Page 44 of Trials of Dusk and Dreams
We approach the bar with the turquoise thatched roof. Willow pushes through imbalanced, intoxicated wastrels with practiced ease and walks inside. A male with an open shirt and lustful eyes tracks her passage. He smacks his hand on his companion’s chest, then jerks his chin toward her.
I pause beside them and stare down. Suddenly, Legion’s order to prioritize her safety isn’t so off-putting. The first male lifts his attention to me and curses, then lowers his gaze appropriately.
“Bodin,” Legion calls from somewhere in my periphery. The bar, perhaps.
“Look at her again,” I warn the men. “And I’ll pluck out your eyes with my teeth.”
The stench of urination fills me with satisfaction. Legion calls my name again, yet I keep my stare planted on my targets. One twitch in her direction, and I follow through with my promise.
“Sir, we’re so sorry, sir.” The sour, stinking one drops to his knees.
“Move,” I grunt.
They scramble out of my way, and I stalk to the bar, rolling my shoulders to ease the tension.
This place has been known to harbor outlaws amongst the shady dealing Radiants. My suspicions are confirmed when I lock eyes with a bulky, muscular mortal with buzzed hair and sharp eyes. His posture is relaxed, dwarfing the couch he sits on in Cait’s reserved area at the end of the bar. He holds an open book in his large hands, but I have no doubt he’s committed every corner of this grimy establishment to memory.
Another mortal reclines on the opposite couch, smoking a cigarillo and deftly flipping cards. His short blond hair is slicked back, and he wears a stylish silk shirt and buttoned vest. He reminds me of Fox. Not for his appearance but for the deft skill in his hands when he flips the cards and catches them. A distraction, so no one sees their death until it’s too late.
A third male with black hair and feathered wings arrives. Warning bells go off inside my gut. I don’t know why, but the wings—yes, the wings. They’re uncommon in Avorlorna. And yes, the tattoos. They wrap around his athletic, leather-covered figure. The skin markings and scars are outlawed according to the Old Code’s mandates on pristine appearance. Something in his psychotic blue eyes rattles my nerves.
Recognition flashes across his face with a dash of spite when he looks at me. He knows me. Or perhaps us—the Sluagh—because his gaze drops to the blue Guardian teardrop beneathmy left eye, and that spite deepens to hate. He sits beside the big brute, and the two quarrel as the wings occupy too much space.
They’re no threat for now. But the nagging feeling that I’m missing something crucial lingers, an itch I can’t scratch.
I arrive at the bar in time to see Legion handing a small, heavy sack over the counter. Cait smiles warmly at Willow but levels narrow emerald eyes at him and ignores the sack. She rests her curvaceous behind against the rear shelf, raises wordless, dark brows at Legion, and purses her lips when he fails to respond.
Willow glances between the two with a frown. “What am I missing here?”
I am wondering the same thing. The petite barmaid is part cat, part soul stealer. Originating from the Subterranean, she cannot be trusted. The glowing jewels dangling from her nose chain and choker are entrapped souls she controls, a grim reminder of her power.
“One hundred wisps,” Legion jingles the sack. “As agreed upon with Fox.”
The pointed black ears poking through her auburn hair twitch, a telltale sign of her interest despite her feigned indifference. Legion places the sack down on the bar with a sigh.
“Anyway—” Willow bumps Legion aside, grins, and leans excitedly on the bar. “Hi, Cait! I brought two Tall, Dark, and Brooding friends.” She narrows her eyes at us and taps her lips, considering. “They both fit the descriptor, so I’m not sure which one you referred to last time I was here.”
“Good to have you back, O’Leary-Nightstalk. I see you didn’t need my help after all.” Cait’s emerald eyes take in Willow’s face with a flash of respect. “I knew you wouldn’t, but I hoped you would. A soul like yours is hard to come by.”
Chapter 19
Bodin
Awarning growl slices through the air, low and menacing. Not mine. Legion’s countenance hasn’t shifted, only his hand. It is now an inch closer to Cait across the bar. It’s all she needs to understand the threat.
“Relax,” Cait purrs at him. “I was never going to go through with it. Her soul is already taken.”
“You were going to what?” Willow gapes. “Wait. Taken by who? You?”
Cait’s smile turns feline, all sharp teeth and secrets. She points to a bottle behind her. “Another Screwdriver tonight?”
“Um. No.” Willow pats her flat belly nervously and shakes her head. “Last time, it didn’t go down well.”
“Hm. Not for anyone, it seems.” Something in Cait’s eyes flickers—almost fondness, I think. But it’s gone before I can be sure. Instead, she shifts her gaze to Legion’s face. “You realize I’m the one who told Fox where to look for the enchantment for those fancy useless pieces of decoration on your face.”
“Does he owe you?”
“He’s a friend. Sometimes friends help each other out for free.”
