Page 95 of Thief of Night
Red looked out the window, into the dark. “He’s more a part of me than I think, maybe. Even if I hate it. Living with someone for that long, I suppose it was inevitable that some of it would rub off.”
“Remy?” she managed to get out. The pressure on her chest eased.
Red’s gaze turned away from her. “No. Salt.”
Though she would have preferred to curl up on the couch with a bottle of Pellegrino from the fridge and all of the grapes and cookies from the welcome basket, Charlie made herself get ready for dinner. She slid on a strappy black slip dress, one of the few formal things she owned, though itsquished her boobs. Then she swooped liquid eyeliner over a little glitter shadow and attempted to cover the last of her black eye with a fresh application of concealer and a great deal of powder. Finally she added distractingly bright lipstick, perfume oil, and gold hoops.
The girlfriend of a rich guy didn’t have to look insanely wealthy, so it was fine that her dress shoes weren’t designer. Hopefully it would also be okay that she was carrying a vintage metal clutch she’d picked up at a flea market and never had an excuse to use before. She was sure it wouldn’t be noticeable that the gold in her ears wasn’t real.
She could believe all that until she saw Red. Red, in a gray suit that looked cut sharply over the broad muscles of his shoulders, showing off his thews and sinews with disturbing ease. Red, the collar of his crisp white dress shirt open and his shoes shining like the black carapaces of beetles.
He blinked at her and she had a moment where she wanted to apologize.I know I don’t look the way I should.
“I went outside and checked things out,” he told her. “I saw two more cottages within walking distance. I can’t tell if they’re rented or if they’re something else—owner suites, the night staff’s bunks? We can go together later.”
“After dinner,” she said.
He put out an arm and for a moment, it was like being in a movie. She rested her hand on his sleeve and he escorted her to the passenger side of the golf cart.
“When did you learn to drive?” Charlie asked.
He gave her a sidelong glance.
“When Remy didn’t want to?” she ventured.
He shrugged and left it at that. It was obvious that Red didn’t want to say much that was negative about Remy, which meant there was something negative to say. She imagined Remy Carver passed out in the back seat, Red’s hand on the wheel.
It was creepy to think that a person’s shadow could be awake even when they weren’t. Of course, Red being forced to sleep whenever Remy did would be even creepier.
Inside the main building of Solaluna, the maître d’ led them to a table near a window that looked out over the snow-covered grounds.
Charlie sat and thought of the last time she’d been at a table like this one, with Salt. She’d been terrified—and, to be fair, incredibly hungover—and he’d warned her about Red.A Blight who could pass for human, with an endless hunger.
“Cold?” Red asked.
“I should have brought a sweater,” she said.
He shrugged off his jacket.
“I wasn’t trying to get you to—”
Red held it out to her, expression steady.
“You don’t have to, I mean,” she finished, no complete sentence in sight. She took the jacket.
It settled over her shoulders, warmed with a heat that might have been from her own blood. In the firelight of the candle in the middle of the table, Red’s eyes were scarlet as rubies.
Their waiter came and placed a small white plate in front of each of them. It contained what appeared to be a tiny puff pastry, a mushroom stuffed with something, and a smear of green sauce. “With compliments from the chef.”
Charlie forked up the pastry as the waiter poured what he identified as a Veltliner into her glass. The pastry tasted like cheese and sage. She chased it with a huge gulp of the greenish wine, astringent on her tongue.
“I admire the way you’re playing your role,” she said. “But seeing you here feels like seeing a part of you that I didn’t know.”
Red let a smile slide across his face. “Does it bother you?”
She could feel her cheeks heat, because it did. It made her feel as though there was a chasm between them, one deeper than what might come from his being a shadow.
“You knew too much about fancy watches,” she said. “I should have realized, but instead it made me wonder if you were a burglar.”
