Marina slid the medium-sized, black velvet box from the edge of the countertop, its frame wrapped in a red satin bow. It was precisely where she’d placed it the previous night during conversation with Mansi while she cleaned her gun on the dining room table, all while Viviana lectured her for scratching the rosewood surface.
“You’re actually going to his realm?” Mansi asked, her opinion on the matter made clear by her incredulous tone.
“Yes.” Marina ran her fingers over the satin bow, a sadistic grin meeting her lips. “Though, I have someone to meet first.”
Marina twirledthe slick knot of the gift box around her long, manicured fingernail, a pint on the table beside it, its frothy top close to spilling over the sides. Beer was never a beverage of choice for her, but the objective was to fit in with the crowd of the pub.
Honeyed morning light poured through the windows of the cozy atmosphere. Antique portraits decorated the all-brick walls. Deities over the ages, their attire evolving with the time periods. Marina recognized their faces as the owners of the establishment. The goddess worked the cash register, and the god ran the kitchen.
The pub was located in a rural sector of Isolde, tucked in a glade of evergreens—where the groundcover gathered twigs and pine needles, where mushrooms grew on the mossy bark of the trees.
Marina gazed up at the rafters. Lavender hollyhock looped around the beams and, tangled around each blossom, was a swirl of lemon-yellow lupine. Butterflies fluttered like clouds around the greenery.
It pulled up a memory: Father kneeling in front of her, grinning with a radiant, blue-winged butterfly in his palm.
Look, darling, isn’t it exquisite?
That familiar, unrelenting ache resounded in her chest.
She inhaled a stiff breath. The aroma of stew and earl gray mingled in the air. All the booths in the pub were taken. The melody of low, chattering voices didn’t overstimulate her, making the pub a perfect and inconspicuous meeting place.
Marina forced herself to take a sip, biting back the urge to make a face from the awful, yeasty taste.
A silhouette appeared in the shadows on the other side of her booth.
She lowered her pint. “I am impressed.”
He leaned forward, revealing his masked face under the hood of his cloak. A sharp, steeled look shaped his eyes—ice blue, so light that it could have been stolen from the shallowest part of the ocean. The Soren she used to know was a trickster, always teasing and pulling pranks on Viviana as a form of childish flirting. The type to constantly grin so hard, it pushed his eyes into miniature grins of their own. He was loud and would never shut up.
Now, his energy felt different: less optimistic,offsomehow.
“Do you think so little of me?” His masculine voice held amusement.
In front of him sat a half-empty pint. He’d more than likely arrived prior to her, keeping himself hidden until the time was right. Soren was as meticulous as ever—a trait of his that she always respected, and it was refreshing to see that much about him had not changed over the years.
Marina cracked a small smile at the playfulness in his tone, happy to see her old friend. “Nice to see you again, Soren.”
Soren removed his hood. His dark, wavy hair had grown longer, their ends glacial, as if they had been dipped in frost. “It’s been nearly a century.”
“Since you and Vivi broke up. Yes, I recall.”
He crossed his arms and rested his head back. “Is she well?”
“Yes.”
“And you?”
“I am also well.” Marina took another sip of her pint to evade answering his question truthfully. The taste was bitter in theback of her throat, and she was unable to resist making a face. “So how haveyoubeen?”
“I’m dying to know why you’ve called for my help, given you aren’t one to ever ask for such a thing.” He tilted his head, his gaze scrunching in a way that suggested a small smirk under his mask.
Her pride twinged at his comment, because sheloathedrelying on others. However, Soren was trustworthy. He’d helped her through a grim situation once. She’d considered him a friend ever since.
“The location is Hollow City, in the Mortal Land,” she said.
“Target?”
She paused, indiscreetly watching the god pass by their booth to the bar.
