Page 122 of The Dragon and the Dove

Sera jerked her head up. ‘Fine,’ she croaked.

She was as pale as a ghost. ‘You look like death.’

Her eyes guttered. ‘I said I’m fine.’

Lie, screamed the old voice. Val could see that all by herself. There was blood in the sink and striping her friend’s chin.

Staggering towards her, Sera shoved her out, slamming the door between them. The lock turned with a click.

Val knocked on the wood. ‘Sera! Let me in.’

The retching continued, and Val could do nothing but wait. She paced, wringing her hands. After what felt like an eternity, Sera emerged from the bathroom. Her hair had been combed and braided, and her face was freshly washed. Behind her, the sink sparkled.

‘Sorry.’ Sera summoned a shaky smile. ‘I wasn’t feeling well.’

‘There was blood all over the sink.’

‘Only a little.’

Lie.

‘What happened?’

‘Sometimes, the makings make me feel a bit queasy.’ She waved her hand about. ‘It’s nothing’.

Lie.

‘Should I get Ransom?’

‘No.’ The word was swift, sharp. ‘He worries too much already. I’ll be well again in the morning.’

Val’s eyes darted, noting the shadows under her best friend’s eyes, the way her fingers trembled at her sides. ‘Maybe he’s right to worry.’

A flat look. ‘Come on, Val. Not you too.’

‘You can talk to me.’ Val felt a sudden swell of desperation, a fear she could not yet name – a blend of magic and intuition that told her the ground was shifting under their feet. ‘About anything. You know that, right?’

‘Of course I do.’ Sera’s smile wavered. ‘It’s late. We should both get some sleep.’ She slipped past her, palming the wall as she moved down the hallway.

Val called after her, ‘Tobias is outside. He’s got about seventy owls to show you.’

Her friend stilled, like she had forgotten all about the making. ‘He’s all right?’ she asked over her shoulder.

‘Better than all right. You made a Saint of Beasts.’

She closed her eyes, and Val knew she was thinking of Theo and how wrong tonight could have gone. ‘Good.’

She returned to her bedroom, leaving Val alone with her worry.

Too addled to sleep, Val’s feet led her back to the music room. Her place of solace. When Bibi was alive, they used to pilfer snacks from the kitchen and come up here after midnight. Bibi would tinkle on the piano while Val sat by the fire and stuffed her face with cookies. They would talk about their Heists, their dreams and whatever Cloak had stirred their fancy that week.

She froze in the doorway. ‘What the hell are you doing in here?’

Caruso, who was reclining in an armchair by the fireplace, looked up in surprise. ‘Are you talking to me?’

Val scowled. ‘I don’t see anyone else with their feet on the furniture.’

Returning his boots to the floor with a thud, he said, ‘Have I interrupted a late-night piano session? By all means, play me a lullaby.’