“Right now, the only sparks I’m interested in are the ones that’ll light up your camera,” Fiadh snaps back, her words a not-so-veiled threat. She’s a cornered animal, poised to lash out, but I can’t help feeling a surge of pride at her fierce spirit.
The influencers circle, each question sharper, more invasive than the last. “Tell us about your magic, Fiadh. Any gigantic explosions we should be worried about?”
“Only if you keep prodding me,” she retorts, but there’s a tremor in her voice that betrays her discomfort. Her magic is her Achilles’ heel, still wild and unpredictable, and they’re poking right into the wound.
“Enough!” Khol’s voice booms across the clamoring crowd, commanding immediate silence. “You want to know about danger? Let me tell you about my basilisk form—the venom that courses through my veins, the deadly gaze of my eyes, the sheer volatility of my shifts.”
The influencers recoil, their expressions morphing from predatory to fearful as Khol spins his dark tales. With a final warning glare, he sends them scattering, their thirst for gossip quenched by a newfound fear of becoming his next victim.
“Is all of that true?” Fiadh whispers, leaning close to Khol, her earlier bravado replaced with genuine concern.
“Every word,” he shrugs nonchalantly. “Though I might’ve omitted some of the finer details until now.”
“Great,” she groans, rubbing her temples. “So, when’s this shedding business supposed to happen?”
“Few weeks, give or take,” Khol replies. “But don’t fret. Dezi’s got connections for everything. He’ll dig up something to ease the process.”
As the tension drops a notch, I catch sight of Dezi weaving through the crowd, his presence slipping away as smoothly as a shadow at dusk. He’s hunting for information—our eyes and ears within these gilded walls. I barely noticed him breaking away and I suppose that’s one of his vampire skills. There’s a reason most people don’t trust his kind, but when he’s on our side, I can’t help but be grateful.
My train of thought derails as the short, pudgy mayor takes the stage, his smug face bathed in the spotlight. The applause is dutiful rather than enthusiastic, echoing hollowly as he drones on about a charity for music training—a project close to my heart that he’s twisted into a self-serving narrative.
“Asshole’s taking credit for your hard work,” Fiadh mutters, a dangerous edge to her voice. She flicks open a blade, her offer hanging in the air between us:Shall I?
“Much as I’d love to see that,” I reply, half-serious, “we can’t have you slicing up mayors.” My voice is steady, but inside, anger boils hot and fast. Khol’s near swoon beside us is the only thing keeping me grounded—it’s absurd how much I rely on their antics to stay sane.
“Shame,” Fiadh says, the knife disappearing as swiftly as it appeared, her eyes meeting mine with a promise. “But I’m here if you need anything... less stabby.”
“Appreciated,” I say, squeezing her hand as we make our way to our guest of honor table. If we can just make it through this damn dinner, I’ll be happy as a clam.
But you bet your ass I’m having a serious discussion with my team before we hit the next town.
Tiernan slides into the seat beside me, a look of relief washing over his face as he escapes the clutches of council wives hungry for secondhand fame. I offer him a tight smile, my patience fraying like a worn rope as one question too many about the new ‘exotic’ friends in town is tossed my way. Fiadh’s jaw clenches; I can almost hear the grind of her teeth.
Khol leans in, placing a steadying hand on Fiadh’s shoulder, whispering something that makes her eyes soften for just a moment—a brief respite before another wave of inquisition crashes down upon us. Tiernan’s gaze sharpens, protective instincts kicking in as he deflects another intrusive query with a charm that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
A shadow falls across our table, and Dezi reappears, his presence like a cool breeze. “Council finances the fights,” he murmurs low enough that only we can catch it. “Fighters are willing... and the masked fae fighter? A mystery wrapped in silence. He only shows up a few times a month from far away. Nothing new on the legend.”
“Great,” I mutter, my appetite for this farce of a dinner vanishing. “We hit the woods tomorrow, then. No reason to wait.”
Before another word can be drawn out of us, the hall’s chatter spikes into a crescendo of shocked whispers. A law officer, uniform crisp against the backdrop of evening gowns and tuxedos, pushes through the crowd towards the council table.
“Murder,” the officer announces, voice cutting through the murmur like a knife. “Young girl, dark-haired, about her age—” His eyes flicker to Fiadh, and I feel her hand go icy in mine.
“BehindTwig & Berries,” Dezi adds, his hearing just as sharp as mine. His face is stone, but I can see the cogs turning, calculating what this means.
It’s possible someone mistook the poor girl for our girl.
Fiadh’s fury grows as she realizes the same thing we did. Tiernan and Khol shift closer, forming a barrier around her without a word, their every muscle ready to spring into action. The revelry is forgotten, the threat suddenly all too real and close.
“Who would...” Fiadh starts, but her voice trails off, choked by the gravity of what’s happened.
“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” I say, though my mind is racing with dark possibilities. “We’ll figure this out.”
Dezi nods, his eyes narrowed, a silent promise that no stone will be left unturned.
Whatever darkness lurks in Arrowwood, we’re about to drag it into the light.
I look around, watching the faces in the crowd as other enhanced hearing supes pick up what’s going on near us. The shift is almost immediate—panic grips the hall as the news ripples through it, turning the once elegant event into a bedlam of high-pitched inquiries and wild speculation. I grip Fiadh’s hand tighter, feeling her pulse race against my fingers. Even amidst the turmoil, I can’t help but note how worried she seems; a stark contrast to the fiery warrior I know.
