Chapter 13

Chapter

Thirteen

HARPER

O ne week later, my days had fallen into a pattern.

Every morning, I went downstairs and had coffee with Arlo. Then I cooked while he worked in his office, attending to various estate matters. We lunched on our own, then met for dinner, where we talked about everything from my time at Northwestern to Arlo's preferred accounting software. Conversations with the steward were relaxed and easy, although he remained tight-lipped about Einar's whereabouts. Every time I prodded Arlo for an estimated return date, his reply was always the same.

"The prince keeps his own schedule, Miss Ward. He could be gone for a week…or a month."

Goliath parroted a similar line when he visited me in the evenings. The diminutive dragon had taken to waiting for me in my room after dinner, which had quickly become my favorite part of the day. I gave him leftovers to share with everyone in the maze, and he regaled me with stories about the supernatural world and the beings who inhabited it. Goliath was an engaging and talented storyteller. He was also more forthcoming than Arlo, gifting me to tidbits that painted a vivid picture of a hidden world full of mystery and magic. It was a reporter's dream.

But after seven days, my daily routine was getting old. I'd worked through all of my mother's recipes—and most of the ingredients in Draithmere's pantry. The refrigerator groaned with quiche, chicken fricassee, and consommé. Last night, Goliath had politely declined an apple pie, claiming even Rolfe couldn't keep up with the volume of desserts I'd sent to the maze.

And still, there was no sign of Einar. With each passing day, the curiosity that had plagued me all my life tugged harder. Did Einar's disgust run so deep that it kept him away for an entire week? Was he injured? Was he with someone?

I shoved the last thought aside as I made my way to the kitchen. Einar Rothkilde's personal life was none of my business. Although, it was hard to imagine any woman putting up with his ever-changing moods. And his imperiousness. And stubbornness. The man had zero good qualities.

Arlo wasn't in the kitchen when I entered. For a moment, I considered looking for him, but a glance at the calendar tacked to a bulletin board near the butler's pantry revealed it was Saturday. He was probably sleeping in.

I gnawed at my lip as I considered my options. Coffee was top of the list, of course. But breakfast was going to be difficult to pull off. We were out of eggs, and I'd used the last of the flour for the apple pie. If I could find some powdered pancake mix, I only needed water.

"Sorry, Mom," I mumbled, imagining my mother's horrified expression. My hopes were low as I entered the pantry. Considering how many recipes I'd run through over the past week, I'd be lucky to find?—

I stopped, shock rooting me to the floor. The pantry was fully restocked, the shelves groaning with supplies. A row of tall, clear canisters held flour, sugar, and different kinds of dry pasta. Jars of spices marched in a line, along with boxes of crackers and cookies. I drifted forward, my gaze on a large bag of coffee beans. Obviously, Arlo had gone for a grocery run while I slept.

A massive grocery run. It must have taken hours. Instinctively, I grabbed a box of graham crackers, intending to turn the label outward.

But it was already out. My breath caught as I stepped back and surveyed the shelves. Every label faced outward. Every box, canister, and jar was perfectly aligned. Just the way I would have arranged them.

"Oh, good, you found the groceries."

I turned to find Arlo in the pantry doorway, his clothes as impeccable as always. A satisfied expression glimmered in his eyes as he gazed at the shelves.

"You didn't have to do all this," I said.

He blinked. "I didn't."

"But…you had to. We ran out of everything."

"I didn't buy groceries, Miss Ward. Prince Einar did."

My heart skipped a beat. "He's back?"

"Yes, he arrived late last night." Arlo ran his gaze over the shelves. "Were you looking for something in particular?"

"Pancake mix, but it's not a big deal."

Arlo reached behind his back, then produced a box of powdered pancake mix with a golden-brown stack dripping with syrup on the front. "Will this do?"

"What are you?" I blurted. Instant heat flooded my face. "I'm sorry. Maybe it's rude to ask."

A smile warmed Arlo's eyes. "It's okay. I wouldn't have allowed you to see my magic if I minded you knowing what I am." Suddenly, a ghostly pair of large, black horns flickered on either side of his head. His skin reddened, and his voice grew deeper as he tapped his chest. "I'm a Legerdemain demon." He pulled a pink rose from thin air, then extended it toward me. "My people can retrieve items from other planes. Like a magical sleight of hand."

Awe spread through me as I accepted the rose. Unable to resist, I buried my nose in its petals. "That's such a cool power."

Pain flitted through Arlo's eyes. "Not everyone thinks so. Traditionally, my kind work as assassins. We can pull weapons from anywhere, which makes us excellent killers. Few in the supernatural world trust us. Most fear us. More often than not, we're shunned."

My heart sank. I stepped close and put a hand on his arm. "Oh, Arlo. What about other Legerdemain demons? Do you have a community you can rely on?"

His mouth twisted in a bitter smile. "I'm afraid not. All demons are long-lived, and most clans are old-fashioned." He gave a short, humorless laugh. "Archaic is probably a better word, to be honest. The elders prize strength and brutality." He drew a deep breath and looked me straight in the eye. "Demon strongholds aren't an easy place to be gay."

My throat thickened. Before I even realized what I was doing, I'd yanked him into a hug. He stiffened, and for a second I thought he'd pull away. But he placed the pancake box on the shelf beside us and then rested his chin on my shoulder.

"I'm not sad about it anymore," he murmured. "I never wanted to be an assassin anyway."

