Page 36 of In Somnis

“Ha-ha,” I deadpan, holding back my smile at his pleased grin. “How old are you, anyway?”

“I’m turning nineteen on the Winter Solstice.”

My smile breaks free. “So you’re a Sagittarius.”

December twenty-first is Tessa’s birthday too.

Figures. She’s always been a little shit as well.

His smile grows even brighter. “Technically Sagittarius–cusp–Capricorn, but I feel way more Capricorn. Probably because my moon is in Capricorn.”

Of course, he knows his moon sign. I mean, look at him.

“I’m a Taurus,” I offer. “No idea what my moon is, though.”

“Oh my God.” He throws his hands in the air, his silver jewelry flashing in the sunlight. “I can pull your whole chart! If you tell me your exact birth time and place, I can tell you everything. Your personality, life patterns, soul purpose, all of it.”

He looks at me expectantly, and I stare back.

Do I believe in this stuff?

Not particularly.

But the kid is glowing, and I just told him that he’s not weird for liking what he does. And honestly? Finding my soul purpose does sound wildly appealing at the moment. Maybe an eighteen-year-old punk fairy actually can tell me what the hell I’m supposed to do with my life.

So not desperate, Lennon. Totally sane.

“Sure, I could use some direction.”

His answering squeal is delighted. He grabs my wrist this time and starts speed walking so fast that I have to jog to keep up with his long strides.

“I’m practicing tarot too,” he gushes. “We could do a reading for your purpose. It would be even better for you if you need immediate direction.”

I laugh, letting him drag me. “Only if I can stash my groceries in your fridge first. The butter is probably judging me.”

“No problem! We have a walk-in fridge at the inn.”

We round the corner, and I plant my feet, forcing him to stop. A large, gorgeous old building stands there, framed by colorful leaves. A swinging sign hangs above the entryway, gold lettering carved into dark wood with Bennett’s Inn.

I tighten my grip on my bag. “Damn, that’s pretty.”

“Right?” he says proudly, then he tugs me up the front steps, through a lobby that smells faintly of cinnamon and wood polish, past a couple of guests, and straight into a restaurant.

There are maybe twelve tables inside, half of them full. I inhale, fully prepared to be seduced by fresh bread, roasting chicken, or something cozy and comforting, fitting the vibe of the inn, but my throat involuntarily closes up as I choke.

“Oh.”

It smells like something burned… recently.

Shaw pulls out a chair for me with a flourish, apparently not having a functioning nose. “Here, sit! I’m gonna go grab my cards and a notebook, and then we can stash your stuff in the walk-in before we hang out in the garden. It’s quieter there, plus my brother doesn’t like me doing this kind of thing in front of guests.”

I drop into the chair, and the moment I sit, exhaustion hits me like a frying pan to the face. I yawn so hard my eyes water.

“Sure,” I mumble around another yawn. “I’ll sit here and try to stay conscious.”

He frowns, suddenly serious. “Are you okay?”

“I am,” I lie, forcing a smile.