“Oh! It’s right here.”
Mari sat up. Bas stood, deposited her with care back on the chair, and offered her his cloak. She smiled and accepted him draping it over her shoulders. She also accepted his murmured request that she please eat more. The look she gave him was swoon-worthy, and the way he kissed her made me blush.
That.
That was what I wanted. Up until now, I’d been happy with the occasional casual hookup and having guys in my life like Kostya who were great as both friends and lovers and didn’t try to conflate the two into something more permanent. But there was something about being around two or more beings who really loved each other—and who expressed that freely—that had me longing for exactly that.
“Clementine? Could you please hand me my needle box? Bas will show you where it is. And Beryl, would you be so kind as to cut a yard and a half of”—Maritza visually catalogued the rolls of fabric on the wide shelves and pointed—“the black, lightweight wool knit. Second shelf down, right-hand side.”
While we hurried to collect the requested supplies, Bas refilled her plate and fed her bites. I set the oblong, velvet-covered box on her lap as Beryl unrolled the wool yardage on the cutting table.
“I must stitch up a fresh shirt. Then we can go to the cellar. I am curious to see this portal, and I find the possibility that it might connect to an underland extremely—” She tilted her head to one side, then pursed her lips. “Hmm. The U could also stand for Unseelie, as in the Unseelie Court. My sister was onto something. And I think we’re getting closer to discovering what that something was.”
Beryl shook out the length of fabric. “What would you like me to do, Tía?”
“Cut out a shirt for me, please. Keep it simple. Long sleeves. It’s chilly in here.”
My sister stared at me, shrugged, and frowned in confusion. “Do you want some help?” I asked.
She nodded vigorously, confessing, “This is where I would always tune out Mom’s instructions. I keep two tailors busy with copying my favorite dresses and with alterations. I’m a failure at drafting patterns.”
“Then it’s a good thing I was paying attention,” I said, pushing up my sweater’s sleeves and opening the drawer filled with scissors. I pointed to the opposite side of the table. “There’s chalk in one of those drawers and rulers in the other. I need the clear, curved one. Watch and learn, sister. Watch and learn.”
Beryl kept one eye on what I was doing and the other eye—and both thumbs—on her phone. “Kostya expects to be here by eight. With at least one brother.”
“Did he say which one?” I asked. I had to be careful not to nibble too hard at my lips while I was working. They were beginning to chap. “And can you get me some water?”
“Sure thing, Sissy. And that’s a negatory on knowing which brother will accompany Demon Boy.” Beryl looked up from her phone. “Is there a bottle in your purse, or—” She glanced around the room. “I can always wash out… Crap, do you think the plumbing still works now that we’re using the bathroom as an elevator?”
“Only one way to find out.” I shooed her away and concentrated on refining the curve of the garment’s armscye.
“It doesn’t have to be perfect, mi sobrinita.”
“I know, but I haven’t made a pattern freehand in a long time and I’m remembering how much I enjoy this.”
“Then take your time. But not too much time. We have the cellar to explore and a contract to complete.”
10
Maritza sewed herself a top from the pieces I cut, and I rehydrated and shared some of her snacks. Beryl led the four of us down the stairs to Mom’s cramped, ground-floor office. We all had to squeeze in as we waited for her to press the emerald to the keyhole. That door slid open. The lights she’d left on earlier had gone off.
“Lucerna lumen.” Beryl flicked her fingers at the wall to her right, then left, then explained, “Mom taught me that spell when I was going through an extended period of being afraid of the dark.”
On both walls, rows of glowing, clear-glass balls hung from braided cords in pristine condition. I ran my fingertips along the fibers and recognized my mother’s handiwork. Where most parents braided their kids’ hair using three strands, she often used four or five when taming our unruly waves for school.
“Would you like to lead the way, Alabastair?”
“Only if you are uncomfortable doing so,” he said.
“This is one of those moments where attitude matters. You look way scarier than either me or Clemmie. And I don’t mean that to sound like an insult.” Like me, Beryl hadn’t packed for an extended stay and was wearing the same pink dress, cropped puffy jacket, and black boots as yesterday. I had loaned her the extra pair of stretchy cotton exercise shorts I found in my suitcase.
“Your assessment was not taken as an insult. Put something heavy on the floor so the door cannot slide closed.”
I wedged the wooden chair in at an angle and we were good to go. These steps were stone, cold and worn in the middle. Alabastair stopped when he reached a small landing, then turned the corner and disappeared.
“Watch yourselves,” he said, his voice muffled. “The lights on the walls are lit but there’s something coating the stone and it’s quite slippery.”
I will not picture slimy things. I will not picture slimy things.
I had zero desire to give my imagination any leash at all. The steps were hazardous. I would not imagine why. And I would scrub the bottoms of my boots at the first opportunity.
“Breathe, Sissy. Put your hand on my shoulder if you need. I’m your emotional support sister. Alderose would just tell you to put your big girl pants on.”
“Thanks, B.” I clutched at her jacket’s puffy fabric and we rounded the corner
