Page 31 of Death of the Glass Angel
Snap. The lock pick broke.
“Here. Let me.” Talon offered.
“I got it.” Des insisted, snatching another pin from her hair. Bangs fell across her eyes as she tried again.
Snap.
Smug, Talon gently grabbed her hand and pushed it aside.
With the grace only the well-practiced could wield, he pulled a pick from. . . somewhere. Des hardly kept track of his hands as they flitted through the night, pushing the pick into the lock and deftly opening it, as though he’d used its key.
“Lady’s first.” He pulled the hatch open.
Eyeing him with suspicion, Des glanced down and grabbed the ladder. Shimmying into the tavern’s attic, the voices of its patrons reached her ears from below. Talon closed the hatch behind him and joined her, pressing his back to a door and listening before slipping through.
A small walkway circled the tavern’s edges, overlooking the floor space. A chandelier hung at eye level, and a pulley anchored to the wall raised and lowered it.
The staff must have used this walkway to light the chandelier. But with the candles burning brightly, Des doubted they would be disturbed for some time.
Grabbing the wooden banister, Des searched below. Talon leaned beside her.
Avalon approached the counter and passed a few coins to the bartender—a smudge of brown hair to Des’ eyes. He gestured, and a table was cleared for them. Most curious about Felsin, Des followed the shape of his curly black hair and the trail of his red sash as he grabbed a basket of darts and tossed one to Dinu.
The disheveled prince aimed and threw, effortlessly impaling the bullseye. Avalon grabbed a second and quickly threw hers, missing the target by a hair. Des leaned forward, impressed.
“How?” Avalon demanded. “How can you see straight enough to hit the bullseye?”
“Talent,” Dinu answered, voice slurred.
Felsin lazily raised his own, saying something Des couldn’t quite make out. Brand snorted in response, seating himself atop the table, easy to make out from the smudge of red waves.
“Everything seems normal to me,” Talon said. “Would you rather go down and join them?”
“I want to hear what they say.” Des insisted.
“I think you just wanted an excuse to climb the roofs,” Talon murmured.
Felsin sat on the table beside his brother. “Are you coming?”
“Of course.” Avalon grabbed another dart.
“You aren’t expecting me to come, I hope,” Dinu said, lazily throwing another dart and nailing another bullseye.
Avalon’s hands clenched into fists as she grabbed the basket.
Brand pointed at her as she angrily fished out a dart. “You spent some time with our newest lady. What did you make of her?”
“She’s not what I expected,” Avalon admitted. “It’s like she’s done this kind of thing before.” She paused. “Or she’s an outstanding actor.”
In the gloom of the walkway, Des figured her smirk would be well-hidden. She turned back to Talon to see one of his eyebrows raised.
“You,” Avalon continued, pointing at Brand. “Have been something of an ass tonight.”
The redhead shrugged nonchalantly. “Seeing all you blood heirs reminded me how fleeting my title is. It’s irritating.”
“It’s how the ancestors intended.” Felsin disagreed.
“Have you ever considered that, perhaps, they were wrong?”
