“You knew what I hoped about high magick was meaningless from the start,” she accused.
“I might’ve,” he said simply.
Isobel’s gaze fell on his stacks of spellstones. Even without her powers, he could use her guidance to craft truly impressive spells. But at some point, he would want weapons in addition to shields. He would want curses. And his words earlier had proven he didn’t need her for that.
How long could she last until he disposed of her? A handful of days?
Swallowing a second wave of fury and humiliation, she sat on the other side of the bed. A cloud of dust plumed in the air, and she coughed.
He looked up. “What are you doing?”
“There’s only one bed,” she pointed out.
“Plenty of floor.” His voice was strangely high.
“This bed is big enough for two people.”
Before he could protest further, she slid under the duvet and pulled it to her chest, shuddering from the bed’s moldy stench. This was a disgraceful, horrifying backup plan—one that definitely suited the Macaslans, willing to stoop to any low. Besides, she already knew he’d imagined this. Alistair might not realize it, but he had more than one weakness.
She leaned over and glanced at his puzzle. “The word you’re looking for is ‘bygone.’”
“You know, I’m sorry you don’t have your powers,” Alistair told her.
“Why is that?”
“Because I can’t stop thinking about our duel.”
Isobel sucked in a breath. Even now, he was thinking about killing her. “In an equal match, I know I’d win. I have more … finesse. That’s the word you’re looking for.” She pointed at the empty vertical spot, a smug smile playing at her lips. It wasn’t easy to feign confidence when she still teetered on the edge of a breakdown. But before she was an outcast, there had been a time when Isobel Macaslan was an expert flirt.
“Stop doing that.” Alistair threw the crossword down and turned to her, his dark hair spilling across his gray eyes. He propped his head up on his elbow. “You wouldn’t win.”
“Even in a match without magick, I’d win. You’re clumsy.” Isobel remembered the way he’d so gracelessly flopped on the bed earlier, how often he tripped over his own feet. “Careful where you walk. When your back is turned, I might just push you into the lake.”
“It’s not just a lake,” he said seriously. “It’s a grotto.”
She snorted. “Why are you like this? What sort of person dreams of being a monster?”
He scooted closer, so close she had the urge to slide back. But she refused to show that she was intimidated. After all, sharing the bed was supposed to be her power play.
“Do you want to hear a story?”
“I don’t like fairy tales,” Isobel told him, remembering how Reid had called her “princess.”
“Oh, no. I meant a monster story.” He licked his lips. “Give me your hand.”
She hesitated. “How do I know you won’t try the Divining Kiss again?”
“I suppose that’s half the fun.”
She slowly lifted her hand for him to take, hoping he couldn’t feel it shake. She didn’t know what she expected him to do with it. She certainly didn’t expect him to lace his fingers with hers, squeezing so tightly his nails dug into her knuckles.
“Pretend our fingers are ribs,” he said.
She furrowed her eyebrows. “What?”
“There’s a monster that is a shadow. It slips between tree branches, or the spires of a building, or the keys of a piano. Anywhere with cracks.” The entire time he spoke, Alistair didn’t let go of Isobel’s hand. She tried not to shiver at the coldness of his touch. “This monster is a jagged, grotesque creature, its bones jutting out in the wrong places, its very being full of cracks. It spends its life searching for ways to seal those cracks. To finally make itself whole.”
“I’ve never heard of this monster,” she said, as though that made his story less unsettling.
“As a child,” Alistair continued, ignoring her, “I slept in total darkness. My mother always cut the lights, opened the windows. The more drafts, the more dark shapes in my wardrobe, the better. She was asking the monsters to come. One night, the monster grabbed me by the arm and dragged me out of my bed, pinned me high against the wall.”
There was no hint of teasing in his voice. Isobel knew it couldn’t be true, but still, her heart pounded faster.