22
It’s not a party until there’s blood on the floor
Fi spent one futile night trying to fight Antal out of her rafters.
She delivered impassioned arguments on the merits of her sofa,or the damn floor if nothing else. In the end, their agreement became: rafters at night for sleeping, off-limits during the day when she wanted to enjoy her home without a predator lurking overhead. Compromise was crucial to any partnership.
She supposed this arrangement wasn’t so different from having an odd, arboreal guard dog. Antal slept like a panther in a tree, stomach stretched along the rafter, head pillowed in his arms as his tail dangled. Fi caught herself watching him too often, captive to curiosity for this strange housemate who melded with shadows and prowled on whisper-quiet feet.
Graciously, he disappeared when she requested privacy.
This morning, Fi indulged a long bath. She sipped her sugary coffee. Her silviamesh bodysuit, normally a delight to don, summoned a grimace as she examined the shredded stomach and her laughable attempt to mend the tatters with regular thread. The intact parts were still worth wearing. She armed herself with dark lipstick and violet eyeshadow, drew her hair into a Void-and rainbow ponytail.
Then, off to meet Boden.
His ranch lay on the outskirts of Nyskya, a low building atthe edge of the forest, porch crusted with icicles and shingles sheened with overnight snow. When Fi arrived, her brother waited on the steps, bundled in his coat, eyeing the tree line. So did the herd of aurorabeasts in the paddock.
Fi spotted the source of their consternation: Antal, perched near the crown of a fir, an antlered silhouette and red eyes amidst dark needles.
“Is he trying to freak me out?” Boden greeted as Fi joined him on the porch.
She considered Antal’s obsession with her rafters. His home in a cave overlooking Thomaskweld. Verne’s cliffside chateau, and Tyvo lurking in treetops.
“I think they just like to be up high,” she said.
“They?”
“Daeyari, in general.”
“You’re a fucking expert, now?”
Fi punched his arm.
“You don’t have to come, Bodie. Antal and I can handle Cardigan. If someone realizes you’re helping us, Verne will be on Nyskya in a heartbeat.”
“Good thing I’mnothelping you,” he returned, in that smug tone that made Fi want to throw a snowball between his eyes. “My awful sister? Gone too far, scorning our newLord Daeyari.” That one oozed air quotes, though Boden’s hands stayed stuffed in his pockets. “And with Astrid searching for that wretched Fionamara? I’d be foolishnotto offer a bounty, bringing a spiteful criminal to justice.”
Fi regarded him with lips puckered, indulging none of his stuffy attempts at humor. This was the plan they’d agreed to. If Boden played it right, he’d get himself invited into Cardigan’s estate, convince the weasel they were on the same side, sweet-talk some information about Verne. If that failed, Fi and Antalwould be waiting to offer more forceful coercion.
Overall, she found the plan unnecessarily obtuse and unreasonably perilous to Boden’s well-being. Unfortunately, stubbornness did run in the family.
“Make it a good bounty,” she grumbled. “My average on the Spring Plane has been increasing for five years. Don’t you dare bring that down.”
“Of course.” Boden tapped his chin. “What’s a good offer? One energy chip?”
“Boden.”
“I don’t know these things. I’m not a criminal,like my sister.”
“Boden.”
Static pricked Fi’s tongue.
At Antal’s appearance in the yard, the aurorabeasts shied toward the far edge of the paddock. He scented the air, circling on predatory strides, wind tousling the dark hair between his antlers.
Otherworldly. A being from the depths of the Void, returned to walk this mortal Plane. Fi found herself forgetting that too often, lulled by how comfortably he sprawled on her sofa and lured her with toothy smirks.
When he reached Fi and Boden, he held out both hands.
