A Lesson in Thorns (Thornchapel #1)(18)

“Spoken like someone who’s always had it.”

“You weren’t so proud when you were begging me to—”

It happens in an instant. One moment St. Sebastian is standing there glowering, and the next, he’s slamming Auden to the ground.

They land—Auden first, St. Sebastian on top—with a thud and then a crunch as they start wrestling on the gravel. And for a split second—no more than that, because I’m not a total sex monster—I can’t help but notice how beautiful they both are like this. St. Sebastian with his threadbare T-shirt hiked up around his abdomen and Auden’s entire body a long, lean arch of strength as he bucks up against him.

Then I come to my senses and run toward them, shouting at them to stop. The dog has the same idea, tearing over the gravel to go bark in their faces and prance around them, as if he can’t figure out if he should protect Auden or if it’s a big play party and he wants in.

I reach them just as St. Sebastian’s pinned Auden’s hips between his thighs and fisted Auden’s sweater in one hand. The pose you assume when you’re about to hit somebody as hard as you can. I do the only thing I can think of—which is to throw my arms around St. Sebastian and pull him off my host.

My body is somewhere between the model-slim Rebecca’s and the summer-blown curves of Delphine’s, not really enough to tackle a full-grown man, but enough to knock him off balance when he’s not expecting it, and together we tumble to the cold, wet ground. Before I can process my new position, however, Auden’s on top of us both.

He freezes when he realizes he’s on top of more than just St. Sebastian.

We’re all completely still. St. Sebastian under me, Auden on top, me in the middle, and for a single moment we’re breathing as one, our chests filling and emptying, our hearts pounding in time. There’s a buzzing in my blood, and it’s along every stretch and tuck of my skin, like I’ve become electrified, like I’m sharing something deeper and more elemental than breath and a wedge of cold gravel with these men.

And then Auden shoves himself up to his feet and the moment ruptures wide open, spilling its guts and dying. There’s no more electricity, no more buzzing, no more of that heady awareness. We’re just three cold, damp people with gravel embedded in our palms.

Auden stands over us, furious and ferocious, and St. Sebastian sits up and angles his body in front of me as I struggle to sit too, as if he’s trying to protect me.

Auden scowls at this, scowls harder at where St. Sebastian’s forearm brushes along my bare legs. He yanks once at his hair, then storms away without another word, Sir James Frazer trotting behind him.

St. Sebastian and I sit there and stare at the doorway for a moment, and then with a sigh, he gets to his feet and extends a hand to help me up.

“I’m sorry,” he says after we’re both standing, but I’m not sure what he’s apologizing for. There’s no doubt in my mind that Auden knew his words would hurt St. Sebastian. That he intended them to be a provocation of the highest order.

“He started it,” I say.

“No, I started it,” St. Sebastian answers wearily. “Years ago.”

I brush the extra gravel off my shirt and dab at my rain-wet face with a rain-wet sleeve. “You didn’t deserve all that though.”

“Didn’t I?” St. Sebastian says, and he turns before I can read his expression, before I can ask him to explain. “It was good to see you again, Poe,” he adds over his shoulder. “Take care.”

Wait, I want to say. I want to see you again. Talk to you again.

I want to look into your inky eyes again.

Feel my body on yours again.

I screw my lips shut. None of that is really appropriate in this moment, and maybe it’ll never be appropriate. Maybe I’m just being a sex monster again.

So instead I say, “Good to see you too,” as he climbs into a work van. With a small wave, he drives away. And with a deep breath, I steel myself to go back inside.

When I get back to the library, there’s no trace of Auden, but there is a cup of tea waiting for me, and I manage to pass off the rest of the afternoon in facsimile of pleasantness, even though I’m exhausted and confused and my hand stings with the tiny bites of countless pieces of gravel.

And when it comes time for dinner, there’s still no Auden. We make spaghetti in the kitchen and eat in the library, Becket genially covering over any awkward gaps when my sleepiness gets too intense for me to focus on conversation. Delphine repeatedly apologizes for Auden’s absence, saying he needs to work, and Rebecca keeps shooting me glances that indicate I’m going to be pulled into a corner and questioned soon. My jet lag makes an excellent excuse to bow out early, and by nine o’clock, me and my scraped palms are in bed asleep.





Auden, Delphine, and Rebecca are not in the house when I wake up the next morning.

I’m not totally surprised, as Rebecca told me over dinner that today is their day for traveling back to London, but it’s still strange to wake up and know that I’ll be the only person inside the house. At least the only person who’s not currently tearing it apart. Even Sir James Frazer has gone to stay with Becket at his rectory; I’m truly alone.

I go down to the kitchen, sleepily make some toast and eat it, and then go back up to my bedroom to change—which somehow results in me curling up on top of my bed again and falling asleep for another four hours. I could claim jet lag, I guess, but that’s not really the whole of it. It’s the narcolepsy, and I’m flushed and shameful when I wake up in the early afternoon, having done nothing with my time except dream wild, fretful dreams. It’s hard to shake off the uneasy fog that clings to me after I wake up for good, a fog that seems to be about everything and nothing all at once.