Page 17 of Sharpen Your Claws

The sprites claimed William worked at the Smelly Place. Their initial descriptions were a hassle to decipher because sprites weren’t known for their exceptional communication. Many preferred physical confrontation and changing the color of their wings to express thoughts. They described the mortal world simply, in terms of color, scent, and “near the house with an ugly man who sneezed a lot” or “next to the pretty old lady and her many kindly cats.”

Sprites recognized most individuals through scent. The sprites described William as clean, yet bloody. Considering his duties, Nicholas assumed he continued his medical practices outside of the military. Eventually, the sprites determined the name where William worked. Nicholas asked butlers at the castle to give him directions, which was how he stood by an ailing warehouse.

The sprites described the clinic well. Smelly was more than appropriate.

His nose curled, and he coughed, overwhelmed by the mixture of blood, body odor, and alcohol. Like patches of moss on damp rocks, rust grew in spots along the exterior. The highest windows had a thin coat of grime while the windows in reach were clean. The street itself did not have the same liveliness as those he had passed previously. Those walking the streets didn’t carry parasols nor have a natural flush to their cheeks. Many had pale skin and sunken eyes, clothes dirty and ripped.

A pair of double doors led into the warehouse. One hung open, letting mortals enter and depart. They clutched brown bags and canned food. A man guarded the door, dressed in a thick jacket and with little more than an old knife tethered to his brawny waist.

Nicholas turned to Evera, intending to warn her about following, but she watched from a rooftop, letting him approach the guard alone.

“Uh, sir, you…” the guard stood an inch taller than Nicholas, and yet shrank in his presence. “This is a clinic for the needy. Fae and their accursed deals are not welcome here.”

“Then it is good I am not here to conduct any deals,” he replied. “Will you allow me to pass, or would you prefer to make this difficult?”

“I cannot let you in if you are to cause trouble.”

“I will not cause trouble. I am here to see William Vandervult.”

“Our doctor?” He glanced at the doors that had fewer visitors. Nicholas’ presence thwarted others from entering. Some gathered at the edge of the building, muttering to each other.

“Yes, we served in the war together.” Nicholas thought William would be upset if he harmed the guard, even if he really, really wanted to. Every moment spent speaking with him meant less time with William. It was infuriating.

“Alright.” The guard sighed and shuffled inside.

Past the doors, two nurses sat at a long table filled with the brown bags and canned food. They, too, gawked at him. He waved because he saw mortals greet each other as such. The action didn’t ease their pale expressions.

As they walked away, he overheard one nurse whisper, “The doctor is fae-cursed. We should have known one of the fae would show up.”

The other whimpered. “Do you think he is the one Dr. Vandervult made a deal with?”

“Most likely. Why else would one be here? I should have left the moment I saw his damned arm.”

“I can’t imagine why he would make a cursed deal.”

Nicholas cast a dark look over his shoulder. The nurses squeaked. He heaved a long breath through his nostrils, reminding himself William would be displeased if he made a mess by putting his hands on anyone. Twitching his fingers and cracking his neck, he ignored any urge to maim and kept walking.

The guard guided him past cots, patients, and nurses. Each gave a different reaction than the last, choking, spitting, or squealing. Whispers spread through the room by the time the guard and Nicholas reached stairs leading to an office.

“Dr. Vandervult’s office is up there,” the guard explained, trying to sound frightening. “I am right outside, so should you start trouble, I will know of it.”

Nicholas didn’t care. He hopped the stairs two at a time. He threw open the office door, heart swelling at the sight of William. The doctor sat at a desk overlooking mounds of paper. So many he was hardly visible behind them, save the tip of his emerald eyes more enchanting than ever.

William dropped his papers. “Nicholas?”

“Good morning, my wicked.”

7

William

Nicholasstoodinthedoorway, beaming in false cheer. His presence was too strange, familiar in an uncanny way. It had been two days since the ball, longer than he expected to go without seeing Nicholas, but he remained unprepared for the interaction.

His heart dropped, then sputtered, then stopped all together. He couldn’t determine if the emotions were that of excitement or dread. He stumbled toward the windows. Work continued below, but the nurses cast his office fearful glances.

He closed every blind. “You cannot be here. This is my place of work. The very sight of you will unsettle my patients, let alone my nurses.”

“Are they not frightened by you already?” Nicholas grasped his hand to kiss the silver knuckles. “They call you fae-cursed because of your arm, do they not?”

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