His mouth twitched, but the rest of his face remained inscrutable. “Call it a slip of the tongue.”
“Can’t you just whip up some enchanted potion for my concussion like you did when I drank Daemon wine?” I pleaded.
But Casimir merely smirked and shook his head.
“Fine,” I grunted. “Either way, I’m out of here tomorrow morning.”
“In the meantime…” he said, clearing his throat. “Is there anything else you need?”
I already had an answer. “Could you bring me theBook of Erebos? I want to interrogate it a little more. See if it will offer me more information about the Heir.”
He nodded. I glanced up at him in time to see the afternoon sunlight limn the angular planes of his cheeks and jaw, warming his golden skin. He just stood there for a moment with an inscrutable expression on his face.
But all he said was, “Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.”
“Whatever,” I said, trying to dismiss him.
Dr. Hobart would be back any minute now to take my X-rays.
When Casimir showed no signs of moving toward the exit, I gave an exasperated huff. “You’re still standing there.”
“Where are you keeping the sprite these days?”
“Under my mattress.”
He frowned. “Hmm. Perhaps it’s time you found a more secure hiding spot...” Then, shaking himself from his reverie, added curtly, “I’ll retrieve the Book for you and explain to Gwen where you’ll be tonight. The oh-poor-Arden-slipped-on-the-ice reason, of course.” He paused. “I really am trying to help you, Farrow.”
We were back to a strictly last-name basis, then. When I didn’t reply, he turned to leave. I almost didn’t catch the words he muttered just as he passed over the threshold.
“I just wish you would let me in.”
26
As promised, Casimir delivered theBook of Erebosinto my hands before the afternoon sun set over the trees. He’d also had the foresight to bring an assortment of my belongings in a canvas rucksack. Along with sweats and a pair of socks, he’d also included the slim moleskin journal where I’d stashed the lock of his hair.
I didn’t ask whether he knew what it contained. I did, however, lift a brow when I discovered a pair of strawberry-pink cotton undies.
“I really hope Gwen packed these,” I muttered.
Casimir met my disapproval with a cheeky grin.
The moment Dr. Hobart finished with her examinations and left me to eat my dinner in relative peace, I pulled out the Book from under my pillow and splayed it over my lap. The winter sun had begun to set, casting the room in a warm amber glow. I carefully slipped the lock of hair from the moleskin and placed it into the Book’s leather bindings and waited. When nothing happened, I gave the Book’s weathered pages a violent prod, ostensibly to wake it the hell up.
The ancient book wheezed and coughed as though clogged with centuries of dust, though it had only been a week since I’d last opened it.
“Come crawling back already, Little Arrow?” came a familiar croak.
“I’ve brought you what you asked for,” I said, running a finger over the curled lock sheared from Casimir’s own head. It was softer than I’d remembered, like a raven’s feather. I pushed away the thought of my fingers running through Casimir’s silken curls and cleared my throat. “Now I want you to give me something in return.”
The Book sighed wistfully. “Ah, you have brought me a lock of the Darkseer’s hair. His tresses are as dark as moonless night, his eyes like gobs of honey…”
I made a disgusted noise and rolled my eyes. I swore to the gods, Casimir must’ve enchanted this Book himself. It was the only way to explain how ridiculously infatuated it was with him.
The sprite rasped out a chuckle. “You are no fun, Little Arrow. What will you ask of me?”
“Who is the Keeper’s Heir?” I asked.
Silence met my inquiry.