Page 50 of Threadbound

“In what? Bran, we’re in Edinburgh.”

“Aye, I know that.” Bran was becoming impatient, and he flexed the fingers of his unbroken hand on the armrest of Jamie’s chair, tightening them as a way of keeping his temper under control. Desperation and fear were not making this any easier—and neither was the poison coursing through his veins. “Edinburgh, all of Scotland, the whole world you know, it’s all Dunehame. But there’s another world—dimension, if you will, on the other side of it. Elfhame. That’s where I was born.”

Jamie’s expression told him that the half-breed didn’t believe him. Or, rather, that he thought that even if Bran believed what he was saying, that it couldn’t possibly be real.

And then Bran noticed the dish on the ledge behind Jamie’s shoulder. It was clear glass, so he could see the milk in it, and the thin layer of golden honey at the bottom. There was no other reason Jamie would put that out—a cat wouldn’t want honey in its milk, and one didn’t use milk to catch flies or other insects.

“Bookas dinna come into the city,” Bran blurted.

Now Jamie looked both extremely confused and rather alarmed. No, not alarmed,frightened. Either for or of Bran, although the Sluagh couldn’t tell which.

“W-what?” Jamie stuttered, turning and looking over his shoulder at the dish. His cheeks had red splotches.

“Bookas, or whatever you wish to call them, dinna come into cities.”

“They don’t… come into… cities.”

“Aye. Go out to the countryside and you’ll not have a drop left in the morning, but they dinna like the lights and cars.”

“Bookas don’t.”

“Aye.”

“What’s a booka?” Jamie asked him then, and Bran felt his heart fall.

“Wee folk. Brownies?”

Jamie blinked. “Brownies? Like… fairies?”

“Aye, I suppose you might call them so. We’re all fae folk, by your terms.”

“We,” Jamie repeated.

“Aye.”

“You’re… a fairy?”

“I’d prefer fae, given the way your kind usually use the term ‘fairy,’ but, aye.”

“A booka?”

Bran had to stop himself from smiling—it really wasn’t appropriate, given the circumstances and the heat he could feel under his skin. Perhaps the fever was why. “No. I’m a boobrie.”

“A what?”

“It dinna matter what kind of fae I am, Jamie.”

“I—” And then Jamie shook his head. “You’re feverish. Delusional.”

Bran wanted to argue, but hewasfeverish, so he couldn’t. “I might be feverish,” he agreed. “But I’m not mad, and I’m also not human.”

“You’re a fairy. A fae folk. A… Sluagh.” Bran could see Jamie’s fingers searching for the phone on the counter behind him. Presumably to call some sort of human authority, whether legal or medical. And Bran couldn’t let him do that. But he also didn’t think he had enough strength to draw this out any longer.

“Look, Jamie, I know this is hard to believe, but I’m not human, I’m dying, and I need you to take me to the Greyfriars Kirkyard, to the trees in the back. Please.”

Jamie opened his mouth to say something else, but Bran was running out of time and couldn’t afford to keep arguing. He hadto prove that what he said was true, and he only knew one way to do that. And he didn’t think he’d be able toundoit once he did.

It was going to hurt. Alot. He’d probably damage his arm and his side further, but it was that or die.

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