plates, and an entire collection of “Faces of Abraham Lincoln, Volume 3, Second Edition” beer mugs out into the room.
“Where are she and Wyatt going to sleep?” Liam didn’t seem terribly worried by the question.
“If he slept here at all, it would be under the smoothie blender that also makes corned beef.” Of course he couldn’t. Wyatt still had the spell of a witch on him, a lock of his hair given freely by his mother. He couldn’t sleep anywhere outside of the wards Grimm built, or the witch could claim him. “I think that’s enough.” I stepped onto a pile of NASCAR bathrobes, took Liam’s hand, and waited as he closed the closet door.
Fumbling in the darkness, I felt for a doorknob at the back of the closet. “Hold on. We aren’t going to Narnia.”
“Good. You know my rule for talking animals.” Liam made the mistake of letting a talking rabbit bond with him the first year we were together. It took half the Agency staff to hunt that thing down and kill it, even with Grimm helping. “If it talks to me, it goes on a plate with biscuits and gravy.”
No wonder I loved him.
The door at the back of Ari’s closet swung open, and I stepped out into the entrance to the Court of Queens. Never mind that the last time I used it, it opened to an entirely different place.
Behind a velvet rope stood a portly man shaped like a barrel, his arms far too short, matching only his diminutive legs. He held up a monocle to peer at us, and smiled at me, sending a wave of trepidation through me. “Handmaiden. So wonderful to see you return. Have you come to prepare your queen’s quarters?”
“Not exactly.” Liam pushed me to the side, walking right to the edge of the rope. “We’re here to talk to you.”
Liam got exactly the look
I
got last time I was here. The same look you give a potato salad that’s sat out in the sun for three days, with more black flies than black pepper on it.
“You don’t belong here. The handmaiden is not permitted guests, and you are not a queen’s guard.” The doorman spoke dryly, without threat. As a manifestation of the court itself, he might actually be able to take Liam in a fight. I wasn’t eager to find out.
Liam sighed, smoke blowing from him in a thick cloud. The more agitated he became, the more his curse would come out. “I don’t want to fight, and I don’t want a pedicure. Can we just sit here and talk to you?”
The doorman crossed his arms and tilted his head to the side. “I am an animus of pure magic, born to give refuge to the women of royal families and their select servants. When you leave, this place will no longer exist, until another calls me into being.”
“Please,” said Liam. “I can’t imagine anyone who would know more about the spells that bind a queen and her handmaidens, or the traditions, than you. I’ll stay out here while Marissa relaxes.”
“I’ll what?” Spas remained a location of mystery and terror to me. It wasn’t that I didn’t get facial masks; it was just that the masks were usually gore from blasting yet another fairy-tale creature. Long nails, too, might be good for clawing, but I did more climbing than clawing. “I don’t—I mean, you wouldn’t—”
The doorman cut me off with a glance to Liam. “
If
the handmaiden were to avail herself of my services, I suppose I’d have no choice but to remain present, and conversation does help pass the eons. If the gentleman would like a seat, I can oblige.”
I didn’t see him perform magic. I didn’t hear a spell, or see the light, but one moment there wasn’t a chair behind Liam, and the next moment there was. Not the most comfortable chair ever, but a nice, wooden one that Liam could definitely break over someone’s head or set fire to, if need be.
The doorman unhooked his rope and waved to me. “The spa is open, and we’re serving chocolate-dipped fruit.”
I gave a terrified look to Liam. I’d always been more comfortable in Sergeant’s Guns and
“Where are she and Wyatt going to sleep?” Liam didn’t seem terribly worried by the question.
“If he slept here at all, it would be under the smoothie blender that also makes corned beef.” Of course he couldn’t. Wyatt still had the spell of a witch on him, a lock of his hair given freely by his mother. He couldn’t sleep anywhere outside of the wards Grimm built, or the witch could claim him. “I think that’s enough.” I stepped onto a pile of NASCAR bathrobes, took Liam’s hand, and waited as he closed the closet door.
Fumbling in the darkness, I felt for a doorknob at the back of the closet. “Hold on. We aren’t going to Narnia.”
“Good. You know my rule for talking animals.” Liam made the mistake of letting a talking rabbit bond with him the first year we were together. It took half the Agency staff to hunt that thing down and kill it, even with Grimm helping. “If it talks to me, it goes on a plate with biscuits and gravy.”
No wonder I loved him.
The door at the back of Ari’s closet swung open, and I stepped out into the entrance to the Court of Queens. Never mind that the last time I used it, it opened to an entirely different place.
Behind a velvet rope stood a portly man shaped like a barrel, his arms far too short, matching only his diminutive legs. He held up a monocle to peer at us, and smiled at me, sending a wave of trepidation through me. “Handmaiden. So wonderful to see you return. Have you come to prepare your queen’s quarters?”
“Not exactly.” Liam pushed me to the side, walking right to the edge of the rope. “We’re here to talk to you.”
Liam got exactly the look
I
got last time I was here. The same look you give a potato salad that’s sat out in the sun for three days, with more black flies than black pepper on it.
“You don’t belong here. The handmaiden is not permitted guests, and you are not a queen’s guard.” The doorman spoke dryly, without threat. As a manifestation of the court itself, he might actually be able to take Liam in a fight. I wasn’t eager to find out.
Liam sighed, smoke blowing from him in a thick cloud. The more agitated he became, the more his curse would come out. “I don’t want to fight, and I don’t want a pedicure. Can we just sit here and talk to you?”
The doorman crossed his arms and tilted his head to the side. “I am an animus of pure magic, born to give refuge to the women of royal families and their select servants. When you leave, this place will no longer exist, until another calls me into being.”
“Please,” said Liam. “I can’t imagine anyone who would know more about the spells that bind a queen and her handmaidens, or the traditions, than you. I’ll stay out here while Marissa relaxes.”
“I’ll what?” Spas remained a location of mystery and terror to me. It wasn’t that I didn’t get facial masks; it was just that the masks were usually gore from blasting yet another fairy-tale creature. Long nails, too, might be good for clawing, but I did more climbing than clawing. “I don’t—I mean, you wouldn’t—”
The doorman cut me off with a glance to Liam. “
If
the handmaiden were to avail herself of my services, I suppose I’d have no choice but to remain present, and conversation does help pass the eons. If the gentleman would like a seat, I can oblige.”
I didn’t see him perform magic. I didn’t hear a spell, or see the light, but one moment there wasn’t a chair behind Liam, and the next moment there was. Not the most comfortable chair ever, but a nice, wooden one that Liam could definitely break over someone’s head or set fire to, if need be.
The doorman unhooked his rope and waved to me. “The spa is open, and we’re serving chocolate-dipped fruit.”
I gave a terrified look to Liam. I’d always been more comfortable in Sergeant’s Guns and
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