“Yeah, very helpful,” I grumble. “Destroying my bar the night before the wolf moon.”
He stares at me for a very long time.
“I think I may have a reason why we are in the Underhill,” he says, carefully. “Tell me, did your staff have any magic?”
“Magic? They were witches and warlocks,” I point out.
“But did they actually have an intrinsic earth magic, or could they use spells?”
My hands clench and unclench at my sides. “It doesn’t matter. Not at the Dark Gibbet.”
“So, they didn’t?”
I don’t respond.
“Because if they didn’t have any magic, and you don’t, my Duegar do.”
“The Reivers have magic.”
“But they do not use it. It’s the reason the Faerie fought them so hard,” Warden says.
“So what if magic is performed at my tavern? There’s no law against it.”
Before I can say anything more, Warden has his hand over my mouth, a hiss coming from his lips.
“Your tavern may be the only place in the Night Lands where magic is forbidden,” he says in a hoarse whisper. “Who knows what it awoke.”
As if in answer, a low moaning cry comes from somewhere far beyond the stones surrounding us.
“We need to go, my lady. Before she comes for us.”
“Who?”
“Long Meg. And the daughters of Duddo.”
WARDEN
How could I have been so stupid as to miss the lack of magic at Lady Ryle’s tavern? The one scent singularly absent from the place, but I was too concentrated on her to process it.
Not a single one of the other witches and warlocks present had an ounce of magic. The only thing which seemed to have any presence was the sword she still carries, and yet it has no smell.
Unless it is entirely covered by my lady’s perfume which has become even greater after our show of affection, a mouth grooming which seemed so natural save for I’ve never done it before. If her sword has any magic, I’m not sure I could feel it. Not sure I could feel anything. You could stab me in the heart and I wouldn’t feel it.
I wouldn’t die either but then that’s another matter entirely.
Also, I can’t take my eyes off my lady. She is radiant in this strange place. Her skin flushed, her stunning eyes dewy. The dress she wears sheens with an iridescent hue. And she’s armed.
I’m not sure I could have found a better mate.
“Come,” I beckon to her and we start walking.
“How do you know where to go?” she asks, hitching up her skirts and tucking some parts of them in her waistband so she can better navigate the boggy and uneven terrain.
It means I get a glimpse of pink flesh every now and then which sends a spike of heat directly to my crotch.
“I don’t.”
“And you’re intending wandering round and round forever, are you?”
