Chapter Sixteen
I wake up to midafternoon light and the soft hint of music. Harper sits at the table with a textbook and a latte, earphones plugged in. And beside the textbook, a chess set. A familiar one.
I sit up, wondering how much of what I remember is a dream. The auction yesterday, the barrel of sweet-smelling fire. Strange colors lighting up the sky.
Harper pulls out her headphones. “Hello, sleepyhead.”
“What’s going on?”
She laughs. “I got you a chai tea.”
There’s a white paper cup beside me on the nightstand, and I take a fortifying sip. “God, what exactly happened last night?”
“I can’t remember,” she says cheerfully. “Which is really the best kind of night.”
I groan. “Speak for yourself.”
“Don’t worry. You had a good time.”
“How do you know?”
“You aren’t wearing pants,
