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THEY DRAGGED THE BUNK mattresses to the floor to lay together, the same as they had in the power plant. Understandably tired, they slept a couple hours. Though Georgie didn’t hear the cell door hiss open, the guard clanging his metal truncheon against the wall was an effective alarm bell.
She bolted up with the blanket clutched to her nakedness.
The look the guard shot their tangled arrangement was too bored to be a leer. “Get dressed. You three are being moved.”
Iksander didn’t ask where, so she figured she shouldn’t either. The guard’s jaded attitude aside, she preferred to pull on her clothes without his eyes on her. Once in the bathroom, her alertness switched on enough to kick herself. They could have spent the night forming plans. Instead, they’d had sex and slept.
The fact that it had been really good sex didn’t make up for the lapse.
Today—if it was day—they weren’t chained together and only had four escorts. Regrettably, the warren of halls the guards led them through kept them from grasping how the location was laid out. She couldn’t grasp it anyway. Maybe Connor and Iksander had better mental GPS.
At the end of the final hall, a granite arch set off an ornamented brass double door. Posted before this exit were four additional djinn. They wore black and silver striped uniforms. The style reminded her of Swiss guards at the Vatican.
“Official transport,” the leader of their escort barked. “Per order of our esteemed regents.”
He handed over a fancy scroll. One of the Swiss guards examined it, nodded to his companions, at which signal the four djinn stepped aside as one. The broad brass doors swung open without anyone touching them. The potent outrush of magic—threshold protection spells, she supposed—caused the hairs on her nape to rise.
If this display was meant to overawe, it did the trick for her.
She followed the guards hesitantly through.
“Wow,” Connor said beside her.
Georgie stopped in her tracks. They’d entered a literally dazzling space, so bedecked with gold and mirrors, with crystal torchieres and tall blazing windows that her eyes couldn’t add up the images. She closed her mouth and swallowed, trying to make a coherent picture form. The floor was multi-hued inlaid marble, the ceiling a muralled vault overhead. The massive chandeliers dangling from it would have crushed elephants. Fist-sized gems spangled everywhere, casting uncountable reflections. The actual lights were magic-powered. The air was thick with spellwork, the prickle she’d felt at the door a pale precursor.
Her ability to speak returned haltingly. “This is like Versailles’ Hall of Mirrors times umpteen.”
“Sunshine,” Iksander breathed in a similar tone. He waved weakly toward a long march of windows. The brightness that flooded through them did appear to be daylight, the first she’d seen since arriving in this city.
Like moths, they went to it. Their escort didn’t stop them. Maybe stupefied admiration was encouraged. The building they’d been brought to enclosed a courtyard as long on its sides as a football field. From their vantage on the second floor, the pavers below formed an ornately scrolled pattern. Cultivated gardens swirled around the edges, the beds lush with fruiting trees. Among the branches, long-tailed birds flaunted colorful feathers. Perhaps for contrast, fountains grand and small tinkled soothingly. In the largest reflecting pool, lily pads bracketed giant blooms. Blue herons stalked between them, presumably hunting their next meal. Above these marvels a summery sky stretched to seeming infinity. The sun hung at the noon point, its rays so brilliant they shot rainbows.
When Georgie glanced at Iksander, he’d braced—jaw agape—between one window’s columns. “I heard tales of this,” he murmured, “but I didn’t believe them: that Luna could command both the moon and sun.”
“That’s not the sun,” Connor contradicted. “That’s a ball of magic that looks like one.”
Either way, the orb was impressive. Its rays sustained the garden, all evidence of winter banished beneath its warmth. To call the power expenditure profligate was mild. How many neighborhoods like Prospekt Market went without so this could flourish?
“Hey,” Georgie said. “Does this fancy stuff mean we’re in the palace?”
“Assuredly,” Iksander said.
She studied their surroundings from the new perspective. This extraordinary lap of luxury had been Luna’s residence. Georgie thought of their life at Ravenwings as cushy, but what a step down the human world must have seemed to her former guardian!
“Welcome to Mordent Palace,” interrupted a composed voice, somewhat anticlimactically. “Please come with me.”
They turned to find a female, neither young nor old, gazing composedly at them. Her multi-layered flowing gown was black with silver moons. Georgie thought the outfit might be servants’ livery. Though the djinniya appeared unarmed, possibly she had hidden defenses. The guards who’d escorted them from the jail relinquished them to her custody.
