Gideon the Ninth (The Locked Tomb, #1)

by Tamsyn Muir

“That reminds me! I now officially ban you from seeing Lady Septimus.” “Are we having this conversation? Are we really having this conversation?” Harrow’s face was pinched into an expression of deliberate patience. “Nav,” she said. “Take it from me. Dulcinea Septimus is dangerous.” “You’re nuts. Dulcinea Septimus can’t even blow her nose. I’m sick of how weird you’re getting over this.” “And yet you’ve never thought about how she still managed to get a key—how am I being weird?” “I don’t know,” said Gideon, heartily fed up with the whole thing. “I don’t know! Maybe it’s because whenever she’s mentioned, you effortlessly tick both boxes for jealous and creep?” “If you looked in a dictionary you’d find it’s envious, and I’m hardly envious of—” “No, it’s one hundred percent jealous,” said Gideon recklessly, “on account of how you’re always doing this when it looks like she’s taking up my time.” There was a horrible pause. “I have been lax,” said her necromancer, steadily ignoring this last statement like it was a dump Gideon had taken in the hallway. She took her gloves from Gideon’s awkward hands and slipped them back over her fingers. “I have indulged myself in apathy while you attached yourself to every weirdo in Canaan House.” (“You cannot possibly call anyone a weirdo,” said Gideon.) “No more. We now have less to hide, but more to lose.” “She’s got nobody if that thing comes after her. It’s a death sentence.” “Yes. She has no cavalier now,” said Harrow. “It’s not a quest...