Page 24 of Bloody Bargain
Another car rolled past the cemetery, taking potholes and puddles with caution. I felt the pressure of D’abel several paces behind me, standing stark white and nearly stark naked atop the hill for anyone below to see. At least the sheep gave him some cover.
“You should stay down. You’ll make regular humans panic,” I told him again.
“I do not bother the sheep. Why would I bother the tin carriage?”
I took a steadying breath. He was teasing me again. I couldfeelhis grin on the back of my neck. “The person inside will panic.”
“Only if I am seen, my lady.”
I resisted rolling my eyes, swallowing a brick of mush a little too soon so I felt the edges going down. “You will definitely be seen, D’abel. You’re impossible to not look at.”
“Myn chaliscompliments me. It gladdens my weary spirit.”
I cut a glare over my shoulder. D’abel smiled. No… he smirked.
“Regardless, you can’t follow me down there.” I raised my brow in challenge.
D’abel breathed in the air and laced his fingers together behind his head. His long tail, which had hovered mere inches above the ground as we walked, beat the grass in languid thought as that smirk widened.
“Theaufhave two or three particular tells that might aid your hunting.”
My graceless chewing slowed, pulse picking up with interest. “What sort of tells?”
His lips split open, revealing his thin white teeth, so many more than a human mouth would have.
“I will divulge the particularsifyou allow me to accompany you. We are tied, are we not?”
I immediately regretted engaging in his change of subject. Treacherous indeed.
“It’s not a matter of me allowing you. You’re wearing a loin cloth and your face splits open like a python when you smile. If they don’t try to murder us with pitchforks, they’ll call agents in white hazmat suits that’ll make us disappear.”
D’abel’s gaze fixed on the village lodge and his tail curled around my ruined duffel. He dragged it in as the smile slid off his features.
“They will see what they want to, my lady,” he murmured, securing the pack on his shoulders. It was strange seeing him wear it–all porcelain muscle with the bulk of modern supplies on his back. “Humans have an unrivaled talent for casting illusions upon themselves.”
He set off down the hill without me, navigating the edge of a fence line towards the gate in the corner of the field.
It wasn’t Bronaber but another town with a long name and very few vowels. The lodge was closed for the season, prompting me to kick its fence with my muddy boot in frustration. There were no other regular hotels, only sweet cottages with low stone walls and beds of flowers rotting in the extreme wet. We walked into the only bed and breakfast, a cottage like all the others with a round wooden placard out front.
“Don’t speak,” I said, making sure the bloody part of my sweater sleeve was still rolled under.
“Hellooo!” A woman in her autumn years bustled out from the kitchen, her peppery black hair back in a bandana, towel wadded in her wet hands. She looked at me, then her eyes fastened on D’abel and my soul threatened to escape my body. I held my breath, waiting for the shriek of fear that was sure to pierce my ears, but the woman’s pale cheeks just turned rosy and flustered. She fanned herself with the wet towel and I cut a sharp look at D’abel’s very pleased grin.
“Don’t even,” I warned. His smile widened, splitting open the sides of his face with devilish satisfaction.
“Ohhyfryd,such a gentleman, carrying his lady’s things. Here for a room, yes? Will you also be wanting tea? I’ve just started.”
“Just a room,” I replied, letting the tension out with a relaxed laugh. “I need a shower so bad.”
“Far be it from me to comment on the weather ‘round here, but aye, let’s get you settled before you niff up my entry,” the woman winked. “For how many nights will you be staying?”
“Two, thank you.”
D’abel stared at me oddly as I talked with the owner. She babbled on about views, the kitchen, and laundry, all while recounting some of the history of the house. Really, I cared for none of it, but my easy smile and noises of affirmation lead her to believe otherwise.
She showed us up to the room on the second floor, chatting the whole way, telling us how old the building was, how the water worked, asking if we’d like breakfast or any other meals. Then handed me a key with a pale yellow key sleeve she’d crocheted herself, and I unlocked the door.
The room was small and filled to the brim with the color yellow. Lemony flowers on the hand-embroidered curtains, a saffron quilt covered in butterflies with accents of spring green and blue. Even the vanity, just far enough from the bed to pull out its cushioned stool, was a pale yellow gold.