The soldiers’ absence emboldened Iksander. “Where are you taking us?” he asked. “Why have we been brought here?”
The woman turned her head but didn’t pause. “I’m taking you where you’ll be more comfortable, Citizen Andrei. As to why, it is the privilege of our glorious regents to supply that answer.”
Their walk was long and followed an out-of-the-way back route. It ended in a spacious set of rooms on an upper floor. There the servant left them, quietly closing the door after.
Georgie looked around curiously. The suite was an upgrade from the cell, including a bedroom, a bathing chamber, and a comfortable sitting area. The furnishings were the djinn version of seventeenth century French, the ceilings high and embellished with plasterwork. To her, the space was lavish. To people here, she supposed it might have been second-rate.
Disconcertingly, the windows overlooked a dark pine forest with no sunshine. Snow heaped the drooping branches. Should they need to escape, fleeing in that dour direction didn’t seem promising.
“We’re locked in,” Iksander announced, having checked the door. “And not only mechanically.”
Georgie started to ask if he could crack the charm. Connor signaled her to hush. He pointed to a corner of the cornice, where he must have found a watch spell. The sultan wasn’t worried about being obvious. He crossed his arms and glared balefully at it. Georgie felt his power gathering.
“In the name of the creator of eyes and ears, I pronounce thee deaf and blind.”
A sound like speaker feedback suggested he’d succeeded.
“Was that a good idea?” she asked.
Iksander shrugged. “The spell was basic, probably a test to see if we’d find it and shut it off. I wager all the guestrooms have them. Our hosts are playing games. Seeing how we react to stick and carrot. We’ll be insulted next. Shown we’re not important.”
“Isn’t that for the best?”
“It is. Just don’t confuse being taken for small bananas with being safe.”
Georgie and Connor smiled at his turn of phrase.
“We say small potatoes,” Connor explained.
“Ah,” Iksander said, then rubbed his chin and sighed.
Despite deducing their captors’ tactics, being locked in and left to cool his heels didn’t please the sultan. For the next hour, he paced the suite. Though the man that ruled a city was apparent in every step, Georgie didn’t give him a heads up. He knew how to hide his origins when required—and anyway maybe he needed to feel more like himself right then. He had a lot to ponder, including about last night.
He’d never be an easy lover like Connor, nor an easy person, probably. Georgie wasn’t sure that mattered. He drew her interest and her emotions. His broody energy and his conscience appealed to her as strongly as his beauty. His pride was no dampener either. In truth, everything about him fascinated her—especially now that she’d had sex with him. She’d like to have it again. Or to watch him and Connor. Her insides went hot at that idea. She guessed her angel wasn’t the only one with a voyeuristic streak.
The object of her erotic meandering stopped. “Someone’s coming.”
He wasn’t alarmed. Deliberately cool, he turned toward the door. Connor and Georgie rose to match his pose. They were just in time to present a united front. The djinniya who’d brought them to the suite entered carrying packages.
She seemed startled to find them facing her.
“Court clothes,” she said, smoothing her expression and lifting laden arms. “Tonight is your lucky night. You’ve been invited to attend the imperial meal. I’m instructed to help you with dressing charms.”
“We can handle them,” Connor said, gently taking the wrapped bundles.
Her eyes widened when they met his. Like most djinn, she seemed to find his celestial gaze difficult to break. “The spells are pre-set. And complex. You won’t be used to them.”
“We’ll figure it out,” he assured her.
Flustered, she touched her perfectly ordered hair. “If you’re sure . . .”
“We are,” Connor said. “But thank you for your kindness.”
Georgie doubted kindness had been her goal.
“As you wish,” the servant said. “I’ll returned for you at the gathering gong.”
Iksander, evidently, had a similar interpretation to Georgie. He shook his head after the servant left. “That’s some whammy you’ve got. You should have asked her what’s going on.”
“I didn’t want to push my luck.” Grinning, Connor handed the top package to Georgie. “This says FOR THE WOMAN.” He passed the next to Iksander. “FOR THE LEADER. This must be mine. It’s FOR THE PRETTY ONE.”
He wasn’t kidding. The bundles were labeled as he said. Fortunately, the code for triggering the charms was included.
“Careful,” Connor warned. “They’ve snuck some undeclared extras into the clothes. If we don’t deactivate them, our outfits will spy on us.”
