Charlie realized that she’d stopped, going no farther into the room than that first step. No wonder he didn’t look happy. He had to think she was afraid.
And she was afraid, but only a little. She made herself walk toward him. The Fool, walking off a cliff. “I like it. It’s weird.”
That small surprised lift of the corner of his lip, as though he’d forgotten he could smile, was familiar enough for her to actually relax.
The longer she looked, the less she minded the strangeness of his eyes. “Why did you do it?”
“Lie to you?” he asked. “Hide what I was?”
“No.” Charlie sighed, sitting on the arm of one of the patterned brocade sofas. “Why fight the Hierophant? You almost died. For nothing. None of these fuckers care about you.”
His smile widened. “That is not a question anyone asked me since I got here, and they’ve asked a lot.”
“Well, I don’t think they’re focused on your well-being.”
“You don’t say.” Vince waved her toward one of the chairs, and she took in the rest of the room for the first time.
There were two chairs, a mattress on the floor, sheets, and a small rug. No books. No heavy things. No sharp things. A single bright bulb burned above them. Vince had a cuff around his leg studded with actual onyx and attached to a metal plate in the floor. It was possible that the onyx was keeping him solid. Charlie wasn’t sure. She really wished she’d read a lot more of the books that she’d stolen.
She sat, a small puff of dust going up when she did.
“Look, I’m kind of tense,” he said. “So could you just break it to me? I know you’ve got some feelings about me being a shadow.”
“I’ve been trying not to think about it too much,” Charlie told him.
He looked at her incredulously. “How’s that working?”
“I figured I could think about it when we got out of here. And maybe,” Charlie said hopefully, “we could even have a big fight about it. With screaming. And throwing things. And I could tell you how stupid you were for thinking I was having an affair with Adam.”
“After you described his murder, I figured that out for myself. You seemed pretty upset about the couch.” He laughed before he could stop himself, his hand going to cover his mouth. “I’m so sorry. That’s not funny.”
“It’s a little bit funny,” she admitted.
He looked down at her with eyes that bled smoke. “So what else do we have to fight about?”
She averted her gaze. “When did you figure it out, that I was the girl you led out of Salt’s house?”
“In the bar,” he admitted. “That first night.”
“And what? You wanted to screw around with someone you’d saved?” There, now that was what an argument was supposed to sound like.
“Maybe. No. I don’t know.” He either didn’t notice the opportunity to squabble, or squandered it. “I like you, Char. I always liked you. I should have said something, but I’m not a good person. I’m not even sure I’m a person at all.”
“Oh.” Surprised, Charlie took his hand and folded her fingers through his. They were surprisingly solid. “You’re a person. You’re my person.”
He bent down to bring their clasped hands to his lips.
That’s when Charlie started to panic.
Because they’d just had an abbreviated version of the argument—okay, it had been more of a conversation—she’d been anticipating having when they got home. And the only reason for Vince to have it while imprisoned in Bellamy’s tower was that he wasn’t going home with Charlie.
He was planning on leaving with Adeline, like she’d said. He was going to take up the mantle of Edmund Vincent Carver, as though nothing had ever happened. Get his old life back. Be the first Blight to hold a charity ball.
“So what happens now?” Charlie asked, because she had to hear him say it. “With us.”
There was something in the set of his jaw that made her think of how she’d described him to Adeline, as a lake that was still on the surface, with a whole drowned town inside. “I killed the Hierophant. The Cabal needs a new Hierophant.”
“No. Fuck no.” Charlie threw herself out of the chair. She paced the room, trying to get her thoughts under control. “You can’t let them do that to you. Not after everything you’ve done for them.”
“It’s not any worse of a job than cleaning up dead bodies in hotel rooms.” His voice sounded calm, but his fingers were curled inward, as though he was about to fist them.