be a pain to schedule again.”

“What about now?”

“What do you mean, now? We can’t just barge into a clinic.”

“I happen to have a diffractor at Rosefell Hall.”

Fairhrim blinked. “What?”

“I stole it from the last clinic.”

“Ibegyour pardon?”

“We need it,” said Osric. “The clinics are too difficult to get into at the moment. Also, it was an act of revenge, for freezing me and pushing me into a wardrobe.”

“You stole a diffractor?” Fairhrim’s head fell into her hands. “You need to return it.”

“As soon as we’re done with it,” said Osric.

Fairhrim did not look impressed. She also did not have the energy to fight him. She rubbed shadow-ringed eyes. “Let’s go to Rosefell, then. And you’re to return the diffractor the moment we no longer need it. I can’t believe you did that—that is a highly specialised, expensive piece of equipment. Someone’s going to notice…”

They packed their things. Osric’s errant cock was tucked back into decency, unnoticed. Fairhrim wore another lovely holidaying dress, in a soft peach, which clashed beautifully with her sickly countenance.

They were conveyed to the waystone in one of the hotel’s carriages, whose side-to-side nautical action only served to make Fairhrim sicker.

When they disembarked, Fairhrim swallowed at the sight of the waystone and asked weakly, “Must we go by ley line?”

“How else do you want to get to Rosefell?” asked Osric.

“Crawl,” said Fairhrim. “Drag myself there using only my teeth.”