Although, she’d looked damn adorable in her towel too.
Pity that she had to change. “Ready?”
The door opened and Pepper poked her head out. “One more minute, just want to touch up my hair.” She disappeared back into the bathroom before he could respond. There was nothing wrong with her hair. In the fifteen minutes he waited, she’d transformed herself into a gorgeous, earthy goddess. Tucking his hands into his pockets and resisting the urge to snoop, he turned his gaze out the window. The entire building hummed with low-level magic. He could feel it tingling like nettles on his skin—always in the background. It didn’t dare come too close, because the spells that fought him—like glamour—he extinguished.
Nothing about Pepper felt magical. Which was another reason to get her the hell out of here . She’s not trapped yet. No sense in leaving her like chattel. Unless she already is under their spell? I’ll know at the door.
What the Arcana Royale owned, and what they didn’t want to lose, could not leave. The people playing downstairs could linger for years without realizing the passage of time. The playground of the damned would be a better name for the place, but it probably wasn’t marketable. He never cared for the Royale, not in the years before his mother became an Overseer and even less in the years after.
Marguerite argued with him once. She’d wanted him to come and spend a year at the facility, to work there and amass the connections and wealth to set him up for a lifetime. She’d believed in a world where power was currency, and that with power one could do anything they wanted. She’d amassed a great deal over the centuries.
And yet she is dead. At least that’s what Fairuk believes. The dancer hadn’t lied to him. Every word she’d spoken, she believed without hesitation. It didn’t seem real. A wealth of differences separated him from his mother—viewpoints on life, on power…hell, on the simple act of existence. He didn’t mind an ordinary life and she wanted extraordinary, insisted upon it, craved it like a drug. But despite their ideological separation, she remained always his mother.
Shouldn’t I know if she is dead? He watched the people traveling the streets below, easily separating the tourists from the natives. They walked differently, gawked at the buildings and signs, took pictures, or studied their phones for directions. The locals navigated the streets without a sideways glance at the lush pomp and circumstance.
Not knowing whether Marguerite was dead or not troubled him less than whether or not he cared. His path had diverged from hers long before her tenure in this hellhole. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he turned and found Pepper standing right behind him. Adrenaline surged through him at the surprise.
“Are you okay?” Pepper studied him, her eyes wide and curious.
“Fine.” He forced his fists to unclench and shook the cobwebs from his mind that the thoughts of his mother had provoked. “You startled me.”
“Sorry.” She grimaced, a half-smile curving her lips. He really didn’t like the idea of someone using her against him.
But aren’t the best traps the ones that look the most inviting? Dismissing the worry, he motioned to the door. “Shall we?”
“Yes. But I have a rather nosy question to ask and I hope you don’t take offense.”
When she phrased it that way, he was prepared to quash any offense he might take. “I shall endeavor to persevere.” A formal inquiry deserved a formal answer.
She glanced down at her boots, seeming to struggle with whatever it was she wanted to ask. “Why do you want to go out? I mean—okay, there’s the conference going on and all the nonsense last night about you being a romance author aside—you don’t know me. We just met and I assumed you came here to do something.” She winced. “I don’t seem to be asking this very well.”
Finn laughed. “You’re asking it just fine. I want to go out
Pity that she had to change. “Ready?”
The door opened and Pepper poked her head out. “One more minute, just want to touch up my hair.” She disappeared back into the bathroom before he could respond. There was nothing wrong with her hair. In the fifteen minutes he waited, she’d transformed herself into a gorgeous, earthy goddess. Tucking his hands into his pockets and resisting the urge to snoop, he turned his gaze out the window. The entire building hummed with low-level magic. He could feel it tingling like nettles on his skin—always in the background. It didn’t dare come too close, because the spells that fought him—like glamour—he extinguished.
Nothing about Pepper felt magical. Which was another reason to get her the hell out of here . She’s not trapped yet. No sense in leaving her like chattel. Unless she already is under their spell? I’ll know at the door.
What the Arcana Royale owned, and what they didn’t want to lose, could not leave. The people playing downstairs could linger for years without realizing the passage of time. The playground of the damned would be a better name for the place, but it probably wasn’t marketable. He never cared for the Royale, not in the years before his mother became an Overseer and even less in the years after.
Marguerite argued with him once. She’d wanted him to come and spend a year at the facility, to work there and amass the connections and wealth to set him up for a lifetime. She’d believed in a world where power was currency, and that with power one could do anything they wanted. She’d amassed a great deal over the centuries.
And yet she is dead. At least that’s what Fairuk believes. The dancer hadn’t lied to him. Every word she’d spoken, she believed without hesitation. It didn’t seem real. A wealth of differences separated him from his mother—viewpoints on life, on power…hell, on the simple act of existence. He didn’t mind an ordinary life and she wanted extraordinary, insisted upon it, craved it like a drug. But despite their ideological separation, she remained always his mother.
Shouldn’t I know if she is dead? He watched the people traveling the streets below, easily separating the tourists from the natives. They walked differently, gawked at the buildings and signs, took pictures, or studied their phones for directions. The locals navigated the streets without a sideways glance at the lush pomp and circumstance.
Not knowing whether Marguerite was dead or not troubled him less than whether or not he cared. His path had diverged from hers long before her tenure in this hellhole. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he turned and found Pepper standing right behind him. Adrenaline surged through him at the surprise.
“Are you okay?” Pepper studied him, her eyes wide and curious.
“Fine.” He forced his fists to unclench and shook the cobwebs from his mind that the thoughts of his mother had provoked. “You startled me.”
“Sorry.” She grimaced, a half-smile curving her lips. He really didn’t like the idea of someone using her against him.
But aren’t the best traps the ones that look the most inviting? Dismissing the worry, he motioned to the door. “Shall we?”
“Yes. But I have a rather nosy question to ask and I hope you don’t take offense.”
When she phrased it that way, he was prepared to quash any offense he might take. “I shall endeavor to persevere.” A formal inquiry deserved a formal answer.
She glanced down at her boots, seeming to struggle with whatever it was she wanted to ask. “Why do you want to go out? I mean—okay, there’s the conference going on and all the nonsense last night about you being a romance author aside—you don’t know me. We just met and I assumed you came here to do something.” She winced. “I don’t seem to be asking this very well.”
Finn laughed. “You’re asking it just fine. I want to go out
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