Page 29 of The Enemy to the Living
“Have to be polite,” Sparrow says, like it’s something I should know. “Otherwise, it might not stay a bar top at all.”
“You—What?”
Sparrow’s smile widens. They’ve got me now, and they know it. “Most of the things in here Spectra made herself. Us fae, we connect to the earth, even here. She asked the oak to be the bestbar top it could be. It’ll never break, never give anyone so much as a splinter.”
I stretch my fingers out. I can’t feel magic, so I can’t tell if there’s any running through it, but it feels real and solid, and that’s what I need.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
Sparrow presses their hand more firmly against mine before they remove it. “Anytime. The place I sent you…”
“It’s all fine,” I say. Anything that’s happened as a result of the twins isn’t Sparrow’s fault. Nothing badhashappened. Tonight’s loss was because of me and Asher, not anyone else.
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah. I’m sure.” I eye the door Maurice vanished through. “I should go, though.”
“I don’t think he’ll tell.” Sparrow’s never asked why I wouldn’t tell the rest of the pack what I’m doing. I think they know, truth be told. “Maurice tends to keep things to himself.”
I shake my head, pushing the rest of my beer aside. “No, I know. I just…”
Sparrow nods. “Okay. You know you’re always welcome here, don’t you?”
I smile, and it feels like the first real one since I saw Bryn earlier. “Yeah, I do.”
Chapter Eleven
Asher
I’veleftMauricetogo in and speak to Spectra alone. Any intel we can get on the twins is useful, and she’s got an ear to the ground when it comes to the fae in London. I loiter across the street, watching the entrance to Beyond the Veil—disguised as it is as the lobby to a block of flats. The new tattoo has mostly healed already, small as it is, but I have my sleeve rolled up so Ican run my fingers over it, admiring the new sharp shock of ink against my skin.
I look up when someone steps out into the night, eyes narrowing as I instantly recognise who it is.
Quinn.
What is he doing here? He went home, didn’t he? I’m sure he meant to, so how did he end up here?
He doesn’t even look in my direction as he wanders down the street. I frown, hesitating, then follow at a safe distance. I can text Maurice once I’ve figured out what’s going on—he’s got enough control of his blessing that he’ll be able to tell I wasn’t attacked or anything like that.
Quinn doesn’t seem to notice as I follow him down one street and then the next. It takes me a while to realise where he’s heading, and when I do, the same anger I felt earlier tonight flares white-hot.
The Green Man is no place for a wolf like Quinn to spend his time. Maurice doesn’t tell me much about Njáll—he prefers to keep his relationship to himself—but I know he was nearly bewitched by two fae in there, and he’s the vampires’ crai.
Quinn is nobody to them. Being a wolf might make him harder for a fae to magically charm but not impossible, and he’s young and untethered.
I catch up to him and grab his arm before I can stop myself. Quinn whirls around to face me, and I’ve caught him so clearly off guard because he doesn’t react defensively at all; he just stares at me with big, guileless eyes.
The expression vanishes within seconds. A scowl replaces it, but there’s something fragile about his air, as though he is hanging on by a thread. “Asher? What are you doing here?”
“Where are you going?”
The pub is in sight. Quinn wants to look back and betray himself, I know that, but he holds himself rigid instead, shoulders tight.
“None of your business.”
“I thought you were going home tonight?”
“I did.”
