Page 6 of Crown of Tides and Fury

“Tea or coffee, then?”

“Tea, if ye please.”

The waitress moved further away.“Tea or coffee, love?”

“I’ll take the American.”

The deep voice stopped my heart midbeat. Those words echoed around in my head and melded with those I’d heard before—melding the voices into one.

Did you know that if a Fae claims a human woman, she will belong to him forever?

I didn’t dare look. Told myself it wasn’t him. After all, Wickham ordered American coffee all the time. He usually saidanAmerican, nottheAmerican, but still. Besides, I wasn’t the only American in the room, was I?

A fresh pint was pressed into my hand. The bartender scowled. “Arrright?”

I smiled, nodded. The small movement unfroze me and I was able, though unwilling, to turn my head. I took a slow, deep breath—knowing it might be my last—and looked…

I found him three booths off to the left, sitting alone, his back to me. Broad shoulders, golden brown hair that reached the cream collar of his tan jacket. Might have been any cowboy in Wyoming, getting his supper at the local café, still cold from a day in the weather…instead of a winged Fae who could never fly with a shirt on…

He was teasing me, allowing me to hope he didn’t know I was there, that it was just luck that had brought him to the same restaurant that night. My incredibly bad luck.

Griffon…

His name filled my lungs, clawed its way up my throat, demanded I speak it aloud. But I wasn’t stupid. If he was foolish enough to give me a few seconds head start, I wasn’t about to waste them.

I slipped off the stool, forced to take the pint with me or risk more attention. I took one last glance, but the waitress blocked my view. Prompt with her pot of hot coffee, she was ready to pour.

Heturned his head and smiled up at her. A gnarly beard with lots of gray. Gray at his temples. Wrinkles around his eyes. Someone else’s nose.

It isn’t him! It isn’t him!

I took another breath that would definitelynotbe my last, begged my hands to stop shaking. Then I forced the huge lump in my chest back into my stomach where it belonged. I pretended it was relief, but it wasn’t.

It was disappointment.

And I wondered just how long a conflicted creature like me could survive this very real world…filled with the unworldly.

* * *

Back at the table,I delivered one pint, shaken but not spilled. Thankfully, no one noticed my hands, and though I was sure I was white as a ghost, no one glanced at my face.

Persi folded her arms on the surface and rested her head on them. In no time at all, she was asleep with her red curls spilling onto the surface just a few inches from an overlooked puddle of beer the size of a quarter. Kitch noticed and stretched out a cloth napkin to sop it up, then he gently dragged the endangered curl toward him. After watching the woman for a moment, he touched the curl again, began playing with it, entertaining himself.

Persi slept on.

The birthday party finally ended when the guest of honor fell asleep in her chair. As her grandmother carried her past our table, I noted Fallon’s usually infectious grin was forgotten. The corners of her little mouth hung toward her chin as if she were sad she couldn’t have dragged out her birthday party a little longer.

By the time Annag returned to the dining room, the party was cleared away and the diners had dwindled down to a dozen. She stopped at our table just long enough to say, “Follow me.”

Kitch reached for Persi’s shoulder, to wake her, but she bolted upright. “I’m awake. I’m awake.”

At the back of the building, a small private dining room had a large round table in the center. The walls were deep green and red-paned, gridded windows looked onto the parking lot. A single light burned on the front porch of our rental cottage in the distance.

One of the cheery waitresses brought a tray with a fat bottle of Oban whiskey and half a dozen shot glasses. She placed the tray on the table and left, closing the door behind her.

Annag poured the first drink and offered it to Persi, on her left. Persi shook her head. “It would put me back to sleep but thank you.”

Kitch sat on Annag’s right and passed the glasses as she filled them. I accepted one for myself, grateful to have something to occupy my still shaky hands.

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