She nodded. “And what’s the next step? Using the magic? Staying away from it? Being myself or being someone’s daughter?”

I regretted that I’d brought these questions to her door, that my coming home forced her to face questions and issues she’d clearly tried to put aside.

“I think,” I said after a minute, “that the next step is just to be Lulu. Whatever that means to you. Whatever feels right to you. I like you either way.” I looked at her, smiled. “And, to be honest, it’s kind of nice to have a safe place without magic. Where Steve and Eleanor of Aquitaine are the only disturbing things.”

“Hell of a night,” she said again.

And I thought that summed it up pretty well.

NINETEEN

I woke to pounding on the bedroom door.

“What?” My voice sounded as irritable as I felt.

Lulu looked in. “You awake?”

I swore under my breath. “I am now. What time is it?”

“Dusk. Get your ass up. We have stuff to do.”

“Saving the city from mysterious fairies?”

“Chores.”

“What?”

“This isn’t a hostel for underprivileged vampires. You stay in my house, you work for the privilege.”

I opened my mouth, itching to argue, but couldn’t really think of anything to say. “Please don’t make me clean a toilet.”

* * *

• • •

No toilets, and no cleaning. But there was an assemblage of bowls and ingredients and a steaming waffle iron on the kitchen island.

“Waffles? Nice.” I sat down on a stool, then frowned at her, because her expression was very serious. “Are you making me breakfast, or are you preparing me for something?”

“Both, kind of.” A buzzer sounded, and she opened the waffle iron, pulled the waffle out with a pair of tongs, and put it on a plate that she slid to me across the island.

Then she poured batter into the iron’s now-empty wells from a large glass measuring cup. She closed the lid, turned the dial on a timer, and looked at me.

“I’ve done some thinking,” she said, then lifted her gaze to me. “If you’re going to live here, we need to have some ground rules.”

I lifted my brows. “Am I going to live here?”

Her lips quirked. “Do you have a better alternative at the moment?”

“I do not. I mean, I’m not even entirely sure if I’m going to stay in Chicago. I promised Dumas a year, assuming they’d actually take me back, and who knows about that? Their leaving without me wasn’t exactly a vote of confidence.”

“But you made a promise, and that matters to you.”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s assume for the purposes of this conversation that you’re going to live here.” The timer buzzed again, and she pulled out the second waffle, then proceeded to bury it under syrup.

“So assumed,” I said with a smile as she passed me the syrup, began to cut into her breakfast.

“One, no more pity parties. We might be emotionally damaged, but we aren’t going to dwell on it. We’re going to be who we are, and that’s fine.”

Lulu didn’t have a clue how much I was grappling with that.

“Two, you’re going to share the work, the rent, and the responsibilities.”

“Okay. How much is the rent?”

“Less than it could be, more than it should be.”

“That is vague and unhelpful.”

“Three,” she said, “Steve lives here. And so does Eleanor of Aquitaine.”

“They’re going to gang up and murder us in our sleep.”

“So assumed,” she said with a grin, and then chewed contemplatively. “And finally, we get to have some normal.” She cut another cube of waffle, held it up. “Breakfast. Conversations. Food we cook ourselves. Trips to the zoo. Self-damn-care. Stuff that’s completely mundane. We both grew up surrounded by supernaturals and magic. If we live together, we’re probably signing up for more of it. I’m probably committing to more of it.”

I frowned, put down my fork. “Lulu, I don’t want to put you—”

But she held up a hand. “I can’t run from it, Elisa. I can’t hide away and pretend it’s not out there. I don’t have to use my magic. But I have to acknowledge it exists. Maybe I can live on the outskirts of it. We can be roommates, and you can tell me about your adventures. I get the good stories, but don’t actually have to immerse myself in the drama.”

She flipped off the waffle iron. “I think we’re entitled to some normal. And I think maybe that’s the kind of thing I can help with. I can do the normal. I can try to make sure you have breakfast and all that other stuff.”

I smiled at her. “Are we dating now?”

Lulu snorted a laugh. “Girl, you are not my type. And you’ve only got eyes for Connor Keene.”

“I do not have eyes for Connor Keene.” But I didn’t even sound convincing to me.

“Liar,” she said, taking another bite. “You are a dirty, stinking liar.”

I put down my fork, appetite gone. “He touched my wrist yesterday.”

She paused midchew. “Is that a euphemism for . . . anything?”

I shook my head. “We were talking, and he took my wrist and looked at me, and he’s so damn sexy, and he cares about the Pack and his family and . . . I’m falling for him.”

“No shit, Watson.”

I ignored her. “He’s leaving. And I’m maybe going back to Paris—or who knows—but he’s definitely leaving for Alaska. Twenty years I’ve known him, Lulu. Twenty damn years, and I hated him for most of those. Arrogant little punk who drove me crazy just because he could.”

“You can’t drive someone crazy unless there’s emotion there to begin with. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have cared.”

I gave her a narrowed stare. “Is that intended to make me feel better? Because it doesn’t.”

“I’m just over here, eating my waffle,” she said, taking another enormous bite.

“Why did he have to get so hot? And why did he have to get so damn noble?”

“Fucking shifters,” she said.

“Fucking shifters,” I agreed.

My screen buzzed, and I checked it. “That’s my Auto. I have to get to Cadogan House.” I rose, stuffed a final bite of waffle in my mouth. “I’ll keep you posted.”

“Have a good evening, honey!”

“You too, sugar. Don’t wait up.”

* * *

• • •

When I’d been a kid, my father’s office had been a place for playtime, for watching television while my father held open-office hours, or for just taking in a few innings of a Cubs game with the House’s senior staff. If I’d gotten in trouble, my parents handled it in our apartments. They hadn’t wanted me to dread being in the office—or dread talking to my father if something came up.

Despite all that prep work, I stood outside his door for a full five minutes, not yet able to walk in.

All the while, I could feel my mother’s sword buzzing, which was one of the reasons I hadn’t yet knocked. Not the only reason, but one of them.

“You should have learned by now,” I murmured to the monster, “that I’m not going to let happen what you want to happen.”

I don’t know if it was chastised or merely biding its time, but the throb of magic turned to a dull roar that I could manage. As ready as I was likely to be, I knocked.

“Come in,” he said, and I opened it, found him alone and at his desk. He wore a dark suit with a crisp white shirt beneath, the top button opened to reveal the gleam of his Cadogan medal.

He smiled when I walked in, but there was caution in his eyes that I hadn’t seen before. And that broke my heart a little.

“Is it already time for the meeting?” he asked, and glanced at his wristwatch. As with his vehicles, he preferred the old-fashioned kind.

“Not yet. I’m a little early.” I closed the door. “Can we talk?”

“Of course.” He rose, came around the desk, and gestured to the sitting area.

There was something formal in his manner that made me sad and uncomfortable. Had I completely screwed up our relationship?