Page 9 of Monsters' Manor

Silas pauses for a few long, weighted moments, shadows shifting in a way that seems uneasy. “A conversation for another time, I think.”

I bite my tongue, but only just barely. My curiosity about him and about what it means to be a shade can wait if it’s not something he wants to share.

“Tell me about your day,” he prompts, changing the topic. “What has you so unsettled tonight, Rosemary?”

“You sure you really want to hear about my day?”

“I do. And I can probably guess a certain demon has something to do with your mood?”

“Have you talked to Renwick tonight?”

The question slips out before I can stop it. But… damn it anyway. I want to know if the demon’s been talking, if he’s started telling people about what happened in Mira’s tent.

“I haven’t. Though I’ve heard it was quite a show in Lucifer’s Parlor this evening. The demon was in fine form.”

I have to snort at that. “I’m sure he was.”

Silas laughs softly as well. “Ren has a talent for showmanship. You should take the manor tour sometime and see.”

I’d rather crunch on a piece of broken glass like a potato chip than go anywhere near that manor, but instead of telling him that, I just shrug and make a noncommittal noise in the back of my throat. With a final stack sorted, the last of the cash disappears and I turn to lean against the counter, crossing my arms over my chest.

“It bothers you?” Silas asks. “Talking about Ren? Or talking about the manor?”

“More like both?”

The words come out with more of a bite than I meant to put into them, and a ripple of surprise moves through his darkness.

I’m being an ass right now. A cranky ass who has no right to be lashing out at the perfectly nice shade who’s just come to keep me company while I close up.

“Sorry,” I say, a flush of embarrassment climbing up over my cheek.

As soon as it does, one of Silas’s shadows is right there, brushing over the pink of my skin, a wave of gentle magick with it as he feels what I’m feeling.

It surprises me, and it seems to surprise him, too, because all that darkness goes still. When it does, I get another glimpse of his face.

Is he a little clearer this time?

It might just be my mind playing tricks, but when I peer into his shadows, I see a pair of full lips parted on an inhale, the glimmer of wide eyes, the high cut of his cheekbones.

“Don’t be sorry, Rosemary.”

“Rose. You can call me Rose.”

When I whisper the words, I know I’m not imagining the way his shadow presses a little more firmly against my skin. It only lasts for a moment, though, before he pulls away again.

“Rose,” he says. “Well then, don’t be sorry, Rose.”

“I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

“I shouldn’t have pressed on matters that don’t concern me.”

I roll my eyes. “Has anyone ever told you you’re too nice?”

Silas, picking up the thread of teasing in my voice and tugging on it, leans conspiratorially closer. “Yes.”

Laughing, I shake my head. “So then, can we both accept each other’s apologies and move on?”

“I’d like that,” he agrees with a chuckle of his own.

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