Sure enough, they don’t. Their eyes roam my face as though looking for something, but after a moment or so, they give me a sultry smile, and I bite back one of my own. I might not be immediately striking in the way vampires are, but what I’ve got works when it needs to.
“Sure you’re in the right place?” the fae asks, sidling a little closer. I think they’re a gancanagh from the way their magic is pulsing as they flirt. “Wouldn’t want that pretty face to get all messed up.”
Pretty? Well. I’ve been called a lot of things but never that. This fae is working hard for it. I smile all the same.
“Oh, I’m not planning to fight,” I say, “just a little flutter.”
“A little?”
“I don’t like to lose.”
The fae snorts and shakes their head before they step aside. “Well, go on then.”
I head towards the shadows, stomach already clenching at the claustrophobia I’m going to have to go through before I get into the pub, but pause when the fae puts a hand on my arm. Some more of their magic reaches out this time—not enough to bewitch any human, truth be told, but enough that I know it’s intentional.
“I finish at midnight,” they say. “If you’re still around…?”
“If I’m still around, sure,” I reply. I have no intention of being, though even if I am, I won’t be going anywhere with this fae.
The fae nods and lets go of my arm, leaving me to walk determinedly into the shadows. I don’t falter. Can’t raise suspicion. I’m not sure whether it’s good or bad that this fae hastaken such notice of my face, considering the next time I come back I’ll probably have Maurice and Vlad in tow.
Whatever. I can worry about that later. For now, I concentrate on my breaths as the shadows press in around me, putting one step in front of the other on pure instinct.
It feels like an age before I step into light, another cramped, cosy room that serves as the entryway to this place. This place… I glance up above the bar. This place that has the same name as the last. I frown, looking about. It looksexactlythe same, in fact, which means that the shadows likely have little to do with hiding an entrance and more to do with transporting the walker to a slightly different place.
Although… There was a back door last time. I never truly investigated where it spat us out, but I might try for that tonight.
The bartender is a different fae too, thank the gods, so I wander over and order myself a drink. She’s a glaistig, hooves clopping against tiles as she gets me a beer, and we hardly exchange ten words as I take the drink and pay.
Noise comes from the next room, the one I can see contains the cage. It’s almost as busy as it was the other night, which comes as a surprise.
How do all the patrons know where to come? The twins must have some way of telling them.
I drink a few sips before I sidle over to the next room. I keep my face turned away from the shadowed booth in the corner, checking that my blessing is firmly remaining where it is supposed to. I have no backup should things go to shit, and if I reveal myself, they almost certainly will.
The place is full of fae again, of course, but I spot the odd wolf or vampire through the crowd. Fewer than last time. I wander through the crowd, careful to keep my back to the corner and not to get too close, but there’s no way to strike up a conversation.Two fae are fighting in the cage, and everyone’s attention is on them.
The kelpie loses, collapsing on the mats soundlessly, and the selkie who was fighting bares her teeth. Trolls come in and drag the kelpie out, taking him into a back room, and I watch the selkie pace back and forth, her coat in a heap behind her.
She’s vicious-looking, on the small side even for a selkie, who tend towards sleek, slender glamours when they’re not in their seal forms. Blood smears her knuckles, but I didn’t see a scrape on the kelpie, so I wonder if that came from another fight.
“Bet?” a gravelly voice says next to me, and I look up into the face of a troll. He glares down at me, and I indicate the cage with my beer.
“Who’s up?”
“The wolf pup,” he says.
Quinn? Has to be.
“What do people bet here?”
“Whatever they want.”
Yeah, all right. I’m not going to act too rashly. I reach into my pocket and drag out an old tenner, then slap it into his palm. The troll scowls—clearly, they don’t deal much in currency—but hey, he said whatever I want.
“On the pup,” I say, and the scowl only deepens. Still, he scratches something down on the notepad he’s holding and then turns and vanishes into the crowd.
I don’t give him too much thought. No doubt he’ll be back if I win—trolls might have a reputation among humans for not being clever at all, but that’s not the truth of it. Sure, they’re big, burly fighters, but they’re also stubborn in a way that often manifests in a strange, determined diligence. Like all fae, they can’t lie, but trolls are known for being the most straightforward and honest of all the species.
