Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 49441 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 247(@200wpm)___ 198(@250wpm)___ 165(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 49441 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 247(@200wpm)___ 198(@250wpm)___ 165(@300wpm)
“Here,” she said, flinging something round and heavy onto my lap.
Reaching down, I found a quartz gemstone with something in the center of it.
“You’re sure this is the key?”
“Well, seeing as it stopped singing when I removed it, yeah,” she told me as she toed out of her shoes. “These shoes hurt my feet, by the way,” she griped.
“Your feet are probably adjusting to being upright instead of supine for longer than half an hour,” I drawled, turning on the car light and holding the sphere up to it, but I couldn’t make out what was inside of it.
“You’re awfully moody for someone who got what he wanted,” she said, flexing her feet, then tucking one under her other leg on the seat and leaning the side of her head against the window. “How long was I in there?” she asked.
“Two hours,” I told her. “Give or take.” It was actually two hours and twenty-one minutes. But who was keeping track?
“No wonder I’m tired,” she said, letting out a yawn.
“You can sleep on the plane.”
“Plane?” she asked, stiffening as her head whipped over in my direction. “Isn’t it going to get bright soon? Shouldn’t you be safely in a coffin?”
“As a witch who doesn’t fly around on a broom nor dance around naked under the full moon, you would think you know better than defaulting to stereotypes.”
“How do you know what I do or don’t do under a full moon?” she asked, and I could feel her gaze on my profile as her words conjured up images of her out in a field, peeling off her ridiculous fuzzy pajama pants and tank top until she stood there bare, the moon shining off of her pale skin, kissing areas that…
No.
I absolutely did not need my mind to be thinking those things. Especially with her so close, filling the car with her flower honey scent.
“The plane has blackout windows,” I informed her.
“Oh, so it’s… a private plane,” she said, her tone taking on an excited lilt.
“It is,” I confirmed. It was not like public transport would outfit their planes with accommodations to welcome someone into a tin can full of veins that could so easily be opened. With no way to escape.
“Will there be food on the plane?” she asked.
“You just ate.” To that, I felt her green eyes boring into me. “I will have it arranged,” I said, reaching for my phone. “Do you have preferences?” I asked as I drafted up a text to the co-pilot.
“Here, just give me,” she said, leaning over to snatch the phone out of my hands and typing off what looked like an absurdly long list for a few-hour flight.
I shouldn’t have entertained it.
But I had the key in my hand that I’d been searching for around the world for decades. I figured she’d earned a reward.
“There,” she said, passing the phone back to me. “By the way, your camera gallery is boring,” she told me. “Who takes pictures of books?”
“Those who need to reference back to passages when the book is not on their person.”
Admittedly, I’d been a bit of a Luddite about cell phones when they’d first appeared. Over time, though, I’d learned how invaluable they could be. Especially for things like research. No more having to memorize wordy passages of important tomes. Or worrying that entire books might get lost to space and time. Now, when I acquired a new, rare text, I had each page scanned and compiled into a digital book that I could easily reference from my phone.
“What does your gallery consist of? Pictures of restaurant menus?” I asked, hiding my interest behind snark.
“Some, yeah. But mostly ships.”
“Ships,” I repeated, brows raising. “You have an interest in marine vessels?”
“No,” she said, actually snorting at me. “Edits featuring ships of my favorite fictional characters.”
“It is like you are speaking a foreign language.”
“When you like the idea of two fictional characters in a relationship, even though it isn’t canon to the story. That is what shipping is. Ugh, what?” she asked when my face must have betrayed my thoughts.
“If you invested half of the interest you have in fictional characters into real-life endeavors, your life would be very different.”
“Who says I want it to be different? Just because you like ancient texts written by fingerless nuns doesn’t mean everyone else is so boring.”
“Blind nuns,” I corrected, my lips twitching despite myself.
I didn’t have much appreciation for most humans, but I had to admit that this one was at least somewhat amusing.
“Were men and women with disabilities more likely to be nuns and monks back then?” she asked.
“I believe there is some solid historical evidence of that, yes,” I decided. “And to be fair, there is no proof that these nuns were actually blind. Or fingerless,” I added, getting a twinkling little laugh out of Roxanne. “Humans have a long history of… embellishing facts.”