smiled, and I returned the gesture. Mostly for making healing aids. Got it. He wasn’t about to say what the rest were for. “Maybe I should take the knife off before I try jumping on you next time? Is that what you’re suggesting?”
“Maybe not a bad idea. It’s all fun and games until one of us bleeds to death.”
His tone was joking, but I’d seen what those blades did. Lucen had only been nicked by one once. If it weren’t for having a magical remedy quickly on hand, he might well have bled out from it. The memory of seeing so much of his blood everywhere still horrified me.
He probably noticed my anxiety because he kissed me again, less chastely this time but with none of his magic behind it. “So you want to know about how F is made?”
I almost knocked my wineglass into one of his jars in surprise. He was going to talk, after all? “I’d appreciate learning whatever you’re willing to share.”
“Honestly, little siren, I don’t make it, so I can only tell you in the most general of general senses. So back to your first question—yes, it’s usually made by satyrs because it requires certain bodily fluids that would be challenging to get without our cooperation.”
I choked on the wine. “Really? That’s what goes into it?”
He laughed. “Sweat. It’s a potent source of pheromones. Get your mind out of the gutter.”
“Ah, okay. I mean, not that I’d have been shocked or anything if it were something else.”
Lucen continued to silently chuckle as he finished his wine. “In the future, keep in mind that you never want to ask what the goblins put in their fertility charms.”
I shuddered. “Thanks for the warning. So anything else you can tell me about F?”
“Don’t know. You tell me—what was the F contaminated with? Magic or mundane?”
“Magic.”
He flipped the burgers thoughtfully. “Then I can’t tell you much except if it’s being cut with something, it’s probably happening with one of the dealers.”
“That doesn’t make sense. Dealers are usually addicts. They’d have to be buying charms or curses off another pred to mix in. Why would they do that?”
“I have no idea, but she—” He swore and shut the grill.
“She? It’s a she who produces F? Just one person?”
Lucen opened the deck’s screen door with unnecessary force. “Jess, if you want me to ask some questions for you, I can. But you’re on the wrong trail, and you’re just going to have to take my word on that and any answers I get.”
“Not good enough. Nine people are dead, and you know who produces our best lead.”
He returned to the deck a moment later, carrying a plate and some cheese. “Nine people are dead, and it has nothing to do with us. Why is everyone so eager to blame us for murder these days? First it was the sylphs. Now it’s you. I think you’d have learned. It’s probably the furies again. We’re the least violent of your so-called pred races.”
Generally speaking, that was true. “Well, it would be convenient if it were the furies, since they already hate me. This doesn’t seem like their M.O. though.”
Lucen handed me the burger plate. “Nor ours, little siren. Don’t forget that.”
Chapter Eight
I scored a second good night’s rest in a row, then snuck out of bed Monday morning while Lucen slept. After a quick trip to my apartment so I could refill my overnight bag, I headed into work.
There was something thrillingly strange about being around so many Gryphons and clipping an ID badge to my shirt while knowing that last night I’d been sleeping with the so-called enemy. Badge or no badge, I didn’t fit in around this place for a multitude of reasons.
That didn’t affect my enthusiasm, however, when I saw what was hanging on the back of my desk chair. “Sweet.”
Someone had dropped off an official windbreaker. Black with gold lettering and the winged insignia on the back, it was the sort of jacket Gryphons wore over their uniforms in chillier
“Maybe not a bad idea. It’s all fun and games until one of us bleeds to death.”
His tone was joking, but I’d seen what those blades did. Lucen had only been nicked by one once. If it weren’t for having a magical remedy quickly on hand, he might well have bled out from it. The memory of seeing so much of his blood everywhere still horrified me.
He probably noticed my anxiety because he kissed me again, less chastely this time but with none of his magic behind it. “So you want to know about how F is made?”
I almost knocked my wineglass into one of his jars in surprise. He was going to talk, after all? “I’d appreciate learning whatever you’re willing to share.”
“Honestly, little siren, I don’t make it, so I can only tell you in the most general of general senses. So back to your first question—yes, it’s usually made by satyrs because it requires certain bodily fluids that would be challenging to get without our cooperation.”
I choked on the wine. “Really? That’s what goes into it?”
He laughed. “Sweat. It’s a potent source of pheromones. Get your mind out of the gutter.”
“Ah, okay. I mean, not that I’d have been shocked or anything if it were something else.”
Lucen continued to silently chuckle as he finished his wine. “In the future, keep in mind that you never want to ask what the goblins put in their fertility charms.”
I shuddered. “Thanks for the warning. So anything else you can tell me about F?”
“Don’t know. You tell me—what was the F contaminated with? Magic or mundane?”
“Magic.”
He flipped the burgers thoughtfully. “Then I can’t tell you much except if it’s being cut with something, it’s probably happening with one of the dealers.”
“That doesn’t make sense. Dealers are usually addicts. They’d have to be buying charms or curses off another pred to mix in. Why would they do that?”
“I have no idea, but she—” He swore and shut the grill.
“She? It’s a she who produces F? Just one person?”
Lucen opened the deck’s screen door with unnecessary force. “Jess, if you want me to ask some questions for you, I can. But you’re on the wrong trail, and you’re just going to have to take my word on that and any answers I get.”
“Not good enough. Nine people are dead, and you know who produces our best lead.”
He returned to the deck a moment later, carrying a plate and some cheese. “Nine people are dead, and it has nothing to do with us. Why is everyone so eager to blame us for murder these days? First it was the sylphs. Now it’s you. I think you’d have learned. It’s probably the furies again. We’re the least violent of your so-called pred races.”
Generally speaking, that was true. “Well, it would be convenient if it were the furies, since they already hate me. This doesn’t seem like their M.O. though.”
Lucen handed me the burger plate. “Nor ours, little siren. Don’t forget that.”
Chapter Eight
I scored a second good night’s rest in a row, then snuck out of bed Monday morning while Lucen slept. After a quick trip to my apartment so I could refill my overnight bag, I headed into work.
There was something thrillingly strange about being around so many Gryphons and clipping an ID badge to my shirt while knowing that last night I’d been sleeping with the so-called enemy. Badge or no badge, I didn’t fit in around this place for a multitude of reasons.
That didn’t affect my enthusiasm, however, when I saw what was hanging on the back of my desk chair. “Sweet.”
Someone had dropped off an official windbreaker. Black with gold lettering and the winged insignia on the back, it was the sort of jacket Gryphons wore over their uniforms in chillier
Similar Books
