“I trust your vacation was invigorating.”
“I feel like a new woman.”
“Yes, I can imagine.”
“Sig, not that I don’t love our little conversations, but is there something I can do for you?”
“Perhaps invest in a personal calendar.”
“Pardon me?”
“It’s Thursday.”
“Yes, and what’s your—?” Oh, Jesus. Today was the day the council would announce their decision about making Brigit a ward, and I’d totally forgotten. I felt like an asshole of epic proportions. “Is Brigit already there?”
“Waiting very patiently, yes.”
“I’m on my way.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
I wasn’t dressed for the council.
Jeans and a hoodie with thumbholes ripped in the sleeves didn’t scream authority figure, and I already had a hard enough time getting the council to respect my authority.
It didn’t help that when I said “respect my authority” in my head, it was in the voice of Cartman from South Park.
I needed to put on something more appropriate or I risked making them change their minds about letting Brigit become a warden. If my holey-kneed jeans were the reason she didn’t get the position, my asshole status would be assured.
I barged into my apartment, texting Lucas with one hand to tell him he’d have to see Kimberly without me, while my other hand pulled my clothes off. I was topless and halfway out of my pants before I realized I wasn’t alone.
“Don’t let me stop you,” Holden said from his place in the armchair. “I was enjoying the show.”
I threw my hoodie at him. “Make yourself useful. I need to be dressed for council in three minutes.” If I had a fashion editor in my living room, I was going to put him to work.
We went opposite ways, he into my bedroom where he would make himself at home in my closet, and me to the bathroom where I would attempt to scrape off last night’s booze-induced pity party and the exhausted patina it had left on my face.
He mumbled something from the other room.
“Are you bitching about my wardrobe again?” I would be pissed if he was. I’d spent a lot of time and money making it into something respectable since I’d joined the Tribunal. Nothing in my closet was comfortable, but at least I looked hot in it.
I splashed cold water onto my face, and when I straightened, his reflection was next to mine in the mirror. I yelped. “Christ, Holden, do I need to put a little bell on you?”
He continued to speak like I hadn’t even opened my mouth. “What I said was, I was here to see if you’re doing all right. After…you know.” His eyes drifted down to the gray scar on my side. It would whiten over time like the sword wound it was next to. But they’d never heal completely. That was silver for you. I had another white line on my arm and a second star-shaped one on my shoulder from the first assassin’s highway attempt.
For someone who was supposed to be able to heal anything, I was starting to show a lot of permanent damage.
“I’m fine.”
“Where’s your pet dog?”
With those four words he undid all the healing I thought I’d done, proving once and for all there were plenty of wounds I couldn’t keep from reopening.
“What did I say? Jesus, stop crying. I don’t do crying.” He ripped a wad of toilet paper off the roll and shoved it in my face. “Especially women crying. It makes them ugly.”
I hiccupped and almost laughed.
“You would find an insult funny, wouldn’t you?”