Waving, I catch his attention. I point to the box in my hands, and then to the small window at the other end of the wooden beam.
Lincoln nods slightly and stifles laughter, his cheeks still full of wine. He tries to swallow his gulp and starts coughing instead.
Avery rushes to his side. “Are you alright, your Highness?”
Lincoln clears his throat. “I’m fine, thank you.”
“Was there something in the rafters that bothered you?” She tilts her head upwards. I freeze.
Crap, I’m going to get caught.
He grabs Avery’s hand. “No.” Her attention locks on his face. “There’s a question I’ve been meaning to ask you, um, Avery.”
Avery’s already-large eyes open wider. “Oh, my. Whatever you want, your Highness.”
“How are you…” He bites his lips together.
“Yes? Yes?”
“Enjoying…Your dinner?”
“Oh, it’s very good, your Highness. I always like brisket.”
“Well, okay then.” He releases her hands and nods gravely.
Grinning ear to ear, I open my little case of Reperio demons.
Here it comes.
The nasty little buggers skitter across the ceiling beams and down the walls. The tiny paper men hop onto the feasting tables, kicking over wine glasses and stomping through brisket. The pencil-ladies twist the silverware into little lewd sculptures.
The thrax go completely berserk. No one brought weapons and everyone’s sworn to fight demons, even though Reperio are more mischief than danger. There’s a lot of fork chucking and potato-throwing.
I quickly scoot across the beam, jump out the opposite window and land outside the hall. Lincoln easily slips out the door in the confusion. I grab his hand and run for it. His grip is warm and firm, sending prickles of excitement through me. We reach the stables and pause.
I laugh so hard, I wrap my arms over my stomach so I don’t fall over. “Did you see the look on Adair’s face?”
“Adair? I was watching the Earl of Acca. I think he was going to cry.”
“Do you need to go back and help?”
“Absolutely not. I’ve been sprung. Is there a part two for this plan?” His brows raise and that warmth curls back into my belly with a vengeance.
“Of course.” I gesture to Nightshade and Bastion, all saddled and ready to ride. “We’re going to break into the Ryder botanical gardens.” There’s a pause where Lincoln’s face is unreadable, then his mouth winds into a smile.
“Nice.”
We gallop over the darkened countryside to a great greenhouse that’s three stories tall and made entirely of glass. A huge tree pops through the building’s ceiling, ending in a massive canopy of leaves.
“Here we are.” I slide off Nightshade and try the door. It’s locked.
I frown. “Well, I should’ve seen that coming.”
Lincoln turns to Nightshade “Do you mind helping us out, girl?”
The horse whinnies and the doorknob disappears. That’s right; I forgot Nightshade does magic.
I push open the door and step inside. Moonlight glints off the trees, vines and shrubbery that line the greenhouse floor. My mouth winds with a satisfied grin. This place is closed to the public, so, of course, I’ve wanted to break in for ages. I steal a glance at Lincoln; my heart kicks. It’s nice to have a partner in crime. Tiptoeing around the greenery, I lead him toward the massive tree at the building’s center, all the while thinking how we’re alone, it’s dark, and he looks mighty handsome in the moonlight. My heart rate goes through the roof.
“And here we are.” I bow slightly. “The very rare and beautiful Tumtum tree.” Reaching out, I brush my hands down the old tree’s gnarled bark, feeling the life and energy under its skin. “You only find them in Purgatory.”
Lincoln nudges me with his elbow. “You’re trouble, Myla Lewis.” He leans forward, his mouth curling into a snarky grin that turns my insides into goo.
My eyes narrow. I’m not gooey enough to let that comment slide, however.
Stepping back, I fold my arms across my chest and slap on a look of righteous indignation. “I am not trouble. We’re here on a mission of mercy.”
“Really now?”
I point to a white sign nailed to the center of the trunk. “See? This poor thing has a huge ‘do not climb me’ sign, and that’s just not right. If anything ever screamed ‘climb me now,’ it’s this particular tree.”
Lincoln leans back on his heel. “You have a point.”
“Of course, I do.” I grip the knobby trunk and start to climb. Lincoln scales the opposite side.
I swing myself so I balance standing on a horizontal branch. “First one to touch the ceiling wins.”
Lincoln finds a new toehold in the bark and scales upwards. “You’re on.”