thing Maureen asked for. Twenty-three months into their planned two-year pre-engagement cohabitation, they’d both been shocked and appalled to discover that, without divulging the league secrets, he had nothing left to share.
Liam’s smile flattened. “As Bookkeeper, you understand how outsiders are so disruptive.”
“A rogue is not technically an outsider,” Sid pointed out. Not the way he’d always been an outsider, even for those twenty-three months before he’d come to his senses.
“Lucky she was. Any rogue existing under our radar has a highly developed instinct for self-preservation.” Liam frowned thoughtfully. “Unless Bookie did know about her.”
Sid had gathered the gist of what had happened to his Bookkeeper predecessor. Suffice it to say, embezzlement had been the least of his crimes—not merely crimes, but sins. An image of his own unwritten rap sheet flashed in Sid’s brain. The “retired” Bookie might think himself the better man of the two.
“If your last Bookkeeper made note of a rogue, I’ll find it,” he promised.
“No need.” Liam’s words dropped to a growl. “Because we’ll find her.”
The implied menace curled Sid’s fingers as if around the haft of some imaginary weapon. “You can’t hurt her.”
“We do what we have to,” Liam said. “You can note that in your archives.”
“She’s no threat,” Sid insisted. In his memory, her pitiless hunter eyes blinked in slow disbelief.
Liam pursed his lips. “Tell that to the feralis she tore apart.”
“She’s fighting on your side. Every league needs all the weapons it can gather,” Sid countered.
“Not if those weapons are double-edged.”
Sid looked pointedly at the deer horn knife in the league leader’s hand, all its curves treacherously sharp.
Liam sighed. “Right. Most of them do have a regrettable tendency toward slicing off the hand that feeds them.”
“You asked for London’s help,” Sid said.
“No, I asked for access to your archives,” Liam corrected.
Sid pushed the specs higher on his nose. “I
am
London’sarchives. With Alyce as a baseline, I can do what I came here to do.”
“Alyce? You already named her?” Just the corners of Liam’s lips curved upward. On a lesser man, it might have been a smirk. “I suppose you have to keep her now.”
“If I can find her.”
“We’re on it.”
“You’ll be careful? You won’t scare her?”
Liam gave him a lowering look. “That fever must be spiking. Get some rest.”
Probably it was immortality that gave his voice that paternalistic edge. But Sid already had a disapproving father figure, thanks anyway.
Sera followed him back to his room, like a silent blond wolf watching for him to falter from his path.
He paused in his doorway, trying for a casual lean, though the jamb grated against his aching shoulder. “You wouldn’t let them hurt her.” When she didn’t answer quickly enough for his comfort, he added, “You could
be
her. Imagine possession—the conflicting energies, the impulse to violence, the isolation—without the structure and restraint of the league. Without that, the teshuva is only one long step from being djinni.”
Her gaze flickered with violet streaks, pupil and iris submerged beneath the demonic overlay. “You think I don’t know that?”
The waves of pain thinned his patience. If he wanted to win the respect of the talyan, he couldn’t keep backing down. Plus, he was more than ninety percent certain she wouldn’t hit an injured man.
“I think you were possessed less than a year ago,” he said. “I think I have almost three thousand years of written histories at my fingertips and another couple thousand of oral tradition on my tongue. So hand-to-hand, you might win, but in a debate I will wipe you out.”
With a quirk of her lips, all signs of her demon vanished.“Well, hopefully the next feralis is willing to argue the finer points of possession with you. I’ll just tell you, this
Liam’s smile flattened. “As Bookkeeper, you understand how outsiders are so disruptive.”
“A rogue is not technically an outsider,” Sid pointed out. Not the way he’d always been an outsider, even for those twenty-three months before he’d come to his senses.
“Lucky she was. Any rogue existing under our radar has a highly developed instinct for self-preservation.” Liam frowned thoughtfully. “Unless Bookie did know about her.”
Sid had gathered the gist of what had happened to his Bookkeeper predecessor. Suffice it to say, embezzlement had been the least of his crimes—not merely crimes, but sins. An image of his own unwritten rap sheet flashed in Sid’s brain. The “retired” Bookie might think himself the better man of the two.
“If your last Bookkeeper made note of a rogue, I’ll find it,” he promised.
“No need.” Liam’s words dropped to a growl. “Because we’ll find her.”
The implied menace curled Sid’s fingers as if around the haft of some imaginary weapon. “You can’t hurt her.”
“We do what we have to,” Liam said. “You can note that in your archives.”
“She’s no threat,” Sid insisted. In his memory, her pitiless hunter eyes blinked in slow disbelief.
Liam pursed his lips. “Tell that to the feralis she tore apart.”
“She’s fighting on your side. Every league needs all the weapons it can gather,” Sid countered.
“Not if those weapons are double-edged.”
Sid looked pointedly at the deer horn knife in the league leader’s hand, all its curves treacherously sharp.
Liam sighed. “Right. Most of them do have a regrettable tendency toward slicing off the hand that feeds them.”
“You asked for London’s help,” Sid said.
“No, I asked for access to your archives,” Liam corrected.
Sid pushed the specs higher on his nose. “I
am
London’sarchives. With Alyce as a baseline, I can do what I came here to do.”
“Alyce? You already named her?” Just the corners of Liam’s lips curved upward. On a lesser man, it might have been a smirk. “I suppose you have to keep her now.”
“If I can find her.”
“We’re on it.”
“You’ll be careful? You won’t scare her?”
Liam gave him a lowering look. “That fever must be spiking. Get some rest.”
Probably it was immortality that gave his voice that paternalistic edge. But Sid already had a disapproving father figure, thanks anyway.
Sera followed him back to his room, like a silent blond wolf watching for him to falter from his path.
He paused in his doorway, trying for a casual lean, though the jamb grated against his aching shoulder. “You wouldn’t let them hurt her.” When she didn’t answer quickly enough for his comfort, he added, “You could
be
her. Imagine possession—the conflicting energies, the impulse to violence, the isolation—without the structure and restraint of the league. Without that, the teshuva is only one long step from being djinni.”
Her gaze flickered with violet streaks, pupil and iris submerged beneath the demonic overlay. “You think I don’t know that?”
The waves of pain thinned his patience. If he wanted to win the respect of the talyan, he couldn’t keep backing down. Plus, he was more than ninety percent certain she wouldn’t hit an injured man.
“I think you were possessed less than a year ago,” he said. “I think I have almost three thousand years of written histories at my fingertips and another couple thousand of oral tradition on my tongue. So hand-to-hand, you might win, but in a debate I will wipe you out.”
With a quirk of her lips, all signs of her demon vanished.“Well, hopefully the next feralis is willing to argue the finer points of possession with you. I’ll just tell you, this
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