Page 12 of The Crown of a Fallen Queen
“Were they?” Mabel muses, deep in thought. “When their children are still reigning over the realm?”
“They’re all dead, at least,” I negotiate.
“That they are.” She tightens her hold over the raven-shaped pommel of her cane, her knuckles white. “I’m the last Fae alive who lived through the Mist Wars. Even if the new king of the Islantide doesn’t blame me for how they ended, he will seek me out, if only to know what facts were left out of the history books. But whatever happens next, he must not be allowed to use that spindle.”
Mabel is my best friend, and I won’t let some psycho king imbued with the powers of the most deranged leader in history hurt her.
“I will keep it—and you—safe. Hells, you should move in here until the fucker shows his face.”
The corner of her mouth quirks. “I’ve never known you to be quite so sentimental.”
“You know how much you mean to me, Mabs, despite all my shortcomings. I couldn’t love you more if you were my own flesh and blood.”
She pats my arm. “And I love you, my Devi. But I don’t need a bodyguard, no matter how heartfelt the offer is. By the Dark One, you might be in worse danger than I am.”
I nod. As much as it thrills me to be closer than ever to reclaiming my stolen crown, it also means I’ve become a target for those who drove me out of Faerie. “Freya must be freaking out. With the chalice gone, I could easily take back my crown, if not for that wretched curse.”
“Don’t underestimate her. Or the curse. And don’t get any ideas about using the spindle. Not all wheels spin all yarns, and the tapestry of the gods is not meant to be altered—” Mabel stops, her wrinkled eyes narrowing on a dark silhouette barreling down the cobblestone sidewalk on the other side of the street.
Jonas Campbell strides toward the shop through the drizzle, rain dripping from the edges of his leather jacket. He slows down as he approaches, his green eyes as sharp and watchful as ever, and crosses the street to meet us. He looks good. He always does.
“What are you doing outside in this weather?” he asks, never quite able to turn off his suspicious nature.
“Come and see for yourself,” I shoot back.
Rain patters against the car’s roof as I skirt away from the open trunk, allowing my old flame a look inside. The Spindle of the Gods might be one of the most powerful Fae relics, but it doesn’t look like much. Its wood is dark with age, and though the pointed rod is made of gold, it’s hardly the kind of object that makes a homicide detective stop in his tracks. By mortal standards, it’s not valuable enough to matter, and as an antique shop owner, it’s perfectly reasonable for me to collect such things.
He raises a brow, his eyes dancing with humor. “Can I ask what it is? Or what’s it’s for?”
I offer him a genuine smile, not unhappy to see an old friend after the day I’ve had. “Depends on how badly you want to waste your time.”
Our gazes lock, and he draws in a sharp breath. “Long time, Devi.” He squares his shoulders, burying his hands in his pockets, and takes an awkward, very deliberate step back. “We need to talk.”
Jonas Campbell. If I’d been in a position to ever fall in love with a mortal, it would have been him. But if he’s here today, it’s not to rekindle anything.
“I have company, detective.”
Jonas turns to Mabel. “I’m sorry, madam, I’ve forgotten my manners. I’m Jonas Campbell, Detective Inspector, Police Scotland.”
A warm, old-womanly smile stretches across the witch’s lips. “We’re about to have breakfast. You’re welcome to join us inside, Detective.”
Jonas takes a long look at her white hair, wrinkles, and cane, then shakes his head. “Thank you, madam, but I’m on the clock.” He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “I’ll come back after my shift, alright?”
“Mm-hmm,” I nod.
He leaves, and Mabel leans in, her voice conspiratorial. “When did you stop sleeping with the handsome detective?”
I pick up the spindle crate and hold it to my chest. “It’s been years, now.”
“But you know why he’s here,” she muses.
“I’m afraid I do.”
She nods and hurries me along. “Let’s eat, then we’ll be out of your hair.”
Back inside the shop, she pauses, her gaze flying to the bronze ceremonial lantern in the corner.
“Since I’m leaving the spindle in your care, I’ll take my Starlight’s lantern back with me. I’ll appreciate the occasional company now that Max has officially moved out. And maybe it’ll do him some good to get out more. I know you two don’t exactly get along…”
