"YOU let him in?"
The boys cringed.
"Inside? Into our house?"
Georgie ducked as if she had thrown something at him.
"I'll deal with you later." Rose fixed the blueblood with her gaze. "You - leave now."
He slid the pancake onto a three-inch-tall stack, dipped a spoon into the sugar bowl, sprinkled sugar onto the pancake, and looked at her brothers.
"The first rule of etiquette a boy learns when he's about to enter society is that civility is due to all women. No provocation, no matter how unjust and rudely delivered, can validate a man who fails to treat a woman with anything less than utmost courtesy."
The boys hung on his every word. He glanced in her direction.
"I have met some incredibly unpleasant women, and I have never failed in this duty. But I must admit: your sister may prove my undoing."
Rose pulled the magic to her. "Get out."
He shook his head with a critical look on his face.
She clenched her fist. "You have ten seconds to exit my house, or I'll fry you."
"If you try frying me, I'll be seriously put out," he said. "Besides, pancakes taste much better fried, given that they are sweet and fluffy and I'm full of gristle. Would you like one?" He held the platter out to her.
The magic vibrated in her, ready to be released.
Jack slid off his chair and stood in front of the blueblood, blocking her.
"Move!"
"He saved me from the beasts," Jack said quietly.
"What beasts?"
"The beasts outside. They attacked me."
"How do you know he didn't conjure the beasts in the first place?"
"To what purpose?" the blueblood asked.
"To get into the house!"
"And why, pray tell, would I want to do that?"
Rose halted. She wasn't sure why he would want to do that. If there was something he hoped to gain by entering the house, she couldn't think of it. "I don't know," she said. "But I don't trust you."
He nodded to the boys. "Start on the pancakes. Your sister and I need to have a talk." He moved toward her.
She raised her head. If he thought he could order her around in her own house, he was in for a hell of a surprise. "Fine. We'll talk outside." Where Jack couldn't shield him.
The blueblood nodded, sidestepped her with smooth grace, and held the front door open for her.
"Don't hurt him, Rose!" Georgie said.
Jack looked like a wet kitten: miserable.
Rose marched onto the porch, shut both the door and the screen door firmly behind her, and pointed to the path. "Road's that way."
He descended the steps. Without the cape, he didn't seem quite as massive. The light, supple leather of his black jerkin hugged his broad, muscular back, which slimmed to a narrow waist caught by a leather belt, and long runner's legs in gray pants and tall dark boots. His movements had a sure but light quality about them. He wasted no gesture, economical yet adroit, and as he walked across the grass to the smoking stains, she was reminded of her grandfather. Cletus had moved like that, with the agility of a natural fencer. But where her grandfather had been lean and relied on speed, the blueblood, while probably fast, looked very strong. She had a feeling that if he hadn't jumped onto her Ford, the old truck would have crumpled around him like an empty soda can.
The blueblood stopped by the stain and glanced at her. She crossed her arms. He held out his hand, inviting her to join him. Fat chance.
"Please grace me with your presence," he said as if she were a lady at some ball and he was inviting her on a balcony for a private chat.
He was mocking her. She bristled. "I can see everything from here."
"Do you care for your brothers?"
"Of course I do."
"Then I fail to understand why you take their safety so lightly. Come here, please. Or should I carry you?"
She jumped off the porch and walked over. "I'd like to see you try."
"Don't tempt me." He knelt by the stain and held his hand above it. The power coalesced below his palm. He murmured something in a language she didn't understand. The magic flowed, following his words, and the smoke condensed into a shape.
An awful beast stared at her. It was tall and long, with the deep chest and hindquarters of a greyhound. Its head on a long neck was almost horse-like in shape, except for the four dull gray slits of the slanted eyes. The creature's paws were disproportionately large, their fingers long and armed with three-inch claws. The thought of those claws ripping into Jack made Rose gulp.
Obeying the wave of the blueblood's hand, the beast opened his mouth. Its head nearly split in half, its maw gaping wide, wider, showing rows of triangular teeth, bloodred and serrated, designed to shred meat.
