I already know exactly where I’ll begin, which layers I need to map out first, which can of paint to crack open—but before I get lost in the exercise, Noah draws my attention back to him, brushing his knuckles against the skin between my shoulder blades.
“I need to run a few errands for Dan,” he says. “Anything I can get you before you start? More containers? Some music to work to? The ladder?” He pauses, and his jaw flexes briefly. “Actually, please don’t use the ladder until I get back.”
His concern almost distracts me from the dim disappointment of him leaving again.
“No, I’m good,” I say, my eyes still on the wall. But then the corner of my mouth ticks upward. “Actually, can you play some fantasy shit before you go?”
Noah barks out a laugh. “Can you define ‘some fantasy shit’ for me?”
“Yeah, you know, like—the stuff Liam plays during games.”
“You’ve given me too much to work with, Sadie. There are so many subgenres to ‘fantasy shit.’ Do you want to feel like you’re riding into battle, or like you’ve been invited to Her Majesty’s midwinter masquerade ball? Or maybe you’re in a tavern, being serenaded by a handsome elf bard?” He sips at his coffee, and his sky-blue eyes do that blissful squint again. Overcast. “Mm. Or maybe something to make you feel like you’re wandering through the forest, exploring. On an adventure.” It isn’t a question. He knows.
“Yeah.Thatexact brand of fantasy shit.”
Before ducking out the back door, he turns on a video game soundtrack I don’t recognize. For now it’s enough to distract me. I let the ethereal chords from a harp lull me into a dreamy daze, setting the perfect tone for the scene I’m about to bring to life.
At the end of the day, this is what I’m really here for.
I turn and set my brush, dripping with inky indigo paint, to the wall for the first time.
“But how scared were you?”
“I spent that half hour of exile pacing around Liam’s coffee table and trying not to shit myself,” I admit.
I’m surprised Noah had actually been able to hold back from talking about it for the past few hours of work. He’d returned around lunchtime with sandwiches for us, but with one look at my focused, determined brushstrokes, he’d left me to my task and gone back to work in the office, an amused smile curling at his lips.
I’d been so engrossed in painting the base layers of the mural that I hadn’t made space for any other thoughts. I was shocked that I’d managed to curb my own lingering questions and nerves, but everything went blessedly quiet while I painted. The curiosity behind Jaylie’s resurrection, the need to check my email for news about my next Paragon interview, the pull of Noah’s orbit and my fears about why he was keeping me outside of it…Gone.Quiet.All I’d been able to focus on was the whisper of the brush against the wall. It had always been that way.
Now I sit atop one of the kegs with my half-eaten sub, admiring my progress. I’d managed to lay out the entire mural in thick blocks of free-form color. The trees that border the scene are a pale olive green cut down the middle with broad strokes of violet-black trunks. The campfire circles the unlit fireplace in approximate tongues ofpale yellow flame, which I’ll darken and give depth. The subjects of the mural—the lone wanderer, his horse, and the stag in the background—have only been outlined in a soft gray. I could have taken them further, but I want them to be the last things to come to life. I glance down at the tablet in my lap, referencing the mural’s original design in my files.
“Did you think there was a chance she wouldn’t come back?” Noah presses, his voice drawing my attention back to him. He stands in front of me, his gaze intent on my face.
“Sure did. I tried to plan for it, too—tried to brainstorm ideas for a new character. But it started making me too sad, so I stopped.”
“So you’re glad we brought her back?” I love how earnest his voice sounds.
From my vantage point atop the keg, I have a good couple of inches on him for once. I narrow my eyes, skeptical. “I’ve been meaning to ask how you did it.”
Noah’s face freezes. His lips are still parted from when he’d initially asked the question, and he closes his mouth with a snap of his jaw and lets out an amused exhale through his nose. He still has that open, honest look in his blue eyes.
“Did what?”
Coy.
“How did you bring Jaylie back from the dead?”
“I told you, Loren’s got tricks.”
“Unless you’ve paid off Liam for some secret magic that we don’t know about, then there’s no way any of histrickswould have worked. Jaylie was too far gone.”
“Clearly she wasn’t.”
Though the words themselves are irritating, his tone is gentle and goading. He’s poking fun at me—and avoiding the question.
“Uh-huh.” I lean forward, bracing my elbows on my knees. I press at his shirt with one stiff, accusing finger. “I’ll make it worthyour while if you tell me.” My hand relaxes, palm unfurling until it lies flat against his chest.
Noah’s eyebrows shoot up as whatever implication he’s imagining plays out in his mind. “And how might you do that?”
