Page 21 of Dark Night Golden Dawn
Harlow wasn’t sure what to say.
He seemed at war with himself for a moment, then before she could answer he asked, “Do you need a ride?”
There were a thousand reasons to say no, but her sister’s hunched shoulders were all she needed. “I’d be grateful if you could help us get out of here.”
He nodded and gestured to the street. “My car’s parked this way. I’ll take you home.”
Harlow put her arm around Larkin and followed Finn to a dark green vintage sports car. “Will we all fit?” she asked sarcastically.
He grimaced at her. “It has a backseat.”
“I’ll sit in back,” Larkin said, quietly interrupting.
He opened the doors and pushed back the camel-colored front seat so she could get in and then helped her inside. Harlow was surprised at how gentle he was with Larkin, and the soft tone of his voice as he showed her where the seatbelt was. For someone who struck fear and awe into most people, he could be surprisingly considerate.
The ride through the city was quiet. He cracked a window and started to light another cigarette. Before she could think better of her actions, she snatched it out of his fingers. The current that snapped between them was electric.
“Hey,” he snapped, glaring at her sidelong as he watched traffic.
“Just because you can’t get lung cancer doesn’t mean you should smoke this shit. If it’s illegal for humans, maybe you should lay off too.”
She rolled down her window a crack, rolling her eyes at the old crank lever, and tossed the cigarette out.
“And now you’ve littered, Krane,” he said, the sharp edge of his deep voice tempered by humor. “Now who should be following the rules better? Isn’t littering illegal for humans too?”
Larkin snorted softly in the back seat and Harlow spun so fast to glare at her sister that her seatbelt choked her.
“Careful there, kitten,” Finn murmured. “Don’t hurt yourself.
She crossed her arms across her chest and sighed. “Don’t call me kitten.”
“Don’t call you kitten, don’t call you Harls.” Finn shook his head, making eye contact with Larkin in the backseat via the rearview mirror. Both of them were laughing at her.
Harlow fought the urge to laugh along with them. Finbar McKay was not her friend, he was not her prospective lover, he was a problem. One she needed to solve, and quickly, as they were almost home. Harlow only spoke again to tell him how to get into the courtyard. When he stopped, there was awkward silence.
“Thanks for the ride,” Harlow said, her hand on the door handle.
“Do you want to order pizza and watch a scary movie with us?” Larkin asked from the back seat. It was the first thing she’d said in twenty minutes.
Harlow’s eyes went wide. Her heart tumbled as he grinned, peeking into the back at Larkin. When he answered she didn’t know whether to cheer or scream. “Yeah. I’d love that. Thanks for asking.”
ChapterEleven
Harlow followed them into the house, up the four flights of stairs that led to the residence above the bookstore. The staircase wall was papered in a rich tapestry-style that depicted stags and cranes, representative of her mothers’ combined heritage. Harlow let her fingers drag over the wallpaper as she had as a child, thinking she might feel the feathers or fur come to life under her touch.
She watched Finn’s eyes take in every part of her childhood home as they entered. The plush rugs, the natural objects and copious amounts of art. The cozy furniture and rich, colorful palette. She’d told him about it dozens of times as children, but he’d never come here. Of course, neither of their parents had approved of their friendship, and so they mostly saw each other at school and parties.
Larkin said something about changing out of her dress and they were left alone in the living room. Harlow plugged her phone in and turned to ask him why he’d wanted to come inside, but his expression was so open, and so unlike the cold version of him she’d grown used to, that her words died in her mouth.
He swallowed hard as she made eye contact. “I always wanted to come here. It’s just like you said, better even. This place feels like a real home.”
She nodded. It was true, her mothers had elegant taste, but never sacrificed comfort or the ability to gather with their family. There were three long couches in a u-shaped arrangement in the great room, and a television that was magicked to look like an oil seascape when not in use. The walls were painted a deep green, and the couches were overstuffed, with dozens of pillows and blankets ready to snuggle into. Round brass lamps with empire shades cast warm pools of light on the blue rugs. For a moment, she saw it all from his perspective.
Everywhere there was evidence of the women who called this home. Dozens of framed photographs gilded the library table behind the couches. Tables were strewn with notebooks, scrunchies, and novels stuck with bookmarks. Someone’s slippers and a pair of wool socks peeked out from under one of the couches. This was where seven people who genuinely loved one another gathered frequently.
She knew there were no spaces like it in his family’s home. He’d said as much when they were younger. Harlow started to say something but he shook his head again. “Please don’t ask me to explain myself tonight, Harls. Just let me order pizza?”
Part of her wanted to say no, was tempted to tell him to get out, but there was such a soft look of need in his eyes that she couldn’t manage the unkind words on her tongue. “Fine. I’m going to change clothes too. You know what I like on pizza. Larkin only likes cheese.”
