Page 34 of The Girl in the Forest

“Yes.” She pressed the worn pages to her chest so he couldn’t see the words. “Noa asked for my opinion.”

“Please don’t give it to her. She’s trouble enough as she is.”

Mace’s grin told me he was teasing, but he was also covering the silence from Grayson, and when Fallon rebounded, playing her role, I thought the two of them—Fallon and Mace—were the light against Grayson’s dark. I was so used to seeing Grayson in black that his clothes seemed off. He wore a tan, buttoned shirt with the sleeves folded to the elbow. Faded blue jeans fit his hips and long legs. Perhaps he’d dressed casually because this was his inner circle. He didn’t need to impress.

But it was more like a different uniform, same purpose. To isolate himself.

I tossed him a wary glance and said, “Glad to see you have color in your wardrobe. I was tiring of the black.”

“I like black.”

Mace smirked. “His wolf likes black.”

“My wolf has nothing to do with clothing choices.”

A dangerous detachment in that tone, and I frowned at the undercurrents this evening, leaving too many questions.

“This is interesting, Gray,” Fallon said to quell the edginess. “The ancient failles called their sigils slave marks. I guess they got tired of the dread lords bossing them around.”

Grayson snorted, staring at his glass.

Fallon closed the journal and rocked to her feet, setting the book aside as she looked at me. “Why did Aine want you to have the faille testimonies?”

“A bargain. If I learn enough from the journals, maybe I can read that book my mother hid. Aine could be as batty as Fee, but she thinks an original queen wrote it, one who fought in the war and lost her wolf.” I shrugged. “She’s hoping I’ll find some clue she can use to protect her nymphs.”

“Find something everyone can use,” Mace said. “Those creatures broke through our wards and we haven’t figured out how.”

“Any ideas?” Fallon sorted through the broccoli before lifting a small fleurette to her lips. “On reading your mother’s book?”

Along my spine, the Green Man’s runes pricked, shards of ice beneath my skin. I’d grown more sensitive to them without the wolf sigil always dominating. But Fallon was waiting for my answer, and I said, “Aine said it took two people to read the words. Some rule with books protected by blood magic. She’d hoped my mother and I could do it.”

“Meaning two failles?” Mace wandered back toward the table. Lines creased around his mouth, but I suspected he was thinking about the problem and not the food.

“She was vague about it,” I admitted. “Two people with equal energies.”

“Then it could be anyone.” Mace glanced at Grayson—who hadn’t turned from staring rigidly through the windows.

“We’d have to be careful.” Fallon returned to the kitchen; the cupboard door squeaked, then clapped as she found the glasses, filled three with cognac, handing one to Mace. He set it aside, but I sipped my cognac cautiously.

“Careful… why?” I asked, thinking about a book taking off a person’s hand.

Fallon held a glass to her lips. “Someone in Carmag died trying to mess with blood magic.”

“Pillow-talk with Anson?” Mace asked.

Deliberately, Fallon sipped cognac again. “Jealous?”

“Just curious how accurate the information is.” His eyes were now hooded as he stared at her. “Maybe he needed another way to impress you.”

His tone was neutral, but Fallon’s tight smile flicked upward. “You’re a pig, Mace.”

“Noted.”

“She’s right,” Grayson said. “Blood magic corrupts over the centuries.”

“Then ask the Gemini Witches,” Mace countered. “They should know how to break the magic safely.”

“I don’t trust those witches any more than I’d trust something written by a queen.”

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