“He knows that you have some dodgy income streams,” she continues. “But is there anythingelsehe knows about you that might get you into trouble?”
Does he know that I’m beast-borne scum, she means. Or worse, does he know I’m a selkie.
I glance at Mag, the only person in this room who doesn’t know my most closely kept secret. “He may have noticed I was, er, slightly stronger than I should be. All that spinach we eat, you know?”
The answering look she gives me would be enough to strip paint, and my heart pounds harder. Frannie might not be beast-borne, but she is a flame ogre. A six-and-a-half foot tall, black-haired ogre with skin the colour of fading embers and iris-less eyes that are entirely made up of huge black pupils.
If my kind are seen as being classless and barbaric, hers are seen as mindless brutes. Monsters they use as cautionary tales to scare their children.
And sure, they mostly used to live in caves and had a reputation for eating whatever people they came across, but her people areformidable.Fierce and, thankfully, unfailingly loyal to their people.
Exactly who you want on your team, whatever the occasion.
“So much spinach,” she replies drily. “So he has a few reasons he might be back. Either with the authorities in tow, or alone if he thinks it’s worth extorting you.”
“Right.” I nod, then nod again. Within about thirty seconds, I’ve mentally mapped my route to grab my bag, and my skin, and counted the pairs of underwear and shirts I have available right now.
My palms are sweating and, for some reason, I’m still wearing my coat. When I throw it off my shoulders, a cloth bag rolls onto the floor with a clatter.
Mr Fishy’s possibly cursed safe.
Oops. I must have accidentally pocketed it earlier.
“This was what started all the trouble.” I say, plopping it onto the table. “What do you reckon, real or fake?”
Frannie plucks it up with her bare hands, eyeing it closely. “Hard to say. These sigils look like witch work, so I wouldn’t want to mess with them too much. Looks like it might have a curse on it, even if it’s solid gold.”
She pulls the screaming kettle from the hearth, again with her bare hands, and pours boiling water into a teapot. She then takes the seat opposite me, giving Mag a casual once-over before handing him a mug.
She’s grinning. Why is she grinning?
“Are you planning on paying a visit to your cursebreaker friend over in Port Yarrow?” she says. At my answering nod, she slams a hand onto the tabletop. “Well then, who better to take care of anything valuable you don’t want anyone getting their hands on. We’ll take the boat.”
Boat? What boat? Whenever I need to get anywhere by water, I just use Noush. But I suppose it isn’t a good idea to be a seal swimming in these waters at the moment, not if the authorities are likely to be swarming the place. I cast my mind to the rickety rowing boatthat’s stored behind Frannie’s workshop under a tarp and a heap of scrap metal.
“It’s not been used in a few months, but I’m sure it’s still seaworthy,” she says. “Now, drink your tea.”
I’m barely keeping up here. But Frannie’s sitting there, just waiting for me to put two and two together.
Kit is not just a cursebreaker. He’s also the only other person who knows about my skin. And heisvery good at taking care of valuable things.
I jump to my feet and wrap my arms around her neck, clinging there like a barnacle on a sea turtle. “You’re a genius, Frannie. Talk about thinking on your feet.”
“We’ll set up the old wards on the house too. That way, if the smelly dickhead shows up while we’re gone, we’ll know.” There’s a devilish gleam in her eye. “And then—”
Mag clears his throat. “He doesn’t know where you live, does he?”
Frannie gives a dismissive snort, tossing her head back. “Two minutes in your horrible, horrible pub and he’d have that information in a heartbeat.”
A tendril of guilt sprouts in my gut. If Mr Fishy comes back and causes trouble, there’s every chance Frannie might get caught up in it even though she’s managed to live here quietly for the past few years.
Mag’s shoulders climb up to his ears, and he opens his mouth as if to argue, but then seems to think better of it. “True enough. And you’re going somewhere... by boat?” I watch his throat bob as he swallows hard.
I wouldn’t say I know him all that well, but I do know that Mag’s not a fan of the water.
Frannie ignores him entirely. “What do you think?” she asks me. “We can be out of the way if he returns andthen—” She rubs her hands together gleefully. “We can see if the wards on this old place still hold up.”
Frannie leaps to her feet, bustling out the door as though her ideas can no longer stay in her head without her taking action.
