Almost Everything (33 page)

“My lady,” he said in greeting. The words reminded me so much of Elias that I felt a little twinge of heartache. Of course, everyone called me that out here, but somehow it was different coming from Thompson.

“Sir Matthew,” I said, staying in character.

He didn’t have on a full suit of armor, but he wore a simple green tunic over a chain mail shirt. At his side, he had buckled a massive sword I knew he’d paid through the nose to get. His dad was so not happy about that; so much for Festival making Thompson any money. Still, he looked pretty authentic, especially since he’d let his hair grow a little. It now hung over his ears.

The hostess asked
if it would be all right if she went to get a Scotch egg for breakfast. We promised to look after the place in her absence and told her to take her time.

“It’s nice to actually see you,” I said. Thanks to Thompson’s full-time summer job and the fact that our weekends were shot by a dawn-to-dusk performance here, we hadn’t had much time for that dining and dancing he’d promised. Still, I had to give him credit. We talked on the phone almost every night, and he had bought tickets to that annual 1940s Commemorative Air Force hangar dance. We’d be going there next Thursday, and I was curious to see if he’d had as much fun finding World War II–era clothes as I had.

It was everything he’d promised, and I enjoyed being with someone who wasn’t always embroiled in some kind of mystical crisis. Nikolai, meanwhile, had written a heartbreaking, sad song about waiting for someone who was wasting her time on someone else. The radio played it constantly.

Elias had, in a weird way, resumed courting me as well. He started sending letters—as in real pen and ink that came in the mailbox. It was a strange way to communicate, but I found it to be much more sensual than e-mail. I could smell a hint of his aftershave on the smooth paper. He even used some kind of fountain pen with rich, deep black ink.

Thompson leaned against
the wall, making leather creak and chain mail clink. “Can I ask you something?”

I blinked away my thoughts. His question had a kind of seriousness that sounded as though he’d been working up to asking it. Man, I hoped to heck he wasn’t breaking up with me. A little nervously, I agreed. “Sure.”

He touched that one spot on his face again. I’d seen him make this unconscious gesture several times previously. I had no idea when it had started, but every once in a while I would see him looking at me with an intense sort of frown, and his fingers would go up and brush across his face, as if he were wiping something from his cheekbone.

Crossing his arms in front of his chest defensively, he said slowly, “I think you licked me once.”

Oh shit. Bea’s forget-me spell had finally worn off. I must have said something at some point that had triggered the ghost of a memory. Without her to reinforce it, the truth finally resurfaced.

I wanted to lie, but I couldn’t do that to him. During our late-night talks, he’d shared with me about living with a mom who was a drunk, and I’d told him my dad had moved back and was slowly dying. So, I smoothed out the velvety fabric of my gown and said, “Yeah, I did. I’m part vampire.”

I waited. I thought for sure this would be the end. He’d decide I was crazy and we’d break up. Instead, he just kept looking at me with that severe frown. The rain pounded on the roof, and the fire popped and sizzled.

“Right,” he said finally. I couldn’t quite read his tone, though I was pretty sure he was just humoring me. “A witch
and
a vampire.”

“Yep,” I said, holding my ground.

His eyebrow
arched skeptically. “A licking vampire? Because I only remember licking. Is there something you need to tell me?”

“In all honesty, I have never bitten you.”

Thompson seemed to consider this. He chewed his lip thoughtfully before simply stating, “Okay, then.”

We had clearly reached the end of Thompson’s ability to deal with this. That was fine by me, as long as I knew the answer to my next question. “Are you still going to take me out?”

A broad smile broke on his handsome face. “Are you kidding? Try to stop me.”

That afternoon, the sun broke through the clouds, revealing a gorgeous day. As the sun set, I joined the royal court at the closing gate. Thompson stood beside me. His armor was too battered to be called shining, but, well, it was close enough.

Tate Hallaway
lives in St. Paul, Minnesota. She
is also the author of the Garnet Lacey novels.