Iverson grimaces, his disgust a palpable presence in the lines of his frown, as I take a modest three from the presented stack.
Birch scowls, the expression foreign on his sweet, sweet face. He adds the remaining seven to my stack with a great heft.
“Birch,” I murmur, tenderly.
“You’re hungry,” he says, mouth set.
“I need a reason to visit more often.”
He softens, sniffs, and takes eight away.
The reasons I love Birch grow ever larger. Turning to my less friendly brother, I beam. “Well, I’ve obtained what I came for. So.”
“So,” Ivy repeats, nose wrinkled at my dinners for the next few days. “Why don’t you take your poison back to your would-be assassin? Revenge and the removal of offending vegetables from my presence. Everyone wins.”
“Poison.” I hum, thoughtful as I twist on my heel to begin the trek out of the kitchen. “An excellent idea. Forafterthe attempted stabbing.” Perhaps I’ll let “Junction” supply Azalea with poison, then maybe I could coax her into cooking with me.
“Attempted stabbing?” Birch gasps.
“The poison is forher,” Iverson snaps, exasperated.
I laugh, because wouldn’t that be lovely? I’m certain sharing poison is somewhere near strangulation on the romantic spectrum.
Birch wheezes distress as I bid my goodbyes, exit the kitchen, stray up the hall, and find myself stepping into a warm and cloudy night. Beyond the thick clouds, a waxing crescent moon hangs low in the sky, shedding wisps of light across the ivy-scattered walls of my brother’s home.
Letting my eyes close, I breathe in the warmth, feeling the chill of my frozen dinner against the palm of my hand.
Today was…good.
Very good.
I can hardly wait to see where the rest of this game takes us.
Chapter Twelve
?
I shouldn’t hear boss music this early…
Azalea
I didn’t mess everything up. According to what I could decode from Junction’s awful text language when I checked my burner phone last night,something came up.
Something came up.
Junction made me go an hour away for two days with someone I hate and didn’t eventryto accomplish a murder.
I’m pissed, but I do wonder if it’s refreshing to be angry at someone whoisn’tMalcolm for a change. There’s a lack of depth to this anger that allows me to keep breathing, which I appreciate. This anger is background noise. A feeling I can feel without ruining my life. It’s notpleasant, but it’s not all-consuming.
I can stand here in Malcolm’s office and let it simmer without being in physical pain.
“Cello,” Malcolm murmurs, thumb caressing his lip. “A single haunting cello.” His eyes cut off his computer, to me. “I think that’s what I’d like for Ivy’s Flag Day ball’s music.”
I take note. “Understood, sir.”
Malcolm’s brows dip, disapproval as rampant on his face as it might be on a neglected puppy’s. “Please call mecrow, sweet dove. We’re a couple, aren’t we? In the budding stages of love?”
The shudder that rocks my core isn’t paying me any kindnesses, but I can’t exactly argue. Wearea couple. Afterwhat I did, and with the proof of it beneath the slim black scarf around Malcolm’s neck right this second, weneedto be a couple. A freaky, weird couple. The kind of couple others don’t understand.
