Page 23 of Cherish

We all laugh this time—not sure whether he intended the misstatement or not, which only makes it funnier.

“Now, can I pretty please have a drink?” Jikan asks and tosses the Bloodletter a wink. Awink.

But she’s having none of it. “Well, with the way you behaved, you’re lucky I’m even letting you enter my house, much less touch my champagne.”

“Yeah, well, if your mate wasn’t drunk every time he got on the field, I wouldn’t have to correct him, Cassia.”

“Perhaps if you didn’tberate him so much, he wouldn’t have tobedrunk every time he has to referee one of thesefriendlygames,” the Bloodletter counters with a toss of her head, but I notice she hands him both glasses before she turns to walk us toward the parlor—wherever that is. Since she and Alistair have moved back into the Court, it looks majorly different than it used to. Kind of like the Bloodletter herself.

Gone is the old woman I first met. In her place is a slender woman in her thirties, with unwrinkled brown skin and long locs pulled up in a head wrap the exact shade of her flowing red caftan. Only her eye color is the same, a swirling emerald green that changes intensity with her emotions.

Heather is looking everywhere but where she’s going as we follow the Bloodletter down the grand hall. “This place is amazing!” she whispers as she stares at the huge stone hallways filled with weapons and tapestries.

I flash back to my first hours wandering the halls at Katmere Academy, part awed, part overwhelmed, as I tried to figure out how my life had taken such a strange and abrupt turn. I have a moment of wishing I could have shown Katmere to her before Hudson and Jaxon had to bring it down to save us all, but then I let it go.

Because, as Jikan would probably say, if beggars were horses, wishes would ride…

Besides, with the team the Circle has put together to rebuild Katmere, I know it’s going to be better than ever. I just wish it could be better than ever now.

The Bloodletter finally stops in front of what used to be a pretty utilitarian meeting room, if I remember correctly. But as she throws open the mahogany French doors, I realize exactly why she’s calling this the parlor now. Because there’s absolutely nothing utilitarian left about it.

Instead of light-gray stone, the walls are now covered in a pale-green fabric decorated with birch trees and flowers and flying birds. The drapes are teal, and so is the very fancy rug that now covers the rough stone floors. Crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling, and the furniture all looks comfortable and ladylike.

Especially the Queen Anne armchair that Alistair is currently sitting in as he sips a very large mimosa.

“Grandfather,” I say, crossing to him.

“Grace!” He leaps to his feet and meets me halfway. And while he may look young, he still hugs like a grandpa, his arms as strong and comforting as the old-fashioned scent of Aramis that wraps itself around me. “I was hoping you’d stop by the house to see me!”

“I wouldn’t leave without at least saying hello,” I tell him as he pulls me over to sit next to him on one of the dainty rose-gold couches.

“Too bad Jikan can’t say the same,” he answers with a scowl directed at the God of Time.

Jikan is completely unfazed, of course. So unfazed, in fact, that he sets one of his now empty glasses down, reaches out, and snatches the mimosa out of Alistair’s hand before sitting in one of the delicate armchairs and draining it in one long sip.

Alistair raises an imperious brow. “Excuse you?” he growls.

“You’ve already had too many,” Jikan responds airily. “Though it’s nice to see that common sense prevailed at the end.”

“You wouldn’t know common sense if it bit you in the—” Alistair breaks off when the Bloodletter shoots him a dark look.

“Aorta?” Jikan fills in the blank for him.

“Who wants to be bitten in the aorta?” Heather asks, wide-eyed.

Eden chuckles. “Who wants to be bitten in the ass?”

She makes a good point, and Heather must think so, too, because she ducks her head before finding a seat next to Eden on a couch opposite the chairs.

“Another mimosa, Cassia dear?” Jikan asks. “It’s been a trying evening.”

“Made so by you, Jikandear,” she answers with fake sweetness. But she pours him another of the orange-juice-and-champagne drinks before settling down next to Alistair with one of her own.

“There’s no try in team.” Jikan shoots me a sly glance. “Just ask Grace.”

“There’s no I, either,” I comment as I lean forward.

“Exactly. Because that would spell time. Speaking of which…” He drains his own mimosa as quickly as he drained Alistair’s. “I have a trapeze lesson in an hour, so let’s make this quick.”

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