Page 59 of Siren's Gift

Upstairs was nearly identical to below—a long mahogany bar top stretched along the right side, and a smattering of tables provided more than enough seating even during peak hours. The wooden floor was sticky and made gross sounds as we walked. I guess keeping it that way was a simple deterrent for any sneakery.

The lack of patrons made it easy to locate Frankie. That and the fact that she was the only one covered in dirt and soot and swearing up a storm.

"An’ then, then they raised their fists," she said, raising her drink in the air like a demonstration. "You get that, Saul?"

The bartender at the opposite end of the bar was busy drying a glass with his towel. "As I told you a million times already, Frankie, I ain’t listening."

"Bah, don’t matter." The fae woman waved a hand like she was shooing him away and almost lost her balance on the stool. She righted herself and drained her glass in one gulp.

Marissa and I exchanged a worried look. Drunk Frankie wasn’t someone super enjoyable to be around. She could be downright mean in this state, as I’d learned the hard way after being on the receiving end many years ago. Thankfully, it was a rare experience.

"Maybe we should wait until she’s sobered up," Marissa whispered, clearly having the same thought as me.

Unfortunately, Frankie must have heard her. She turned her head just enough to see us over her shoulder. "Hey, you guys, c’mere. I gotta story for ya."

Her gaze swiveled back to her empty glass. She blinked at it once, glanced down at the ground, then checked her pockets. "Saul! Someone drank my fuckin’ drink!" she hollered down the bar.

"It was you, Frankie. You drank your own godsdamn drink, and that’s the last one you’re getting." Saul sighed and met us as we approached. "Please tell me you’re friends with her and getting her outta here before I gotta throw her out."

"Uh, yep," I said with a grimace. "We’ll take it from here."

"I ain’t goin’ no place, Saul." Frankie let out a loud belch. "I’m gonna live right here on this shit-stained stool from now on. Comfier than it looks." She patted the side of the stool affectionately.

I really hoped she didn’t mean what she said literally. Any part of it.

"Frankie." I rested my hand on her shoulder and felt her stiffen. "It’s me."

"This a knock-knock joke? Me who?"

"Bree."

She turned to look at me. Squint at me was a more accurate statement. Her eyes were bloodshot, and soot smeared across her weathered face and settled in her wrinkles. A frizzy mess of brown and white curls was barely restrained with a few plastic straws acting like hair sticks.

She was a disaster.

Her gaze drifted down to my feet, then back up to my face, slow and deliberate, like she was taking me apart piece by piece. "Saul, we gotta problem."

Saul grunted. "You’vegot a problem. I’ve got work to do."

Frankie didn’t even acknowledge him. Her eyes stayed locked on me—not angry, not relieved. Just unreadable.

I swallowed, my throat tight. "I’m hoping to fix the problem."

Frankie’s expression didn’t change, but her next word landed like a punch to the gut.

"No."

I blinked at her matter-of-fact tone. A single syllable, cutting through the air like a blade. That was it? She wasn’t even going to let me explain? No chance to apologize? She must have been beyond mad.

"No?" I repeated, feeling foolish for coming here. For even thinking she’d forgive me.

"You can’t fix my problem."

The finality in her tone hit harder than I expected, cracking something in my chest. Marissa and Calvin were wrong. I had spent weeks agonizing over what to say, but none of it mattered. Not to Frankie. Not anymore.

"Why not?" Marissa asked.

Frankie yelled and stumbled off her stool. She tripped over her foot and would have crashed to the floor if my reflexes hadn’t kicked in. I grabbed her by the arm and kept her upright.

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