Page 12 of A House of Cloaks & Daggers

I had no idea what the destruction of a portal entailed precisely, but I had a feeling that the commotion on the upper level of Dante’s was melodramatic at best.

Though he moved with the grace and stealth of any apex predator, the force of Wren’s footsteps sent the entire bookstore trembling beneath him as he marched across the second floor and commenced smashing the entire space into smithereens.

Wood groaned as it was pried apart, glass shattered between the deafeningbangandcrashof impacts as things were thrown from one side of the room to the other, and Wren roared like some sort of monster as he destroyed irreplaceable books and anything else that had the misfortune of residing up there.

When John slunk out of the office with his fist clenched around the ribbon of an oversized key, I gave him a beseeching look through the tears streaming down my face.

He simply shook his head at me. “Dinnae fash,” he muttered. “It must be done.”

Another roar from the High Fae bastard upstairs sent the body of the caenim on the rafters falling to the floor with a soft thud, followed by silence. Swaying a little as I climbed to my feet, I swallowed my sadness so I was free to mouth curses at Wren for worsening the destruction of my beloved bookstore.

I do not have time to cry about it. There is never enough time for me to properly cry about anything.

Another minute passed before Wren reappeared downstairs, swaggering out of an aisle like he didn’t have a care in the world. He made a point of ignoring me and eyed the key dangling from John’s grip instead.

“If you’re High Fae,” I began, squaring my shoulders as I leaned in to catch his eye, “then why don’t you lose the glamour?”

A muscle in Wren’s jaw worked as he gave me a sidelong glance. “You read too many books.”

I narrowed my eyes at him.

“Is it done?” John cut in, eternally unperturbed. He was answered by a sharp nod. “Good. Good. Here—take this.” He unclenched his fingers to display the key on his weary palm.

Wren angled his head to one side and gave him a wry look. “The floor, please.”

“Oh! Aye!” With a shake of his head, John braced a hand on one knee as he bent down to place the key on the hardwood floor. He took a step backwards and gestured to it with both hands. “Please.”

Blinding light filled the room without warning. It was so bright that, for a moment, I could see nothing but a delicate, glittering sheen of white, silver, and gold. Strangely, it wasn’t painful to behold. Images bobbed in front of my eyes, obscured by the light, so faint that I could hardly make out their shapes.

But they were there.

Two people basking in the glow, embracing each other as the light wrapped around them like a swaddle, dancing through time and space—

And then it was gone, swallowed by the hole burned through the floor where the key was only a moment ago.

A small, wimpish groan reverberated from the back of my throat. The hole was tiny as far as holes went, but the list of repairs and maintenance Dante’s would require just kept growing.

“Done,” Wren declared proudly. He counted with his fingers. “Demolition of portal, check. Obliteration of key, check.”

I started to roll my eyes, but he moved into my line of sight.

I froze, stunned. As requested, he’d lost the glamour.

Wren stood even taller than before, and two elongated, pointed ears poked out of either side of his head. He certainly hadn’t used the glamour to dull his beauty or stature; however, asilver chain had appeared around his neck alongside silver rings on his fingers, and he had what looked to be crystal piercings through his earlobes. Noticing my gaze, he flashed a grin at me, full of gleaming white teeth, including two large, flesh-shredding canines.

I finished rolling my eyes.

Apex predator, indeed.

I’d read somewhere that vanity was the greatest weakness of the High Fae, so I mentally ticked that off my list of rumours that were true.

“That sixth caenim will be out there, tracking your scent,” Wren went on casually, toeing the edge of the burn hole with his boot. “You can stay here—”

“Myscent?” I interrupted, panic rising in my voice.

“Yes,yourscent.” He surveyed me for a moment, eyes gleaming as he digested my expression. “I take it back. Clearly, you don’t read enough books.” He sighed. “I told you the caenim are like pets. They’re the property of a wicked race of faeries, used as foot soldiers or cannon fodder. They’re slow, deaf, and blind but well-trained in their other senses, and the only way to stop themandget rid of that nasty stench,” he added, crinkling his perfect nose, “is to kill them. Their one redeeming quality is that they’re usually a fun fight.” He winked at me, irises on fire.

I absently blinked back at him.

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