“Well,” Iksander said. “You really are handy.”
~
CONNOR DIDN’T PLAY humble. Getting credit for the power he had left was nice. He confirmed the watch spells were dead before any of them used the clothes’ open sesame. The result of that was startling but fun. The garments flew onto them as if they came with invisible dressers. Almost before they’d finished gasping, they were laced and buttoned and even coiffed.
“Ooh,” he said, because Georgie looked yummy.
She was always beautiful, of course, but now she was done up. Her waist-cinching yellow gown matched the streaks in her hair, which was freshly washed and spiked. The corset top to her long trailing skirt made her breasts lift with every breath. Her face was painted, her bosom powdered, and she smelled like a fruit basket.
“Good Lord,” she exclaimed, gaping at him and Iksander. “You two look different.”
That revelation he didn’t like as much. Their shirts and formfitting coats bristled with prickly lace and embroidery. Worse, their knee-length breeches were almost too tight to walk in. Evidently, their shoes had heels, because Connor’s ankles were wobbling. On top of all this, he realized he felt silly. He hadn’t thought he cared about gender norms. Since the way he looked annoyed him, he guessed he did a bit.
Iksander merely grimaced when he glanced at his reflection. The outlandish clothes suited his leaner figure better than Connor’s.
“My hair,” Connor gasped, suddenly registering that it felt heavy.
His hair was long now, falling a foot past his shoulders in honey-gold corkscrews.
Georgie reached out to tug a trailing lock. “It’s not a wig. It’s attached to you.”
“They might have asked,” Connor griped.
Iksander laughed. “Don’t sulk. It looks good on you.”
He was sulking and couldn’t stop, despite the compliment. “It’s ridiculous. Why did they leave yours chin-length?”
“We’re lucky they did,” Georgie reminded. “‘Andrei’ looks less like his old self with his new haircut.”
She kissed Connor’s cheek, which did make him feel better. He wished Iksander would kiss the other but that was rushing it. The sultan smiled at least, and didn’t look away.
Connor told himself getting somewhere was better than standing still.
By the time the gathering gong rang, his normal good mood had recovered. As promised, the cool-mannered djinniya escorted them to the banquet hall.
There they discovered being invited to attend dinner wasn’t the same as being allowed to eat. They were directed to a balcony overlooking the stately hall. The balcony had no tables, just seats like a theater. Other courtiers sat already. Each had been supplied a binocular on a stick, the better to admire their superiors down below. Perhaps two hundred of those held pride of place at a big U of tables. These djinn were dressed even fancier than Connor, with more jewels and lace fussing up their outfits.
When the regents entered, regal to the nth degree, the people at the tables leaped to their feet and bowed.
The objects of their courtesy inclined their heads in exact synchrony. Henri and Eleanor Villeneuve had long hair too, shining buttery waves that slid cloak-like down their chests. Connor remembered how attractive they were from watching them on their Egyptian barge. Today they were honoring a different era. Their garb resembled that of their followers—except theirs was the richest. Matching plum-sized diamonds glistened like miniature suns in their coronets.
They claimed the pair of thrones at the upper table. A moment later, everyone else sat too.
This was the signal for a parade of servers to file in with large wine flasks.
“Sheesh,” Georgie whispered. “If I’d known we were here to watch, I’d have brought popcorn.”
One of the courtiers shushed her. Georgie submitted, seeming more amused than annoyed. Connor squeezed her hand and leaned forward for the show. The regents had come to their feet again.
“Greetings, gracious subjects,” Henri began with his jewel-studded cup lifted. “Today, as always, we thank our Creator for His bounty. How wondrous that we among the Three Hundred have been so blessed!”
“We thank Him for our lives—” Eleanor continued.
“—and our triumphs over our enemies—”
“—and for the plenitude of magic that we are so happy—”
“—even honored—”
“—to share with you.” Eleanor spread her arms to indicate the crowd as she completed this declaration. The co-regents’ voices were as similar as their looks: smooth and lovely and insincere. No one seemed disconcerted by their habit of divvying up sentences. Connor assumed they were used to it.
What appeared to take a few unprepared was Henri setting down his goblet without drinking. Ignoring his courtiers’ consternation—for they’d been about to sip—he braced his hands on the table edge. A single crease nocked his slightly flushed marble brow.
