whole scene was a painting of kestrels, six of them flying in a background so black it reminded me of the maw of a ravenous monster.
The painting looked less ominous when Cole joined Bergman and Monique beneath it, wiggling his butt between theirs, his easy grin making even Bergman’s shoulders relax enough that I was fairly certain the blades weren’t meeting at his spine anymore. He stil kept picking nervously at his jeans, a new pair without the rips or bleach stains that made him happiest. He’d stepped even farther out of his comfort zone by changing from his typical pul over to a shirt in gray and white plaid with only one missing button near the tuck, which Monique probably thought was cute. Maybe she even liked the pocket protector, which contained a pen in each color, a tire gauge, and a calculator that folded to the size of a paper clip.
But she might as wel give up hoping that he wasn’t so distracted by his dress-up clothes that he’d notice her wardrobe change. Instead of the white dress with lavender flowers she’d worn al day, she’d chosen a low-cut strappy number with an ivory background covered in amber vines.
Faceted amber gems surrounded by black beads dangled from her ears, and the same gems sparkled along the straps of her sandals. The whole outfit complemented her smooth skin and silky black hair, which Kyphas seemed more interested in than Bergman. Probably because Cole had just taken the time to tel her how pretty she looked before nudging Bergman, hard, with his elbow.
“Uh, yeah, you look great,” Miles agreed. He pul ed at his col ar.
When the silence got awkward Monique stepped in. “I think Kyphas looks lovely as wel , don’t you, Cole?” As Cole murmured an agreement, she turned to the demon. “Where in the world did you get that lovely dress? I have never seen such a pattern!”
I hadn’t either. She’d worn a little black number with bel -shaped sleeves and a scoop neck. Splashed onto that background were huge white flowers. At least that’s what they looked like at first. But if you let your eyes go blurry the flowers began to resemble skul s.
Kyphas said, “My mother’s a designer. She put it together for me.”
Vayl said, “I thought your mother was a scul ery maid.” Oh. Shit.
He stood near the edge of the room like the shy kid who knows he doesn’t belong and has no idea how to make it better. As if the warmth of the room didn’t affect him, he stil wore his duster over a white silk shirt tucked into black trousers. Where he’d found suspenders to replace his belt I had no clue, but they suited him, as did the walking stick he’d picked up in the Djemaa el Fna.
Unfortunately his view on us didn’t fit nearly as wel .
After a brief, strained silence, Cole was the first to recover.
He laughed and said, “Oh, you know how it is, sir.
Daughters say a lot of things when they’re angry. Monique!
Should we light the birthday candles?”
Huge uproar as we al loudly agreed that we should start a smal , control ed fire. I kept my eye on Vayl as Monique went to the cake, which she’d set on the coffee table closest to the wal . He got over our weirdness with astounding speed, but that may have been due to the fact that he’d found a better area for his focus. The confection fascinated him. And why not? Vayl had probably never seen a dessert quite so… loud… in 1777.
Three layers of chocolaty roundness covered in hot-pink icing and silver sprinkles, my cake was decorated with silver and neon-blue flourishes shaped like banana peppers. In the middle the baker had written Joyeux Anniversaire! in big blue letters. My enhanced vision, an ability I’d developed the first time I’d donated blood to Vayl, usual y added extra colors to the mix. In this case it caused the red and silver dots of icing between the peppers to glow. Like they were radioactive. I started to grin.
“This has to be the most obnoxious birthday cake anyone has ever gotten for me.” I
The painting looked less ominous when Cole joined Bergman and Monique beneath it, wiggling his butt between theirs, his easy grin making even Bergman’s shoulders relax enough that I was fairly certain the blades weren’t meeting at his spine anymore. He stil kept picking nervously at his jeans, a new pair without the rips or bleach stains that made him happiest. He’d stepped even farther out of his comfort zone by changing from his typical pul over to a shirt in gray and white plaid with only one missing button near the tuck, which Monique probably thought was cute. Maybe she even liked the pocket protector, which contained a pen in each color, a tire gauge, and a calculator that folded to the size of a paper clip.
But she might as wel give up hoping that he wasn’t so distracted by his dress-up clothes that he’d notice her wardrobe change. Instead of the white dress with lavender flowers she’d worn al day, she’d chosen a low-cut strappy number with an ivory background covered in amber vines.
Faceted amber gems surrounded by black beads dangled from her ears, and the same gems sparkled along the straps of her sandals. The whole outfit complemented her smooth skin and silky black hair, which Kyphas seemed more interested in than Bergman. Probably because Cole had just taken the time to tel her how pretty she looked before nudging Bergman, hard, with his elbow.
“Uh, yeah, you look great,” Miles agreed. He pul ed at his col ar.
When the silence got awkward Monique stepped in. “I think Kyphas looks lovely as wel , don’t you, Cole?” As Cole murmured an agreement, she turned to the demon. “Where in the world did you get that lovely dress? I have never seen such a pattern!”
I hadn’t either. She’d worn a little black number with bel -shaped sleeves and a scoop neck. Splashed onto that background were huge white flowers. At least that’s what they looked like at first. But if you let your eyes go blurry the flowers began to resemble skul s.
Kyphas said, “My mother’s a designer. She put it together for me.”
Vayl said, “I thought your mother was a scul ery maid.” Oh. Shit.
He stood near the edge of the room like the shy kid who knows he doesn’t belong and has no idea how to make it better. As if the warmth of the room didn’t affect him, he stil wore his duster over a white silk shirt tucked into black trousers. Where he’d found suspenders to replace his belt I had no clue, but they suited him, as did the walking stick he’d picked up in the Djemaa el Fna.
Unfortunately his view on us didn’t fit nearly as wel .
After a brief, strained silence, Cole was the first to recover.
He laughed and said, “Oh, you know how it is, sir.
Daughters say a lot of things when they’re angry. Monique!
Should we light the birthday candles?”
Huge uproar as we al loudly agreed that we should start a smal , control ed fire. I kept my eye on Vayl as Monique went to the cake, which she’d set on the coffee table closest to the wal . He got over our weirdness with astounding speed, but that may have been due to the fact that he’d found a better area for his focus. The confection fascinated him. And why not? Vayl had probably never seen a dessert quite so… loud… in 1777.
Three layers of chocolaty roundness covered in hot-pink icing and silver sprinkles, my cake was decorated with silver and neon-blue flourishes shaped like banana peppers. In the middle the baker had written Joyeux Anniversaire! in big blue letters. My enhanced vision, an ability I’d developed the first time I’d donated blood to Vayl, usual y added extra colors to the mix. In this case it caused the red and silver dots of icing between the peppers to glow. Like they were radioactive. I started to grin.
“This has to be the most obnoxious birthday cake anyone has ever gotten for me.” I
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