Page 72 of Liminal
Somehow…I doubt that. I don’t know Galileo well, but I don’t get the impression that he’s a fan of Pierce or his sister. Still, the idea is worrisome.
Dakari looks at me, really looks at me, and whatever he sees makes his face fall. “Kyrith?—”
“My dealings with Leo are none of your concern,” I reply as evenly as I can. “It won’t affect your Sanctuary.”
“That wasn’t?—”
“Does Mr McKinley need anything?” I cut him off. “Or were you simply lurking for entertainment?”
Dakari levels me with a dark, unimpressed look that makes it clear what he thinks of my less-than-subtle evasion. “Don’t trust the Ó Rinn, Kyrith. And don’t get close to him either.”
“I had no plans to. Now, are you interested in magiball? It appears the Arcanaeum is about to host its first showing.”
Twenty-One
Kyrith
Jasper McKinley is dangerous.
Not in the same predatory way that Dakari is. He’s not shrewd like Galileo or callous like Pierce.
He’s good.
Toogood.
And I have no idea what I’m supposed to do with that.
“I’m so grateful for what you’ve done for me,” he mumbles for the hundredth time, barely daring to meet my eyes. “Thank you.”
A beautiful blush stains his cheeks, and the softness in his expression is disarming to the point of distraction. He’s sitting on the edge of his bunk, wearing grey jeans and a pale blue shirt that’s unbuttoned to display those pretty muscles with every move he makes. Occasionally, it reveals a tempting glimpse of hair-dusted skin, and I…
I hate myself.
Because this sweet Scot was my patient—is still my patient—and he’s charming and kind. Angelic, almost. He's undoubtedlygone through trauma, given that he was locked in a basement for years. Yet, here I am, perving on him like a horny, broken old ghost who needs to get her head on straight.
“Drink this.” I thrust the potion at him. “Give it a little while to work. Later tonight, I’ll try to undo some of the ensorcellments on you.”
“Is that wise?” Dakari asks.
“You want me to forget a decade of my life?” Jasper gapes at him.
“It wasn’t a good decade,” Dakari insists. “You don’t want to remember where I found you, trust me.”
Jasper pouts, then grimaces as he throws back the tiny shot glass of fizzing pink liquid. He’s trimmed his beard, too, and it glitters with remnants of magic for a second before he wipes it away on the back of his hand.
“What was that for?” he asks, and I want to slap my palm into my forehead.
He’s too trusting.
“It was deadly poison,” I deadpan, rolling my neck even though it does nothing to assuage the imaginary tension in my shoulders.
“Naw, really, what is it?” Jasper stares at the glass as if it might provide answers.
“It’s a magical block. I want to see if giving your psyche twenty-four hours without magic will allow your well a chance to reset.”
He’s already been making scraps, which is why this is necessary.
“No magic for a whole day?”
