I almost dropped her arm but ophanim had taught me to hold humans up. Although they’d meant metaphysically, I often applied it literally. “We didn’t talk about you.”
“Then why did he leave me?” she half-whined, half-sobbed.
“I don’t know.”
“You’re not even pretty.”
My grip stuttered. I was well-aware I was no beauty paradigm, but it nonetheless hurt to hear it said out loud. By a complete stranger, no less.
I didn’t realize I’d magicked my wings into existence until my feathers brushed up against the backs of my thighs.
Emmy shrugged off my lax grip, then teetered past me, keeping one hand on the wall and squinting into the darkness of my bedroom. “Is he here?”
I crossed my arms. “No.”
A door banged upstairs, and then a deeply-accented male voice called out, “Emmeline Rogers? Where the fuck are you? You can’t blimey call me in the middle of the night and then hang up.”
Emmy tottered back past me. “Downstairs! I’m downstairs”—she clapped her palm against her throat and released a strong-smelling burp—“with the new girl.” She bumped into the wall so hard I worried she may have dislocated her shoulder, but then she turned, planted both her palms on it and repainted it with the contents of her stomach.
This was going to be a long night . . .
“Fuck.” Footsteps resounded on the stairs and then a blond guy dressed in athletic wear appeared. He walked right up to Emmy and hooked her waist to keep her from toppling into her vomit. “How much did you drink?” Even though I didn’t speak and was steeped in shadows, his gaze dropped to the beam of hallway light licking up one of my legs. Slowly, he trailed it up to my face. “I’m guessing you’re the new tenant.” Since it was obvious, I didn’t answer. “You wouldn’t happen to know what she ingested, would you?”
“Unfortunately not.”
Emmy heaved again, more vomit splashing against the skinny baseboard.
I padded into the kitchenette. “I’ll get her a glass of water.”
“I think that’d be wise.” He smiled, and although most of his teeth were crooked, I liked his smile, because it felt genuine.
I ran the tap a couple seconds until the water turned cool, then rooted around the wooden cupboard for a glass. I grabbed the first one I found and filled it, then carried it back out to the tiny vestibule and handed it to Emmy’s friend.
He took it from me with a rapid thank you, then fit the plastic rim in her mouth and tipped it. The water sloshed down her chin and her neck, wetting her denim jacket and tank top.
“I don’t want water, Gray.”
“Tough luck, ’cause you’re going to need a pint of it.”
She shoved his wrist, and although his arm arced away, the second her fingers skidded off, he brought the glass back to her mouth. She reluctantly drank a sip, then coughed. Thankfully, no more vomit came up.
“I’ll get her to bed and come back to help you.” The guy she’d called by the color of his hoodie looked at me expectantly, I wasn’t sure why. “Do you have a name, new girl?”
“Oh . . . it’s Naya.”
“Naya.” Unlike Adam, he made the two syllables sound pretty.
“You don’t need to come back.”
His gaze flicked to Emmy, then back to me, dipping ever so slightly over my T-shirt before zipping back up to my face. “Five minutes.” He extended the drained glass. “I’m Grayson, by the way.”
After I took it from him, he heaved Emmy into his arms and was out my door and up the stairs before I could tell him not to worry. I heard her moan and mutter something, heard him reply softly. Whoever he was, it was a good thing she’d called him.
I sighed, wishing I possessed angel-fire. Would’ve made cleaning up the mess a breeze. Since I didn’t, I went hunting for cleaning supplies and found a lone garbage bag and a half-used paper towel roll under the kitchen sink. I flapped the small plastic bag open, then wet the paper towel and rubbed the compacted bar of soap against it.
I mopped up the mess as well as I could and had gotten rid of the larger chunks of Emmy’s dinner by the time Grayson trundled back down. I probably should’ve put on pants, but I was apparently not practical-minded at three in the morning. Not to mention Grayson had already seen my boy-short undies, and like Emmy had mentioned, I wasn’t exactly a sight worth beholding.
He ripped off a few sheets of paper towel. “Got anything besides this soap bar?”
“Not presently. I was planning a trip to Tesco in the morning. Probably should’ve gone tonight.” I tossed another soiled ball of paper into the garbage bag. “Is she okay?”
“She’s sleeping it off.” As he crouched beside the baseboards, he said, “Wouldn’t happen to know why she dove headfirst into a bottle of gin?”
“Apparently, Adam broke up with her.”
He stared steadily up at me, his expression so smooth it was impossible to read, but then he sighed. “She was very attached.”
I wadded the last two sheets, soaked them, then rubbed them with soap. “And he wasn’t?”
“Adam?” Grayson’s head jerked back. “He was clearly with my sister for her money. Out at all hours and very vague about why he was in London and where he came from.”
A gold-digger? Grayson’s diagnostic may have amused me if I wasn’t currently resentful of my fellow fletching, who’d looked upon me as though I was a plant louse.
I slid my teeth together as I leaned over to wipe up the last ochre streaks of Emmy’s ginfest. “So, Emmy’s your sister?”
“Stepsister. My mum married her dad.”
Oh. “And you live here, too?”
“No. I live in Camden. You know, by Primrose Hill.”
I had no clue where that was. “New in town, remember?”
“That’s right.” He straightened and tossed the grubby paper in the waste bag. He wasn’t very tall but taller than my 5’6”.
“You think it’s safe for her to sleep alone tonight?” I asked, because ogling him in silence was getting a tad awkward. Not that he seemed perturbed, relaxed and smiley as he was.
“I was planning on spending the night.”
“You’re a good brother.”
“I try.” He rubbed a patch of shorn hair on the side of his head. “So, what brings you to London?”
I flicked my gaze to the wall, to the waterlogged paint, trying to decide how to explain my trip without lying. “I came for a job, but I didn’t get it.”
“A job? Here I assumed you were here for a summer session at uni. How old are you? If you don’t mind me asking . . .”
“Eighteen.” I glanced over at the rolling racks and the jeans I’d hung up, feeling underdressed for a prolonged chat.
“I should probably let you get some sleep. And check on snoring beauty up there.” He rolled eyes that were a limpid shade of blue toward the ceiling, then swept his fingers through his bangs and backed up but paused on the threshold. “See you in the morning, Naya?”
I gave a sharp nod.
He dipped at the waist and grabbed the garbage bag, knotting it in midair. “I’ll dispose of that.”