Page 53 of Jinxes and Drumsticks

She swats a hand out at me and I evade it, laughing harder because somehow the violence makes her look like an angry cute gecko. She’s like an adorable cartoon. She keeps trying to get me, but I think the thick glasses are messing with her depth perception.

She gives up and rolls over, closing her eyes, and the hand holding the tiny book drapes over her forehead. “Eugh—it’s making me dizzy,” she mumbles. “They were Nan’s glasses. This book is typeset like the fine print on a poster or something. I can barely see it without something magnifying it.”

She slips the glasses off and folds them along with the tiny leather-bound book. She opens her nightstand drawer and drops both items into it. I know better than to ask about what the book is about. Well, I know better than to ask and expect her to give a straight-forward answer, anyway.

I climb into bed with her as she rolls back over, gathering her up in my arms and tipping onto my back so that she’s half-perched on top of me. She smiles as she presses a kiss to my lips. She produces a small tin from somewhere and sets it on my chest.

“Behold. Magic ChapStick,” she says with a proud smile.

I pick up the tin and open it over the top of her head. It’s a milky white color and smells fucking incredible. More of that herbaceous quality I’ve really come to associate with her.

“Put some on me,” I tell her, setting it down on my chest, right in front of her.

She smiles as she settles in properly on top of me, her body slotting easily between my legs. She wiggles a little closer, warming the salve with a press and swirl of her fingertips. I try not to think about her making that same motion between her legs as she focuses intently on my mouth. The edge of her sharpened nail drags on my lip as she applies the salve.

The dry soreness immediately calms down, leaving a cooling tingle behind. I press my lips together, distributing it a little more evenly. “How does it look?” I ask.

She snorts a laugh. “It’s sheer. It doesn’t look like anything.”

“Damn. You’re telling me this isn’t plumping gloss? I thought you were magical,” I say.

“Careful what you ask for—I’d love more surface area for biting,” she threatens.

“Such a sadistic little bird you are.” I tuck her hair behind her ears. She smiles warmly as she lays her head down on my chest and snuggles in. I close the tin of salve and set it over on her nightstand before wrapping my arms tighter around her.

“I missed you,” she says quietly as her weight sinks comfortingly against me. I think about asking her about the whole Daniel Hawthorne thing, but decide not to. Now that she’s in my arms, I don’t want to ruin the mood. Especially when I’ve been missing her, too. I do broach a different subject, though.

“So... Bastion Bramblethorn,” I say against her hair. “Interesting name. He sounds like a character in a Sondheim musical.”

She snorts and cackles. “Oh my god, why is that so true?” she asks before she sobers a bit. “I’m really sorry about the awkwardness with him, by the way. He’s mostly just a friend at this point.”

I put my hands up in a surrendering gesture. “You don’t have to explain anything to me, sweetheart. It’s not like you didn’t have a life before I rolled into town. I’m not owed anything. He seemed kind of arrogant but nice enough.”

“He’s definitely arrogant. But yes, he’s capable of being nice once in a while,” she says. “I’ve known him since we were both four years old.”

Something about that sits uncomfortably in my gut. For some reason, it would be more reassuring if he was just some random fuckboy she slept with once in a while. Maybe he’s not the interloper at all. Maybe I’m the one who’s the interloper.

I try to put that concern to rest, though. I’m the one she’s curled up with tonight, not Bastion Buttfuckwit or whatever. Besides, she seemed like she couldn’t be rid of him fast enough. I try to let that be a comfort.

“You alright?” she asks. “You seem a little off.”

Damn. The world’s most readable face strikes again.

“Tired,” I say as I run my fingers through her hair.

“Would you like to take a little nap while I make us some dinner?”

“And what is the dish du jour?” I ask. “I thought I was supposed to help you.”

She shrugs. “I like cooking for people. And if you need rest I want you to get it. Besides, if you’re going to practice more Tarot, you’ve got to have a clear head.”

I press my lips. “You sure? I’m not trying to turn you into a bangmaid or something.”

She snorts and kisses me again, her lips clinging to mine just a bit as she pulls away thanks to the salve she’s made us. “I think that requires banging,” she says.

“Lillith,” I groan, feeling guilty.

“I’m kidding! I don’t mind. And I don’t feel like a bangmaid. I feel like I really missed you and am excited to take care of you. Get some rest.”