Page 42 of The Mirror of Beasts

Her purple-lensed glasses fogged with the sudden warmth. She lifted them, assessing each of us in turn.

“Got old Hemlock, did they?” she asked, not unkindly, handing her coat and scarf to Bran to hang up. “A shame, that.”

She dismissed her companion with a flick of her hand, and he transformed again, scaring Griflet beneath the table. This time, the Bonecutter held the door open for the raven, letting it slam shut behind him. The locks clicked back into place.

I asked the question I should have thought to ask last night. “Do you know what he’s looking for? What he thinks the sorceresses have?”

“I’ll trade you the answer for a question of my own,” she said. “I know that Lord Death’s original mortal form was destroyed by Morgan and the others. And so I wonder: Who’d he skin for this one?”

Something in our expressions must have given it away, because she let out a shocked laugh.

“Really? Arthur?” The Bonecutter twirled one of her ringlets in thought. “I always imagined he’d be swollen like a rotten berry ready to burst. Or moldering at the very least.”

“No moldering,” Neve said. “Unfortunately. Do you want me to get you a mop for that?”

The Bonecutter startled, looking down at the puddle of inky fluid draining from the bag. “I would recommend not touching it, or breathing the fumes in, if you can help it.” She held the velvet sack aloft. “I’ll sort this out and be back up shortly.”

“And the answer to my question?” I demanded.

“Is no, I don’t know.” Her childish voice all but sang the words with glee.

I gritted my teeth. “That vessel better be ready.”

“And you better have paid for that food and those drinks,” she called back.

Emrys lifted a folded fifty-dollar bill in the air for her to see and slid it toward the cash register.

“I knew we kept you around for a reason, Trust Fund,” I said.

A mordant smile touched his lips. In the past, when we’d sparred like this, his eyes would glow with the challenge—it was one of the most maddening, distracting things about arguing with him, the way he seemed to enjoy it. But now, as he gulped down half of the brown liquor in front of him, something in his expression shuttered.

I don’t care, I thought. I don’t.

“Didn’t realize your affection could be so easily bought,” he said. “Or else I might have thrown a few pity dollars your way sooner.”

My hatred was a living thing inside me, but like all living things, it could be hurt, it could bleed. And what he was implying … That word—pity. It was anathema to my whole existence. In all our sparring, he had never gone so low.

“Do you have a death wish?” Neve asked him without an ounce of warmth in her voice. She rose slowly from her seat. “Because I would be more than happy to oblige.”

“Shed a drop of blood here and you’ll be banned from my pub until the other side of eternity,” the Bonecutter warned, but not before Neve had turned and mouthed the word maggots to me.

The trapdoor behind the bar swung open as the Bonecutter brushed a hand against the dragon’s eye. I tracked the sound of her heavy steps on the stairs, drumming my fingers at my side. A smell like pickled fish wafted to us from the dark pool congealing on the floor. Griflet scampered over, eyeing it with clear interest.

“What is that evil stench?” Caitriona asked, tentatively approaching. “Poison? Venom?”

“We’re not going to find out,” I said. We’d brought our borrowed blankets downstairs to warm up, and not knowing what else to do, I threw mine over the spill. I leapt back as the liquid tore through the fabric, consuming its fine weave like a flame devouring parchment. A heartbeat later, the entire wood plank collapsed in on itself. A single tendril of smoke rose pitifully from the hole, like a spirit cut loose from its body.

Neve and I leaned over the singed opening.

“Whoa,” she said.

“Whoa,” I agreed.

I’d half expected to see the Bonecutter’s angry face looking up at us from the workshop, but there were only old cobblestones and dirt.

“I’ll have you know that blanket was a gift from a Bavarian prince,” came the Bonecutter’s irritated voice.

“I’m sure your prince can replace it,” I said finally.

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