I shivered, and then he released me, stepping back.
“Don’t you see? It all comes down to the same thing.” He folded his arms over his chest and fixed me with a penetrating look.
Unconsciously, my fingers crept up to graze my throat, the skin still burning where he had held me moments before.
He continued, “If you truly believe I am as dangerous as August says, then by all means, go. Bury your head in your books and keep pretending that none of this is happening. I am tired of having this conversation.” His jaw was set in an expression of iron resolve. In a calmer voice, he added, “If you do decide to trust me, I promise to do my best not to make you regret it.”
As if to contradict his words, my tattoo prickled uncomfortably. I avoided his eyes, hating him at that moment because he was right. I couldn’t keep backtracking on our bargain just because August wanted to scare me off. Avoiding him wasn’t going to solve anything. But August’s warning still echoed in the back of my mind:Has he even bothered to tell you the truth about what he is?
Hadn’t my disastrous relationship with August taught me anything? At the very least, I needed to be careful where Casimir was concerned. To give him access to something as private as my memories and innermost thoughts… it was asking a lot! And if I agreed to let him into my head, I’d be making myself entirely too vulnerable, susceptible to being burned. What if he decided to use the information he gleaned against me? The last thing I wanted was to find myself playing the fool to someone else’s schemes again.
I decided to go with honesty. “After the shit you pulled at the Grotto the other night, I don’t know if I can trust you.”
A beat of silence lingered between us, unbroken. Casimir’s expression remained impassive.
“Tell me something real,” I said. My gaze was earnest, imploring.Just give me something.Show me I can trust you. I waited for him to speak, my fingers curling into fists in my pockets.
“The night we met,” he began, “I was eavesdropping on yours and Sinclair’s conversation. I was… curious about you.”
Curious about me?I stared at him, momentarily at a loss for what to say. “And was your curiosity satisfied?”
To my surprise, Casimir laughed. “Obviously not, because I can’t seem to stop myself from pestering you.”
I felt my cheeks burn at his admission, and I averted my gaze to the floor.
“Will that truth suffice?” he inquired.
Too flustered to meet his eye, I nodded.
Casimir’s lips tugged into a smirk. “I honestly didn’t expect that to work,” he admitted. I scowled at him, which only made his smile broaden. “I almost forgot, I brought you something.” He reached into his bag and tossed me an ancient-looking book bound in brown leather.
It was so heavy I nearly dropped it.
“What, more homework?” I scanned the cover for a title, running my hand over its worn bindings. Only the faded image of an eye stared back at me. Creepy. I’d never seen anything like it on the library shelves. “Where did you get this?”
“Let’s put it this way, this isn’t a book you’d ever come across in the Labyrinth. I expect it will give you the answers you’re looking for. And after you’ve finished—ah, reading—we’ll train.”
I stared at him, incredulous. “What, the entire book?” It had to be at least a thousand pages long. “That could take weeks!”
“Better get cracking then,” he said.
I turned the book over in my hands. “Why doesn’t it have a title?” I asked.
“It’s known as theBook of Erebos. Its reputation precedes the need for an official title.”
I frowned at the sinister-looking silver eye imprinted on the cover, a twin to the one branded into Casimir’s arm. Erebos was the god of darkness or the Underworld, according to Greek Mythology.
“I suppose you’re not going to explain why this eye—” I traced the embossed symbol “—matches the one on your arm?”
Casimir regarded me with a strange expression. “Does it really matter?” he evaded. Then, nodding toward the book still in my hands, he added, “Wait until you’re on your own before opening that. And try to get some rest tonight. You get snippy when you’re sleep-deprived.”
I debated chucking the book at his head, but thought better of it as I ran a finger over the knobby spine.
“Yeah, I wonder why I’m so exhausted,” I said sarcastically.
A sly smile curved his mouth. “Dreaming about me again?” he asked suggestively.
I shot him a disgusted look, not wanting him to see how closely his teasing grazed the truth.