Page 35 of Forgotten Monsters
“The capital’s brothel hosts a poker game tonight. Flynn always attends when he’s on leave. He’ll catch you up on the latest developments.”
The mention of Flynn uncoils my muscles, and I pick up the pace. We weave through the secret passageways underneath the palace, and Brie appears to be more than familiar with the maze of tunnels.
Stupidly, I check her fingers for a ring, but I know Fae don’t use them. Long, triangular sleeves run past her wrists and hide a potential Fae-wedding scar.
A bitter pout glazes her red lips as she catches me staring. She opens a solid door at the top of a narrow stairwell, and we emerge inside a tiny, dark room.
A lattice window opens to a darkened street where paved stones glisten with rain under a lonely lamppost. A small desk, unlit candles, and ledgers furnish the small space, this secret entrance somehow disguised as a tiny office.
Brie holds open the door. “Here you go. I can’t be seen here, but Verinos should be easy to find.”
“Are you kidding? You just said this is abrothel.” I search her face for the truth, but my witchy-instincts are quiet.
“Strip club would be more accurate.” She points to a leather bag sitting atop a wooden chair in the corner. “You should change. Your black dress isn’t exactly nondescript. There’s enough money in that bag to buy your passage to Earth if Verinos is too drunk to bother, and the power-binding spell they put on you should wear off in a few hours.”
I switch my weight from one foot to the other, stuck in place, indecision gnawing my insides. She certainly got her black ducks in a row to make sure I’d agree to leave.
“The Cole you knew is gone, Winslow. Whatever fragments of him remain…you should walk away.” An equal dose of contempt and fear mingle on her breath.
“Because you’re with him now,” I say, testing my theory.
“I said what I said. Make of it what you will.”
I swallow hard. “I love him.”
Her incensed mermaid gaze freezes my blood. “So do I.”
I’m not sure I should have followed Brie out of the palace. A big part of me wants to stay and force the issue with Cole, but the prospect of getting some agency back after the unpleasant, and frankly traumatizing, kidnapping experience is too appealing. I need time and space to make sense of it all.
I’m not ready for her to tell me Cole remarried.
I’ll never be ready, so I dash forward and grip the bag. “I will go for now, but don’t think it means I’ve given up.”
Brie spares us the torture of awkward goodbyes and leaves, the door closing quietly behind her, melding with the wall with no knob or any visual cue to its presence. I close my eyes, trying to sense if it’s protected by a spell of some kind, but detect no trace of magic. With shaky fingers, I rummage through the bag, relieved to find everything she mentioned and also a few key ingredients for basic spells. A bag of Fae coins rustles at the bottom of the satchel.
The clothes she left me are Fae-made, but they look more like Earth fashion than the traditional tunics. The long-sleeved v-neck shirt hugs my curves, and the comfortable pants are high-waisted. The dark gray wool sweater has a hoodie to hide my hair. I stuff the discarded dress in the bag and throw it over my shoulder.
Voices, laughs, and the clanks of glass on glass seep inside the antechamber. The door in front of me shows no crack of light or doorknob, so I push out of the small office. Inching forward, I peek at the other side. I’m halfway down a secluded hallway leading to a series of unmarked doors. Heated moans rise from the depths of the hallway, but I quickly adjust the hood over my hair and head toward the bustle of the main room in search of a familiar head of blond hair.
A two-story club stretches in front of me, with a stage and mezzanine. Red curtains mask the stage’s depth, and to my relief, most people are just drinking and gambling.
Members of the staff—both male and female mortals—pass around trays of food and drinks. Scarves and jewels are tied in strategic places, embellishing their nakedness, and a crimson blush covers my cheeks. I’ve never been to a brothel—or a strip club.
Most of the patrons are upstairs, so I climb to the mezzanine, my sweaty fingers gliding along the mahogany banister.
A dark-haired waiter crosses my path at the top of the staircase. “Welcome to the Lion’s Pub. Do you need anything, luv?”
Jaw slightly askew, I try not to notice the huge bulge in his Fae-made boxers. “I’m looking for Flynn Verinos?”
A soft purr whistles out of the man’s mouth. “He’s upstairs, in the back.”
“Thanks.” I scratch the inside of my lower arm nervously.
My heartbeat spikes.
What if he’s not the Flynn I remember? What if he’s fucking someone elseright now?
A wave of anxiety engulfs me as Flynn comes into view, but to my relief, he looks exactly the same. If scars blackened his heart in my absence, not one inch of his face shows off the wear. His blond hair is long enough to be messy, the golden locks tousled in a perfectly imperfect way. A boyish smile warms his face as he plays cards. The congenial cockiness with which he wipes his winnings toward him is so totally him…my heart bleeds.