"There were two of them," the blueblood said softly. "One came from the left and the other from behind the house. They stalked Jack and meant to kill him. I understand that your education is lacking and you don't trust me, so listen to your instincts instead: you know that this is an aberration. This isn't an animal, but something else entirely. Put your hand into it."
"What?"
"Touch it. You'll feel the residual traces of its magic. It won't harm you."
Cautiously Rose touched the smoke. Her fingers tingled with magic, and she felt it, an awful sensation of touching something slimy and rotting, yet coarse, as if she'd stuck her hand into a putrid carcass and found it filled with sharp grains of sand. She recoiled.
That wasn't enough. She had to learn more.
Rose forced her fingers back into the smoke. The revolting sensation claimed her hand again, and she grimaced, looking away, but held her hand within the creature. Her fingers numbed, and then she sensed a distant echo of foul magic, pulsing like a live wire within the memory of the beast. It was an alien magic, impassive and cold like the blackness between the stars. Rose withdrew her hand and shook it, trying to fling the memory of the feeling from her fingers. He was right. This was no natural animal.
The blueblood collapsed the smoke shape and offered her his hand. "Touch me."
She stared at his palm. Calloused. Probably from swinging that bloody sword.
"I won't bite," he said. "Not until you're in my bed, anyway."
"Never happen." She put her hand into his. Magic slid into her fingers. He was letting her see his power. It shone within him, warm and white, like a distant star. The star dimmed and vanished, as if hidden by a cloak, and suddenly Rose found her fingers in the hand of a man, who was studying her with a knowing smirk. His skin was warm and rough, his grip firm, and her mind came right back to his "biting in bed" remark.
Rose jerked her hand out of his fingers. His point was clear: even she knew that to summon those beasts, he would've had to open himself to their greedy magic. It clung to her still, trying to worm its way inside. Anybody in prolonged contact with the beasts or their source would be permanently tainted. She had detected none of their miasma within the blueblood. He was clean.
The blueblood raised his hands, as if asking for her feedback.
"You've made your point," she admitted. "You didn't bring them here. You've made much of your education, so I take it you know what they are. What are they, and what do they want?"
He looked lost in thought for a moment. "I have no idea," he said. "I'm calling them 'hounds' for now."
Great. Fantastic.
"I know they wanted to kill Jack," he said. "I don't believe he was a particular target. They would've gone for anyone else in his place. Their magic is . . ."
"Clingy," she supplied.
The blueblood nodded. "It seeks to assimilate. It's dangerous."
"Thank you, Captain Obvious."
"That's why I'll stay with you tonight," he said.
Rose blinked. "What?"
"I didn't come all this way to have my future bride consumed by some aberration. You're ill equipped to deal with this threat. If your sensibilities won't permit my presence in your house, then I'll remain here." He pointed to the porch.
"No!"
"Yes." He turned his back to her, walked onto the porch, and sat on the steps.
"I want you to leave."
"I'm afraid it's not possible. See, I promised your brothers that I'll keep them safe tonight, and I won't go back on my word. It's your right not to invite me inside, but I would appreciate a blanket. That would be simple human charity."
Rose felt like stomping, except she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he irritated her. "This is unnecessary," she said. "We're safe behind the wards."
"I'm not so sure."
"Look, I appreciate your intentions, but I want you to leave. Now."
He ignored her.
Rose glanced at the house and saw two little faces behind the window screens. Great. What to do now? Blueblood or no, he had saved Jack. He had sworn not to harm them, and flashing a man who was doing nothing to attack her went against her every instinct.
He couldn't really be trying to protect them. That would be . . . noble. She almost guffawed at the pun.
Fatigue mugged her like a wet blanket thrown over her head. It had been a terrible day, and she had no energy to argue.
"Fine. You're welcome to the porch."
Rose went inside, pulling the door shut with a thud. The boys stared at her. "If he tries to come inside, shoot him," she said and headed for the shower.
SOMETIMES simple pleasures are best, and nothing compared with a shower after work. Having spent the entire day squirting cleaners and scrubbing office counters and walls, Rose now thoroughly scrubbed herself with Irish Spring and a fake sea sponge. It took her ten minutes to drown the day in shampoo and soap, and when she emerged, put on clean clothes, and brushed her wet hair, she felt almost human.
