Lord of Shadows (The Dark Artifices #2)(161)

"We shouldn't need to look it up at all," Magnus said. "We have a primary source right here. Kieran, what do you know about catching piskies?"

* * *

Emma woke late in the morning, surrounded by warmth. Light was breaking through the unshaded windows and making patterns on the walls like dancing waves. Through the window she could see flashes of blue sky and blue water: a holiday view.

She yawned, stretched-and went still as she realized why she was so warm. She and Julian had somehow wrapped themselves around each other during the night.

Emma froze in horror. Her left arm was thrown across Julian's body, but she couldn't just remove it. He had turned toward her, his own arms curved around her back, securing her. Her cheek brushed the smooth skin of his collarbone. Their legs were tangled together as well, her foot resting on his ankle.

She began to slowly detangle herself. Oh God. If Julian woke up it would be so awkward, and everything had been going so well. Their conversation on the train-finding the cottage-talking about Annabel-everything had been comfortable. She didn't want to lose that, not now.

She edged sideways, slipping her fingers out of his-closer to the edge of the bed-and went over the side with an ungainly tumble. She landed with a thump and a scream that woke Julian, who peered over the side of the bed in confusion.

"Why are you on the floor?"

"I've heard rolling out of bed in the morning helps you build up resistance to surprise attacks," Emma said, lying sprawled on the hardwood.

"Oh yeah?" He sat up and rubbed his eyes. "What does screaming 'holy crap!' do?"

"That part's optional," she said. She got to her feet with as much dignity as she could muster. "So," she said. "What's for breakfast?"

He grinned his low-key grin and stretched. She didn't look at where his shirt rode up. There was no reason to sail down Sexy Thoughts River to the Sea of Perversion when it wasn't going to go anywhere. "You hungry?"

"When am I not hungry?" She went over to the table and rooted in her bag for her phone. Several texts from Cristina. Most were about how Cristina was FINE and Emma had NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT and she should STOP TEXTING BECAUSE MAGNUS WAS GOING TO FIX THE BINDING SPELL. Emma sent her a worry face and scrolled down.

"Any word on piskie-catching techniques?" Julian asked.

"Not yet."

Julian didn't say anything. Emma stripped down to her boy shorts and tank top. She saw Julian glance away from her, though it wasn't anything he'd never seen before-her clothes covered more than a bikini. She grabbed up her towel and soap. "I'm going to shower."

Maybe she was imagining his reaction. He just nodded and went over to the kitchen, firing up the stove. "No pancakes," he said. "They don't have the right stuff to make them."

"Surprise me," Emma said, and headed to the bathroom. When she emerged fifteen minutes later, scrubbed clean, her hair tied into two damp braids that dripped onto her T-shirt, Julian had set the table with breakfast-toast, eggs, hot chocolate for her and coffee for him. She slid gratefully onto a chair.

"You smell like eucalyptus," he said, handing her a fork.

"There's eucalyptus shower gel in the bathroom." Emma took a bite of eggs. "Malcolm's, I guess." She paused. "I've never really thought of serial killers as having shower gel."

"No one likes a filthy warlock," said Julian.

Emma winked. "Some might disagree."



       
         
       
        

"No comment," Julian said, spreading peanut butter and Nutella on his toast. "We got a reply to our question." He held up her phone. "Instructions on how to catch piskies. From Mark, but probably really from Kieran. So first, breakfast, and afterward-piskie hunting."

"I am so ready to hunt down those tiny adorable creatures and give them what for," said Emma. "SO READY."

"Emma . . ."

"I may even tie bows on their heads."

"We have to interrogate them."

"Can I get a selfie with one of them first?"

"Eat your toast, Emma."

* * *

Everything sucked, Dru thought. She was lying under the desk in the parlor, arms crossed behind her head. A few feet above her she could see where a message, blurred over time and the years, had been scratched into the wood.

It was quiet in the room, only the clock ticking. The quiet was both a reminder of how lonely she was, and a relief. No one was telling her to go take care of Tavvy, or asking her if she'd play demons and Shadowhunters for the millionth time. No one was demanding she deliver messages or ferry papers back and forth in the library. No one was talking over her, and not listening.