“Like someone is watching me,” she whispered.
She could feel Mal’s immediate reaction of panic. Then disdain.
“For how long?”
“A month,” she admitted.
“A month?” Mal asked incredulously.
Maeve looked up at him. “It comes and goes.”
Mal shook his head. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It seemed, well, irrelevant.”
Mal’s eyes were darkened by the moonlight-less alley way, but Maeve knew there was anger flitting across them.
“Come on,” said Maeve, and restarted their walk. “We need to find a place to stay.”
“We’re Magicals. We can stay anywhere we see fit,” said Mal.
“But don’t you think it’s much more adventurous this way?” She asked, wringing out her hands in at attempt to dull the creeping sensation running across her skin. “Besides, if you have Magical Family near, it’s best they don’t feel our Magic first, in case a surprise visit is necessary.”
“I know,” said Mal, clearly still annoyed at her secret keeping. “I’m the one who suggested that.”
“I don’t remember that,” said Maeve playfully, glancing over at him.
He shook his head.
The narrow path opened up into a square. There was a small brick fountain in the middle. It was dry, barely a trickle of water running down the center. Across the square was a tall, skinny brick building with a large sign that read: THE HANGED MAN PUB. It was the only building on the street with light shining through the windows.
“Maybe they know where we can stay the night,” said Maeve.
They crossed the square in silence, their cloaks whipping in the summer wind. The steps to the pub creaked as they approached the door. Mal reached for the knob, and Maeve’s arm shot out in front of him quickly.
“I think you should wear your hood up. This village is small, and if you bare any resemblance to your family, they’ll know who you are. It’s best you aren’t seen, given our business here.”
Mal cut her a look but pulled his hood around his face. Maeve stopped, mesmerized by the dangerous look it gave him. He pushed open the door with one long arm and Maeve crossed inside, brushing off the smile threatening to betray her thoughts.
The Hanged Man smelled strongly of beer, a smell Maeve detested. Behind the bar was an older man with a large grey mustache that covered his whole mouth. It was as dreary on the inside as it was on the outside.
“Excuse me, sir,” said Maeve with a smile. “We’re traveling through and hoping to find a place to stay for the night.”
She placed her hands on the counter. They struck. Her smile faltered as she peeled them up and looked at them. They were now covered in a thin, sticky film.
She held her hands awkwardly in the air.
The barman looked her over. “I got two rooms, but I don’t know about renting them to teenagers. You traveling alone?”
“We are, sir. If it’s any consolation, we aren’t teenagers. I’m twenty-one-”
“What’s a pair of kids doing traveling alone?”
Maeve sighed and smiled once more. She reached into her bag and pulled out a stack of Human currency, hating that she was touching her things with dirty hands. She slid eighty pounds across the counter at the man.
“Are the rooms upstairs or down?” Maeve asked him.
The barman’s eyes grew wide, and he choked on the swig of beer he had just downed. Scrambling to gather the money, he nodded and pointed towards the stairs on the opposite side of the pub.
