Page 63 of Real

I bolt upright when I remember Antonio. I promised him I’d get the car back to him. And what about Anne? She was supposed to wait for the paramedics. I never checked in with her about that. Last night I forgot everything but Timothy.

It was nice to forget for a few hours.

Timothy opens his eyes and blinks a few times. “What time is it?”

I glance at the alarm clock on the nightstand. “Nine.”

Timothy sits up. “Where is Anne?”

I smile. Timothy must have forgotten everything too.

“Let’s go find everyone, and I’ll make you some breakfast,” I say.

“You don’t have to make me breakfast—”

“I know.” There are a lot of things Ihaveto do this morning. Making Timothy breakfast is the thing Iwantto do.

I slide my feet over the side of the bed and head for the door. Timothy takes a few moments to stretch before climbing out of bed and following me.

The guest bedroom is next to the kitchen. When I open the guest bedroom door, I see we aren’t alone. Two of Dorian’s guards are eating toast and eggs at the eat-in table with Anne.

Candlewick is leaning against the kitchen counter and sipping a cup of coffee.

“Candlewick! You’re here!” I rush at him and throw my arms around him.

He sets the coffee down and hugs me back. Seeing him free makes me feel like everything will be okay. Skatt or not, I’m still Candlewick’s friend.

“I hear you went after Dorian with a knife. Not gonna lie, I would have paid good money to see that,” he says.

I laugh. I wish he had been there to see it too.

Candlewick pulls away from me to look me in the eye. “Is he… really dead?”

“Yeah.”

Candlewick lets out a long breath. “Thank fuck.”

“Thank Magic,” Anne says. “She’s the one that took him from us. If it were me, I would have given him a more painful death, but what do I know?”

Candlewick smiles. “I like her.”

There are pancakes cooking in the frying pan now. “Candlewick, did you cook?”

He laughs. “God, no. Manny’s around here somewhere. Probably checking the perimeter or preaching about the evils of carnal sin. He might even be checking the perimeter and preaching at the same time.”

Manny didn’t mention praying or religion at all last night. Is he different around Candlewick because of what he does for a living?

“I take it you two aren’t getting along very well?” I ask. Candlewick is wearing what he affectionately calls his “stare at my ass” shorts and a crop top that shows off the elaborate chandelier tattoo on his lower back. The chandelier has twenty candles, not electric lights, that reflect on the pieces of dangling glass. I once asked him what his tattoo meant, and he simply said, “It means I was young and stupid once.”

If he really hated it, I don’t think he’d have so many crop tops or a white button-up shirt with a sheer window along his lower back to show it off. But who knows?

Either way, it’s a breathtaking tattoo.

Manny rushes into the kitchen. It’s impossible not to notice the way his eyes linger on Candlewick for a second too long and Candlewick’s resulting smile that’s more bitter than smug.

Something is going on between the two of them.

“Is he immune to your charms?” I ask jokingly.

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