Page 154 of Lana Pecherczyk
They continued past more stalls. Another fae caught sight of her mating mark and quickly placed his antique compass beneath the counter. Conversations fell to whispers. A motherpulled her child closer, wings spreading protectively. Two young crow shifters went silent, gazes tracking Blake’s movement before spotting River and averting their attention.
The book’s spine dug into her ribs as she hugged it tighter.
“They’re staring.”
“You want me to stab them?” River asked, completely serious.
A part of her preened at the protective, earnest gesture. But she didn’t want another owl-shifter brigade situation. And stabbing was wrong. That too.
“No.”
“You sure? I think one of them looks like dickface.”
She laughed and shook her head.
“Alright then.” His fingers brushed her lower back. “Let’s keep walking.”
Beyond the market, nestled between towering pines carved with watchful crow totems, were caravans arranged in a perfect circle. Macabre curtains made from bones, beads, and silken feather strands linked each caravan, hiding the space beyond. A crow hidden in the branches announced their approach with three sharp caws.
Fae lined up at each van’s steps. Wary gazes slid toward them, some fixating on River in his Guardian uniform, his metal weapons, but most still wary of Blake. It seemed the Well-blessed marks gave her humanity away more than anything else.
River took Blake’s hand and gently nudged her forward. “Almost there.”
“She’s in one of these vans?”
“Yep. Each belongs to the Donna from a different murder. Ours is the eldest.” His voice dropped. “And the creepiest.”
Creepy was an understatement. The caravan he led her to was bathed in darkness, black paint and decor oozing from every surface. The faces carved into obsidian wood tracked theirapproach, eyes following with unnatural awareness. The entire structure pulsed with power and dread.
But there was no line at the door. No one stood a foot within the allotted space.
“Maybe we should leave.” Blake spun around. “I don’t belong?—”
She collided with leather-clad muscle, narrowly missing a sheathed dagger’s hilt. Black feathered wings rustled as Ash steadied her shoulders, his touch impersonal but firm.
“There’s no point,” he said, releasing her and dismissing his wings in a shimmer of darkness. “She’ll be expecting us.”
“Us?” River’s brows raised. “I thought you and I could talk while Blake has her reading.”
Bones dangling over the caravan’s closed door swayed, clicking ominously. Dark strands of hair floated around Ash’s face long after the wind had settled. His narrow gaze shifted to River, and he repeated, “Us.”
Neither Guardian seemed thrilled with the prospect of seeing the Donna. And if they weren’t, then what the fuck was Blake doing here?
“Ugh, fine,” River groaned, and then led the way up creaking steps.
He didn’t knock, just swept aside the dangling charms and pushed the door open. Smoke curled from within, thick with clove and something older.
He hesitated before entering and looked at Blake. “Don’t lie to her. And whatever you do, don’t touch the birds.”
“What birds?”
Despite every instinct in her body urging her to run, she had no choice. Ash was behind her, his big frame leaving her nowhere to go but inside. Once in, he closed the door.
It took a moment for Blake’s vision to adjust to the low light. No windows. Illumination came solely from jars of pulsing manabeeze suspended from hooks.
The layout differed from the nesting caravan. To the left of the door was a sitting area with scattered cushions. Very casual and inviting. But to the right, a kitchenette covered in carved-up game and chewed pulp glimmered beneath a ceiling hung with drying herbs and more lanterns.
A woman with her back turned to them was grinding something in a mortar and pestle, humming softly to herself. Bones, feathers, and curling fragments of ancient American dollar bills adorned every inch of her shoulderless black dress. Three elongated feathers served as hairpins, their quills disappearing into a severe topknot of black hair. No wings, just knobby shoulders crawling with tattooed crows.
