“Thank you,” said Maeve curtly.
Up the rickety stairs, there was a small landing with two doors opposite one another. Maeve snapped her fingers, instantly cleaning her palms.
“What happened to ‘no Magic’?” Mal asked.
“Oh,” she said, never having realized how habitual Magic was. “I suppose that didn’t last long, did it?”
“Where did you get that human money?” Mal asked lowering his hood.
“One must always be three steps ahead of one’s self. The possibility for plans to go awry is almost certain.”
“Hmm,” said Mal. “It’s likely you overpaid. Or we could have done it my way.”
“What’s your way?” Asked Maeve.
“Goodnight,” said Mal with a wicked grin as he pushed open the door to one of the rooms.
Maeve smiled softly and retreated into her own room. There was little to it. A twin bed with a metal frame and pale sheets, a small dressing table and a wooden chair. In the corner was a black stove of sorts for heat or cooking.
She clicked the door closed quietly and leaned against it. It would be difficult to sleep knowing he was so close. She slipped off her cloak and laid it across the chair. She ran her hand over the set of candles on the nightstand, flames bursting at their wicks.
The Pub was so quiet she was scared Mal could hear her thoughts as she laid on the feathered bed.
Wind tapped against the window.
She ran her finger along her jawline, thinking about how his hands felt on her skin as she drifted off to sleep.
The bed shook. In the distance was a faint whirling sound, followed quickly by another shake. She sat up slowly. The candle stand on the bedside table clattered quietly, its flame extinguished.
The next whizzing sound was louder. Maeve moved quickly to the window as the glass shook. In the distance, bright lights were flashing across the horizon like distant lightning.
Then a loud and shrill sound filled the streets below. It was a blaring siren that ascended and descended in pitch.
It was a chilling sound.
A warning.
Maeve gasped and grabbed her night robe. She threw it on as she ran towards the door. She flung it open and startled as Mal was already standing at the threshold. His hair was disheveled, and his robe was carelessly covering his exposed chest.
The landing outside their rooms was dark, but Maeve could see his finger was pointed, ready, and his eyes were wild.
The creaking of steps from the third floor caused Maeve to shove his hand away. She placed herself between Mal and the barman.
“You kids alright?” He asked.
Maeve nodded quickly.
“Yes,” answered Mal.
“They aren’t getting us tonight,” said the barman. They’re bombing over in Maidstone, by the looks of it. Much larger metropolitan nearby.”
Mal and Maeve stood silently as the barman stood awkwardly.
“Still, there’s a bunker a few blocks down,” said the barman. “You two might want to make your way there for the night, in case.”
“We’re alright,” said Mal. “We’d prefer to stay here, sir.”
The barman shifted nervously as a flash of light from Maeve’s room illuminated the hallway.
