wants pancakes. He probably doesn’t get decent pancakes at whatever institution he broke out of.
As Dad disappears into the study, I slip into the kitchen and, sighing, I reach into the top cabinet for the flour. I can’t believe I’m making him pancakes. Geez, I’m such a softie.
Chapter 17
Tamrin
When Jeanette leaves, I’m tempted to storm down for breakfast anyway. Does she intend on starving me? Still, I’ll do as she wishes. Needing something to take my mind off the pit in my stomach, I busy myself with tidying up.
I’ve replaced the books, made the bed, prepared myself for the day, and am thumbing through one of her backward picture books when Jeanette comes into the room.
I hear her sigh of relief as she heads toward the table. “I’m glad you’ve given up the phosphorescent paint,” she says. “Here.” She puts a plate on the desk.
Pancakes. For me. Perhaps she prefers poison over starving me. “I thought your father’s cooking sucked.”
Crossing her arms, Jeanette leans against the edge of the desk. “It does, but mine doesn’t.”
I cock my head and give her a disbelieving expression. “ You made me breakfast?”
She turns away. “I’m hoping if I feed you, you’ll stop hanging around like a starving puppy.”
Putting the book aside, I investigate the plate. They don’t look bad, they don’t smell bad. I pick one up, half it, and take a bite. After a moment of chewing, I feel myself smiling. It’s good. Jeanette is a good cook. I would like her to cook for me more often. “Hasn’t anyone told you that if you feed strays they’ll never leave you alone?” I tease, mouth still full.
She pretends to examine her nails. “Well, you seem harmless enough.”
I pause in my chewing and narrow an eye at her. “I thought I was a killer hallucination.”
She bites a nail as she looks at me. A kaleidoscope of emotions plays across her fair features. I wonder what she’s thinking. Finally, she says, “Where are your parents? N-not that it matters, you look like you’re eighteen, so you’re probably old enough to be on your own, it’s just-”
“I don’t have any,” I say, halting her awkward tirade. I lift the pancake to my lips. “Roxel raised me. And yes, I’m old enough. I’m older than I look.”
Her mouth pulls down and her face betrays an array of confusing expressions before settling on a wide, doe-eyed expression, like she might give to a wounded deer. That can’t be good, what has she convinced herself of now?
“Why are you staring at me like that?” I take another bite.
Her eyes pinch tight, almost shrewdly. “If you took this Roxel person out of the equation, would you still want to kill me?”
I’m so startled by her words, I almost choke. I stare at her, uncertain where such a question came from. Why does it matter? Really, I suppose it does, because without Roxel and her roses…I wouldn’t want to kill Jeanette at all. She is, after all, my Lovely. Part of me knows I should take the heart now, but for some reason I can’t bring myself to hurt her. Something deep inside refuses. She’s too mesmerizing to kill. I want her to live almost as much as she wants to live…At least a little while longer. Perhaps until I understand what about her stills my hand in the first place. “No.”
A long breath escapes her, and her gaze drops to the floor. She nods to herself, as if making some kind of decision. Then, her brows pucker and she looks up at me again. “Why are you wearing that?” Her voice is between panic and anger.
I glance at my school outfit. “I'm going with you to school.” Doesn't she understand I can't let anything happen to that heart while it’s caged in
As Dad disappears into the study, I slip into the kitchen and, sighing, I reach into the top cabinet for the flour. I can’t believe I’m making him pancakes. Geez, I’m such a softie.
Chapter 17
Tamrin
When Jeanette leaves, I’m tempted to storm down for breakfast anyway. Does she intend on starving me? Still, I’ll do as she wishes. Needing something to take my mind off the pit in my stomach, I busy myself with tidying up.
I’ve replaced the books, made the bed, prepared myself for the day, and am thumbing through one of her backward picture books when Jeanette comes into the room.
I hear her sigh of relief as she heads toward the table. “I’m glad you’ve given up the phosphorescent paint,” she says. “Here.” She puts a plate on the desk.
Pancakes. For me. Perhaps she prefers poison over starving me. “I thought your father’s cooking sucked.”
Crossing her arms, Jeanette leans against the edge of the desk. “It does, but mine doesn’t.”
I cock my head and give her a disbelieving expression. “ You made me breakfast?”
She turns away. “I’m hoping if I feed you, you’ll stop hanging around like a starving puppy.”
Putting the book aside, I investigate the plate. They don’t look bad, they don’t smell bad. I pick one up, half it, and take a bite. After a moment of chewing, I feel myself smiling. It’s good. Jeanette is a good cook. I would like her to cook for me more often. “Hasn’t anyone told you that if you feed strays they’ll never leave you alone?” I tease, mouth still full.
She pretends to examine her nails. “Well, you seem harmless enough.”
I pause in my chewing and narrow an eye at her. “I thought I was a killer hallucination.”
She bites a nail as she looks at me. A kaleidoscope of emotions plays across her fair features. I wonder what she’s thinking. Finally, she says, “Where are your parents? N-not that it matters, you look like you’re eighteen, so you’re probably old enough to be on your own, it’s just-”
“I don’t have any,” I say, halting her awkward tirade. I lift the pancake to my lips. “Roxel raised me. And yes, I’m old enough. I’m older than I look.”
Her mouth pulls down and her face betrays an array of confusing expressions before settling on a wide, doe-eyed expression, like she might give to a wounded deer. That can’t be good, what has she convinced herself of now?
“Why are you staring at me like that?” I take another bite.
Her eyes pinch tight, almost shrewdly. “If you took this Roxel person out of the equation, would you still want to kill me?”
I’m so startled by her words, I almost choke. I stare at her, uncertain where such a question came from. Why does it matter? Really, I suppose it does, because without Roxel and her roses…I wouldn’t want to kill Jeanette at all. She is, after all, my Lovely. Part of me knows I should take the heart now, but for some reason I can’t bring myself to hurt her. Something deep inside refuses. She’s too mesmerizing to kill. I want her to live almost as much as she wants to live…At least a little while longer. Perhaps until I understand what about her stills my hand in the first place. “No.”
A long breath escapes her, and her gaze drops to the floor. She nods to herself, as if making some kind of decision. Then, her brows pucker and she looks up at me again. “Why are you wearing that?” Her voice is between panic and anger.
I glance at my school outfit. “I'm going with you to school.” Doesn't she understand I can't let anything happen to that heart while it’s caged in
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