Page 19 of Kiss of Smoke

I could tell she was deviously trying to turn this into the exclusive interview she wanted. Oriande had been growing on me, but the question still irked me. “No. I was a bike courier, and then I spent a lot of time posing as a hooker. I’m still in training for the actual law enforcement part.”

Oak coughed into his sleeve behind me, and Oriande shot him a sharp look. “What’s your relationship with Goodfellow? He has his pick of the cream of the Garda crop, but—”

Jack wheeled around. Oriande shut up when he was almost nose to nose with her.

“Save the questions for later,” he said quietly. “Ifshe wants to answer them at all.”

Even Noctifer was watching Oriande with narrowed eyes. I didn’t envy her being on the receiving end of that look, as though he were debating if he had enough room to swing his sword.

Oriande held up her hands in a gesture of compliance, smiling tightly. “No harm, no foul. Reporters would give their left arm for an exclusive with Goodfellow’s closest agent and apparent confidante. It’s the nature of the job.”

“And the nature of ours is to be fucking quiet right now,” Gwyn growled.

Oriande zipped her lips. Wise choice, if you asked me.

Especially since new sounds had cropped up, floating down the passage.

Gwyn held a finger to his lips, and we slowly made our way down. The ghostlights dimmed until we could only see a foot or so in front of us.

But the passage finally branched…and there were people waiting for us.

7

My heartalmost leaped out of my chest when I saw several figures standing in the dark, but Gwyn stepped forward, his lights brightening, and I saw the skulls beneath the faces, the braided hair, the biker jackets.

They were Wild Hunters, and neither of them looked happy to see us.

One looked over Gwyn with narrowed eyes, focusing on the small silver badge on his jacket. “Ap Nudd, you’ve sold out.”

“Working for Goodfellow,” the other said, shaking his head so his red braids, tied with bones and feathers, clinked against each other. “Might as well turn in your jacket and go live in a mansion like the rest of them.”

Gwyn shrugged, emanating complete peace. “It’s not for Goodfellow. I have my own reasons.”

The one with a shaved head and tiny horns ringing his head looked past Gwyn, right at me. “Right. Your own reasons. Why did you call us here?”

“We’re searching the tunnels for any sign of the Souls. If you’ve seen anything, heard anything—we want to know about it.” Gwyn crossed his arms, staring them down.

Both Hunters were silent for a moment. “It’s against our Code,” Red finally said. “Which you know, ap Nudd.”

That was when I realized how much of a sacrifice Gwyn had made for my sake. He wasn’t meant to be on one side or the other. The Wild Hunters were liminal Fae, belonging to no one but themselves.

But now he’d given up his role in the Hunt, and it was all because of me.

“You both owe me debts,” Gwyn told them. “Help us with this, and I’ll forgive those debts forevermore.”

The Hunters glanced at each other, shifting in place, and Red finally tossed his head again. “Very well. We accept this, but if you call on us again, ap Nudd…we can’t be responsible for what might happen. You’re not part of the Hunt anymore, and we’re not your dogs.”

Ceri’s ears perked up at this, and he exposed his long, sharp teeth in a silent growl. I scratched behind one of his pointed ears and the hound licked my hand.

“No shit,” Gwyn said. “Now, have you seen anything out of place?”

Red sighed. “There’s been some unusual activity on this level. None of us come up this far—the wild magic is a little fucked right now. But we’re pretty sure something has been moving in and out of here.”

“You didn’t even take a look?” I asked indignantly, the question popping out before I could stop it.

Horns just stared at me impassively. “The Ghosthand is not the Hunt’s business, dryad. You seem to have gotten ap Nudd mixed up with one of your boyfriends. He should be riding with the dead, not playing happy household with you.”

The scorn was evident in his voice, and I felt Noctifer move past me, violence written in every line of his body, but Gwyn stopped him.

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