Black Arts, White Craft (Black Hat Bureau 2)

“We’re both adults, and we’re entitled to make our own mistakes. Clay can bide his time and rub in the I told you so after we crash and burn. That ought to make him happy. Being proven right usually does.”

“You’re sure we’ll crash and burn?”

“Oh yeah.” I laughed at how fast the certainty hit me. “I can smell the smoke from here.”

A thoughtful quiet settled between us as I passed him the comb.

Ignoring it altogether, he asked instead, “Would you mind?”

“I get to braid your hair too?” I bit my first knuckle. “I feel so special.”

“Only three people are allowed to touch my hair. My mother, myself, and…you.”

“Oh.” My hand fell to my side. “Um.” I tapped the comb against my thigh. “That sounds serious.”

“I am fascinated with you.” He softened his tone. “You have been granted permissions others have not.”

We were in a long-distance cupcake exchange. I wasn’t convinced that qualified as dating or much else. But I was glad to hear Asa’s permission kept me from being targeted by his father.

A bitterness flavored his voice that worried me. “Others have tried?”

“They have, and Father punished them.” He ground his molars. “He’s always aware of infractions.”

“Probably spying on you.” The way the director, apparently, had been spying on me. “That sucks.”

“It does.”

“Dare I ask what’s the cost?”

“The hand that touched my hair.”

“As in how they used to punish thieves by chopping their hand off at the wrist?”

“Yes.”

“That seems…extreme.”

“Father is an extremist.”

“Other parts of you are okay, though?”

A smile in his voice, he slanted his gaze toward me. “Define other parts.”

“I walked right into that one.” I snorted. “Let me find you some hairbands.”

“I have some.” He shifted his weight and dug them out of his pocket. “It pays to carry extras.”

“Do you mind if I ask how Black Hat recruited a daemon prince? Lord? Duke?”

“I attempted to murder my father. He didn’t take it well and reported me. He hoped a few centuries as a Bureau lapdog might teach me what it means to serve without choice, without hope, without freedom.”

The fact he didn’t answer my question about his title didn’t slip my notice, but I didn’t press.

And I didn’t explain my scowl when my spam app alerted me to another intentionally missed call.

“Sorry the murder thing didn’t work out for you.” I cut a razor-sharp part. “It sounds like he needs it.”

“I was young and impulsive, eager to avenge my mother’s honor. I’ll be prepared for him next time.”