Page 95 of Love & Heart Braking

I quirked a brow. “Good luck with that.”

He’d need it.

And so would I.

21

I tended to lick my wounds at home by consuming an avocado and a bar of chocolate. Soleil tended to get so drunk she couldn’t walk—or fly.

There was only one place in Nepos a person was assured of doing that in company.

I picked my way between the thick crowd on Mercury’s Bend. Unlike Bain, Soleil didn’t have a regular spot here. I was the same. There were just too many great bars to choose from. She didn’t usually hit B Sharp when she was going on a real bender because we knew the staff and her brand of misery preferred strangers. That eliminated one bar out of… one hundred and twenty-seven at last count. Some of them, like B Sharp, were huge. Others were a single room up three flights of stairs.

In summary, I needed to find a jazz troop.

At this hour, most would have found their spots for the first bands of the night, but I eventually spotted a flutter of wings at the mouth of an alley.

“Where you at?” I said breathlessly, hoisting my tote.

There were only three of them. One of the wings on the oldest man was crinkled and his gut hung out from beneath his stained singlet. Jazz pixies usually prided themselves on their quirky style, so I could honestly say the sloppy sight of this guy was a first.

He belched. “Where you at?”

The other two grimaced and the sole female shot me an apologetic look.

I smiled. “I’m spying for a lady. Smooth tone, flaming keys, ripping up notes faster than smoke. Chh-cha?”

The older pixie waved me away, but then proceeded to lose altitude fast, coming to rest on a bag of rubbish. He started snoring.

The younger male flew closer. “Smooth tone?”

A siren, yep. “Chh-cha. Stompin’ and a’rompin.”

He grimaced. “Stompin’ and a’rompin? Plucking the heavy bass, little lady. Broken a string at Improv. Trumpets sounded.”

Shit. “Improv?”

The woman shook her head. “Bounced. Lining Ragtime. Bounced double time.”

“Moon over the bayou?”

“Two shakes, one step.”

Twenty-one minutes ago? There’s no way she’d still be there if the Ragtime bouncer refused her entry too. “Boogie bop.” I dipped my head. “Gotta swing.”

“Keep jivin’, little lady!” they chimed.

I headed back down the street the way I’d come. Soleil was last seen at Ragtime. It wasn’t far. I leaped over a passed-out centaur and eased between two earth guardians singing out of tune at the top of their sizeable lungs. Racing between an imp leaning against the wall of a bar and a boggart on the other side of the pavement, I backtracked, then grabbed both of their wrists in succession to drag them together. Good love match. Leaving them to moon over each other, I ducked to avoid a hurled bottle, then crossed the street to circumnavigate a massive brawl.

On second thought, I paused and glanced back.

At least thirty descendants were involved in the fight. One was a water mage, judging by the odd jet of blasted water and an enraged gnome that threw himself at the face of a werewolf.

A flash of red. I blew out a breath.

There she was. Right in the center.

No way was I getting into that. “Soleil,” I hollered, cupping both hands around my mouth.

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