Rook leans heavily against the wall. “Then you’re familiar with what it contains.”
I raise an eyebrow. “The rumor that it holds the secret to resurrection? That might mean something if it were translatable.”
He bends over and picks up his jacket, hanging it off one finger and smoothing it out. “Just because it hasn’t been translated doesn’t mean it can’t be.”
I bark out a laugh, kicking my makeshift weapons back into the junk pile. “So you want me to…what? Steal the Voynich manuscript, translate it, then break into the Afterlife, steal your sister’s soul, and resurrect her?”
Rook shrugs on his jacket over his drenched button-down and torn checkered vest. “That’s exactly what I want.”
I squeeze out as much water from my shirt as I can. The heat from the fire is all but gone, and I have to bite my tongue to keep my teeth from chattering. Tonight is going to be rough if I can’t find something to burn in the fireplace.
“I don’t take jobs I can’t do,” I say. “I’d say ask yourassociatesfor another name, but no one is going to take this job.”
Rook smirks. “You don’t seem like the kind of person who admits there are things she can’t do.”
I narrow my eyes, watching him for a moment. Water still drips from his hairline down his sharp cheekbones. There’s a tension in his jaw, and he’s standing unnaturally still, like he’s holding his breath.
“Leave your number,” I say, but don’t tell him I’ll take the job.
I mean for him to write it down, but he steps forward, so close he towers over me, and I can see flecks of gold in his eyes. He gently takes my phone out of the front pocket of my cutoffs, not breaking eye contact. His fingers don’t touch me, but the moment feels entirely too intimate.
He raises the phone to my face to unlock it, and I blink at thesudden bright light. He continues to hold my gaze as he types in his number. When he’s done, he slides my phone back in my pocket just as gently. I can’t help it when my lips part right before he moves away.
Oh, he’s good.
He walks to the door, hands in his pockets.
“I look forward to our next altercation,” he says.
I almost let him go on that ridiculous exit line, but there’s one thing I have to know before I inevitably take this job.
“That magic. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Rook freezes in the open doorway, limned in moonlight.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, his voice wavering enough that I can tell he hasn’t had much practice lying.
“Try again.”
He’s quiet for a moment.
“Yes, it’s different.” His voice is almost a whisper.
“What is it?”
Rook hesitates. It’s possible he has some sort of spell on him that prevents him from saying. But finally, he looks over his shoulder, his profile cutting sharp lines against the starry sky.
“A curse,” he says.
And that’s the exit line I let him leaveon.
TheBuildup
Six
There are several nonmagical ways to steal a car.
The first and most unrefined way is to carjack someone. This is inelegant, risky. Not my style.