Black Arts, White Craft (Black Hat Bureau 2)

“We’re not.” I rubbed my nose against Asa’s just to annoy Clay. “We’ll press pause, though.”

Asa rose to his feet and offered me a hand up then left to dress without another word.

The yarn bowl, he left on the nightstand on his side of the bed, like a promise. Not that he had a side on my bed, but he had spent the night in the same room, on the same mattress, as me. And I was assigning way too much significance into a single night of shared hobbies between insomniacs. This was no different than baking with Clay.

Except Clay had never made me a hair bracelet from his wigs.

He had baked me cupcakes, though. Tons of them, over the years. And cookies, cakes, candies…

Give it up, Rue. You can’t rationalize this away. You agreed. Not once, but twice. Now deal with it.

Emotions were hard, dang it, and I didn’t know what to do with mine. There were so many these days, a smorgasbord of them. Sure, I’d designed a pattern of behavior to mold myself into a better person. Yeah, I was proud when I hit all the right notes. But this was different. Totally unscripted. Made up on the fly.

That felt dangerous, reckless, foolish. I never should have said yes to him the second time. But it also felt good. I didn’t know what to do with him, but I wanted to figure it out.

The wanting frightened me. I wasn’t the type to hang my hope on another person. It was too dangerous.

“You don’t look so hot.” Clay pressed the inside of his wrist to my forehead. “Do you have a fever?”

“I don’t get sick.” I swatted his hand. “I’m freaking out a little.”

“You spent the night with Ace.” He studied me. “You okay after that?”

“We didn’t do anything,” I rushed out in a single breath.

“Yeah.” A grin overtook his face. “I know.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” I squinted at him. “How do you know?”

There had been no time for the guys to talk behind my back, not that either would do that.

“The higher the daemon’s caste, the weirder their customs.” He laughed at my scowl. “Think on that.”

As Meg had warned me, Asa was particular about his hair, but what other idiosyncrasies awaited me?

Pivoting on his heel, Clay aimed for the hall, humming a jaunty tune that made his smile stretch wider.

Meanwhile, I was left to picture that mortifying scene in historical films where a king deflowers his new wife in front of thirty advisors to ensure the marriage was consummated, and that she was a virgin.

“What is that supposed to mean?” I anchored my hands on my hips. “Clay, get your butt back in here.”

Clay did not, in fact, get his butt back in there. He went to the kitchen and started the coffee.

Growling low in my throat, I got dressed, handled hygiene, which caused me to cringe after it hit me that I had been all up in Asa’s face with morning breath. Night breath? Whatever it was, it wasn’t ideal. There was no undoing it, though. He might as well learn early I wasn’t princess material before this got serious.

No, no, no.

That made it—us—sound like a foregone conclusion.

More like if, big if, we got serious.

With more force than necessary, I strapped on my kit, pocketed my wand, and prowled to the kitchen.

Colby sat on Clay’s head, bouncing on his springy curls, with her blanket draped around her shoulders.

Now that I thought about it, she had been wearing it when she woke us up earlier.

I wasn’t the only one who noticed, based on the pleased crook of Asa’s lips as he watched her antics.