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But after a moment, I see all the things that make this room clearly Axe’s. The bookcase tucked in the corner, piled high with textbooks and actual paper. The clothes over the back of the chair, not simply thrown over it but placed there so as not to wrinkle. Plus, the giant brass axe hung over the headboard.
I enter the room, needing a better look at the monstrosity. It’s at least as tall as I am, hung horizontally. The handle is embellished with sparkling jewels, also the same shades of the room—browns and ambers and gray-blues.
It makes sense he’d be organized and book smart. He’s meant to take over as leader of the Syndicate. He’d want to be well-prepared for the role. It also makes sense he’d have a giant physical manifestation of his name and ego hanging over his bed.
I venture into his bathroom, expecting a copy of mine. It is, minus the hot spring tub. There are no clothes on the floor, no personal care items uncapped or out of place. Of the different bottles aligned on the counter, one catches my eye. A black bottle that looks like it could be cologne. The etched and faceted bottle calls to me, begging me to pick it up and…
Sniff it.
Why? I don’t know, but my brain likes to make mesayall kinds of weird things, so this isn’t that far out of my norm.
Carefully, I pick up the glass bottle and uncap it. I bring it to my nose and give it a little sniff.
I’ve read that scent is the sense most closely linked to memory and emotion. That smelling a familiar or nostalgic aroma can transport you back to that place, that time.
And while the arrangement of scent notes in this bottle is new to me, I am transported.
My vision tunnels as my pupils dilate faster than my brain can process. I grip the side of the counter as my head grows too large. Like a balloon, only fuzzy at the edges.
Not unpleasant.
More like I might float away.
The combination of smoky embers, warm amber, and spicy notes I’ve never experienced before, makes me dizzy with euphoria.
And suddenly the only thing I want in all the seven realms is to be close to Axe. To put my nose to his neck and smell him. Wrap myself around him and…
I shake that thought out of my head and put the bottle down.
That was weird.
I’m still a little lightheaded as I get the hell out of Axe’s room and head to the next.
Enzo’s. Again, it’s not locked or spelled or warded against me. The moment I open the door, I immediately regret it.
I slam the door shut and back away.
Nope. I didn’t see a thing.
Here’s hoping that image isn’t permanently burned in my brain.
The next room is mine, so I move along to the one after. Bastian’s.
I hesitate at the door, gun-shy after seeing Enzo’s unprepared.
But I don’t have anything else to do, and more information is better, so I convince myself there’s no way it’s worse than Enzo’s den of debauchery.
I push the door open, muscles coiled tight like I might need to run.
But there’s no need. Bastian isn’t Enzo, and his room is just a room.
The space is opposite to mine as far as the furniture goes, but identical in every other way, including the lack of personal items on display.
And that strikes me as odd.
Why would the bulky, tattooed demon not have a single personal item in the room he sleeps in? Not a book or a collection of watches. No decor. Nothing showing that Bastian has a personality.
His bathroom is the same. Empty counters with a single bar of soap. The shower has another bar of soap and shampoo, nothing more.
