Page 23 of Bound By the Sleeper’s Harp

I finished before him, so I rushed to take my plate to the sink and rinse it. “Just leave it,” he grumbled, placing a hand on my arm to stop me from standing. “I’ll get it later.”

“Oh, okay. Sure.” I felt compelled to do the dishes since he’d cooked. Even though with Luke, he’d always wanted me to both cook and do the dishes.

I refilled my coffee cup before refilling his. He drank his coffee black. Big surprise. It needed to match his soul and all that.

He waited until I sat back down, then said, “After you’re ready, I’d like to head over to Professor Miller’s house.”

I jerked toward him. “After I’m ready? Me?”

“You.” He dragged a forkful of pancakes—his last bite—through the remaining syrup pooled on his plate. I watched as he shoved it into his mouth. His jaw worked as he chewed. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. I didn’t bother hiding my fascination.

“I want to see if you notice anything amiss. You’ve been to her house before, no?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, years ago. But yeah.”

“Good. Authorities don’t know what all was taken—if anything. But I would not be surprised if something was missing.”

“Hmm…” I contemplated.

“All the usual valuable stuff was still there. Desktop computer, laptop, televisions, all that. But there could be other stuff missing.”

“I suppose,” I hedged. “What about…after?”

“What do you mean, after?”

“After we finish up there. You’ll take me home?”

His expression remained unchanged, but his eyes darkened until they were solid black. Then his skin began to change, to turn gray. As if his glamor was weakening. An instant later, he was back to normal—human looking.

“I’ll take you home afterward,” he decided. “But… I’d like to make a deal with you.”

My skin prickled. “A deal…”

Wasn’t there some sort of thing against this? Something where you shouldn’t make deals with goblins? Or supernaturals in general? There was probably a fairytale, or ten, that advised against it.

“I would like your assistance on this case. Think of it as… an advisory role. In exchange, I’ll give you ten percent of the profit.”

I gaped at him. “You're joking, right? Why would you need my help? You're the professional here.”

He held his silence a beat too long, like it pained him to voice the next words. “I'm good at tracking people, sugar, not solving academic mysteries. You knew Professor Miller’s world, what she valued, who she worked with. I need that insight. I need someone who can spot what I'm missing.”

Ignoring the way his words created a burst of excited pride in my chest, I said, “And you think that’s me?”

“I do.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “Guess the question is, do you want to help catch Miller's murderer, or not?'"

I gave myself a moment to consider before sitting up straighter. In for a penny, in for a pound. “I deserve thirty percent, at the very least.”

He stared at me, those green eyes calculating. “Thirty percent,” he agreed slowly. “But you start now. And, sugar?” His voice dropped low. “You're mine for the duration of this case. No backing out.”

The way he said 'mine' sent heat pooling low in my belly. When it shouldn’t have. Especially if we were about to be working together.

9

Eleanor hesitated outside of Professor Miller’s house. The entire place was done up with caution tape. Bastian had received clearance to inspect the premises. He’d done so several times already. On his own, it was unlikely he’d discover anything new, but with Eleanor? He was hoping she’d bring fresh insight.

He gently prodded her between her shoulder blades. She threw him a glare, then walked up to the porch. She was still wearing his damned T-shirt, tied in a knot at her waist. She’d paired it with her pants from the night before.

Seeing her in his clothes did things to him he didn't want to examine. Especially the way she’d looked coming into the kitchen this morning. Bare legs on display.