“A little, sure.” I twirled a withered rose between my fingers, before remembering that this wasn’t the best moment to be flirtatious. I was wearing ripped black jeans and a gray shirt that was technically just thermal underwear, plus grubby gardening gloves. “I’m working on reading the Arcana, but it’s slow going.”
“I’m not surprised you aren’t fluent in a dead language,” Byron said.
“Do you know Cyprium, Byron?”
“Yes, but I can’t tell you what it says.”
“Can you teach me the language? So I can figure it out?”
“Yes. I can teach you. Thank you for asking.”
“Do I detect sarcasm? I haven’t even had time to translate ancient tomes if I wanted to.”
“I’m sorry. I’m frustrated. There is so little I can tell you and so much I want to tell you. Now that the house is done, you need to read the Arcana. I beg you.”
“Let’s have a lesson now, then.” I dashed into the house and brought out one of the books, ARCANA SINISTRAL. I opened the book and was immediately greeted with all those tiny little Medieval words. “Maybe this isn’t even Middle English, but Old English, huh?”
“It’s Cyprium,” he said.
“I mean, Old English would be the influence. Gaaah.”
“A lot of it isn’t so different. ‘Strengest.’ What do you think that would be?”
“Strongest?”
“Right. It’s the same in Cyprium as it is in Old English as it—nearly—is in English today. Once you get the rhythm you can figure some of it out.”
We worked on it for a little while. Very slow going. There was some talk of a battle where ‘aengels’ and ‘aether vika’ came from Etherium and attacked the people of ‘Sinistra’. Vika was a demon word for witch, and maybe it was related to ‘wicca’ but not close enough that I realized it without help. Every sentence was full of those.
I felt like I wasn’t getting anything but some standard battle talk. Somebody attacked somebody else and then those people went there, and then a dragon came, blah blah.
“I’m sorry, Byron, I know—I know I need to work on it. It’s pretty intimidating. I could ask my brother, but then his whole family would be involved, and I want to do this without him.”
“Don’t apologize,” Byron said. “I want you to get to Greenwood Manor.”
“To get the next piece of the box? Yeah. But it must be hard for you to say goodbye to this place. I feel like that myself and I’ve only been here for several weeks.”
“It is,” he said, looking toward the house, all sorts of unknown thoughts clouding his face. “But it must be done. And I’m ready. I can’t wait to see what you do with Deveraux’s house. It’s quite a place.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Yeah, you’re going to want to keep the flannel twins in your good graces.” He smiled. “But try to kick them out of the house some night so we can fly again. Hm?” He kissed my forehead.
My skin yearned for more. I needed to know his mysteries. I wanted to feel him—alive and warm, right here and now.
I would have to be content with a shadow.
I turned the pages until I found the pictures with the box, and the men killing the half-angel, half-demon. I looked closer. I had been focused on the box before. But now I saw that one of the men was sewing the lips of the demon/angel shut.
“Byron…” My brows furrowed. “This is silly, but…this isn’t you, is it?”
“I couldn’t tell you if it was.”
“But…but…you wouldn’t have been alive in the 11th century anyway. You’re just an incubus. Right?”
“Let’s have another reading lesson tomorrow.” He lifted my chin. His eyes were yearning. His lips fluttered across mine, half-solid, before he melted away.
CHAPTER THIRTY
HELENA
I HEARD a car door slam outside. “That must be the agent!” I sang out, giving the pillow one last puff before trotting down the stairs to meet Hester. She’d found a buyer for all the houses I flipped, even the weird ones, but I thought she’d love this one.
I opened the door and next to my truck, the Sullivan’s truck, and the rented hitched-on trailer from which I’d be unloading some staging furniture was—an old Rolls-Royce.
Oh—fuuuck. And here I was standing here like a lamb to the slaughter.
The door opened. The chauffeur stepped out. He opened the door for my mother, and if that wasn’t bad enough, a door on the other side opened too. Mother brought backup. My cousin Piers, who was on the Ethereal warlock council.
“Helena. Nice to see you.” Mother’s eyes could slay from ten feet away. And this had to be the day it was warmer than usual, and I was a sweaty disaster in a messy ponytail and a stained tee I’d owned since high school.
“Hey—Mother. Just a sec. I left a kettle on.” I ran into the house where the guys were moving furniture around in the parlor.
“Get out!” I hissed. “My mom and my cousin on the council are here! Go out the back door and hide—hide—hide!”
“Hel—“
“Don’t argue. No time. Just go. I beg you.”
They started to move and that would have to be good enough. I hoped they listened. I could not get caught in a house alone with two werewolves by my mother and Piers. That was way more scrutiny and drama than anyone had time for right now.
“Mother!” I rushed back down off the porch. “So nice to see you! I can actually show off one of my creations. I’m just putting the finishing touches on the old girl. Welcome to Lockwood House.” I was being so fake, but who taught me to be fake? All of this was her fault. I came in for cheek kisses. Then I smiled at Piers. “Nice to see you too, cousin.”
Yow. Piers had burn scars on his face, the skin pink and a little shiny and
