Page 29 of Currency in Flesh

She glanced down again and back up and unease began to prickle my skin. Was she like the barista? Did she even know what she was writing?

“It's… um… well, it's a romance,” she murmured, somewhat bashfully. “It’s a little spicy.”

I let loose a little squeal and slid into the seat across from her. “Tell me everything!”

She laughed, and her olive cheeks darkened to a deep rosy shade as she dipped her head and hid behind her salt and pepper curls. “Um, it’s about a woman who meets a man at a restaurant. Except she never really meets him, she’s too shy. Instead, she has wild dreams of a future between them. Butlittle does she know, she’s a long-lost fae royal, and has the power to turn dreams into reality!”

We fell into easy conversation while I waited for my treats. The barista brought me a small plate with the eclair and some raspberries, and my drink looked divine—thick red syrup drizzled down the sides of the glass and a big dollop of whipped cream. As I sipped and snacked, I learned the woman’s name was Eva, and she had been sixty-six when she came to the Underworld. She had been an English professor and loved Earl Grey tea. She didn’t mention her death, and I didn’t pry—unsure what amount of understanding the souls here retained after passing on. I felt a pang of sadness, realizing this is how my mother and I could have been, had she not died, and I wondered where she was, and if Lady Cora would tell me.

“It was lovely to meet you, Eva,” I said. I meant it, and definitely planned to return to the cafe another day to hopefully get a chance to meet the man I was nowcertainshe was writing about.

Bringing my empty plate and glass up to the counter, I put a hand to my stomach dramatically. “That eclair was divine!” The barista beamed with pride. “Last time I was in, I thought that was the best coffee ever, but you proved me wrong!” I watched her face carefully, hoping she’d give some indication she remembered, but she just smiled. I pressed on. “Did you remember your name tag this time? I never did get your name.”

She looked down and reached for my dishes. “It’s been a long day.” With an awkward laugh, she turned, heading to the back.

I reached for her without thinking—not wanting her to leave without giving me some sort of answer. When my fingers wrapped around her wrist, she jerked backward like my touch had burned her. There was terror in her eyes, and guilt washed over me. The last thing I wanted to do was cause these soulsharm. “I’m so sorry,” I blurted out, releasing my grasp. “I just?—”

“No, no, it’s fine,” she stammered. “I just need to get these cleaned up. Can I get you anything else?” She avoided my gaze.

“No,” I said quietly.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Maybe it was my expression, maybe it was the way I angrily stalked through the meadows, but somehow it must have been clear that I was in a mood.

One of the brothers stepped across my path, crossing sun-baked arms across his chest. I knew it wasn’t Charis, having grown somewhat familiar with his face in the few times we’d interacted, but I wasn’t sure which man stood before me.

Frankly, I didn’t care.

“Move,” I said. I tried to get past him, but he sidestepped, placing himself in front of me once again. I threw my hands in the air and let out an exasperated sigh. “I need to speak with her.”

“Not like that, you don’t,” he replied. His voice had a slight twang to it—the ends of the words dragged out longer than I’d have said them. It was the old-money southern voice of a man who wore a white seersucker suit. This man, however, wore slightly dirty looking jeans and a thin tee. His beard was shorter and thinner than Charis’s, but it was the same greyish-blonde.

“I don’t need your help, whoever you are, thanks.” Mywords were clipped. I wanted to get back to Lady Cora, to ask her about the barista. I wasn’t sure why it suddenly seemed like a matter of such importance, but it’s not like I had much more to worry about down here.

“Well, actually,” he intoned, “I think you do. And it’s Cyril. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“OkayCyril.”My foot tapped impatiently. “So lovely to meet you. Will you please get out of my way?”

“What, precisely, do you think you’re heading off to do?” he asked. The tilt of his head made me irrationally irritated, condescension dripping from his raised, scraggly brow.

“I wasplanningon asking Lady Cora why the barista is the way that she is. I wanted to know if there was any specific reason that girl Anna didn’t recall meeting me. I waswonderingif I was connecting dots that didn’t exist, or if there was more to the afterlife than I currently understand.” Saying it out loud, I felt foolish immediately. Two random interactions were not enough to be making wild accusations over. Clearly, I was bored and needed something to occupy my time. Yet, pride dictated I remain across from Cyril, feigning indignance.

“And why would you think yourself important enough to know the intricacies of the Underworld?” Cyril looked around, hand held above his eyes, mocking me. “I do not see a new throne? Did I miss the announcement of your promotion from pet to partner?”

I didn’t like this asshole at all.

“I really don’t think we need to be having this conversation. I’d like to go back to my room, and I’m pretty sure that isn’t breaking any rules.” I copied his movements. “DidImiss where Lady Cora assigned you to be my keeper?”

His eyes flitted down from my eyes to my tattoo for just a fraction of a second, but it was enough. The flex of his jaw, the flare of his nostrils—this man was pissed that Lady Cora had… whatever she had done to me. I knew better than to instigate an angry man, but what was the worst that could happen? It’s not like I could die. If he hurt me, Lady Cora could heal me. Plus, she’d probably kill him. So I went on. “I’m sorry my presence here is irksome to you for whatever reason, but Lady Cora has not forbidden me from seeking her out. Unless something has changed in the past few hours, she likes my company just fine.”

Cyril took a step toward me, and I flinched slightly. Bravado aside, my instincts ran deep. “I’m not Charis, and you would do well to remember that.” His condescending smile was gone.

“Yeah, okay,” I replied. “Whatareyou here, anyway?”

He dropped his chin, looking at me from beneath those heavy brows. “Guard dog.”

“Back off,” a man’s voice came from behind. Spinning, I found Charis—looking as he always did, slightly grizzled and heavily bearded. He stepped beside me, placing one foot slightly in front of me. The gesture was almost chivalrous, putting himself between me and his grumpy brother. “Her Majesty would not appreciate this behavior.”

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