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“Good to know. I had Josephine patrol the woods around the club, but she saw no sign of them. Did Anna finally tell you the real story?”
“No, she doesn’t trust me.”
Sian waved from the kitchen doorway. “Tea is ready.”
Kane turned his scowl to the visitor.
“He’s harmless,” I whispered. It was as close as I could get to telling Kane he had nothing to worry about. Anything more would be admitting too much. I said glacial, and I meant it, no matter what my hormones demanded.
Tea was an awkward affair. Kane seemed poised to leap over the table at any moment and throttle the fae. Sian appeared oblivious to the tension, which was for the best. He asked questions about Fairhaven, and I showed him the book from the library.
He paged through it as we finished our tea. “The author thinks we are an extinct race that integrated with humans.” He closed the book. “I would not rely on an unreliable source to find my sister.”
“I have someone I think can help,” Kane said.
Sian’s face sparked with hope. “Shall I call upon them?”
“You’re better off staying here,” Kane advised.
I straightened in my chair. “Really?” The prince of hell seemed to have changed his tune.
“Less chance of him getting hurt or drawing attention to himself.”
“True,” I said. “Those cheekbones are hard to miss.”
Sian touched his face. “I do have very fine features.”
“If you need to find anything while I’m out, ask Ray and Nana Pratt. You won’t hear them, but they’ll hear you.”
“I would like to make a start on my woodworking.”
“I’ll ask Ray to leave the tools at the bottom of the stairs.”
Sian’s cup stopped halfway to his mouth. “Your ghosts can move physical objects?”
“They’re learning. Ray is ahead of Nana Pratt, but she’s improving every day.”
Sian took a careful sip of tea and placed the cup back on the table. “Do you have wood for the frame?”
“No, but Kane and I can stop at the hardware store on our way back here and bring you whatever you need.”
“One that is dense and durable. Oak, maple, walnut, mahogany. I shall make a start on measurements.”
I glanced at Kane. “You won’t be able to fit the wood in your car. We’ll have to take Gary.”
Kane shifted uncomfortably. “I’m sure we can manage with the car.”
I laughed. “You really hate my truck, don’t you?”
“You named it Gary. Seems to me you don’t like it very much either.”
I sucked in a breath. “Bite your tongue, Kane Sullivan. Gary is reliable and…” I struggled to dig up any more compliments. “Clean,” I finished.
“I’ve seen cleaner trucks at the scrapyard.” He stood and walked his empty cup to the sink. “We should go now if we expect to fit in a trip to Hewitt’s afterward.”
I bit the inside of my cheek to refrain from laughing. Kane and I sounded like an old married couple making plans on a lazy Sunday. Sadly, I didn’t envision that life for either of us. We were both trying to build our lives with broken pieces of ourselves. Like my third-grade ceramics class, it seemed the only possible outcome was an ugly mess.
CHAPTER 8