“Lamentably,” he said, “before we can partake of this sumptuous meal, we must address a serious matter. Lord Moore, would you be kind enough to approach the dais?”
Connor didn’t know if Lord Moore was kind, but he certainly looked nervous. He was a tall young man with ginger hair and a thin mustache.
“Your Gloriousness,” he said, bowing his head and dropping to one knee as he reached the appointed spot. “I live to serve.”
“You do indeed,” Henri agreed, coming around to lean on the table’s front. “Better, however, to ask how you have displeased us.”
“Your Highness?”
“Do we not clothe and feed and house you like princelings in our palace? Do we not share our royal magic? Are you not grateful to experience our radiant presences every day? One would think you could not do enough to bring us joy. Instead, we hear you have discussed sensitive imperial secrets with members of the press.”
The blood that rushed into Lord Moore’s face said he knew precisely what Henri meant. His eyes cut briefly to the guards posted at attention along the wall.
“Your Highness,” he said, clearly fighting not to show fear. “I only communicated what many present at the incident observed. The demon cloud appeared to choose its last victim. It pursued a man around a corner and up the stairs of his home. It displayed a face that jeered. Some claim it called his name. The people of my district—indeed, of all the city’s districts—deserve to know this is happening.”
“Nonsense,” Eleanor contradicted. She lounged in her high-backed throne, one graceful finger tracing the rim of her gold goblet. “Everyone knows the demon cloud isn’t sentient. It’s not capable of targeted attacks. Unless . . .” She pressed the same slender finger to her lips. “I suppose our enemy might have imbued his creation with the power of thought before our predecessor—God smile upon her soul—transformed him into stone. While he breathed, Sultan Iksander was known to be ruthless.”
Seated on Georgie’s other side, Iksander exhaled in annoyance. Connor lowered his binoculars to glance at him. Finding him frowning but otherwise all right, he returned his gaze to the scene below.
“Respectfully, my liege,” Lord Moore was saying to Eleanor. “If we are honest, as I believe behooves us in this instance, we of the privileged class have reason to suspect the demon cloud isn’t our enemy’s invention.”
The female regent’s brows shot up in amazement. “Do you imply I lie?”
Lord Moore bowed more earnestly. “Never, Your Radiance. Naturally, I understand—even commend—your desire to prevent a panic. I simply suggest that we, as guardians of the public good, perhaps owe the djinn in our care a fighting chance to protect themselves. If you and your esteemed brother would consider—”
The collective gasp from the court drowned out the rest of his words. Their shock was followed by dead silence, during which Henri went ramrod straight and strode to Lord Moore.
“Your Highness,” the horrified djinni stammered. “I didn’t mean— I—”
Henri struck him across the face. “That is for my noble cousin, whom you have twice dishonored. For your treason, which I note you haven’t denied, you’ll pay a higher price.”
“Henri, please, how is it treason if—”
Henri struck him again. “Once you had the right to call me that but no more. No man can be my friend who betrays me.” He signaled the waiting guards. Four came forward with ominous willingness.
“May I?” Eleanor asked before he could give them instructions.
Henri bowed to her in permission. Eleanor’s smile was more foreboding than the guards’ ardor. She rose from her seat but didn’t walk around the table. Instead, she levitated up and over it. Connor was impressed in spite of himself. He hadn’t made floating appear that effortless. Eleanor seemed to impersonate a feather. She landed with an attractive flutter of gown and hair.
The four guards stared, dazzled, as if she embodied their sweetest dreams. When she trailed her white hand across the gold-buttoned breasts of their uniforms, Connor swore he heard their hearts thump.
“This isn’t leading anywhere good,” Georgie muttered beside him.
“Now,” the regal djinniya said, “let’s see which of you fine males believe most fervently in the rightness of the sentence we must enact.”
“She doesn’t want them to turn dark,” Iksander murmured in a tone of discovery. “If they believe the execution is justified, they won’t become ifrits.”
“They’re going to kill him?” Georgie asked.
Lord Moore appeared to agree with that conclusion. He flung himself prostrate on the floor. “Please,” he begged. “Show mercy.”
Neither regent turned to look. Eleanor coyly tapped the middle two guards’ chests. “You and you will have the honor.”
“This isn’t right,” Georgie objected. “How can what he did be a crime?”
“Hush,” another balcony occupant scolded.
