“That’s . . . probably a good idea,” he said, swaying as she tucked the dusty box under her other arm and they headed to the door. “You really went to school with him?”
Trisk held the door with her foot as she eased him into the hallway. The charm paraphernalia was under her arm, and she resolved to bury it in a corner of the barn, never to call Algaliarept again. She didn’t like the demon’s opinion of what scared her. “Unfortunately, I did,” she said as she checked to see that the door locked behind them. “I’ll tell you how he cheated off my third grade spelling test over dessert.”
“Sounds great.” Daniel hesitated. “You’ve known him since the third grade?”
But she didn’t answer as all the ugliness returned: the hidden barbs, slights, indignities that were easier to swallow than do anything about. The question of what was going to happen was still out there, but one thing was clear. She’d spent the last three years being treated as an equal. She couldn’t go back to living and working among her brethren, the better computers and working environments aside. She wouldn’t.
7
“I held my nose. I closed my eyes . . . I took a drink.”
The peppy music wedged itself between Daniel’s disjointed dream and his awareness, pulling him awake. His head hurt, but that was nothing to his gut, threatening to rebel when he shifted and the afghan over him slipped to the floor. “Love potion number nine,” the soulful man sang, and Daniel groaned as he sat up, his elbows on his knees and head in his hand. Whiskey? What had he been thinking?
With a click, the music cut off. It cracked through Daniel’s head like a shot, and he sent his gaze about the room, trying to remember having seen it last night. Nothing seemed familiar apart from the few aboriginal knickknacks on the mantel over the huge fireplace, which still held smoldering coals. Behind him was an entire wall of books—the hardcovers mingling with the paperbacks in a joyous chaos that set his teeth on edge. Wide floor-to-ceiling windows looked out onto gently rolling hills, yellow with sunrise and a thin strip of fog glowing just over the earth.
He was on a square-cornered, stiff-fabric couch. Two equally uncomfortable-looking chairs sat at either end of the coffee table pressing into his shins. A lighted globe sat on the tidy desk, which was angled to take advantage of the view. It felt more like the lobby of a resort than a private residence, but he hadn’t seen anyone, and most hotels frowned on their guests sleeping one off in the lobby. Still, he appreciated the earthy and subdued colors. Even the soft light coming in seemed dappled, though the only trees he saw past the huge windows were rows and rows of sapling sticks.
“Never again,” he moaned softly, then turned his head, squinting at the square of brighter light coming in from a kitchen. It looked as if it had recently been remodeled, one wall brightly wallpapered with an orange-and-black pattern that somehow went with the original stone-slab floor and varnished-wood cabinets. Where am I? he thought as he pulled the knitted afghan off the floor and tried to fold it.
But he froze when Trisk’s silhouette moved between him and the smaller kitchen window. Oh God. Trisk, he thought, the sight of her and the soft clinks as she arranged something on a tray overwhelmingly domestic and soothing. Wisps of the night came reluctantly back: her awkward help getting him to the parking lot, their almost one-sided conversation in her car, her distant, almost preoccupied admission that an old friend had taken a job with Saladan Industries and Farms. To work with her?
Adrenaline woke him up fast as Daniel searched for his shoes, not finding them. He ran a hand over his stubbled cheeks, then fumbled to straighten his tie only to realize it was missing, too. And then she drove me to her house, he thought, when Trisk turned, tray in hand. Maybe she’d reconsidered and wanted to change their relationship.
“Good morning,” she said cheerfully, her low voice blessedly soft, and he stared as she came down the single step and into the sunken living room. The sun glowing through her hair was amazing, until she passed out of the beam and it was gone. “How are you doing?”
“Trisk,” he said, wincing at how rough his voice was. God help me, this is not how I wanted to do this. “I haven’t woken up on a strange couch in a house I didn’t recognize since my undergrad.” He hesitated, embarrassment making him squint. She was absolutely gorgeous in a casual halter top and wide-bottomed jeans, nothing like her usual self. Not that her usual self wasn’t gorgeous, too. “Ah, sorry about last night. I must have been a real ass.” But I wouldn’t know, seeing as I was stone-cold drunk. Almost his entire night was gone. He would’ve sworn he hadn’t had that much to drink.
Trisk set the tray down, the slight scrape it made going right through his head. “You were a complete gentleman. Fell asleep before the pasta was cooked.”