For the thousandth time, she wished Dad hadn't run off.
"Do you like Declan?" she asked carefully.
"Yes."
"Why?" she asked.
"He's smart," Georgie said. "He knows a lot of things, and his magic is as good as yours. He said that his house has its own library, except you don't have to have a card to check the books out. You can just go and take one whenever you want."
Rose's heart clenched a little in her chest. "I see." She swallowed. Declan was working on the kids, more so than she had realized. He was working on her, too. She couldn't get him out of her head.
This would have to be phrased very carefully. Anything she said to George would find its way to Jack. She didn't want to destroy their fragile faith in the only cool guy they knew, and she definitely didn't want this situation to turn into "Big bad Rose drove the super-cool Declan away." But she didn't want to delude them either.
"We've had people from the Weird approach us before to get me to go away with them," she said, choosing her words as if she were walking a tightrope and the wrong one could pitch her to the side. "You probably don't remember because you were little."
"Like Declan?"
She doubted there was another Declan. The world wouldn't be able to stand more than one. "Not quite like him. A couple were retainers of the nobles and one was a lesser blueblood."
"What happened?"
"Well, the first retainer tried to bribe Dad and Grandpa with presents. And when he figured out he was wasting his time, he set our house on fire. He thought that if we had nothing left, I'd leave with him. That's why the wards are so far out from the house now and my bedroom has different walls. The second retainer had a lot of people with him, and they tried to blockade the house. Dad shot him in the head, and then they went away."
"What about the blueblood?"
Rose sighed. "Oh, he was a special kind of worm. He was very sweet and nice. And very handsome. He tried to 'court' me. He'd bow down, and recite poetry, and tell me I was beautiful. I almost believed him. And then the caravan from the Weird came into town and one of the traders, Yanice - you remember her, right?"
"She wears a veil," Georgie said.
"Yes. Yanice recognized him. He was a slaver and a wanted criminal. If I had gone with him, he would've auctioned me off like a cow. I wouldn't have a choice - I would be forced to go with whatever man bought me." She wouldn't have. She'd have fought to the end, and they would've had to kill her, but there was no need to frighten George.
"Declan isn't like that."
"We don't really know what Declan is like. All that we have to go on is what Declan tells us and how he acts. I know he seems like a cool guy." She fell silent, realizing she wanted very much to believe that he was a "cool guy." He seemed . . . it would be a shame if he turned out to be a scumbag. There was warmth underneath all that arrogance, and more, there was integrity. She sensed it very clearly. Declan had a moral code. She suspected that there were lines he wouldn't cross, but she didn't exactly know where those lines lay.
"We don't know what he'll be like once I agree to go with him," she said. "What if he takes me with him and leaves you here? He told Jack that he would take all of us with him, but really nothing would force him to keep his word. What if he does take us with him and then makes you into servants or drops you off at some orphanage?"
Or kills them and leaves their bodies on the side of the road. His promise not to harm expired once he won the challenges. Surely, he wouldn't. Not Declan. But again, she had no guarantees.
"Besides, if I go with Declan, I'll have to be his wife. And Declan doesn't love me."
"Why not?" George asked.
"Because I'm not a lady. I don't have good manners, I'm not educated, and I'm not demure and sweet. I say what I mean, and I'm not always nice. He probably thinks he can force me to be pleasant, but no matter what clothes I wear and how you mess with my hair, I'll still be me." Crude, vulgar, and disagreeable.
Rose sighed. "See, Declan is used to people obeying his orders. Back in the Weird, when he orders something, people fall over themselves to make it happen. I'm not like that. That's why we argue so much. We would drive each other insane, and if we fought, Declan would win. My magic is like a lightning strike. It's precise and contained, because I have good control. Declan's magic is like a hurricane. Terribly, terribly powerful. He blew the roof off Amy's house."
"Really?"
"Yes. His flash just exploded and killed a whole bunch of those hound beasts. Tore the roof right off."
She stopped herself. Last thing she needed was a new way to feed Georgie's hero worship. "Bottom line: we can't trust Declan. He's very strong, and we don't want to be at his mercy."
If she were born into a good Weird family, it might have been different, Rose thought, guiding the truck up to Grandma's house. She might have had tutors and clothes. Of natural colors. She would have been witty and carefree, and then Declan might have thought she was the coolest thing since sliced bread. He might have tried to win her. Now that would be an interesting exercise: the arrogant, icy, monstrously powerful Declan bowing and asking her to dance or making polite small talk with Grandma in French before asking for permission to take Rose for a stroll in the park. Oh, that would be hilarious.
She killed the smile that stretched her lips and let the fantasy die. Living in a dream never did her any good. She would never be a lady. She was born an Edger mongrel. Good for - how had he put it? - a carte blanche, but little else.
Yesterday when he stepped close to her and she looked into his eyes, she realized he wanted her. Not just her, the white-flashing-freak, but her as a woman. It wasn't a calculated move like that stare he had given her before. It was a completely spontaneous and honest declaration of attraction, and it was completely devastating. She had thought about it all evening, and then half of the night, and now again, she was thinking about it and couldn't let it go. The idea of being in Declan's bed filled her with a kind of happy terror. It wasn't an altogether unpleasant feeling, and she was furious with herself for it.
He was so out of place in her house that Rose never expected him, and when she ran into him while straightening up or cooking, her heart did a little skip. That skip was dangerous. Watching him, talking to him, was dangerous. She had been fooled before, and she couldn't afford to be fooled again. She needed to get her head on straight.
When she allowed herself to dream, being the object of a blueblood's lust didn't enter her fantasies. No, she dreamt of a regular guy, a nice guy with a steady job, someone who'd love her as much as she loved him and take care of her just like she would take care of him. Someone like William. Except her heart didn't make those little jumps when she saw William.