Page 38 of Held

“Why do you get like that?” she asked before she could stop herself. “First the mountains, now a waterfall. You go all quiet behind the eyes.”

“I just like waterfalls,” Wick replied. “The mountains are different.”

“Different? How?”

Wick cocked his head. “I don’t know.”

He stopped, his gaze rising toward the mountains looming in the distance. For a moment, the stillness came over him again, strange and somehow less tranquil than the effect the waterfall had on him.

Then he shuddered all the way to his wingtips.

“Come,” he said, turning back toward the cottage. “We have foul water to drink.”

It was a short trip from the front door to the living room. And yet Wick managed to knock over a chair (tail), shatter a vase (wings), and swipe a painting off its hook (an unlucky elbow).

“I am sorry,” he said as he sank into the lumpy couch. “I have never been inside a house before.”

Briar giggled and sat down beside him. The couch was supposed to be big enough for four people, but Briar could barely wedge herself into the small space left beside Wick’s bulk.

“Happens to the best of us,” said Marigold cheerily. She set out a tray of tea on the table and sat down in an armchair across from them.

Briar nudged a table leg with her boot. It had several books stacked underneath it, just like when she had visited last time.

“So,” Briar said. “Still no apothecary attached to this place.”

Marigold sighed, balancing a teacup on a saucer. “I’m working on it! I just need one big job, and then I can finally hire some builders. And carpenters. And buy the starter supplies. And… oh, you know.” Marigold smoothed out her skirt, which was always some kind of wrinkled. “So! We’re friends with Skullstalkers now. Or…morethan friends, I guess.”

She gave Wick a judgy look. Which was better than rage and disgust, Briar reminded herself. Marigold wasn’t a very judgy person, but Briar would have also been giving Wick the side-eye if their roles were reversed.

“He’s different,” Briar assured her. She patted Wick’s wings, which were tucked in tightly behind his back. “He doesn’t want to hurt anybody. That’s actually one reason we want to talk to you.”

Marigold’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re here forhim?”

“No,obviouslyI’m here for me. For us,” Briar said hurriedly. “We’re cursed.”

Marigold hummed into her teacup. “Another rocky misadventure with Briar Copperwood. What’s the curse?”

Briar ground her teeth. “Remember Salaros? Wears special boots that make him tall, stinks like perfume?—”

“Awful mustache,” Marigold agreed. “I remember him. He died recently! That wasn’t you, was it?”

“It was, actually. But only because he cursed me.” Briar adjusted her shirt laces, which were stiff with sweat in a way that reminded her she needed to wash her clothes in that waterfall before bed. She felt oddly exposed, which was strange. Marigold had seen her in much worse states than standing rumpled in front of a naked man, like she’d seen in the clearing. But for some reason, she felt the urge to hide.

“I need to sleep with someone,” Briar continued, her voice forcefully light. “Every day. Or my heart will burn up!”

Marigold made a face. “That’s annoying. I guess you’d have to travel with someone! How did you end up with him?”

“He saved my life.” Briar rubbed Wick’s wing, already halfway through the movement before she noticed what she was doing. Then she realized how warm it sounded and cleared her throat, dropping her hand to her lap.

“We helped each other out,” she corrected. “I told him about my curse, and he told me of his.”

“I do not know if mine is a curse,” Wick said. He was watching Briar’s hand, the one that had been touching his wing. Then he cleared his throat, his head jerking around to Marigold.

“I have an uncontrollable blood frenzy,” he explained.

“Ye-e-es,” Marigold said, balancing a teacup on her knee. “You’re a Skullstalker.”

Briar pushed back another sting of annoyance.You would have thought the same thing last week,she reminded herself.

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