Page 83 of The Girl Who Inherits the Dead

She and Maison skirt around each other, caught between the awkwardness of the reveal of the bond and the itch inside her chest to make sure that the patchwork healing stays true. He paints a lot, and the small carved table is more often filled with drying scraps of paper than not.

Sometimes, it’s hard to even think about him.

But they fall into a rhythm, just like Delina does with everything in her life. Of careful emotional distance, of not talking about their past. Of moments of connection and smiles that sear through her and immediately remind her of what they had, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. Of him watching her like a hawk whenever she does anything with her magic, and of her pretending to not notice.

So when she has the chance to drive alone, actually alone, all the way back to deal with the rental car, she does.

It’s a peaceful drive over the frost encrusted mountains and into the farmland below, much better in sunshine than the midst of the night. Where instead of the anxiety of her mother’s letter, she has something actually approaching knowledge of herself.

She secures the rental car at the sketchy location for another month, figuring after that she’ll be in a stable enough place to figure out buying a car. Or, somehow, getting back down to Arizona and driving her beloved car back up.

She can’t imagine Maison liking that one at all.

On her way back,the Wight stands on the side of the road, just outside the trap, and Delina stops the car again.

“Yeah?” she asks, when the short woman does nothing but stare at her for a few seconds.

“People were looking for you,” she replies, finally. “On the other side of my territory, off the mountain and into the woods.”

Delina swallows. “Thank you.”

“I don’t want them there,” she continues, with a critical eyebrow raised. “Ask your friend with the glasses how to throw them off the trail.”

And with that, she disappears.

“Both of them wear glasses,” Delina mumbles, getting back in her car.

Predictably,nobody likes that piece of information and Gurlien and Chloe immediately set out in the car to reach out to a contact, leaving Delina with an exceptionally antsy Maison.

“You can paint,” Delina points out, after he paces by the window for the third time.

“Or I can put an additional level of protection around the demon circle and make it even harder to find the place,” Maison says, bouncing on his toes.

Delina eyes him.

“Put some sort of befuddling spell on the road, so unless someone knows how to get here, they won’t remember why they’re coming here, or some sort of alarm so we know when cars are on their way or people walk over it,” Maison continues, twitching the floral curtains. “You can go hide in the basement, it’ll be safer.”

She shuts the overlarge textbook with a snap. “I’m not hiding in the basement.”

“It’d be smart,” Maison argues, and she stands, sticking her chin up. “Make sure anyone looking would miss you.”

“How long have you known me, Maison?” Delina asks, dipping her voice down low, and he blanches. “Have I ever come across as a person who wants to hide?”

“No, but it’d be for your safety,” he says, but she can see in his face he knows it's a losing battle. “There’s a chance they’d be on the lookout for my brand of magic and come running.”

“No,” Delina says, squaring her shoulders at him.

He crosses his arms.

“You can take it as an opportunity to train me,” Delina points out. “I’m not some helpless person with no idea of this magic anymore, make the time useful.”

“It’ll be boring and difficult for you to do,” Maison protests, but he’s reaching for his jacket again.

“I don’t care,” Delina declares, grabbing her own sweater.

They walkalong the long gravel road, and the mist is so thick she can barely see the trees that line both sides, until they come to the burned in line of the demon circle.

“You don’t know the runes yet,” Maison says, and it’s the first words he’s spoken to her the entire walk yet. “And Necromancy isn’t the best at that anyways.”

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