Page 64 of The Girl Who Only Died Once

“Locks make sense,” she says, instead of anything else, closing the safe again, and nobody would be able to tell if it hadever been tampered with. “Most are laughably simple, and the ones that aren’t still have cool logic behind them.”

He doesn’t say anything, settling back against the chair, just observing her steadily. It’s obvious, not the sort of undercover surveillance she felt at the compound, like he’s not even hiding it.

“Would you be able to open it?” Chloe asks, gesturing to it. “Without destroying it or rendering it unusable?”

“Most likely not,” he responds finally. “Most of my peers don’t occupy themselves with preserving the usability of human items.”

“That sounds like an understatement,” Chloe says, and his lips almost twitch up, like he’s about to smile but finds it a poor idea.

Before he sits up straight, his spine ramrod stiff, and his eyes flash red at her.

Chloe jerks back, almost instinctively, her heart jumping in her chest.

And nothing happens.

She waits, breathing as quietly as she can, but the air remains still, without a mote of dust dancing in the cheap lights. His eyes don’t change, but slowly, he nods, gesturing her over.

Every part of him thrums with power, and it sticks in Chloe’s throat as she creeps closer to where he sits, until his hand closes over hers, gentle.

He holds her palm as if she’s delicate, as if he’s worried about breaking her into many, many pieces, and she marvels about it for a few seconds.

Until the room floods with power.

She flinches, but his hand holds her tight, his eyes flashing. The power’s not from him, it flows through the hotel, twisting down the hallways and infiltrating each room. It creeps fromunder the door before swirling around their ankles, seeping out in the cracks from the windows.

He keeps her hand in his until the last bit of magic drains from the room before he releases it, slumping back in the chair.

Chloe clutches her hand to her chest, heart pounding.

“What was that?” she whispers, finally, when nothing else moves.

“Roving scan,” he answers grimly, rubbing his face. It’s such a human motion, at odds with the double appearance. “Randomized blanket scans to dig up any visiting magician or creature they don’t know about.”

She inhales, before forcing it back out.

“I disguised us,” he says, matter of factly, as if that was the easiest thing in the world. “I almost didn’t feel it coming, but it tripped on a rune I laid in the foyer. Got a warning.”

“Wow,” Chloe says out of a lack of anything else. “Not a good scan if you can camouflage yourself.”

“Most demons aren’t as paranoid as me,” he mutters. “Most demons don’t attempt to do…that.”

“Good job?” Chloe asks, then shakes out her hand, as if that could help the disquiet growing in her. “Can you teach me how?”

His lips part, just a hair, before he shakes his head firmly. “It’s not human defense magic.”

“Aww,” Chloe says flippantly, even though her heart still pounds too hard and her hand tingles. “That seems useful.”

For a few moments, she thinks he’s about to smile, but it slips away before she can get it.

“There are alarms you can learn,” he starts, which is way more of a spellweaver’s skill set than hers, “runes you can write to mask yourself, but not like that.”

“How often do the scans go out?” she asks, sitting on the bed, cross legged. “What’s the safety for going out of this room between them.”

“Less safe than staying in,” he says, which isn’t great. “Not prohibitively dangerous, I can keep my feelers out, it’ll just take…concentration.”

“Concentration, got it,” Chloe says, shifting on the bed, the itch already getting underneath her skin. The itch to move, to leave, to get someplace outside of a watchful eye. “Would they pick me up or just you?”

To this, he tilts his head, evaluating obviously, and his slow careful consideration prickles at the back of her neck.

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