Page 109 of The Rogue's Curse

We’ll be back soon.

He took the opportunity to check on Misha, who was still hard at work in his lab. From outside, he heard the grinding sound of power tools. He rapped on the door, heard Misha curse in Russian, then waited for the door to swing open on the prettiest face he’d ever seen, smudged with dark gray dust.

“Can I come in?” he asked. “Or is it top secret?”

“Yes and yes,” Misha said. “At this point, I don’t care.” His scent was muted, entwined with an unpleasant bite of something medicinal.

“Any sightings?” Paris asked.

“I heard something earlier, but it didn’t manifest,” Misha said. Laid out across the floor were half a dozen plate-sized stones. Each was neatly engraved with intricate symbols, while Misha held a small tool that was coated in the same gray dust as his face.

“What’s all this?”

“These are the anchor stones for the cage,” Misha said.

“And you’re sure it isn’t dangerous to make these?”

Misha shook his head. “This is the technical side. I haven’t laid the magic into them yet. I was going to wait until I was rested and had you to keep watch.”

He froze. “You trust me to do that?”

“Of course,” Misha said. He smiled and said, “How’s Danielle?”

“She’s going to watch the sunrise,” he said.

Misha glanced at his watch, as if he’d just remembered the existence of the sun. “I’m staying up until I finish this one,” he said.

“How many are there?”

“Thirteen,” Misha said. “I’m halfway done.”

Paris nodded, perching on the stool. “Do you miss the sun?”

“Sometimes. I miss afternoon walks,” he said, using a white wax crayon to mark one of the large flat stones. “And tropical paradise was simply out of my realm of awareness when I was human. I wish I’d gotten a chance to lay on a beach in the Caribbean. Do you miss it?”

“Not particularly,” Paris said with a shrug. “I was a spy, so I worked at night quite often. I miss real food more than daylight. I’ve been known to visit a patisserie just to smell everything and have carnal fantasies. I would give anything to eat a good croissant again.”

Misha laughed. “I don’t blame you. The British aren’t particularly well known for their cuisine, but I can see why you would miss it.”

He watched in quiet as Misha finished the engraving. When he was done, he let the other man point and give orders to clean up. The mundane task of sweeping up the dust, wiping down the spell anchors, and storing tools felt natural with Misha.

While he was straightening a stack of diagrams, he uncovered a stack of printed photos of creatures, including a photo of a rooster, a lion, and a painting of a dragon. “What are these?” he asked.

“Oh,” Misha said, giving him a sheepish look. “Well, we talked about you trying to control the creatures, and I had an idea. But then we tried to break the curse, so it seemed like a moot point.”

Paris held up the photo of the chicken. “And you wanted to start with a chicken?”

Misha looked adorably flustered. “Because it wouldn’t be dangerous if it worked!”

“Given my nightmares, I might produce a chicken the size of a pickup truck with vampire fangs,” Paris said drily. “You might say a deadly cock.”

“Paris,” Misha complained, though he couldn’t maintain a scowl for long. “I suppose your dreams will remain a mystery.” After dumping the last of the stone dust into a trash-bin, Misha reached into the small refrigerator under the bench and took out a vial of dark green liquid. “Another sedative,” he said, wrinkling his nose. He drank it and winced, then shuddered violently. “It tastes awful.”

“You made it, didn’t you?” Paris said.

“Yes, but I can’t change the ingredients,” Misha complained. “I need to rest, but I’ll have these done for us tomorrow. We should be ready to attack soon.”

Paris nodded, then leaned in for a kiss. To his dismay, Misha put a finger on his lips and said, “No.”

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