Accomplice to the Villain (Assistant and the Villain, #3)(89)

She jumped, dropping the plant to the ground once more, causing another petal to fall. Again, the flower shook, and Becky cried out, “Blade, go!” But Blade wasn’t fast enough.

The piercing starlight shot out and struck him right in the head.

Blade fell to the ground as Becky ran for him, gripping the back of his neck for support, leaning an ear down to listen to his heart, which was beating—slow and erratic, but still beating.

“Blade! Blade! Open your eyes,” Becky cried out. “Open them!”

Blade cracked his lids and smiled at her the way he always did, like he was looking at something precious. “I think I love you.” He was still smiling as he reclosed his eyes, whispering softly, “Okay, bye.”





Chapter 56


Clare


“What does this remind you of?” Tatianna’s voice echoed down the dark corridor. The hidden tunnels under Lord Fowler’s mansion seemed endless, as if they were going in circles, with no light save for the glow of Tatianna’s hands.

“I don’t know. When we were fourteen and got locked in my mother’s attic?” Clare heard the squeak of a rodent and nearly stumbled into the wall, almost squishing a very encumbered Alexander in her pocket.

Tatianna laughed, seeming unfazed, as usual, by Clare’s lack of enthusiasm. She’d dealt with it long enough that Clare suspected Tatianna actually enjoyed her prickliness. “Do you remember what I said when the attic door slammed shut?”

Clare couldn’t help the smile tugging at her lips, or the euphoric feeling of a happy memory. “You accused me of doing it on purpose because I wanted to steal a kiss.”

“You turned so red in the candlelight I thought your face was going to catch fire.” Tatianna snorted, rounding another corner. The walls seemed to become more narrow the farther into the dark they traveled.

“Because I couldn’t tell if you were being serious or not!” Clare accused. “I was so afraid if we took that leap, you would tell me you didn’t feel the same and I would have lost my best friend.”

Tatianna stopped walking, her lashes sweeping downward, a sad smile pulling at her fuchsia-painted lips. “Ironic, isn’t it?”

Clare frowned, adjusting Alexander in the tiny satchel at her waist. “What?”

“That I did feel the same, but we lost each other anyway.”

Ironic? Or gut-wrenching? Both were applicable.

Clare rolled back her shoulders and walked ahead, which she knew was foolish, since the only way to see her feet in front of her was by Tatianna’s healing light. So when the toe of her shoe caught against something solid and unmovable, the sudden obstruction causing her to fall headlong into the wall, her only thought was, I deserved that.

Until the wall started shifting with a groaning, rumbling sound, and it pushed Clare back into Tatianna’s arms.

“What happened? What did I do?” Clare breathed, gripping one of Tatianna’s soft, glowing hands.

Tatianna looked more curious than alarmed as the wall slid fully open, revealing a hidden room. “Well, well. Lord Fowler’s private study.”

Kingsley tumbled from Clare’s pouch and immediately was tugged to the ground by the weight on his ankle. The frog glared up at the two women as if they’d betrayed him. “It was your idea, Alexander!” Clare reminded him.

The frog made a huffing sound and rolled the ball slowly to the corner, doing his best version of an amphibious pout.

Clare took a look around the room, watching Tatianna run her fingers along a dusty bookshelf in the corner, beside a large oak desk with a million odds and ends atop it. The space was like Clare imagined most studies would be, with a touch of off-kilter whimsy. The plaid pattern on the cushioned chair in the corner contrasted starkly with the stars painted on the hearth. “Tati, don’t touch the bookshelf!”

Tatianna didn’t listen, continuing to scan the wide shelf. “His magical collection. What do you think all this stuff does?” The healer picked up a little candle flickering a warm violet glow from the wick.

Clare gaped at Tatianna’s feet. “Um. Tati?”

“Hmm?” Tatianna didn’t look away from the flame.

“You’re…floating.”

Tatianna squinted at her and then down to see her glittering shoes drifting a few inches from the ground. “Oh. That’s interesting.”

Clare sighed, tugging at the ends of her hair. “Put it down. Please.”

The healer dropped the candle only to pick up another object. “Where do you think he gets all this stuff?” she asked, tilting the gilded lightning bolt to the side. A flash of electric light shot out, cracking the oak desk down the middle. Tatianna’s mouth dropped open, her head slowly turning to Clare as the dust settled. “Oops.”

Clare grabbed both of Tatianna’s hands, tugging her away from the bookshelf and the ruined desk. “Stop touching things. Good grief.”

That intense rush of emotion that came anytime she was touching Tatianna sent shock waves up her arms, worsening when the healer twined her fingers with Clare’s. “Sometimes I wonder what would’ve happened if Trystan had never gone with King Benedict that summer,” Clare whispered, keeping her eyes on their joined hands.

Tatianna released them, but there was a phantom tingling left behind, a flash of hurt on the healer’s face. “Clare…are you under the impression that all our problems are because of King Benedict?”