Page 42 of The Never Queen

I make a face at Vane.

“What?” he says as if he does not already know.

“In case you’ve forgotten, we’re being hunted by Witch Killers.”

“And?” He takes the chair on the other side of me.

“And we put them in harm’s way by going over there.”

“They look like they could use some excitement in their very boring mortal lives.”

“I’m not sure they’d agree with a Witch Killer knife in their back.”

Vane laughs. The cigarette disappears. We both stare out at the empty street.

“You fuck that one?” he asks after a minute and my belly soars.

“Why, are you jealous?”

There was a time, not that long ago, when the thought of Vane being jealous of anyone having anything to do with me would have sent me sailing straight to the moon. I was so desperate for his attention. I would have taken anything. Jealousy. Cruelty. Even contempt. But I’m more mature about it now. Just barely though.

“Jealous of that little shit? No,” he says and I frown, disappointed.

The connection between us hums and Vane adds, “But I will make sure he knows who you belong to now.”

A flush of warmth. I smile.

“Stop being so pleased with yourself,” he says and looks away, but I catch a hint of laughter in his voice and the connection reignites, flush with warmth.

Some of the chill of the morning subsides and the goosebumps on my arms fade, and I close my eyes to savor it. Every little drop.

20

BASH

I stare into the giant pantry of the Victorian’s kitchen and frown at the empty shelves.

“Whose job was it to go grocery shopping?” I ask.

Behind me, Darling crunches into a chip. “I think it was yours.”

“Impossible. I don’t grocery shop.”

We have coffee, sugar, chips, a few beef sticks, and enough liquor to sanitize an army. But not a single bag of flour or a grain in sight.

My stomach growls, gnawing at me from the inside out. This is the problem with having multiple houses in two different realms. One is always going to be better stocked than the other.

“Have a chip,” Darling says when I turn back to her. She’s sitting cross-legged on the long worktable, the bag of chips open in her lap. Half of them are gone.

I dig inside and pull out a handful, leaning into the table beside her. “How am I going to feed you if I don’t have the most basic ingredients?”

“Send Kas.”

From the other room, my brother says, “No.”

I roll my eyes. “You love the old ladies at the grocery store, though!”

“I do not!”