“Questions arise from a fluffy butt dear, about a mark on a phoenix, oh so austere,” she teases, her tiny hand gesturing towards Dezi and I.
I glance at Fiadh, whose smile is happy but concerned. “Feray marked the phoenix and something is wrong with it?”
Ro nods, glitter falling on me as she sighs, “The pulsing of such, worries fluffy much. She doesn’t know why, nor do old ones who fly.”
We all turn to look at the vampire, who shakes his head. “Significance uncertain,” Dezi mutters, his brow furrowed as he studies our girl’s worried expression. “But I doubt it’s harmful—otherwise, the bird would have known itcould happen.”
“Enough riddles for now,” I say, turning back to Rowena. “I’ll send another pixie to consult with my youngest sister. She’s well-versed in the lore of shifters and mythicals. We might find an answer there by the next time you drop in.”
Khol clears his throat, giving me a look as if I’m an idiot. “You didn’t think she might know what the fuck the creature the demons called is? Dude, we should ask her and Feray’s old guys.”
“Smart sneaky snek has raised a bell,” Rowena nods approvingly. “A drawing you should send. For visuals do tell.”
“Consider it done,” I agree, already picturing the beast in question. I grab a napkin, and Dezi pulls a fancy silver pen out of his jacket, making me roll my eyes. Of course, that asshole has one tucked away. I don’t give him shit, though, because I want to get this drawing done so I can send it along with Ro.
The pixie’s face darkens as she leans in closer to look at my work. “Feray’s pack was attacked, shadows lurk near and far. They hunt you, they hunt them. This threat raises the bar.”
“Attacked?” Fiadh’s voice cracks like a whip, her fists clenching in anger. “Who dares?—”
Oh, fuck.
“Calm down, Knuckles,” Tiernan interjects smoothly as he lays a hand on her arm. “Remember, Feray stands guarded by ancients and shifters who love her. She’s coming into her own as a wolf, and they can defend her much like we’ve all worked together to stay safe.”
Fiadh’s shoulders drop, tension ebbing away as she nods, accepting Tiernan’s words. “True,” she whispers. “Feray’s no helpless fawn, but I can’t help worrying.”
“Of course you do, lass, but you can’t do anything from here, and if you get distracted with worrying, it won’t help us find the artifacts or stay alive.” I turn to the pixie, giving her my drawing. “Take this to the others and make sure they know we’re working on an answer about the phoenix’s mark.”
“This I can do, but more to show you,” she replies. Rowena’s tiny fingers dance in the air, trailing sparks of silver and blue. Images flicker to life above our half-eaten plates, each one a captured moment from Feray’s pack. I squint at the moving pictures, recognizing faces, some marred with the signs of battle, others wearing determined scowls.
Once we view the things her sister wanted her to see, our mate pulls out her phone to show my pixie her own images. “Show her this one, and that one,” Fi points at images where laughter softens hardened features. “They’ll let her know we’re okay, not just being pelted with bullshit.”
“Stored they are, in heart and cloud,” Rowena chirps, her voice melodic as her magic weaves through the visuals, tucking them away into an unseen vault.
“Tell her we’re with her, always,” the witch’s voice cracks, but she masks it with a fierce smile.
Rowena nods, her glow brightening for an instant before she winks out of existence, her departure as abrupt as her arrival. The last remnants of magic fade, and a collective sigh ripples through us. We return to our breakfast, the food now somewhat tasteless compared to the rich spectacle of Rowena’s display.
“Ugh, I can’t believe I have to wear that corset again,” Fiadh groans, pushing her plate away. Her face scrunches in distaste at the thought of the concert attire. “Why do we have to dress like Barbie dolls?”
“Because,” Tiernan starts with a teasing glint in his eye, “the masses expect a spectacle, and you, my mate, are quite the sight in silks and ribbons.”
“Mockery will earn you no favors,” she retorts, but a reluctant grin tugs at her lips. “But I guess it was a compliment, too, so I’ll allow it.”
“How are we going to get through this without Sassykilling someone?” Khol asks as he leans his chair back on two legs. “Cause your manager is just begging for her to gut someone.”
“Preparation is key to something this big,” I add, trying to steer the conversation back to practicality. “We synchronize with the stage crew, check the sound systems, and run through the set list… then they’ll dress us. If we keep busy and focused, they won’t screw with her.”
“My people will be here by noon,” Tiernan reminds us, checking the time. “Let’s make sure everything personal or sensitive is ready to go back to Briarvale. We don’t want anything important left behind.”
“Right.” Fiadh pushes back from the table, determination setting in. “The sooner we finish that, the sooner we can focus on tonight’s performance.”
Just like that, our brief respite is over.
We stand, stretching our limbs and leaving a generous tip for our cranky socialist waitress. Together, we march out of the Holy Grail, the chill morning air nipping at our skin—a reminder that despite the warmth of camaraderie, the world outside awaits with its own icy embrace. The cobblestone path to where the bus is parked appears longer than usual, a fitting metaphor for the day stretched out before us.
“Alright, everyone, keep your heads on a swivel,” Tiernan announces as we approach the sleek vehicle that’s more a beast of modern magic than mere transportation. “Staff will swarm in soon, and we need to be ready for them.”
Dezi throws me a supportive nod, his eyes scanning the area like a hawk’s. He’s been quiet, and it makes me wonder what’s going through his head.
