The Changeling's Ghost (Thirteen Gates #1)

Burning

Asher smiles when we get back from the mission today. It's the third or so we've been out on together since the incident, which is a word I've been trying to refrain from using: man, does it ever color everything. The first dinner as a family (plus us, guests) since the incident. The first time we've spoken to the undines since the incident. Everyone in town has to know, because you better believe they ask, about the incident. People have said incident more times in the last few days here than we say "disciplinary action" back at home.

Asher, who has practically become the incident, hauls himself up the stairs with my help. "And you didn't tell me that you used aura manipulation. That's so... unamerican of you."

My eyes widen. "Me? Unamerican? I'm more American than a bald eagle eating apple pie. What you're looking for is innovative. Cool. Sexy." I run my fingers through my hair, which is well-shampooed and smoother than I am.

"Aura manipulation is 'sexy' now." Asher blushes the brightest red I've ever seen it, like a cherry tomato. I guess the British are prude. At least I got Asher Northcott to say the word sexy out loud. Really gels well with his accent.

"Darn tootin'," I holler. The whole house trembles with the weight of my American accent.

Asher cracks up. "You have never said darn tootin' before in your life."

"Maybe it's time for me to start."

"I will pay you not to." He opens the door to his room. His physical therapy instructions are on the desk. The exercises are boring, basic trash, but I'll abide by whatever keeps my man safe. My main man. My homie. My bro. That feels awesome to say. I should bug him about it. "So, Washington, same time tomorrow?"

"Uh, unless you have something better to do."

"Yeah," Asher looks wistfully up at the top bunk. "Something better."

I haven't moved back in yet. We've considered it but I was thinking I should give him space. Waiting for an invitation from other people to do things is such a pain. This is one of the many, many reasons I like working solo. You get to do whatever you want. Want to consult with the boss? The boss is you.

Asher chokes up. "My parents found another dead cat today."
"Shit."

"Conway loved cats. She's just doing it to torture him."

"Jokes on her. He's not even around the house."

"He could be. He's a big tree, Gus, we'd never notice him unless he tripped off some magical alarm," Which they don't have, because as established, this family is practically incompetent. Even if they've had what, a few good ideas? "What if Greta burns him down? What if he dies out there and the last thing we ever said to each other was..."

I try to empathize. I run through every similar situation in my head that I can, imagining what it would be like if someone at the Academy screwed me over, but it just doesn't make sense. Why would you ever be so sentimental about someone who hurt you? Who cares about protecting one of the bad guys? "He'll be fine."

"Think so?"

"Know so, bud. Go do your exercises." I grab him around the shoulder.

We don't let go of each other. The pat extends into something way more awkward.

Asher leans on me a little, like he's drunk. I shift and Asher bolts up, announcing, cane in hand, "Whoops! Guess I fell."

"Yeah my arm slipped," I say. "For a good minute there. Bye, Asher?"

"See you at dinner," Asher says with a little smile. It's tentative and fleeting, but I catch it and stuff it deep in my mind. I turn with a hand flourish as he shuts the door and set off down the hallway. I'm still thinking about that smile. Silly. I don't think I've ever had someone at the Academy smile at me like that. The bracelets on my arm itch. It's been a while since I've seen them. Not like I haven't been texting, but I haven't talked enough or all that often. I open my phone with an idle thumb click and go down my list of contacts. I close it with another click, just as the rapping begins.