Page 67 of The Crow Games

What was he doing trying to flirt with me? Now I couldn’t remember important things like plotting and escape and . . . the names and order of pistol parts . . .

“Nott came to see me,” I said, a burst of intelligence blossoming briefly between my ears amidst the mess he’d created. “He wanted me to kill his sister in exchange for use of his sigil. Whatever you said to him, you probably shouldn’t have. I told him no unequivocally.”

Asher rubbed the space between his eyes. “I’ve known Nott a very long time. Put him out of your mind, and I’ll deal with him.”

Put him out of my mind? He said that so casually, like the act was simple. There were a great many things I would have liked to put out of my mind at that moment. Like flirting. And the scent of him, and his smoky voice curling around me. And eye colors.

And his knee which bumped mine under the table and then just rested there.

Did he like my eyes? Is that what he was saying?

“Are my eyes brown or hazel?” I echoed, and then I scoffed. “Aren’t you supposed to be a poet? You’re always writing verses. Surely you could do better than that.”

The creases at the corners of his eyes crinkled. “You’re flirting back now.”

“I . . . Not on purpose.” My lashes lowered. I pressed my lips together, fighting back a smile and losing.

Maybe it was a little on purpose. I don’t know. I was greatly out of practice with such things.

Another burst of intelligence came to me. I scooted to the edge of my seat. Now both of my knees were touching his . . . and I didn’t dislike it. “I need you to let me read your poems.”

He snorted.

“I’m serious,” I told him. “Replenishing my energy is . . . complicated. I need to recuperate, and I need to do it sooner rather than later. Especially after that visit from Nott.”

“He’s just having fun with you. Don’t let him get in your head. I still think we can convince Nott to help us, no sororicide necessary. He has no allegiance to any god but himself. He’s our best bet.”

“Then we still have the problem of my energy. I haven’t read verses in Frian in ages,” I said, and he squirmed in his seat. “Let me read something of yours. It would be a tremendous help.”

He pushed a hand through his hair sheepishly. “Not if you don’t like them, it won’t.”

“How long have you been writing? Centuries, at least? Surely you’ve some talent after all this time.”

He rolled his eyes at me. “If I let you, are you going to keep flirting with me?”

“I . . .” My mind stuttered to a standstill. “I don’t know?” The statement came out sounding like a foolish question.

His smile grew into something sly and wolfish. I had to squeeze my eyes shut for a second. The backs of my lids were safer to look at than his celestial face when it was being smug.

“I let you see inside my mind,” I rumbled. “Why can’t I get a peek inside yours?”

That got him. He pulled a journal out of his shadows, something older and more battered than the one he usually wrote in. He handed it to me. When I tried to grab it, he hung on to his end. “If it doesn’t work for you . . . if you don’t like them, I’d rather not hear the details of it.”

“The bullet I shot into your chest is fine,” I teased, “but you can’t handle me criticizing your writing?”

“Exactly,” he said, and his grin went crooked.

My thumb grazed against his over the leather of the case, a gentle reassurance, and he released his journal into my care.

* * *

That night, I found Emma waiting for me in my cabin.

“Can I help you?” I asked her as I slid my compartment door shut behind me.

Emma rubbed her hands down her arms, one leg crossed over the other. Her foot bobbed impatiently. “I need you to promise me something.”

“I’ll try,” I said cautiously.

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