Page 39 of Shades of Silver City

Well, if Reed is the type of man they keep around, it figures it wouldn’t take much to win them over. I offer Stace my most charming smile and step closer, until we’re about a foot away from each other. Then I lean down, peering into her wide, green eyes.

“Stace?”

“Yes?” she asks breathlessly.

I can practically see the hearts dancing in her eyes. Too easy. I’m not sure I even need to use my glamour. But I do anyway.

“Clean this place up. It smells atrocious.”

She smiles up at me and throws her phone down on the couch. Before I’m out the door, she’s gripping a black trash bag and stuffing cans into it.

I have to find Tasia before the wrong person does. The need to protect her is impossible to ignore. I could tell myself it’s because she reminds me of Sofia, but it’s more than that. I’m drawn to her, and despite Godric’s skepticism, I truly believe she’s innocent in whatever war her father quite possibly started within the city.

"…the desaturation of soul-shades serves as a pivotal marker. Following the cessation of vital functions, a notable depletion in chromatic intensity occurs. Gradual fading of the soul-shade continues until it ultimately, irrevocably dissipates.”

-Excerpt from the personal journal of Dr. Claude Foster, Director of Faeology at Mesmeric Labs

CHAPTER 10

FANTASIA

Bright light assaults my eyelids, turning them orange, and I flinch awake with a groan.

“What the hell, TayTay?” Mellie’s familiar voice—warm, with a hint of a smoker’s rasp—pulls me from my slumber.

“Morning,” I mutter.

I blink a few times, allowing my eyes to adjust to the brightness. The exposed metal ducts and beams of The Rising Star’s ceiling stare down at me. The cobwebs and dust clinging to the piping sway gently in the meager breeze from the air conditioner.

Sitting up in the booth, I stretch my arms over my head. My back screams in protest, pissed that I slept on a slab of stiff wood. The only thing that preserved my neck was the teddy bear I snagged last night. It’s not as soft as it looks; it’s gotten a little lumpy with old age.

“You look like shit.” Mellie’s eyes roam my face, and she barks a laugh before plopping down on the bench across the table from me. “Again.”

The wood creaks under her shifting weight, the noise echoing through the room. It’s strange—almost peaceful—being in here pre-opening, without the clamor of patrons and terribly repetitive jukebox music. Even the reek of sweat and beer is minimal, blanketed by bleach and an herbal cleaner that smells of lemongrass and a little too much oregano for my liking.

“You gonna tell me what the hell you’re doing sleeping in the freakin bar?”

I shake my head. “Not really.” My voice comes out raspy, and I frown at the realization that my throat aches still. The sub-par rest surely didn’t help fend off the cold I’m battling. My hand flies up, rubbing my neck as if that can ease the pain inside.

“I have a perfectly good couch upstairs.” Mellie narrows her eyes at me. “I’ll try not to take offense that you chose a stinkin bar booth instead.”

“You have Axel,” I mutter.

Mellie’s hazel eyes soften, and she reaches across the table for my hand. “Just because I have Ax doesn’t mean I don’t have room for my friend.” She gives me a squeeze before dropping my hand and pushing up from the table with a sigh.

My bear tumbles off my lap, and she reaches down to pick it up, chuckling. “This old thing is lumpy as hell.” She holds it up by a paw, shaking it with a look of feigned disgust. “Could use some more stuffing.”

I snatch it from her. “Hey! Be nice to Beary. It’s the only thing I have left from my dad.” That is, besides his journal. But no one needs to know about that.

“Beary?” She snorts.

“I was eight,” I mumble. “Leave me alone.”

She strides toward the bar, plugging in the small coffee maker and scooping in a hefty helping of ground coffee. “Still take it black?”

“Yup.” I give her a genuine smile, and she cocks her head, grinning in return. “Thanks, Mel.”

“You got it.”

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