“Of course.” He huffs as though I am being the foolish one in this situation. “I already told you I could.”
“Because you’re part of the Hunt?”
“I suppose.”
I frown, but he pauses again, this time looking at the entrance to a small pub. The Goodfellow, the sign above the door reads. I hear heartbeats within, but I am not especially useful at picking out species without looking at them.
Maurice heaves a sigh and turns to me.
“Listen,” he says, “I am only bringing you along because it seems the easiest way to keep you safe. So in the interest of that… I need you to remain calm, no matter what you see or hear.”
“All right.”
“Imeanit. If you show even a hint of weakness, they’ll be all over you. If they realise there’s something you don’t know, they’ll use that to their advantage.”
“We’re meeting more fae?”
“Yes. Contacts, apparently, so I can’t just kill them.”
“Because that is something you do.”
Maurice narrows his eyes. “Yes.”
“Very well.”
He stares at me for a long time, and when I say nothing else, he sighs again. “Come along, then. Let’s get this over with.”
I follow him into the pub, where the air is hazy. It cannot be from smoke, and from the way Maurice’s gaze darts back to me, I suspect that, instead, magic is involved. I spot a pair of humans and a lone werewolf, but the other people in here—and there arenot many of them—appear to all be fae, including the woman standing behind the bar.
She glares at Maurice when he approaches. “You are not welcome here.”
“Funny, that,” Maurice replies sardonically. “Vlad seems to be.”
Her expression softens but only a little. “He prefers to live and let live.”
“So do I.”
“That’s not what I heard,” another fae says. He’s sitting further down the bar, perched on one of the stools. And I meanperched. He must only be five and a half feet tall, and I don’t know what he’s wearing beneath it, but he’s covered from neck to toe in a white fur coat.
“Fucking selkies,” Maurice mutters. Is it supposed to be under his breath? The fae raises an eyebrow in response—he definitely heard.
“And here I thought you might be here to seeme,” the fae replies. “Vlad has far better manners.”
“You’re Reijo?”
“Of course.” Reijo closes his hand around his glass and takes a sip. His eyes never leave Maurice. They’re terribly dark, watchful as though he can see right through both of us.
“There is a matter I need to speak with you about.”
“Here? Now?” Reijo looks pointedly around the room. His teeth flash against his dark skin when he gives Maurice a not-at-all-friendly smile. “You have no head for discretion, then.”
Maurice growls again. How does he get anything done at all, when he seems to have so much trouble with these fae?
Well, I know how. He seems to kill them—but this doesn’t seem like the place to use that as a good solution.
Even though he’s told me to be silent and not give anything away, I can’t help myself. I need to help him. “Is there somewhere private that we can talk?”
Reijo looks at me as though he is only just noticing I am there at all, although I doubt that is the case. His eyes sweep me from head to toe, and now his smile is almost gleeful when he looks at Maurice again.
