Page 92 of Stroke of Shadows

It was relatively quiet, with only a third of the dark wooden tables taken. Glasses clinked, drinks sloshed, and the sounds of general chatter echoed around her. But all she could concentrate on were the stories she was told growing up. Of selkies drowning innocent swimmers, faeries eating children and changelings replacing human babies. Stories that were the foundation of her family’s prejudice.

But that was all they were, stories.

Harper took her time studying each table, many of the people looking humanoid, mostly like Thea, but with unusual skin tones or oversized features. A large man sat on his own in the corner, his glass the size of a large vase full of amber liquid. His hands were a dark grey and the size of her head.

“Don’t look,” Thea muttered, following Harper’s line of sight. “Trolls are notorious gossips. Once you get him going, he won’t be able to stop.”

Harper swung her gaze away, cheeks burning. “Sorry.”

Thea smiled. “This is the one place where Fae can be themselves. There’s no glamour or expectations. It’s a little piece from beyond the veil.”

“Beyond the veil?” Harper’s knowledge of Fae couldn’t even fill a post-it note.

“She means the Fae realm.” Sythe moved to stand beside her, and she was glad she wasn’t experiencing it alone. “Asherah of Far.”

Harper had so many questions, but a commotion drew her attention to the bar. A bartender was arguing with what looked like a half man, half horse. He was stunning, his coat a gold that seemed to glisten amongst the floating candles high above. The colour darkened the further up his torso, his skin tone a few shades darker than Sythe’s.

“Remember the rules,” Thea whispered beside her. “No one will cause you harm, not when you have him as your guard. But still be cautious.”

Harper dragged her gaze away from the bar, only to settle them on Sythe. He seemed to be watching her intently. He didn’t seem as distressed as she was, and that eased her for some reason.

“You really think I have wild magic?” she whispered to him, as if it were a secret. She’d overheard everything.

“Oh, you definitely have wild magic,” Thea answered instead, leading them to a spare table. “It’s in your aura, but likely undetectable by anyone not Fae. You also passed through the wall without resistance. Only someone with Fae blood can pass.” She looked over at Sythe, brows pinched, before taking a seat with her back to the wall.

Glitter floated, and Harper followed it to a row of little houses built into shelves along the walls. Small people, around the size of her palm, flew, some lazily creating a trail of glitter while others seemed to be holding serving plates ten times their size. Their wings reminded her of a dragonfly, the opaque membrane iridescent when fluttering before the candlelight. Harper held out her hand, and a small child settled on her palm, a cheeky grin on his little face.

The boy laughed, the sound like bells before he used her finger like a platform, shooting up into the sky towards the rows of little houses. Pixies, one of the few Fae types that she’d read about, and only because they were frequently sold as collectables.

“You expect us to just wait?” Sythe took the seat beside Thea, leaving only the open chairs.

Harper sat down, but Sythe immediately grabbed the wood and pulled her so she was directly by his side. The chair made a noise against the floor, causing a few of the patrons to look up from their drinks, and Harper forced her gaze down.

“Ilzake knows we’re here.” Thea waved at one of the flying people.

Sythe’s leg brushed Harper’s. “And who exactly is Ilzake?”

“That would be me.”

Chapter 32

Harper

Atall, slim man towered over the table, his black suit just as dark as his shoulder-length hair.

Ilzake’s eyes were completely obsidian, without any whites, and along with his spider-like elongated limbs, he was truly terrifying to look at.

“Who let you inside my establishment?”

Thea looked everywhere but at the tall man.

“We’re here because we need help,” Sythe said, his arm resting on the back of Harper’s chair.

“You are not a druid.”

Sythe stiffened, and Ilzake only laughed.

“In fact, I have no idea what you are. That’s… delicious. I bet your memories would quench my desire for weeks.” Ilzake folded himself in the spare seat, his legs so long they didn’t fit beneath the table and instead had to be spread to either side. He must be over seven feet, maybe even eight, and was as slim as a stick other than his shoulders.

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