I eased back so I could see his face. "I'm really glad you're not an assassin. And I'm honored to call you a friend."

His brown eyes shimmered with moisture. "Me too."

"Does that mean you'll finally start calling me Harper?"

"I promise to think about it, Miss Ward." He straightened, his usual cool reserve falling over him once more. But his shoulders were relaxed as he nodded toward the shelves. "If you're missing anything, just give me a shout. I'll hear you."

I looked at the rows of pantry staples, each one with its label prominently displayed. "Did you put these groceries away when Einar brought them home?"

"No. Prince Einar handled everything."

A curious awareness settled over me. Einar was the only person at Draithmere who knew about my anxiety disorder—and he'd arranged the items on the shelves in a way designed to please me.

I turned to Arlo. "I hope he's not upset you let me use the kitchen while he was gone."

Arlo smiled. "Not at all, Miss Ward. It was Prince Einar's idea." Arlo slipped from the pantry, his statement landing like a bombshell among the rows of crackers and macaroni.

My thoughts spun as I stared at the supplies. Einar knew my mother had been a top food critic. He'd seen her recipes in my notebook. I'd told him I planned to make all the dishes she wrote down but that school got in the way. So he'd arranged for me to spend the week in the kitchen. He'd obviously been in contact with Arlo, who must have mentioned the dwindling groceries. So Einar replaced them—and then positioned everything as I would have. Those weren't the actions of someone who despised humans. My mind harkened back to one of my earliest conversations with Arlo.

"Prince Einar isn't a monster," he'd insisted.

So what was he? A bully or…something else?

Someone who treats your injuries , a little voice whispered in my head.

Yeah, but he did that to make sure I didn't get an infection. He said it himself.

He lined up bags of flour and salt for you.

I looked at the shelves, my heart thumping faster. In my mind, I imagined him pushing a shopping cart down the grocery aisles, his arrogance and royal airs woefully out of place in such a mundane environment. But he'd done it—and he'd done it for me. He'd done other things for me too. Like sit at the foot of my bed, his eyes shifting from silver to gold as he issued orders in a near-growl. " Be a good girl and make yourself come."

Were those the words of a man who couldn't wait to escape my presence? Follow the facts. If I wanted to do that, I needed to go to the source.

Whirling, I strode from the pantry and made my way to Einar's study. The door was cracked, and I stopped outside, my heart pounding in my ears.

This was stupid. I told him I never wanted to see him again. Now I was seeking him out? He was probably going to laugh in my face and then send me straight to my room.

Despite my misgivings, my feet carried me forward. I nudged the door wider, and Einar's desk came into view. But he wasn't behind it. Heart thumping, I pushed the door all the way open. The study was empty. No fire burned in the hearth. Maybe he wasn't working today.

Or maybe he really was avoiding me. Just as I turned to go, a leather-bound book on the desk caught my eye. Thick and wide, the book was far too big to fit in any of the study's bookcases. Silvery lettering decorated the cover. As I hesitated in the doorway, the book appeared to glow.

I looked toward the study's tall windows, expecting to see the sunlight responsible for the book's aura. But the sky outside was overcast and gray. No, the glow came from the book itself.

Only half aware of what I was doing, I eased past the door and approached the desk. As I neared it, the book's silver script glowed more brightly. The letters were thick and ornate—and definitely not English.

A sound at my back made me whip around. Einar stood in the doorway, his wide shoulders filling the frame. His eyes gleamed like pewter, and his dark blond hair looked damp as if he'd just come from the shower. The faintest hint of forest and leather teased my lungs.

"Harper," Einar said, his deep voice rumbling across the space between us. The two syllables of my name curled around me, caressing places I had no business thinking about.

"I…" I swallowed against a dry throat, his penetrating stare doing odd things to my stomach. "I was just…"

"You were curious." He closed the space between us, his eyes holding something…soft. Before I could figure it out, he stopped beside me, his large frame casting a shadow over the desk. "But it's dangerous to be curious about this book."

I tore my gaze off him long enough to look at the glowing letters. The long, elegant swirls seemed to shimmer and dance like a mirage in the desert. "Why?"

He stared down at the book, his features even more rugged in profile. "It displays itself differently to each person. Whatever entices you the most is what you'll see." Slowly, he reached out and touched a fingertip to the edge of the leather. The book rippled like the surface of a lake, the silver letters wavering and then reforming.

Goosebumps pebbled my skin. Every time I thought I was used to magic, something new surprised me.

I looked at Einar. "Why is that a bad thing?"

Einar met my gaze. "The book gains power when it's read. If you read long enough, it will show you whatever knowledge your heart desires. But there's a catch. Over time, its magic has evolved to make you so engrossed you'll start reading and never stop. To open it is to risk surrendering to its power. People have wasted away in front of it."

Wariness drifted through me. "Why do you have it?"

A teasing look entered his eyes. "I think you'll agree I could stand to use a little more knowledge."

Wait. Was he flirting with me? "Aren't you afraid it'll trap you?"

His gaze dipped to my mouth. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but gold appeared to flicker through his eyes. "Are you worried about me?"

My breath caught. "No," I said, my voice husky in my ears. Warmth spread through me, echoes of lust teasing at my nipples and the sensitive places between my legs. I throbbed there, heat building.

Einar lifted his gaze to mine. A knowing, challenging look glinted in the gold-sheened depths. "Ah, Miss Ward. I smell a lie."