Theories and a hope that Hildy would find some good crusty bread rolled around George’s mind while guests popped in and out of the inn across the way. Eventually, her efforts paid off when Gianis stepped out, his red tunic catching lamplight. Marinos followed, dressed in blue, and they met on the road, facing her way, their heads bent together in quiet conversation. Tensing, George pressed herself against the wall and added to her mirage, lengthening her nose, and lightening her hair to a walnut brown.
Her father’s spies turned north, and she prepared to follow at a distance—until Gianis lifted his chin at the crummy pub that had swallowed her friends.
“Deiwa nekami,” George swore softly.
Shoving out a burst of touch magic—sharp and urgent—she hoped she could reach Dunstan’s left knee in their agreed-upon signal for “danger incoming.” A ripple flowed back through her magic when she made contact with—something. Hopefully Dunstan. Then an invisible sucker punch landed itself on her upper arm, and George smirked. It was close enough to a tap on her inner elbow—their sign for “all good.” She’d gotten her point across.
It was too bad she wasn’t inside with her friends, so she could disguise them all while they grabbed a table to listen in. Unfortunately, it wasn’t to be.
Pausing before the alley entrance and blocking her view of the pub, a nervous-looking older man, pale, with ruddy cheeks and a bulging belly, tugged his purple jacket and looked around with twitchy motions. Crossing the road, he wandered toward the same pub.
Like she was watching a bad theatrical performance in slow motion, another man slid to a stop before the alleyway, blockingher view. George inhaled slowly, warning herself not to say anything as the new arrival turned and light caught his face.
Tall and broad-shouldered, with astoundingly fair skin and shaggy brown hair, everything about him looked out of place in Gramenia. And everything about him was handsome. She flushed, eyes roaming over his strong thighs clad in tight tan pants before returning to his profile and his strong jaw, its outline just visible through his scruffy beard—a lighter color than the hair on his head.
He turned away, and she blatantly watched his ass as he continued up the street. At the shoddy pub, he stopped, pulled up his hood, and slipped through the entrance, too.
The pleasant warmth in George’s stomach cooled.He’s with them—too suspicious not to be.
Before she could hope that Dunstan and Burke were smart enough to stay inside and listen in, her friends emerged from an alley across the way, beelining toward her with pints in hand.
“We got out!” Burke grinned, clearly proud of the quick exit. He handed George a mug of brown ale. “Side door. But we saw Gianis and Marinos come in, and some fat guy joined them.”
“Did they see you?” Not taking her eyes off the pub, she watched the hooded man slide into a seat near the window, the other seats at his table invisible from her angle.
“No,” Dunstan answered, joining her behind the barrel.
“I wish you’d stayed in there,” George muttered before taking a sip of her drink. “I still think we have an opportunity.”
“What am I missing?” Burke asked.
“Two men followed Gianis and Marinos inside. Out of place. The chubby older guy went first, alone. Then a second man, taller, bearded, probably our age, followed. He could be a guard or part of the meeting.”
“Maybe he’s just a patron,” Dunstan suggested. “It was busy.”
George glared. “They were out of place. I promise.”
Dunstan dropped his chin in deference.
“What do we do?”
“As much as I want to mirage us and walk right into the pub, we wait,” George decided, meeting Dunstan’s eye even though Burke asked the question. “Then we talk to one of them and find out what they know.”
They didn’t have to wait long.
Gianis and Marinos emerged first and went straight to their inn.
“Boring,” Burke grumbled, earning a snort from Dunstan.
George would’ve gone with “too risky,” but “boring” worked too.
Their pints were half gone by the time the tubby man stepped out, swaying slightly as he made his way up the street.
“Drunk already?”
“Or he wants to seem it. Follow him,” George countered, sending Burke on his way. “Circle back and let us know where he goes.”
The bearded man stayed behind. Hood still up, barely visible through the grimy glass, he nursed a drink.
