In the end, Tristan shook himself, rising to his feet. After a pause to think, he took a small scrap of paper, scribbling something on it and tucking it into his pocket.
Callum looked up when he entered, bracing himself for a continuation of their prior argument, but Tristan shook his head.
“I’m not here to have a row,” he said. “You’re right, of course. I know you’re right.”
Callum looked warily unconvinced. “Is that supposed to be concession or a compliment?”
“Neither. A fact. Or rather, a white flag.”
“So this is a truce?”
“Or an apology,” Tristan said. “Whichever you prefer.”
Callum arched a brow. “I don’t suppose I need either.”
“Perhaps not.” Tristan folded his arms over his chest, leaning against the frame of the reading room. “Drink?”
Callum regarded him another moment, then nodded, shutting the book before him and rising uncompli
catedly to his feet.
The two of them walked in practiced cohesion to the painted room. Callum summoned a pair of glasses from the corner, glancing over his shoulder to Tristan. “Whisky?”
“Sure.”
Callum poured with a wave of his hand, leaking magic as he always did, and beside him, Tristan took his usual seat. Their motions were practiced, frequently rehearsed, and Callum set a glass in Tristan’s hand, taking hold of the other. For several moments they were silent, each savoring the drink. It was a smoky, hollow blend, silken with amber and caramel in the light, with the smooth finish they both tended to prefer.
“It doesn’t have to be Rhodes,” Callum said eventually. “But you have to admit she’s unpopular.”
Tristan sipped his whisky. “I know.”
“Unpopular doesn’t mean valueless.”
“I know.”
“And if your attachment to her is…”
“It isn’t.” Again, Tristan sipped his glass. “I don’t think.”
“Ah.” Callum turned his head, looking at him. “For the record, she has been trying to research her dead sister.”
Tristan blinked. “What?”
“Her sister died of a degenerative disease. I suppose I might have mentioned that before.”
He hadn’t, though Tristan remained undecided as to whether or not he should have.
“How do you know that?”
“Because I know,” said Callum simply. “Someone who has seen another person waste away is easy to spot. They are haunted differently.” He paused, and then added, “And she is also requesting books on human degeneration, which the library is currently denying her.”
“And that you know because of…?”
“Coincidence. We do live in the same house.”
“Ah.” Tristan cleared his throat. “How do I know you’re being honest with me?”
“What reason would I have to lie?”