Thoroughly upset now, Georgie gripped Connor’s thigh. Iksander stretched across him to pat her arm. “We can’t interfere. It’s their laws he broke, and there are only three of us.”
Georgie’s growl was almost too low to hear. “I know that. I just wish they wouldn’t—”
“Don’t,” Iksander said sharply. “Remember what you are. It isn’t safe for you to wish among this crowd. Not if you had perfect control.”
“Fine,” Georgie said. “I’ll follow Herself’s old rules. I won’t say the W word.”
By “Herself,” Georgie meant Luna. The empress hadn’t wanted her human charge accidentally activating her species-related advantage. Her fears had turned out to be justified. Maybe the sultan’s were as well. A sudden prickling in Connor’s thigh caused him to glance down. The hand Georgie had clamped on him was on fire—not the burning sort but the magical. The blue glow ran up her rainforest-themed tattoo, picking out the lines of the seal hidden under it.
Iksander hissed as he recognized the Solomonic star. It was a symbol no djinni would dream of wearing. Possibly, only a human would.
Before someone else could notice, Connor wrapped his hand over it.
“Georgie,” he said as soothingly as he could. “Take a breath and calm yourself.”
“Jesus,” she said, seeing the glow herself.
A cry of fear from the banquet hall sidetracked them.
They’d forgotten events were proceeding there. The pair of guards Eleanor selected had baton-like silver weapons tucked in their belts. Now they drew and pointed them at Lord Moore. He cowered on the floor, his hands instinctively—and probably pointlessly—covering his head.
“I was trying to warn the people,” he pleaded. “I’m innocent.”
“You disobeyed our glorious leaders,” the first guard argued.
“Yes,” the second agreed. “At the least, you’re guilty of treachery.”
Eleanor smiled faintly. “You may proceed,” she said.
God forgive them, Connor thought as the guards shot crackling streaks of lightning toward their victim.
They kept shooting for a good half-minute. Lord Moore’s body jerked with the charge, his limbs and torso slapping the floor by turns. Finally, as his spirit was shaken loose and the shaking stopped, his final breath left his lungs. Connor suspected no one but he sensed the subtle light of his soul rising up and departing. Lord Moore’s new consciousness seemed to need no guidance, but he said a prayer for it anyway.
As physical deaths went, he imagined worse existed.
Georgie was weeping silently. Connor hugged her to him and kissed her cheek, relieved her tattoo had stopped burning. “He is free, Georgie. His friends will miss him, but he is fine.”
Georgie looked at him, startled, her lilac eyes washed by tears. She touched his face with her fingertips. “Sometimes I forget what you are.”
He smiled. “I’m sorry his death made you sad.”
She shook her head and let out a sigh.
Iksander returned his gaze to the scene below. Though he hadn’t wept, his tone was dark. “They’re dragging off the body. I suppose this means the banquet can continue.”
“Surely not,” Connor said, this at last shocking him.
The smooth entrance of the soup course proved otherwise.
~
THEY FINISHED THE MEAL, Georgie thought. A man died in front of them, and they fucking lifted their forks and ate.
A quartet of musicians came in to play, and conversation continued. The people in the balcony lifted their viewing glasses and oohed at the display. They’d been discomposed, but they’d gotten over it.
With so many eyes around them, Georgie was afraid to voice her reactions.
At least the ordeal was over. As they filed back into the corridor, Connor rubbed her hand. Fortunately, her tattoo wasn’t burning anymore.
She was doubly glad for that when one of the Swiss guards signaled them.
“The regents would like to speak to you,” he said.
Iksander must have been numb too, because he nodded and didn’t ask questions. They followed the guard through the emptying banquet hall to a private room at the upper end. The windowless chamber’s colors were blue and silver, the only seats a pair of tall sterling thrones. Clearly feeling informal, the female regent—Eleanor—sat draped gracefully sideways in hers. A small distance away, Henri leaned on the silk brocade that served as wallpaper. He spun a fidget toy on one fingertip, the thing’s curving silver wings centered on an egg-sized pale blue jewel. Georgie couldn’t tell whether magic or dexterity balanced it.
“You must be wondering why we brought you here,” Eleanor began. “Instead of leaving you in a cell, as you deserve.”
“We have wondered that,” Iksander said, bowing elegantly from the waist. “Naturally, no matter the cause, we’re honored to be in the company of your luminous selves.”
