Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 102166 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102166 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
“Why there?”
“Because it’s mildly controversial. Your appearance there is likely to cause a stir. Even without a mysterious woman on your arm.”
“Why is it controversial?” Iris asked, ready to take up for a fellow paranormal, even if she didn’t know them.
“The rumor is the waitstaff is almost unbearably rude. And most people leave with a migraine thanks to all the screaming. But when some people bring up the very real flaws of the establishment, others start saying people are just being judgmental of banshee culture. So on and so forth. It will look good that you are eating there. It will look better if you come out afterward seeming pleased with the experience and at the very beginning stages of being in love.”
“Did you have any plans tonight?” Finn asked, looking at Iris.
She’d been planning to hit up the bookstore since Arden had monopolized her entire day once he’d shown up. But she couldn’t let it get back to her mother that she was being difficult.
Her first instinct was to protest. Loudly. She barely knew how to navigate her feelings in private. How was she supposed to parade around the city on Finn’s arm like she wasn’t a walking, spiraling identity crisis?
But if she pushed back too hard, it might get back to her mother. And that, frankly, was worse than any dinner with banshees.
“Oh, well, I was going to attend my first Necromancy For Beginners class …”
“Necromancy For Beginners?” Henry repeated.
“How to Raise the Dead Without Raising Eyebrows,” Iris said. It was a real class. She’d used the phone Arden had insisted they go out to buy—then learn how to use—to track it down, wanting to have it in her back pocket if the conversation called for it.
“Necromancy,” Henry repeated, giving Finn a look she couldn’t quite interpret.
“I’d hate to cut into your new hobbies,” Finn said.
“So long as I don’t miss next week’s class …”
“What’s that one?” Henry asked.
“Séance & Song: Summoning the Dead with Showtunes.”
“So we can expect necromancer singing in the future,” Henry observed. “Great. Anyway. Tonight. Eight. I already made the reservation. Finn, wear the slacks and a shirt but no jacket. Iris, I will have something sent over.”
“Why can’t I pick out my own clothes?”
“Because I’m half afraid you will find something in a material printed with vintage torture devices or something. Eight. Happy faces. So in love. I can’t be there to coach you. But make me proud.”
With that, he was gone.
Iris felt like the air got instantly thinner once he left the room. She couldn’t quite decide if Henry was that insufferable, or if she was viewing him through a lens of principled hatred. He was the man behind Mr. Mayor. She couldn’t help but wonder how much of Finn’s utter lack of personality was because Henry claimed his likes and hobbies didn’t pass muster with a focus group.
“I’m sorry he springs things like this on us,” Finn said when Henry was gone. “He forgets that people have lives.”
“Maybe because you don’t have one.”
That was mean. And she even regretted it the moment it was out of her mouth. But things couldn’t be unsaid.
Finn watched her for a moment. Then his mouth opened and closed before he gave her a tight nod. “That’s fair.”
It really wasn’t.
But Finn was already moving past it. “Do you have any concerns about this part? The possible paparazzi …”
“Not really, no.” How much worse could it be from the usual gawking she got?
“You may have some concerns about Henry’s outfit selection.”
“Why?”
“The shoes. He’s not going to send over flats.”
“Ugh,” Iris grumbled, looking down at her feet that seemed to be in a constant state of minor pain if she so much as slipped them into anything other than the sandals that Monty had brought home as some sort of swag gift from a party.
“Kind of speciesist to go with shoes with a toe loop,” he’d said, waving down at his own feet. “Not all of us have toes.”
“We’ll be sitting most of the time,” Finn reassured her now. “I’m going to go get dressed.”
There was a knock at the door about an hour and a half later, interrupting a scene in her book that was getting steamy.
“I’ll get it,” Finn said, holding up a hand at her and making his way to the door, returning a moment later with a garment bag and a box of shoes. “Told you,” he said.
“How high are they?”
In answer, he draped the garment bag over the arm of the couch and opened the box for her.
They were surprisingly casual espadrille jute-wrapped wedges. With a closed toe, of course.
“Well, at least they don’t have those icepick-thin heels,” she decided.
“Henry is not without mercy.”
“Oh, come on. You and I both know he went with wedges because he’s afraid I’ll fall on my face and embarrass you.”