Page 49 of The Last Wish of Bristol Keats
The hunched shopkeeper hummed cheerfully as she wrapped Bristol’s purchase, her gnarled hands surprisingly nimble. She had teeth as sharp as Mae’s, but her voice was sweet, almost childlike, with a disposition to match. When she smiled, her pointed fangs sparkled in a friendly way, if that was possible. Bristol had learned not to assume anything about appearances in the fae world. “You’ll love it,” the old woman said. “No shenanigans with this one! Just sweet notes.”
What kind of shenanigans could a tiny flute stir up?Bristol wondered, but only replied, “Good to know.”
The woman wrapped Bristol’s purchase, her gnarled hands surprisingly nimble. She tied some sisal string around the floral paper before handing the package over.Sisal, Bristol thought.Itiscommon here. A few brass horns up on the wall wheezed as Bristol tucked the package in her bag, apparently disappointed that Bristol hadn’t chosen them. Maybe they were the ones more prone to shenanigans? “Thank you,” Bristol said. “I know my sister will love it.”
The squad had separated after lunch to shop on their own, since time was short before they had to be back at the palace, and Bristol had gone searching for gifts for her sisters. This small music shop had immediately caught her eye.
Besides being an immensely talented singer, Cat had never met an instrument she couldn’t play. Give her a day with just about anything—piano, guitar, harp—and Cat could pluck out at least a few tunes. She was remarkable in that way. Bristol smiled, remembering how she would even tap out songs with half-filled drinking glasses and a spoon. Maybe this beautiful little flute would help make up for all the time Bristol had been gone, though a present wasn’t really necessary. For all her worrying and ranting, Cat was quick to forgive. She never held a grudge.
“Bring your sister back with you next time,” the shopkeeper called after Bristol as she left. “I will give her the full tour.”
Bristol smiled. “I’ll try.” She mused on that thought as she walked out the door. Maybe one day she really could bring her sisters here, once Elphame was in a safer, more settled state. She would never dare bring them now.
She had gotten Harper a gift too—a book to make up for the one Harper had to shuck like an ear of corn to pass through the portal. This new one was definitely not a weeded book from the library’s twenty-five-cent bin. It was bound in hand-tooled leather, with gilded edges. It outlined the history of each kingdom in Elphame and their unique features. Harper would love it. Hopefully it would earn Bristol best big sister status forever. Regret tugged inside her. She missed her sisters and wished she hadn’t closed the tiny portal from Tyghan’s study to their mudroom. Just seeing a glimpse of them for a few minutes would lift her heart, but it might also gut her with guilt, especially if Cat started in. For now, letters would have to do. It wouldn’t be much longer until she was home with them—and hopefully with her parents too.Patience, she told herself.It will be worth the wait.
With two gifts secured, Bristol set out to find something for Melizan and Cosette’s wedding day, though she had no clue what that might be. Eventually, she found herself walking down a narrow winding street of curiosities. One shop carried nothing but beautiful jeweled insect brooches—beetles, butterflies, and scorpions. However fascinating, they were not Melizan and Cosette’s style. Another merchant only sold mirrors—hand, wall, and freestanding, all of which had eerie phantom eyes within them that stared back at Bristol. She didn’t linger there for long. Last, she came upon a little store that sold small, beautiful knives—finally something the newlywed knights might appreciate. She picked one up to study a bronze hilt fashioned in the shape of a dragon, a true work of art. It might be perfect. “Hello?” she called, looking for the shopkeeper. Silence was the only reply, so she tried again, walking toward the back of the dim shop.
“Hello? Is there—”
Something slammed into her, and light exploded behind her eyes.
CHAPTER 37
Bristol fell onto a table and heard the tear of fabric and the crash of glass. Before she could scream, the room went dark and icy. She gasped for air that wasn’t there, and then there was another slam—this time harder, into a rough wall that scraped her skin. She sucked in a deep breath, struggling to get her bearings. Musty air filled her lungs. Her arm throbbed. A body pressed close, pinning her against the wall behind her, strong hands clamped around her wrists.
A voice split the air. “Where is he?”
The voice was lightning shooting through her. “Get off me, you ass!” she shouted.
His hands clamped tighter, her burning wrists feeling like they might snap. “Where is he?” he demanded again, pressing harder against her, pain shooting through her shoulder.
She already recognized the voice, but as her eyes adjusted to the dark, she saw Mick’s angry face looming in front of hers.
“Get off me,” she repeated through clenched teeth.
He eased his grip on her wrists, but his hips still pinned her to the wall. “If you answer me, I will.”
“Are you stalking me? What’s wrong with you? Every time I come to the city, you pounce on me?”
“I’m here more often than you think. This city was once ruled by my ancestors. I have friends here.”
With a slight tilt of his head, he made the shadows roll back, and a candle on a table sparked to life. Dim light slithered across the room. Timbers crossed the dark ceiling above her, and darker rugs covered the floor. She felt a cold draft but couldn’t see any windows or even a door. It was sparsely furnished, with only a small table and a bed—an enclosed basement that only someone able to nightjump could reach. Mick was her only way back out.
“Friends? Or do you mean spies who keep you abreast of interesting visitors like me?”
“You’re avoiding my question.”
“Where is who?” she asked, but she knew, of course, who he was burning to find. What was important was staying a step ahead of him.
“My prisoner, Cael. Don’t lie to me. I’ll know if you’re lying.”
Not if she was good at it. And she was. All lies were about making them true. Owning them. Making the stakes your own.
“Sweet fuck, Mick. You’ve got to be kidding me. You’ve lost him?”
He eased his grip on her wrists, and she yanked free. “He escaped.”
“Escaped?How? To where?”
