You Must Fall In Love

Chapter Thirty-Seven

"I don't think there's anything wrong with my head."

To Rob, it was the most obvious answer, because despite his appearances, he wasn't in control of the conversation at all. As a matter of fact, he had already used every single one of his conversational tricks — the nonchalant feint, the folded arms, the casual smirk — precisely because he had no idea what to do next. He was thinking on his feet, or rather, his butt, which was why he couldn't get up and pace like he wanted to.

You weren't meant to be here this long. You have to approach this carefully.

It was true, or at least, it had been true until a few minutes ago. Jen was almost as tricky as her mother, and liked him almost as much, for whatever reason. She was trying to get him alone with Christine because she thought that the contest, Rob's attempt at being a real suitor, was still on.

It wasn't on. Rob didn't want it to be on. He wanted to be as far away from Christine as possible, because something very dangerous was happening between them, and if he gave it a name he might validate it.

But when Christine had told him that they didn't have anything in common, that had struck something in him, because he still remembered how she had screamed in August's arms, and the anger that had struck him in his chest, radiating out from his mark, turning his blood to fire and his hands to hot steel.

He had spent his life alone, so he knew. There was no way that they had nothing in common.

"There's nothing wrong with your head," she repeated. "I honestly don't know how seriously to take that."

"No," he said. "Actually, I think I grew up rather normal, all things considered."

"Things?" she frowned.

As he looked at her skinny face and her sharp, doubting eyes, he began to suspect that she was trying to muster sympathy for him. Then again, he couldn't imagine Christine ever showing sympathy for anyone else, or at least, not openly. It was like asking a cactus for a hug.

"You're a mage's daughter," he said. "That magic paper or whatever it is..."

"Amulets. They're amulets."

"Magic paper."

"Look, they have a long history, okay? They're not just... whatever. Yeah. Magic paper."

"I don't have any of that history," he said. "I wasn't born into a mage family, I can't cast spells... everything I know is secondhand, from those people around me who know."

"You didn't ask your parents?"

The way her brows were working, it was like everyone had exactly two parents. It was darkly amusing, in a way, like meditating on the inner workings of hamsters.

"I've never met my parents," he said. "I was abandoned the minute they found out about my curse. From what I hear, they left me in a packing crate. I was raised by nuns at Silverfawn Children's Home — that is, when they weren't trying to get rid of me."

"Oh," she said, looking like her throat had been replaced by a lemon. "Sorry."

"For what? You didn't do anything."

It made sense, after all. Christine had it all about her — the air of someone who had never had to really struggle for anything in her life, but was convinced she had. It was endearing, when it wasn't annoying.

He wished he could be like her.

"Look," she said, rubbing the back of her head like it had turned into an overweight cat, "sometimes I say things that I don't mean. I wasn't thinking."