“Do you need me to go, too?” Trick whispered.

I shook my head. “No. Not you. Them.” I sucked in a deep breath. Calm. Calm. “You’re fine. Just…not her.” Lou’s hurt face floated up, making me feel like shit, but I couldn’t deal with that right now. All I could do was hold myself tight and hope I didn’t shatter into a hundred pieces.

That shithead part of me was cackling again. All the places I could have picked, all the roommates Trick could have had, and one of them just had to be an animal mage.

Figures.

Chapter Five

Lou

Van and I stopped in the living room. The afternoon light slanted in, and I could hear some of the pigeons outside gossiping by our birdfeeder. Out of habit, I started listening to their chatter, only to realize that it wasn’t actually my business who my neighbor was sleeping with, so I blocked it out. The kids shouting on the sidewalk made that easy. Outside was loud.

Inside? Absolute fucking silence. Van was frowning hard, pointing at the kitchen, her face clearly saying, the fuck?

I shrugged at her. I didn’t know what the fuck was going on either, so I was no help beyond making my own the fuck? face out of solidarity. A sleepy chirp reminded me that I’d forgot someone fairly important. Dammit was nestled into a metal carrier that I’d left by the door. I spent a few minutes tracking down the cage Trick had texted me about and settling Dammit into his new home. I tried to give Trick and Declan privacy, and thankfully the walls were decently thick.

It wasn’t until I was back into the living room that I picked up their voices again. I heard Trick speaking softly, followed by Declan swearing. Despite my worry and hurt, I liked his voice. There was a raspy quality to it that sizzled right up my spine. I might not like what he was saying, but I was on board with the delivery mechanism, I guess.

“Of course,” Declan said, and now he was laughing, but it was a painful laugh, reminding me of a wounded animal. “An animal mage. Just fucking perfect.”

Van was glaring holes through the door. Declan might be freaking out, but Van was more concerned about how he was making me feel.

For my part, I was oddly paralyzed trying to process what I’d heard. Declan’s words were hurtful, yes. Bigotry always hurts. It’s a weapon made to flay you open, eviscerating even the hardest shell. Though it manifests as hatred, bigotry was usually rooted in fear. I hadn’t heard any hatred in his voice. Panic, yes. Pain. And underneath it, exhaustion. So I was torn between my own hurt—no one likes being yelled at to leave, especially in their own home—and my instinct to heal.

Someone had injured Declan very badly. If I wasn’t careful, Van would gleefully harm him some more, and I wasn’t quite sure if I could stop her. She reached out for the door and I touched her hand, shaking my head.