Page 116 of Bones

But it was a more common word. One my brain instantly recognized and reacted to.

“The apartment,” she said. “Right. I don’t think there’s anything in there. It hasn’t been rented in a few months, but the cleaner recently came by, and there’s…” Her nervous rambling trailed off, and she cut to the chase. “Limos?”

“Is yours. I just inherited the building.”

For the first time since she’d seen Deke, Monica visibly relaxed. “Oh, thank goodness. I was worried you’d found out Daniel sold this place to my daddy for a dollar, and now you were here to contest it, and I’m just now realizing I should’ve kept my mouth shut in case you didn’t know that.”

Deke chuckled. “I knew. It’s still yours. Like I said, just wanted to let you know we’d be staying upstairs.”

“I just made a batch of beignets. Want a baggy to go?”

Deke looked down to check with me. Still queasy from the nasty house, I shook my head. He did, too. “I’m beignet’d out today. Maybe next time.”

Why is he beignet’d out?

“Well, call down if you change your mind. I’m gonna get back into the kitchen before I put my foot in my mouth again.”

Deke used his hand on my back to steer me outside and to the side of the building.

“Your key ring is still at Juno’s,” I told him.

“Not necessary.” Green smoke drifted into the lock, turning it.

The fiery sweetness from my vision.

It’s his magicks.

“What’s Limos mean?” I asked as we walked up the stairs.

“Famine in Greek Mythology. Hunger.”

Fitting name for a restaurant.

And the man knows how to stick with a theme.

At the top of the stairs, he did his green smoke thing again and swung the door open.

I’d anticipated a small one-bedroom apartment or maybe a tiny studio. Instead, it was an expansive spread with aged brick walls, exposed beam ceilings, and shiny hardwood floors.

“Wow,” I breathed. “I mean, it’s no cabin, but wow. We lucked out that it wasn’t being rented.”

Deke ran his palm over his beard. “Not luck. Something told me not to list it when the last renters moved out.”

“Oh.” I walked farther in, my steps echoing.

I didn’t get the chance to ask about furniture—though I would sleep on the floor if it meant being with Deke—before that green smoke filled the room.

I let out a happy giggle as joy and fire and fullness swirled around me.

When it faded, it didn’t leave me bereft with a reminder of how hollow I always was. Because that wasn’t how I felt thanks to Deke.

I looked around to see furniture that was similar to what we had in the cabin, just newer. “How’d you do that?”

“It was empty. I filled it.”

I’m empty, too.

Fill me.

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