Page 15 of A Sword of Ice
George blew out a breath. “Boring,” hetsked. “Fine. You know my price.”
Fuck.
Iona sighed. “I’ve been compromised, George.”
His eyes blew wide. “Yeah?”
“Fucking Petey.”
George scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Let me guess; you wouldn’t suck his cock?”
Her skin crawled when she thought about it. “You’re correct.”
“Disgusting. It’s a good thing you said no to him. Word on the street is he has a little bit of an itch, if you know what I mean.”
Iona made a face. “I don’t care what he has or here he sticks his dong. I need papers for me and a certified permit to export a polar bear across any border I wish.”
George’s eyes were bright, his pupils blown wide as if he’d smoked a hallucinogen joint, but Iona knew that was just his normal appearance. He loved gossip; he loved knowing things.
George whistled. “That’ll cost a pretty penny, little Elemental.”
“All my money is in my room. And like I said before, I’ve been compromised.”
George pushed his chair backwards, and it scraped along the ground. His palms slapped together, the sound echoing around them. “Rule number one, if you are hiding from the law, never keep your money stashed in the same location you’re staying. Who even taught you to lay low?”
Her eyes rolled. “I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”
His gaze raked over her body. It wasn’t sneering or suggestive like Petey’s, but clinical, like he could see something beneath her skin that she couldn’t. George had never made her feel uncomfortable, despite his profession and quirks that made others recoil. His touch never made her revolt because he always made sure to be respectful in his very light, meaningless flirtations.
Like the brush of a hand across the hips or against her lower back, fingertips against her wrist or hands. It never went beyond that.
She didn’t fear he would ask for something she wasn’t willing to give. Not because he was above asking; she knew he’d asked those who came begging for favors. He’d just never asked awoman. And he would never take what others were unwilling to give freely.
“I like you, Iona,” he said.
The words surprised her, if only because he’d never said them before. “You do?”
He smirked. “Of course. Perhaps I even consider you a bit past the line of acquaintance. Not a friend, I don’t have friends, but close enough to it.”
Her heart beat fast, and she tapped her fingers against her leg. He noticed the movement but didn’t comment.
“Because I like you, I’ll make you a deal—”
“No deals,” she interrupted with the slight narrowing of her eyes.
His eyes flashed with a brief hint of irritation. Iona wasn’t stupid. He may have been High Fae, but he was raised with tricksters. He would love nothing more than a deal, and if she accepted, she’d end up accidentally bartering her soul.
His lips pursed and then curled. “Alright, no deals.” His fingers reached up to tug at a dreadlock. “Fine. I like you, Iona. So I’ll do this for you. Free of charge.”
She had a hard time believing he would be so generous. He must have seen the skepticism in her expression. He just rolled his own and yanked his massive chair towards a different table, this one laden with parchment and glasses of ink.
He picked up a parchment, thin and cream-colored, then reached for a quill that he dipped in a vial of ink. Iona watched with a sort of fascination as he let a single drop of ink fall onto the page, and magic flared around him.
Iona still wasn’t entirely sure what his magic entailed and what the cost of it was, and he didn’t share. Sometimes it seemed as though he could read minds, others as though he could communicate telepathically, and sometimes he seemed like a seer.
How else did that explain the web of theories so strange he weaved?
Whatever it was, she watched as the ink flowed in glowing lines along the paper. Lines made way to loops and trails that spread. When it finished, he went on to the next piece of parchment and did the same.
