Rosemary Thorne's Arc

Chapter 4 of 24

Damien was quiet under the books. The gnome was not. He rocked on his heels on her step, her gray cat still tucked under one arm, and grinned like he had all night. "You forgot the door," Damien said from the floor. His voice was low, careful. "Rosemary. Shut it." She moved to shut it. The gnome slid one boot across the threshold. Not inside. Not out. "A guest unanswered is a guest unpaid," he said. "Answer one and I go. Answer none and the cat comes with me." He lifted the gray cat an inch. The cat blinked at Rosemary like this was her problem now. "Ask," Rosemary said. "What melts in the hand but mends the back?" She already knew. She had used it ten minutes ago. "Ice." The gnome's grin dropped a notch. "What's colder than a kept promise?" She thought of Damien on the floor. No promises. That was one of his rules. "A broken one," she said. "Cheap," the gnome muttered. He shifted the cat higher. "Last. Who sent me?" Rosemary went still. That wasn't a riddle. That was a slip. Behind her, Damien said, "Don't." She looked at him. His face had gone the color of the cloth on his neck. He knew. He had known since the gnome opened his mouth. Rosemary turned back. "A witch," she said. "An old one. Black cloak. A crow." The gnome's beard twitched. "Names, girl. Names pay." "Morgana Blackthorn." The gray cat dropped from his arm and bolted past Rosemary's skirt into the cottage. The gnome's boots scuffed backward off her step. He bowed, too low, mocking. "Paid in full," he said. "She'll want to see what you've hidden. She sends her regards to the sleeping one." He tipped his purple hat at Damien on the floor. Then he was gone into the dark past the ivy on her wall. Rosemary shut the door. She threw the bolt. She leaned her forehead against the wood. "You gave her my address," Damien said. Not angry. Worse. Tired. "I gave her a name I already knew." She turned. "You didn't tell me it was hers." "I was going to." "When." He didn't answer. The books still weighed his back. The cloth on his neck had gone warm. Two of her other cats had come to sit near his hands, not touching, watching the door. Rosemary knelt and lifted the ledger off the small of his back. She wrung the cloth out cold again in the bucket and folded it fresh across his neck. "She's coming," Rosemary said. "Tonight?" "Soon." He closed his eyes. "She always knew where I slept. Now she knows who lets me sleep." Rosemary stood. She looked at her locked door. It wasn't going to be enough.