"Definitely not a factor," Darlington agrees, smile turning wry. "In truth, Black Elm is a little larger than your average house. A lot larger." He can all but picture the look Alex would be giving him, were she there. It's a fucking mansion, Danny. We live in a mansion. He looks over the clutter on the counter, finding the container of sugar and adding a small spoonful to his mug. "Not even counting the surrounding grounds."
Palamedes is polite enough not to ask the question outright; Darlington, equally mannered, hears it anyway. He's introduced so few people to Black Elm, in Darrow or in New Haven; it was a piece of his heart, the only home he'd ever known, the thing he'd tasked himself with keeping alive, at times to the detriment of everything else. At fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, the secrecy had been a survival mechanism--and after, something like a habit. But the people who've seen Black Elm are the people he trusts, friends of his and now of Alex's, and though this is only their second meeting, Darlington already finds himself counting Palamedes in that number.
"Tea first," he suggests, "and finally telling you about Scroll and Key and all the rest of them, and then I can drive us out there?"
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Palamedes is polite enough not to ask the question outright; Darlington, equally mannered, hears it anyway. He's introduced so few people to Black Elm, in Darrow or in New Haven; it was a piece of his heart, the only home he'd ever known, the thing he'd tasked himself with keeping alive, at times to the detriment of everything else. At fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, the secrecy had been a survival mechanism--and after, something like a habit. But the people who've seen Black Elm are the people he trusts, friends of his and now of Alex's, and though this is only their second meeting, Darlington already finds himself counting Palamedes in that number.
"Tea first," he suggests, "and finally telling you about Scroll and Key and all the rest of them, and then I can drive us out there?"