By Caitlin Kittredge
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Extra resources for Bone Gods
Pete felt all the joints in her hands and arms tense, and she forced them to relax one at a time. She wasn’t going to give Tyrell the reaction he was fishing for. Wasn’t going to shout and cry simply because he’d called her a name. That was the game, and she wasn’t playing any more. Jack might have risen to every invitation to smack someone in the gob, but she was better than that. And if not entirely, at least better than some cackling creature who looked like a goblin had mated with a Jim Henson puppet.
Pete said, drawing back as far as she could without starting an avalanche of ancient books and papers onto her head. Smothered in circulars from before Churchill was in office was not the way she’d imagined kicking off. Tyrell held up a small brown bottle. “You’re not a sensitive, am I right? ” “Like Hell I’m drinking something out of a bottle some skeevy old man brandishes at me,” Pete said. Tyrell coughed, or perhaps he was trying to laugh and not making much of a go. ” He showed his teeth again.
Tyrell,” he said, dropping the hand back. His eyes flicked over Lawrence. ” “Hell no, I ain’t your man,” Lawrence snorted. “She’s the one who wanted this. ” Tyrell blinked, and then smiled at Pete, slow and crooked as if a rock had rolled back from the entrance to a cave. “How lovely,” he said. ” Pete suggested. Tyrell’s tongue flicked out and back in, and he grimaced as if the air tasted bad. “Whatever you say, my dear,” he said at last. Lawrence was staring a hole in her over Tyrell’s head, but Pete kept herself reserved and stony.