Page 9 of The Fae Menagerie
"Yeah." I didn't want to tell him about Dan from marketing, or I would be the one talking all night. "I'm not very fond of people," I concluded.
Doyle snorted. "We have that in common."
"I'd gathered." The way Doyle talked about his past lovers as conquests rather than relationships had set off every warning bell in my head. He was just another user, like Bret and everyone before him.
Still, it was nice to get away. Dad had wanted me to take a vacation (with the heiress, of course), but I'd been too stubborn to listen. Maybe I needed some time away to gain perspective.
After dinner, Doyle showed me around the rest of his place. Each room opened to the next one, forming a circle. Though the kitchen had a window, there were no curtains. The cabinets and sink provided some privacy until I opened the doors and saw outside, or the next enclosure. I shivered when something resembling a giant spider crawled sideways above the sink, luckily on the other side of the glass.
Doyle pulled me to the next room, and I forgot about the creature.
Another arched doorway led to a library stuffed floor to ceiling with books. There were so many, the shelves obscured most of the two outside walls. I almost forgot they were glass until I removed a book and glimpsed a park bench beyond. A young fae with horns sat with their arms crossed, as though questioning my book choices.
At first, I'd thought the book I'd taken was written in another language, but the moment I opened it, the words morphed into English. The only problem: it was a romance.
I glanced through the titles.A Fae in Love. Two Lovebirds and Only One Bed. Snowed In with the Winter King.They were all romances.
"You read this stuff?" I asked Doyle.
"Not a one." He gritted his teeth, and then let out a deep sigh. "Not recently. I've read them all."
"Are you all right?"
"I forgot how much it hurts to lie."
"The fae can't lie?" My Irish grandma had been highly superstitious of wood sprites, goblins, and the fae. According to her, they would spirit people off to the fae realm on a whim and never allow them to return. If only she could see me now. She would laugh at my disbelieving attitude when I was younger. Now, it seemed I was destined to remain in the fae realm for the foreseeable future.
Doyle looked even more ill as he thought over the answer to my question. "Not outright, no, though I could have said some bullshit about how they're not my favorites and left you guessing." He nodded weakly at the book in my hand. "You?"
Now that I knew Doyle couldn't lie to me, I felt obligated to tell him the truth. "Depends how bored I get, and how longI stay." With nothing else to occupy my time, I would read anything.
"You're handling this really well," Doyle said. "I thought you might yell at me for bringing you here."
"Bret pushed me. If I blame anyone, I blame him." I shrugged. "You're not a bad roommate." He grinned, and I tacked on, "So far."
"I wouldn't know," he said. "I'm an only child. Never had a roommate before."
I glanced at the massive array of books. "As silly as it sounds, this could be a much-needed vacation for me. I've been working sixty-hour weeks for the past six years, with no end in sight."
"That sounds miserable," Doyle agreed. "Shall we continue to the viewing room?"
Doyle led me through another open archway. I didn't know what to make of his words, "viewing room." I didn't see a television or magical screen. Like the other exterior rooms, the outside wall was nothing but glass, and the glass was unadorned. I almost asked what we would be viewing, but I didn't want to know.
The next arched doorway led us back to the living room where we'd landed. There, Doyle motioned to another room, one we'd walked all the way around. This was the only room in his enclosure with a door. He opened it and motioned me inside with a flourish of his arm and one wing.
With a slight bow of my head to acknowledge the momentous occasion, I stepped inside. Doyle was inviting me to his bedroom, after all.
The first thing I noticed was the darkness. No windows or glass walls here. The ceiling looked like it belonged in a fancy hotel with its crown molding and dark purple glaze. The room also had no light fixture, but the moment I stepped through the door, the walls and ceiling began to glow.
The bed was hidden from view behind layers and layers of silk curtains the colors of wine, from blush to black. Instead of focusing my attention there, I turned toward the closet, where Doyle rummaged for sheets and a blanket.
"I'll just need to borrow a …" he gave a slight shrug and twirled toward the bed, retrieving a red pillow from somewhere within all the hanging silk. "I'll sleep on the couch, and you can have the bed."
"I'm not kicking you out of your own bed, Doyle. That's ridiculous."
"You're right," he said. "You're not. I insist on sleeping on the living room couch." He cleared his throat. "If things change in the future, I will let you know. Until then, you're my guest, and you have the bed. They just washed the sheets." He gave a slight bow of his head. "Enjoy."
"Wait. I don't have any clothes."
