Page 62 of The Fantastic Fluke

I cringed after saying it, but he didn’t even react. He just sat there, watched, and waited. After a moment, he asked, “You done?”

“No.”

That, finally, got me the tiniest hint of impatience. His lips tightened and he dropped his chin to look at me, eyebrows lifted. “Sage.”

After the night we’d had, I didn’t want to fight. I also wanted him to tell me it was all a misunderstanding, and he could choose to stay as long as he wanted. We could just live like this forever, in the little bubble the three of us had built.

Maybe we hadn’t known each other long enough to be in love, but I knew for sure this was the happiest I’d been in decades.

I didn’t protest, though. I just slid down onto the carpet in front of the couch and lay my head next to his incorporeal thigh. “Yeah?”

“It’s time to look at your father’s books.”

That was a bit of a surprise after all. “Not practice magic?”

He glanced from side to side, as though someone might be listening in and disapprove of his plans, then shook his head. “No. We’ll get back to that, but first we need to find out about this... them. The people who killed Meredith and the others.” It was endearing how he meant my mother but didn’t say her name. I didn’t want to talk about her either.

“People who think there’s something wrong with arcane magic,” I said instead. We both looked over at the books, but I didn’t budge an inch. “He didn’t find them. Why do you think the books he had would help us find them?”

“They might not help us, but I’d wager a guess we’re smarter than your father. You’re clever. I know more. And if nothing else, we’ll learn more about our enemies by seeing what they had to say.” He looked back at the books and sighed. “I’m just sorry I can’t help, but you can’t go exhausting yourself making me solid all the time.”

I gave him a tiny smirk, raising one eyebrow as though in innocent question. “Only for sex?”

The look he gave me in return made me want to make him corporeal again right that second. Fuck, the way the mansmoldered; those eyes going dark, pupils blown wide, expression intent like he wanted to make me his next meal.

I sucked in a deep breath and tried to calm my heart, which was racing so fast I could feel it thumping away in my chest. How was it possible for this one man to affect me like no one else ever had?

When he finally spoke again, I was hoping for something about taking things back into the bedroom, but instead, he asked, “You’re sure you couldn’t figure out the cypher?”

I groaned and fell back to lie on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. “I suck at languages, Gideon. I took four years of high school Spanish and barely remember how to say that my name is Sage and I like cheese.”

He snorted. “Te gusta queso? Really?”

I lifted my head enough to scowl at him again. If we continued on, I was going to get better at it quickly. “Of course I like cheese. Who doesn’t?”

“That’s not what I—Never mind. Your father’s notes might be the most important part.” We both turned and looked at the small, unassuming leather notebook.

I didn’t know if Iris had any experience with languages or not, but she had already involved herself too much, and I didn’t want to put her in any more danger. Beez didn’t know anything about what was happening, and it was better if it stayed that way. Gideon plain old couldn’t do it, what with being incorporeal.

That left just me. I sighed and let my head drop back onto the carpet once more.

“It makes the most sense to start with the source that’s been put together with information from all possible sources,” Gideon pointed out.

“Fluke and I are having pancakes,” I decided, still staring at the ceiling. I hadn’t made pancakes in ages, but I had my phone. Surely there would be a simple recipe on the internet. I sat up and looked at Gideon. “Yup. Pancakes.”

He followed me into the kitchen, where I rummaged around in the spice cupboard. I was going to need baking soda. Or powder. Both? I never remembered which was which. Or hell, even what the difference was.

“Sage.”

“Did I mention that I suck at languages yet? Because I feel like that’s an important piece of information that should be taken into account here. Me gusta queso, Gideon, remember?” A-ha! Baking powder in a cylindrical can with a little kid on the front. Expiration date four years ago.

That would be fine, right?

“There’s no queso in pancakes,” he said, quiet and resigned. “And we could try talking to your father.”

I reared back from the cupboard, both salt and seasoned salt in hands, staring at him. “What? No. You were right. He was planning to sell me to them.”

He ducked his head, scrubbing the back of his neck with one palm. “We don’t know that. I jumped to conclusions and made an accusation with no proof.”

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