While she was in the shower, her fury at the blueblood's intrusion slowly melted into uncomfortable unease. The blueblood had saved Jack. He'd stayed with them because they were scared and even made them food, and then she'd treated him like dirt. She felt bad about it. This is stupid, Rose told herself. He was here to force her into marriage. All of this could be an act. She owed him no sympathy.
The creatures that had attacked Jack terrified her to the very depths of her being. Rose wished she could speak to Grandma, but with the evening rolling into night, the trip would have to wait until the morning. And Grandma ElEonore, although she would use a phone in a pinch, refused to keep one at her house.
In the kitchen, Jack brought her a pancake on a blue metal plate. "It's good," he told her. "He made them special. See, he put sugar on them."
Oh, for heaven's sake. "Tell me everything, from the beginning."
Ten minutes later, she pieced together the whole story. The blueblood had cut the beasts to pieces in a feat of incredible martial prowess demonstrated by Georgie with much vigorous waving of his fork, brought Jack inside, promised them that nothing bad was going to get them while they were in his care, and then proceeded to make pancakes. If he somehow staged this whole thing, which was still a possibility, it was masterfully done. The boys were now convinced that he could move heaven and earth. In their eyes, in the space of an hour, the blueblood went from the "shoot on sight" villain to a glorious hero of unmatched manliness.
"Did he eat?"
The boys shook their heads.
Great. Now she had a hungry "hero" on the porch without food or blanket. And her vague unease had blossomed into full-blown guilt. Completely crazy, she reflected as she pulled some sausage from the fridge and fried it. She should be shooting him in the head.
Rose divided the sausage onto four plates. "Eat your dinner."
She put a fork and a knife onto one of the plates. Georgie jumped off his chair, poured iced tea into a plastic cup, and handed it to her. Rose rolled her eyes and took the food and the tea over to the porch.
He sat in the same spot she had left him, staring at the sky colored with the first hint of sunset. The wind swiped stray hairs from his long blond mane. His huge sword lay next to him. Even at peace, he emanated menace.
Throw the plate at him and run, she told herself.
She set the plate next to him.
"Thank you," he said.
Now he thanked you and you go back inside.
Instead she leaned against the porch post. "Are you really going to spend the night on my porch?"
"Yes."
"I can perfectly take care of us myself. It's fixing to get dark. You should go back to wherever you're staying."
"I'm sure my tent will greatly miss me," he said.
"A tent?"
"Yes."
"You're sleeping in a tent? Why? Are you out of money?"
"On the contrary." He reached into his jerkin and produced a small leather wallet secured by a strap. He undid the strap, dipped his hand inside, and produced a gold coin. The sunset rays glinted on the metal surface.
A small fortune. She wondered how much it was worth. Would it feed them for two weeks? Three?
"So what's the problem?"
His face wore a perplexed expression. "I tried to seek lodging, but unfortunately most of your neighbors suffer from a critical lack of trust. They see me coming and lock their doors and shutter their windows, and no amount of yelling and wallet waving can persuade them to listen to reason."
Rose pictured him standing at the boundary of the Ogletree house in that enormous fur cape, with a giant sword sticking over his shoulder, roaring at the top of his lungs and then being upset that nobody came out, and laughed.
"I'm sure my predicament seems hilarious to you," he said dryly. "You live in an insane place populated by mad people without a shred of courtesy."
"Have you tried the McCalls down south? They could use the money."
He turned up his nose, oozing aristocratic haughtiness like it was cheap cologne. "I won't stay in a shack."
"Well, excuse me, Your Highness." She laughed harder.
"Some men in my situation would find your giggling offensive."
"I can't help it. It must be nerves." She shook with laughter. The fear that curled inside her in a small, cold chunk of ice melted. The blueblood wasn't harmless - far from it - but once she had laughed at someone, it was hard to go back to full-out terror.
"You could let me stay here. I would pay you, of course." He dropped the coin into the wallet. It made a metallic clink, announcing there were many more just like it.
