Page 168 of Children of Blood and Bone

“Don’t be so sure. Even if we find him, I doubt he’ll want to help.”

“He’s a divîner. He won’t have a choice.”

“Divîners rarely have choices.” Tzain raps his knuckles against the metal door. “When they do, they usually choose to look after themselves.”

Before I can respond, a slit in the door slides open. A gruff voice barks out, “Password?”

“Lo-ïsh.”

“That’s old.”

“Oh…” Tzain pauses, as if the right word might appear out of thin air. “That’s the only one I know.”

The man shrugs. “Password changes every quarter moon.”

I push Tzain aside and climb onto my tiptoes, straining to reach the slit. “We do not live in Gombe, sir. Please, help us.”

The man narrows his eyes and spits through the slit. I recoil in disgust. “No one gets in without a password,” he seethes. “Especially not some noble.”

“Sir, please—”

Tzain moves me aside. “If Kenyon’s in there, can you let him know I’m here? Tzain Adebola, from Ilorin?”

The slit slams shut. I stare at the metal door in dismay. If we don’t get inside, Zélie’s as good as gone.

“Is there another way in?” I ask.

“No,” Tzain groans. “This was never going to work. We’re wasting time. While we stand here, Zél’s probably de—” His voice catches and he closes his eyes, steeling everything inside. I unfold his clenched fists and reach for his face, placing my hands on his cheeks.

“Tzain, trust me. I will not let you down. If Kenyon isn’t here, we can find someone else—”

“Gods.” The door swings open and a large divîner appears, dark arms covered in sleeves of ornate tattoos. “I guess I owe Khani a gold piece.”

His white hair clumps in long, tight locs, all piled atop a bun on his head. He wraps his arms around Tzain, somehow eclipsing his massive frame.

“Man, what’re you doing here? I’m not supposed to beat your team for two weeks.”

Tzain forces a laugh. “It’s your team I’m worried about. Heard you twisted your knee?”

Kenyon pulls up the leg of his pants, revealing a metal brace anchored around his thigh. “Doctor says it’ll heal before qualifiers, but I’m not worried. I could take you in my sleep.” His eyes move to me, slow and indulging. “Please tell me a pretty little thing like you didn’t come here just to see Tzain lose.”

Tzain shoves Kenyon and he laughs, sliding his arm around Tzain’s neck. It amazes me that Kenyon can’t sense the desperation Tzain holds back.

“He’s good, D.” Kenyon turns to the bar’s guard. “Promise. I can vouch for him.”

The owner of the gruff voice peeks around the door. Though he appears to be only in his twenties, his face is marked with scars. “Even the girl?” He nods at me. Tzain slides his hand over mine.

“She’s fine,” Tzain vouches for me. “Won’t say a word.”

“D” hesitates but steps back, allowing Kenyon to lead us inside. Though he makes sure to glare at me until I disappear from his sight.

The thud of drums reverberates through my skin as we enter the ill-lit bar. The dome is packed, and the patrons are young; no one looks much older than Kenyon or Tzain.

Everyone shrinks in and out of shadows, shrouded by weak, flickering candlelight. Its glow illuminates the chipping paint and patches of rust marring the walls.

In the back corner, two men pound a soft beat on the canvas of their ashiko drums while another hits the wooden keys of a balafon. They play with a practiced ease, filling the iron walls with their lively sound.

“What is this place?” I whisper in Tzain’s ear.

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