Eleanor laughed softly. “You do that well. Perhaps the provinces aren’t as backward as we believe.”
“Whatever laudable qualities we possess, we owe to our betters.”
“Yes, yes,” Henri said, waving his pale free hand. “Show them the recording.”
His sister—or cousin—snapped her fingers and plucked what surely looked like an iPhone out of thin air. Georgie gasped before she could stop herself. Luckily, Eleanor assumed her amazement was for other reasons than recognizing it.
“Isn’t it clever?” she said, swinging her legs around to sit vertically. “It’s a human device. Sometimes the strangest things fall between the worlds. Its ‘network’ doesn’t connect, of course, so it’s not as handy as a scroll. It does, however, take excellent moving pictures. As you might have guessed, we have an extensive web of informants. When we heard the infamous Variété Theater was staging a new production, after being shut for so long, we had to know what it was about. Our emissary filmed this for us. You were very naughty, arranging to steal people’s power that way—especially without our permission—but we did enjoy your drama.”
Iksander and Connor’s fight was playing out on the iPhone’s screen.
“You were also amusing,” Henri said, startling Georgie by addressing her. “A woman playing Solomon was a bold idea. It’s too bad you’re a terrible actress.”
Georgie had no idea what a safe response to this would be. She stared at him instead, genuinely struck dumb by his exquisite beauty. His skin was poreless porcelain, his eyes hypnotizing navy pools. He wasn’t quite identical to his twin. Seen up close, his face was the tiniest bit asymmetrical. His slanting left cheekbone was a millimeter higher, his right jaw infinitesimally more broad. The variation made him more interesting, she thought.
“You’re catching flies,” Eleanor observed.
“Pardon,” Georgie said and shut her mouth.
Henri snorted in amusement, apparently not displeased by her reaction.
“We’ve confiscated your revenues, of course,” Eleanor said airily. “But since you may be of use to us, we’ve decided to show mercy.”
“What sort of use?” Connor asked.
It was the first time he’d spoken. Interestingly, his angel whammy also worked on regents. Eleanor’s eyes went rounder, her soft bowed lips parting. Caught by surprise, she combed one pinkie through a shining wave of her buttercup yellow hair. The color looked natural. Georgie guessed djinn came in slightly different hues than humans.
Henri stared at his sibling’s gesture before shifting focus to Connor. “You shall perform for our investiture, which we expect the district lords to make official soon. The wrestling piece, I think. It is more focused and satisfying. We’ll present you with our adjustments, and you can rework it.”
“Rework it,” Connor repeated.
Henri tugged the front of his brocade and lace tunic. “Court audiences are sophisticated. They’ll want more than a kiss between your angel and his Jacob.”
“Ah,” Connor responded as if he’d understood more than Henri said.
Roses flooded the male djinni’s cheeks, enhancing his already striking looks. Georgie suddenly realized that—unlike the sultan—Connor hadn’t bowed or offered flowery compliments. Though he wasn’t arrogant, he’d spoken to the regents as if he were their equal. This should have bothered Henri, but instead he seemed mesmerized. Was Connor trying to seduce him? The idea alarmed her in multi-layered ways. The regents were horrible. And dangerous. And truthfully, she didn’t want to share her angel with anyone except Iksander.
Not that they’d done much sharing yet.
“I trust you’re not afraid of pushing boundaries,” Henri said. His gaze was locked on Connor, who didn’t look away.
“I’m told I’m rarely as afraid as I ought to be.”
The shiver that skipped across Henri’s shoulders was small but visible. Georgie didn’t want to know what he imagined doing with or to Connor. She doubted a consensual exchange of pleasure covered it.
“We’ll keep that in mind,” Eleanor cut in. She didn’t sound or look happy. Her hand slid sideways to Henri’s thigh, which she stroked in vaguely threatening arcs with her fingernails. Threat aside, the gesture was possessive. Was she jealous of her twin’s interest in Connor or vice versa?
Sensing her thoughts might get her into trouble, Georgie strove to stay impassive.
Luckily, the regents seemed to have delivered the message they intended.
“You may go,” Eleanor said, waving them away with her other hand. “We’ll contact you when we’ve decided what we desire.”
“Until we meet again,” Henri murmured.
Georgie had a feeling he cared about meeting one of them a bit more than the others.