“We might get arrested.”
“Oh, how novel!”
“No one is getting arrested.” The familiar voice accompanies a gentle hand that lands on my shoulder. I angle my head to find Monty Phillips beside me, his dimpled grin on full display. “I assure you, this is all perfectly legal.”
“Yes, well, what exactly isthis?”
“You’ll see.” His palm leaves my shoulder, and his other comes forward, bearing what I at first think is a bouquet. Instead, it’s a puff of pink candy floss on a stick. With a mocking bow, he extends it to me and adopts a haughty tone. “For you, miss.”
I can’t help but humor him with a grin. As I accept the confection, he nods toward the railing. “You’ll want a closer view. Trust me.”
CHAPTER SIX
DAPHNE
Apprehension crawls up my spine as I follow Monty to the metal balustrade. As I reach it, I stare down at the crowded floor. Good thing I’m not afraid of heights, for climbing trees and other scalable objects was my specialty as a pine marten. That doesn’t mean I fancy taking a tumble in my seelie form, so I maintain a healthy distance from the ledge, unlike some of the young people at the busier end of the balcony who are perched upon the rail with their legs dangling in midair. At the very center of the floor below is a raised platform. The crowd is dense around it, but the stage is unoccupied. Will this be a performance of sorts? My fascination has grown now that Monty’s here, but the cacophony of chatter and laughter continues to assault my senses.
“You haven’t tried it yet,” Monty says, drawing my attention to where he stands beside me. He leans with his forearms propped on the railing, shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows, his collar open, no cravat or waistcoat. It’s strange being this close to him, with our eyes nearly level. I was a tiny mustelid during most of our interactions and got used to viewing him from the ground. Only once have I been so near him while in my seelie form—on one of the last stops of The Heartbeats Tour, when I donned my humanoid body to participate in a charity gala—but I’ve forgotten how strange it is to look at him head-on.
I’ve also forgotten his question.
“Pardon?” I say, blinking at him.
An amused grin tugs his lips, and he nods at the pink candy floss clutched in my hand. “Your treat. You haven’t tried it yet.”
“Oh, right.” I tear off a piece of the fluffy confection and bring it to my tongue. It’s more flavorful than I expected, blackberry with a hint of something else that warms my stomach…
“Blackberry cordial,” Monty says. “It’s boozy candy floss.”
My eyes widen. Did he remember my favorite drink, even after all this time? He always was thoughtful in that regard, indulging me in my love for sweet liquor even when he himself doesn’t imbibe. Then I recall that he witnessed my conversation with Brad Folger today, to whom I relayed my preference for berry cordial. Maybe that’s the only reason Monty remembered.
He speaks again. “It’s spun with an enchantment that cuts out excess noise. For those with sensitive fae hearing. Or…those who don’t like crowds.”
Now I’m truly impressed. Both reasons apply to me, though the former is less of an issue in my seelie form. The softness in his grin tells me he was more concerned about the latter, and as the remnants of my sugary bite dissolve fully over my tongue, I begin to feel its magical effects. The clamor around me lowers to a muted hum, not obscured in any way, just less piercing. Tension eases from every muscle, filling me with calm.
“You like it?” Monty’s voice remains as clear as before, so the enchantment must not alter sounds in one’s immediate proximity.
“I do, but where did you get it? You didn’t steal it from a sugar sprite on your way here, did you?”
He gives me a wry look, then points to the far end of the building. “Concessions, Daffy Dear.”
“Oh, I want to go!” Araminta leaps between us. “I’ve always wanted to try booze. Might you be so kind as to loan me a few emerald chips?”
I narrow my eyes to slits. “Are you even old enough to drink? And why the hell would I give you money?”
“I may have freshly emerged from my chrysalis,” Araminta says with a huff, “but I was a bookworm for one hundred and twenty-seven years. I’m an adult, thank you very much. And I need money because I don’t yet have a job. Today is my societal debut, after all.”
“Here,” Monty says, handing her a few emerald chips. “Have a blast.”
Araminta squeals as she accepts the currency and darts off. I stare after her as she disappears into the crowded end of the balcony, and I’m struck with a pang of worry mixed with envy. How is she so much braver and more self-assured than I am?
“So, you got yourself a bookworm.” Monty extracts his cigarillo case from his trouser pocket and places one of the slender joints between his lips. He holds my eyes as he lights it with a cylindrical igniter. My gaze falls to his mouth as he takes a long drag and blows out a smoky breath, the air between us filling with a sweet floral aroma. It’s much more pleasant than the cloying tobacco coming from the other patrons.
I realize I’m still staring at his mouth and force my attention back to his eyes. “Infestation at the office. Our bookworms have figured out how to grow wings.”
He chuckles. “I had no idea bookworms metamorphosed.”
“Neither did we,” I say. “We had to bring in a faentologist to consult on where the papery sprites were coming from. We knew bookworms were a type of sprite, so it made sense the paper pixies were book sprites too. Apparently, metamorphosing is a new development for bookworms, and not all of them choose to do so. Thank the All of All.”
