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Her eyes narrowed. “Do you mind?”
“No.”
“Well, I do.” Seriously. For real. Everything about the guy made her want to maim him. “A little privacy would be nice.”
“I’m being nice.”
“How do you figure?”
“Gave you lots of time in the bathroom, princess.” Using his index finger as a placeholder, he closed the book. “That’s about as much privacy as you’re going to get from me.”
“You’re annoying.”
“Probably best you get used it.”
“One thing’s for sure,” she said, un-balling her socks with an angry yank. Grabbing her boots from the floor by the dresser, she marched to the armchair opposite him. She sat, dragged on her socks, then followed with her boots… while glaring at him. “Either you’re going to annoy me to death, or I’m going to figure out a way to kill you before that happens.”
“Excellent,” he murmured, dark eyes glittering with amusement. “Threats before supper.”
“I’m learning.”
“Bodes well for me.”
She sighed. “You’re a bit warped, you know that?”
“Says you.” Uncrossing his ankles, Westvane swung his feet to the floor, and with a quickness that defy logic, rounded the end of her bed.
She stood up, then sidestepped, giving him plenty of room. “Says everyone who’s ever had the misfortune of meeting you, I would imagine.”
“You’ve a quick wit,” he murmured, approval in his tone. “I’ll give you that.”
“Thanks,” she said, returning fire, using sarcasm instead of humor. “I’m relieved you approve.”
Book in hand, he walked past her toward the exit. “Let’s go.”
“Where?”
He didn’t answer.
Her question floated into the upstairs hallway, following him out the door. She hustled to catch up, crossing the threshold just as he reached the stairs. Running her fingertips across the polished banister rimming the u-shaped landing, she rounded one of the hand-carved posts of Griffin heads and started down the steps after him.
She caught up halfway down. “What are you reading?”
Without looking at her, he held the hardback up for inspection.
Surprise made her blink. “Philadelphia landmarks? History of the city?”
Pausing on the landing between floors, he looked up at her. “Need the lay of the land.”
With a hop, she jumped over two steps and landed beside him. “I know everything there is to know. Born and raised in Philly, remember?”
“You know where the Wendigo might go?”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“What you tell me about it,” she said, taking the lead, heading toward the central corridor. The crystal chandelier winked, sending tendrils of light bouncing off wood paneling down below. “What does the Wendigo enjoy most?”
