“Does Saint Lazaro have a good word to say?”
I bark a laugh. “That was clever, Podaxis. I like it.”
He sighs and peers up at me from my bag. “What I don’t like is that you passed the Lumies vendor two streets ago. Were we not going to try the ones on First and Cygnus?”
I pull up short, realizing he’s right. We’re almost to Orion and my plan to get Lumies was derailed by that stupid sign. “You’re right, Podaxis. We came this way to celebrate, and now we have further cause to. Not only did I save a boy, but I rescued a man of the church, one who will now go on to be a happily married husband. And if he has his way with this fae bride he so desperately wants, then he won’t die for…a long time.”
“Yes, Pearl, well done. Now, can we get Lumies?”
With a chuckle, I turn around and make my way back toward the street vendor. The one just across from Saint Lazaro. I buy my treats, stuff them into my mouth with relish, and only cut a glare at Brother Dorian’s sign once.
Twice.
Five times.
With sugar sweetness coating my lips, I tip my cap at the sign. “You’re welcome,” I mutter with a final glower.
8
By the time we make it home to the Vulture’s Prose, my stomach aches from eating six Lumies in rapid succession. Even Podaxis mutters a groan or two as I set him on the ground inside the theater, and he only ate three. Still, I have no regrets as I hand over my stolen treasures to Mr. Tuttle, claim ten citrine chips as payment, and then head down the hall that leads to the bedrooms. With every step, I remove an article of clothing—my hat, my jacket, my waistcoat—until I’m feeling light and free in my trousers, shirt, and suspenders. I run a hand through my tresses with a sigh, noting how surprisingly quiet it is backstage. None of the performers are chatting about or rehearsing lines for tomorrow. Martin isn’t loitering about, inviting Klaus and Stanley out for drinks or making baby harp seal eyes at me. It’s for the best, as all I want now is a quiet evening and sleep.
All hope of that is lost when I open the door to my bedroom. My stomach plummets as I find Martin standing in the dark room, lit only by the small square window over my bed. His arms are clasped behind his back, and he says nothing. He seems…different. Stiff. Angry. I wish I could convince myself he’s here for a casual visit, but I know that’s not the case. This is about the dreadedus.
“Shells,” I curse under my breath. I’m frozen in my doorway, unsure how to respond. Finally, I release a sigh. “We should…talk.”
Podaxis skitters back, tapping his pincers together. “I’ll…uh…go see if Nadia’s home.”
Once he’s down the hall, I enter my room and close the door behind me. The space is tiny, with just enough room for my narrow bed, a side table, and a few feet of walking space. So it’s quite awkward when I’m forced to skirt close to Martin just to light the lamp on my bedside table. All the while, he does nothing but watch me. With the room brightened to a dim glow, I steel my nerves and face my former lover. I can’t bring myself to meet his eyes, keeping my gaze on his chest instead. He’s dressed in trousers and shirtsleeves, not unlike what I’ve seen him wear before. But there’s something off about him. “Martin, I…”
My mind reels as I sort through what I need to say.
He shifts slightly, and one arm emerges from behind his back. His hand comes toward me, and I tense, expecting him to touch my cheek. Instead, he holds a fist between us. My brow furrows as I watch him uncurl his fingers to reveal a glittering object in the center of his palm, silver inlaid with mother-of-pearl.
It’s my shell-shaped hair comb.
The one I lost when I rescued Brother Dorian.
I’m about to take it from him but stop myself. My eyes flash to his face. “Where did you get this?”
That’s when I realize something is very wrong. His eyes aren’t the pale blue I’m used to but gray and much larger than they should be. The planes of his face are slightly skewed, too full in places, and too rigid in others. His blond hair is a shade too dark. I probably wouldn’t have noticed had I not spent those nights in such close quarters with him, in this very room, in this exact shade of light. My gaze moves to his shoulders—shoulders I initially assumed were draped in a cape, but now…
It’s not a cape at all. It’s my sealskin. The sight makes my stomach roil.
I step back. “Who are you—”
The not-Martin smiles in such an unfamiliar way it sends bile rising to my throat. “Catch,” he says, voice deep but not entirely masculine as he tosses my hair comb into the air. On reflex, I catch it, just as his hand clasps around my upper arm. His other arm comes forward from behind his back, revealing a small silver hexagonal compact. With a flick of his thumb, it opens, spilling a bright light into my room.
I struggle to escape his grip, but I feel claws dig into my skin. The light from the compact grows blindingly bright, forcing me to close my eyes against its glare. My heart slams against my ribs as a strange humming begins to buzz all around me, over me, through me. For a moment, I fear it will tear my body in two.
Then it stops.
The glow dims.
I blink a few times as my eyes adjust to the absence of the light. The first thing I see is Martin. No, it isn’t Martin at all but a female fae with iridescent silver and brown scales in a striped pattern, long black claw-like nails, and short-cropped brown hair. She’s several inches taller than me but appears perhaps a year younger than I am. She could be centuries older, however, for her pointed ears tell me she’s full fae. Her eyes are pale with a W-shaped pupil, like a cuttlefish. She’s unclothed aside from my sealskin that remains over her shoulders like a cape. With a glare, I try to tug myself free from her grip. This time she releases me and crosses her arms over her chest.
I glance at where my door should be, prepared to run, but find I’m no longer in my room. Instead, I’m in a dim corridor made entirely of tightly woven coral. Orbs of warm light hover above sconce-like coral outcroppings. I look from one end of the corridor to the other. The hall seems to go on forever, but the other side…
A shadowed figure strolls toward us. When I make to step back, the female fae grabs my arms again. “Let me go,” I say, but it’s no use. She may look close to my age but she’s far stronger than I am, especially with those sharp claws piercing my flesh.
