You?”
“Three-quarters. My mom was half fire.” She turned from me as she spoke, so I had a view of her back when she used the unexpected past tense. Elementals weren’t immortal by any means—a gunshot or sudden accident could claim our lives as easily as a human’s—but we were extremely long-lived, thanks to the restorative power of our magic.
I’d never known anyone who lost a family member. Hell, my great-grandmother still lived on the island with the rest of my family, and in human terms she didn’t look a day over fifty.
I wanted to know more, but I feared questions would not be welcome. Instead, I pulled my suitcase toward the unmade bed on the left side of the room and changed the subject. “Why didn’t you have a roommate before me?”
“I did. She left.” She glanced back at me but offered no further explanation. There was something in her eyes, though. It wasn’t annoyance or boredom with the questions. In fact, I was pretty sure it was a challenge.
“What? Did she snore? Were you forced to dump her body in the lake one night?” I hauled my suitcase onto the bed and unzipped it, pulling out my clothes and organizing them in the closet.
Sera threw herself on her bed. Her sheets were blood red. With her dark hair and black outfit, it was a dramatic image, one I suspected she created deliberately.
She tilted her head, studying me with a little more interest. “She was a delicate flower,” she elaborated, while still providing no useful information.
“So, she reclined on her bed all day reading books by the Brontës?”
Sera wrinkled her nose. “She didn’t like my music.” Her black eyes fixed on me, her expression unreadable.
Most of the time, we have no idea when our lives are about to change, but this wasn’t one of those times. Though I couldn’t articulate why, my response mattered. Whatever I said next, it would be judged, and it would set the tone for the nine months I was about to spend living with Sera Blais.
This was when most people would offer a polite lie or a noncommittal bit of nonsense to ease over an awkward moment with their new roommate.
Most people also had a working brain-to-mouth filter.
I sat on my own bed, scattering t-shirts out of the way, and met her eyes directly. “To be fair, your music sucks.”
The right side of her mouth twitched. The movement lasted a fraction of a second before her face returned to its impassive mask, but I saw it. If that had been a test, I’d just passed.
She walked toward me, peering into my suitcase. Before I could protest, she grabbed several CDs out of the side pocket and studied them with growing horror. “Dolly Parton? Patsy Cline? Hank fucking Williams?” She dropped them on the bed and shook her hands violently, as if to remove the country cooties. “You play these, you’ll find yourself dumped in the lake.”
“Oh, please don’t throw me in that briar patch,” I said in a weak approximation of a southern accent.
“Damn water,” she muttered.
“Let me guess,” I said. “You got stuck with some quiet, studious type you could scare with your whole bordello in hell decorating scheme and ability to stare without blinking for hours on end, and she bored you so much you tormented her until she left. Is that about right?”
Her expression shifted, became something close to wary. “I wasn’t aiming to torment so much as cause a reaction, but you’ve got the gist of it, yeah.”
“Only child?”
She nodded.
“Me, too. So, if neither of us are used to sharing, there may be an adjustment period. Complete with, you know, compromise.” I tried to speak that last word as if it wasn’t profanity. I’m not sure I succeeded.
I picked up one of my CDs and walked to her stereo, where I swapped out The Cramps for The Jayhawks. Not quite as hardcore country as the rest. Compromise. I could do it if she could.
She watched every movement I made. “So, you’re saying you’re not a delicate flower,
“Three-quarters. My mom was half fire.” She turned from me as she spoke, so I had a view of her back when she used the unexpected past tense. Elementals weren’t immortal by any means—a gunshot or sudden accident could claim our lives as easily as a human’s—but we were extremely long-lived, thanks to the restorative power of our magic.
I’d never known anyone who lost a family member. Hell, my great-grandmother still lived on the island with the rest of my family, and in human terms she didn’t look a day over fifty.
I wanted to know more, but I feared questions would not be welcome. Instead, I pulled my suitcase toward the unmade bed on the left side of the room and changed the subject. “Why didn’t you have a roommate before me?”
“I did. She left.” She glanced back at me but offered no further explanation. There was something in her eyes, though. It wasn’t annoyance or boredom with the questions. In fact, I was pretty sure it was a challenge.
“What? Did she snore? Were you forced to dump her body in the lake one night?” I hauled my suitcase onto the bed and unzipped it, pulling out my clothes and organizing them in the closet.
Sera threw herself on her bed. Her sheets were blood red. With her dark hair and black outfit, it was a dramatic image, one I suspected she created deliberately.
She tilted her head, studying me with a little more interest. “She was a delicate flower,” she elaborated, while still providing no useful information.
“So, she reclined on her bed all day reading books by the Brontës?”
Sera wrinkled her nose. “She didn’t like my music.” Her black eyes fixed on me, her expression unreadable.
Most of the time, we have no idea when our lives are about to change, but this wasn’t one of those times. Though I couldn’t articulate why, my response mattered. Whatever I said next, it would be judged, and it would set the tone for the nine months I was about to spend living with Sera Blais.
This was when most people would offer a polite lie or a noncommittal bit of nonsense to ease over an awkward moment with their new roommate.
Most people also had a working brain-to-mouth filter.
I sat on my own bed, scattering t-shirts out of the way, and met her eyes directly. “To be fair, your music sucks.”
The right side of her mouth twitched. The movement lasted a fraction of a second before her face returned to its impassive mask, but I saw it. If that had been a test, I’d just passed.
She walked toward me, peering into my suitcase. Before I could protest, she grabbed several CDs out of the side pocket and studied them with growing horror. “Dolly Parton? Patsy Cline? Hank fucking Williams?” She dropped them on the bed and shook her hands violently, as if to remove the country cooties. “You play these, you’ll find yourself dumped in the lake.”
“Oh, please don’t throw me in that briar patch,” I said in a weak approximation of a southern accent.
“Damn water,” she muttered.
“Let me guess,” I said. “You got stuck with some quiet, studious type you could scare with your whole bordello in hell decorating scheme and ability to stare without blinking for hours on end, and she bored you so much you tormented her until she left. Is that about right?”
Her expression shifted, became something close to wary. “I wasn’t aiming to torment so much as cause a reaction, but you’ve got the gist of it, yeah.”
“Only child?”
She nodded.
“Me, too. So, if neither of us are used to sharing, there may be an adjustment period. Complete with, you know, compromise.” I tried to speak that last word as if it wasn’t profanity. I’m not sure I succeeded.
I picked up one of my CDs and walked to her stereo, where I swapped out The Cramps for The Jayhawks. Not quite as hardcore country as the rest. Compromise. I could do it if she could.
She watched every movement I made. “So, you’re saying you’re not a delicate flower,
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