Except whatever Briar is, which, yes, dark fae. But there are a lot of different kinds of dark fae. In my experience, small as it is, they are never alone. Why is she?
I’ve got a lot of questions for Briar, actually. It just never seems like the right time to ask them.
We all sit down around the kitchen table, and Briar takes a sip of the thick, creamy concoction that Winter puts before her. “That is good,” she says, sounding surprised. “I’ve only ever had the instant stuff.”
“That’s actual heresy in this house,” Winter tells her. “Just so you’re aware.”
I would describe the silence that descends after that as companionable. Sweet, even.
That feels like progress, so I jump in. “What exactly do you do all the time?” I ask Briar. “Winter has a job. So do I.”
“You do?” Winter interjects, looking shocked.
“I do.” I shake my head at her. “Did you think I was a lady of leisure? Biker bitch–style?”
“Yes,” they both say, at the same time.
“I will take that up with Ty immediately. I should have been treated better this entire time.”
When they both continue to stare at me, I relent. “I do office stuff. The pack has certain business ventures, and I oversee them.”
Briar looks bored by that, which is how I like it. Winter doesn’t look convinced, but then, she knows me better.
“Why do you keep working at the coffee place if you’re the whole big-deal oracle now?” Briar asks Winter. “If people don’t want to pay for you to see their future, you don’t have to tell them, do you? Is it like ... a calling?”
“It is a calling.” Winter wrinkles up her nose. “Not one you can choose not to take, either. And it pays as well as I want it to pay. But I like coffee.”
She says that so adamantly that I don’t have the heart to point out that I think what she really likes is something that makes her feel likewhoever the fuck she was before the Reveal. I’m betting she probably knows that already. Or is choosing not to know it. Either way, who am I to force a confrontation with oneself?
“I have a knitting shop,” Briar says.
I do not look at Winter. I do everything in my power not to look at Winter, but I can feel her stiffen beside me with the same astonishment.
Briar looks from her to me, then smirks. “Of course I don’t have a fucking knitting shop.” She takes a swig of her hot chocolate. “There’s a bar down by the old factories. On the railroad tracks, pretty much. I’m a bartender.”
“Gold Rush,” I say. “Is that still around? Didn’t it used to be called something else?”
“I always thought that was a weird place to have a bar,” Winter says. “Maybe if they hadn’t taken so long building all those apartments there it would have made more sense. Instead it’s all factories and logging paraphernalia and that weird McAndrews overpass and then—oh. A bar.”
“It’s still a bar,” Briar tells us. “The menus are a little bit different. Caters to the Kind. And that’s how I have rent money.”
“I’m always looking for a good watering hole.” I laugh when they both look at me. “I am. All the ones I know of are overrun with wolves.”
Winter frowns at me. “Surely a feature, not a bug.”
“I love my pack. I love being a wolf and everything wolf-related.” I lift my mug and mock-toast them with it. “And sometimes, I like to keep my skin on and stop thinking about pack dynamics for five seconds.”
“There’s a strict no-bullshit rule,” Briar tells us. “The owner, Mac, is part river snake. He takes that shit seriously.”
“Nobody likes to go to a bar and end up dead,” I say. “It ruins the vibe.”
Winter’s eyes gleam as she drinks from her cup.
Briar looks at me seriously. “There’s no point worrying about death. You have to think about the fact that it’s part of life. Whether you’reimmortal and therefore exist in opposition to death, or mortal and are therefore dying from the moment you’re born, none of us escape it.”
When we both stare back at her, she shrugs and looks down at her mug. “I don’t know. I find that soothing.”
After Briar’s gone off somewhere—presumably to her bartending gig—Winter and I lie on the living room floor, staring up into the branches of the tree, as if we can take on all that sparkle by osmosis.
