The Amulet Of Nicmir (The Scripts Of Neptune, Book 1)

Chapter 58

The whole table shuddered when Lillian slammed the book in the middle. Everyone jumped. Cards fluttered off the edge and settled like leaves on the floor.

"Lil?" Sam asked cautiously, setting his cards down.

Nyle swallowed deeply, shrinking back in his chair under her gaze. Her eyes were on fire, dancing with green steel—and not the good kind. He'd rarely seen her so angry. And considering she was looking right at him, he knew he was in deep, deep trouble.

He just didn't know why.

That is, until he looked at the open book and the words on the paper in her hand.

Then he knew.

"Maybe we'd, uh, better take this somewhere else," he croaked, pushing his chair back and shooting a scared look at Crynia, who plucked at a corner of her card and raised an eyebrow as if to say you're on your own.

Great. She was being courted by his best friend, but when he clearly needed her desperately to intervene, she was utterly useless.

"I think that's wise," Lillian said, her voice too calm, her tone too measured. Standing up straight, she shut the book and jerked her head down a hallway. "Let's go."

She made him go first. Her steps were soft, her movements catlike and more than a little menacing. That terrifying stare burned into his back like a brand as he swallowed deeply and marched down the hall, every muscle tense, every movement stiff. He was scared. She scared him. It was no secret. And though she was several inches shorter than him, right now he felt very, very small pinned under her wrath.

"Stop." Her voice was a dangerous snap. Eyes never leaving his face, she jabbed her finger at a doorway. "In here. Now."

Rest in peace, he thought to himself grimly as he stepped into the room. She shut the door behind them both.

Nyle grunted when she shoved the book hard against his chest. "What the hell is this?" she demanded, raising her voice and gesturing passionately.

Nyle winced and backed up a step, setting the book on the circular table in the middle of the room. "I can explain."

"Like hell you can," Lillian snapped, stalking after him. Nyle opted for evasion—he figured that would be the safest choice—and ducked around the table so it was between them. "You have three bloody seconds to explain before I smack you so hard you're out cold for a week."

"Right," Nyle stuttered. "I, um..." Her brows went up expectantly, and his tongue conveniently tied itself in a knot. "I was going to tell you," he blurted. "I just thought it might be safer to keep it a secret."

Keep talking, keep talking. You're digging yourself a lovely grave.

Lillian's eyes flared dangerously, and the muscles in her jaw moved as she bit down so hard he heard her teeth squeak. Her whole posture told him he was doomed as she put her palms flat on the table and leaned forward, her loose shirt exposing her collarbone. "You thought it'd be safer? Lying about it?"

Her words were a dare. Cross me one more time, they said. Do it. See how it ends. Nyle swallowed hard again, staring into the stormy green of her eyes.

"I guess?"

The first jar missed his head, shattering against the wall in an explosion of painted clay. Lillian weighed another in her hand, stalking around the table. Nyle ducked out of her way, putting his hands palms-out in front of his face.

"Wait!" he exclaimed, fighting the cough that wanted to burst from his lungs. "Lil, wait."

She didn't. The second pot flew over his head and broke on the shelving behind him, scattering pottery over the folded linens. Nyle blessed her horrid aim and dodged a third flying object—a bottle, from what he saw before it broke into sparkling shards.