Page 71 of Echoes of the Banshee

“What’s so important?” he asks and leads me across the parking lot to his car.

“It’s Mavrik’s birthday.” He opens the door to his car for me and I slide inside.

Realization dawns on his face. “Cake?”

“I knew you were the perfect man for the job.” His smile is dangerous.

“There’s a bakery about ten minutes from campus—”

“Depraved Desserts,” I finish for him.

“Yes! Have you been?” he asks excitedly as he puts the car in gear.

“No, just heard of it.” From Lazlo, multiple times.

Could Zair be Lazlo?

No. Liking cake doesn’t mean he’s Lazlo.

“Do you have any siblings?” I ask.

“That was random.”

Lazlo had two sisters who he loved to talk about, for different reasons.

I ignore the tightness in my chest.

“Was not random. I only knew it was Mavrik’s birthday because Anita invited me to Mavis’s party. So, I was thinking about siblings and realized you never mentioned any.”

He nods like he understands but doesn’t elaborate. I’m tempted to pry into why he’s so tight-lipped about his family when he usually is happy to talk. But it’s not like I’m willing to talk about mine.

He parks in front of the bakery and we head inside. I trust him to find one. I grab a cannoli for the road, that he steals half of as we drive back to campus.

“I’ll go find him. You get some people to sing him happy birthday.”

“Get him to the nightblind cafeteria. They all love me,” he says like it’s a skill.

My first stop for Mavrik is the library. When I get inside the Strix librarian finds me. “Miss Lockwood, I got your books in.”

“Wonderful,” I tell him genuinely as I follow him to his desk.

“Next time you need something, leave a number, I got these in yesterday but was unable to find you to let you know.”

“Oh no problem. Thank you Mr.—”

“Jordan,” he supplies.

“Thank you Mr. Jordan.” I take the books and start walking towards my nook, the smell of new books is nearly intoxicating as I notice movement out of the corner of my eye.

“Mavrik!” I call before remembering I’m in a library. He looks up startled but it is quickly replaced with amusement.

“Hey Firefly,” he whispers as I set the stack of books down on his table. “Where did you get the books?” He stands and examines them.

“We’re in a library.” The look he gives me leaves nothing for interpretation. “I had the librarian order them for me, for a — er — project I’m working on.”

“And he got them for you?”

“Yup! I’m gonna go drop them off in my nook, but then I’m coming back and dragging you to dinner.”