“Maybe you should stay the night,” I said to Trent. “If they put Bancroft in custody, they’ll probably lock you up just for fun.”
“I agree.” His voice was soft, and his eyes were on the sky. “Ah, I’m sure the couch will be more than adequate.”
My bed is softer, I thought, then pushed down the thought.
Jenks looked between me and Trent, his dust shifting to an odd silver pink. “We can do better than that. Wayde’s cot is still up in the belfry.”
“Belfry?” Trent loosened the cinch and pulled the saddle from Tulpa, pad and all.
“It’s surprisingly nice up there,” I said. “He fixed it up. Real windows . . . lock on the door.” Lock on the door? Had I really said lock on the door?
Trent turned with the saddle. “Capital. Thank you, Jenks. Can I use your phone? I should tell Quen where I am, and the towers are down.”
Again? Frustrated, I reached for Tulpa’s reins. “I’ll cool him off,” I offered, not wanting to go inside yet. My thoughts were churning. I had no right to be looking at Trent like that. None.
“You sure?” Trent asked, and I started back to the graveyard, horse in tow. The pixy kids were playing with Tulpa’s mane, and the patient horse was taking it well, making me wonder if Trent had a few pixies he didn’t know about in his stables.
“You’d better call Quen,” I said, almost walking into Ivy’s grill. “He and Ellasbeth are going to be worried sick.” A sudden thought stopped me, and I reached into a pocket. “Ah, here are the readings. They’ll probably want them, too.”
“Thank you.” Trent didn’t move as I extended the paper and he took it. He wanted to talk to me. I couldn’t do this, and I turned, pace fast as I led Tulpa deeper into the graveyard.
“My God, you stink,” Jenks said to Trent, his voice becoming faint. “I’ve got some clothes from when I was your size, but you’re going to have to shower before you put them on. I don’t want them ruined. You really smell.”
“Thanks, I’d appreciate that.”
Jaw clenched, I stopped in the darkest, most secluded spot in the graveyard. The daydream of Trent in my shower rose back up, and I quashed it. Pulling my borrowed jacket off, I began to wipe the sweat from Tulpa with it. Was it cowardice if there was no way?
My mind said no, but my heart said yes.
Fifteen
The sheets were light atop me, and I languorously stretched a foot down, jerking when it slipped out of its warm spot and into the cold. Feeling fuzzy headed, I looked at the sunlight on my ceiling. It was morning, or early afternoon, maybe. I could hear pixies past my stained-glass window propped open with a pencil. Rolling over, I looked at my clock. The radio was on in the kitchen. It was turned to the news. That was weird. Ivy never listened to the news in the morning.
Trent.
Heart thudding, I sat up. He was still here. Had to be. He wouldn’t just leave, would he?
I lurched out of bed. My blue robe wasn’t going to happen, and as the muted sounds of the announcer droned, I did the hop-scuff into a clean pair of jeans and slipped into a fresh camisole. My hair was a mess. There was no way I was going to go into the kitchen without a stop in the bathroom first; perfume didn’t cover morning breath. It was almost eleven. Trent had been up for hours.
Breath held, I cracked open the door. The smell of coffee dove deep into me, alluring.
“It’s God’s retaliation against the wicked,” a masculine voice said, his vehemence dulled by the radio speaker. “Cincinnati is being visited by God himself in the guise of a blood-borne virus. It will sweep away the undead and leave the clean!”
“That’s dumber than tits on a man,” Jenks said, and when Trent chuckled, I ran to the bathroom for the detangler. My bare feet were silent on the cold oak, and I winced when the door squeaked.
The radio dulled to nothing, and I stood just inside the bathroom, breathing in Trent’s wine and woods scent. There was a water glass on the sink, and one of the toothbrushes Ivy and I had bought for Jenks when he was human-size. The wrapper was in the trash can, and a set of towels, clearly used but folded up, were on top of the dryer.
Trying to be quiet, I got ready for the day. I’d seen Trent’s bathroom. It was bigger than my kitchen and had a closet of equal size attached. I was just finishing my teeth when Jenks slid in under the door, his dust a cheerful silver. “ ’Bout time you got up,” he said, hands in his pockets instead of on his hips as he hovered such that his reflection was easier to see than him.
“You mind?” I said, spitting in the sink. Trent’s glass was sitting there, and after hesitating, I used my hands to get some water as I always did. Yep. No social grace at all.
“Wow, I don’t think I’ve ever seen your hair like that before. You going retro eighties?”
Dismayed, I looked at the snarled, frizzy mess. “It’s called going to bed with your hair wet,” I said as I sprayed detangler and tried to comb it. I had a charm in the kitchen . . . but it was in the kitchen. Frustrated, I finally put it in a scrunchie and called it good. The man had seen me in sweats and in a hospital bed. I shouldn’t care. I don’t care.
“You should have Trent over more often,” Jenks said, his wings transparent with motion. “It’s nice talking with someone without having to wade through all that estrogen.”
“I’ll get you a puppy.” Trying for a cool attitude, I gave myself a last look, adjusted my camisole, and headed out. Jenks darted before me, his dust trailing behind like vanishing crumbs in the forest. Trent had his head in the fridge when I came in, and my heart gave a thump. My eyes went to the windowsill and his ring, still under the water glass with Al’s chrysalis. Crap, he probably already saw it. He’s going to know it’s important to me.
“Morning,” I said, arms swinging awkwardly, and he pulled himself up and out. He was wearing Jenks’s sweats from when he was human-size. And stubble. Whoa. The slight haze threw him into an entirely new category of yummy, and I stood there, blinking like an idiot as he rubbed his face, clearly knowing it had caught my attention.
“Morning,” he echoed, glancing at the clock to confirm it was still before noon. “Are you hungry?” He stood at the fridge, tugging at his sweats as if uncomfortable.
“She’s always hungry,” Jenks said. “You should see how this woman can eat!”
“Don’t you have something to do, Jenks?” I said, wondering what Trent would look like with a real beard. Stop it, Rachel.