"Oh, you're good," she said. "You want me to let you stay in our house?"
"Why not? I already promised to protect you, so I'm bound to this property by my own word, at least for tonight. You might just as well make some money from my misfortune."
"You're unbelievable." Rose shook her head. Why in the world did he want to get into her house so much? A small part of her wondered if he really was worried about the kids, but a much bigger part of her shook its head in cynical disbelief. He was a blueblood. He didn't give a damn about mongrel Edger boys.
"I'm simply pragmatic. You probably have a spare bed in that house, which, I hope, is clean and soft, and therefore much preferable to the hard wooden floor of this porch."
She actually considered it. He could bust her door down with one shove of his shoulder. In fact, he could probably go through a wall, if he set his mind to it. In terms of their safety, having him on the porch or in the house made absolutely no difference. The money would be most welcome. She could buy beef instead of chicken for once. An extra set of uniforms for Georgie. Lunchables for the kids. They always wanted them, but at $3.98 a pop, they were a rare treat.
"This would be a purely business arrangement, separate from our other agreement," she warned.
"Of course."
"I want you to swear that you won't attempt to molest me."
He looked her over very slowly. "If I chose to molest you, it wouldn't be an attempt. And you would be most enthusiastic about it."
Rose felt heat rise to her cheeks. "On second thought, I'm not sure that my house is big enough to contain you and your ego. Few places are. Promise or sleep outside."
"If you insist."
"I would prefer to hear the words."
He sighed. "I promise not to molest you, no matter how tempting."
"Or the children."
The smile vanished from his face. His eyebrows came together, and his eyes grew dark. "I'm a noble of the house Camarine. I don't molest children. I won't be insulted - "
"I don't care," she interrupted. "You can beat your chest with your fist in righteous indignation, or you can swear and sleep inside. Your choice."
"You're the most infuriating woman I have ever met. I swear not to molest the boys," he ground out.
Rose held out her hand, and he dropped a gold coin into her palm. A Weird doubloon. Even with the draconian fee Max Taylor charged for converting gold into dollars, the little coin was food for a month.
"I don't have change. Do you have something smaller?"
"Keep it," he growled.
"Suit yourself."
She opened the door with a mock bow and a big smile. "Please, Your Highness."
"My Lord Camarine will do."
"Whatever."
She ushered him inside. The boys had polished off the food and were washing their plates.
"Georgie, fetch his plate and drink from the porch, please. He will be staying in Dad's bedroom tonight - he paid for it. You're sleeping in my room on the floor."
The blueblood growled low in his throat.
In thirty seconds Rose and the blueblood sat at the table across from each other. Rose tried the pancakes. They were predictably cold, but still delicious, and she was ravenous. "God, these are good."
"Slowly."
Rose raised her gaze from her plate.
He sat very straight at the table, cutting the pancake with surgical precision.
"Eat slowly," the blueblood said. "Don't cut your food with the fork. Cut it with the knife, and make the pieces small enough so you can answer a question without having to swallow first."
Why me? "Right. Any other tips?"
Her sarcasm whistled right over his head. "Yes. Look at me and not at your plate. If you have to look at your plate, glance at it occasionally."
Rose put down her fork. "Lord Submarine . . ."
"Camarine."
"Whatever."
"You can call me Declan." He said it as if granting her knighthood. The nerve.
"Declan, then. How did you spend your day?"
He frowned.
"It's a simple question: How did you spend your day? What did you do prior to the fight and pancake making?"
"I rested from my journey," he said with a sudden regal air.
"You took a nap."
"Possibly."
"I spent my day scrubbing, vacuuming, and dusting ten offices in the Broken. I got there at seven thirty in the morning and left at six. My back hurts, I can still smell bleach on my fingers, and my feet feel as flat as these pancakes. Tomorrow, I have to go back to work, and I want to eat my food in peace and quiet. I have good table manners. They may not be good enough for you, but they're definitely good enough for the Edge, and they are the height of social graces for this house. So please keep your critique to yourself."
The look on his face was worth having him under her roof. As if he had gotten slapped.
She smiled at him. "Oh, and thank you for the pancakes. They are delicious."