me to a place where I’ll be surrounded by them?”
“Something like that.” I glance to the door. Whoever drafted that contract will be here soon—they’d have felt the death of the band members immediately. “Now come on, before they get here. We can discuss the intricacies of faerie politics later.”
“I don’t go home with girls when I don’t even know their name,” she says. There’s definitely a hint of a grin now, and it’s too forward a statement to think it’s just me. Maybe this wasn’t such a bust of a night after all.
“Claire,” I say. I begin fishing around in my jacket pocket. The one without all the knives.
“And how are we getting to this other world, Claire?”
It sounds so silly when she says it, like she can’t believe it even though her band members are currently dead and lying in pools of multicolored blood. I pull out a piece of chalk and hold it up with a grin.
“Magic, of course.”
Then I turn and start drawing a portal on the back of her bus door.
Mab is going to kill me for this. She hates it when I bring pets home.
Six
Roxie’s clearly been dealing with some supernatural shit.
She doesn’t seem at all perturbed by the chalk portal I draw on the bus’s wall, nor does she freak out when she steps toward it and finds herself standing in my study back in Winter. About the only thing she does to reveal any surprise is shiver. I can’t blame her—she’s not wearing anything beyond that leopard-print dress, and that was definitely made for sweating it out on a stage. I flick a wrist and fireplaces roar into life. There are two in the study, each with a lintel carved to resemble a crouching griffin and roaring dragon respectively. Warmth immediately floods the room, but I know it’s a relative term when living in the land of eternal winter.
“I should have let you grab a coat,” I mutter, suddenly remembering just how messy the rest of my space is. The study’s about the only place that’s sacred to me, at least in terms of cleanliness. “Wait here for a moment.”
I head into the living room. There are clothes all over the place, and I sadly have yet to get Mab’s jewelers to craft me an Amulet of Cleaning or something awesomely useful like that, so I pull the college bro maneuver and run around, tossing bits of clothing into piles, throwing blankets on said piles, and trying to make it look like this place doesn’t double as a frat house. (And no, I’ve never been to college, but I’ve taken down enough Fey on college campuses to know what they’re like.)
Then I run into my bedroom and do much the same, though in here at least there’s less clothing and more weaponry. As for getting Roxie something warmer . . .
I rush over to my cabinet and throw it open. She’s a lot curvier than I am, but a bit shorter, so I grab a velvet nightgown and some soft, stretchy pajamas that will hopefully do the trick. When I head to the study to meet her, she’s already in the living room, examining one of the many weapons racks along the wall.
“I wouldn’t touch that, if I were you,” I say. Her hand hovers a few inches from a large bastard sword, the blade of which is a sickly acidic green. If that doesn’t scream poison ,I don’t know what does.
She drops her hand and turns, looking at me suspiciously.
“What did you say you do for a living?” she asks.
I walk over and hand her the clothes.
“They should fit,” I say. Then, “And I didn’t say. I’m an assassin.”
“So you use these. To kill people.”
I shrug. “Mostly. Some are just for show. Spoils of war and all that. That bastard sword’s a bitch to try and wield.” She doesn’t say anything, but I can tell that’s because she’s holding back.
“Are you judging me?” I ask. I almost laugh. “I just saved your life and you’re judging me?”
“I never said that.”
“Yeah, but I can tell you’re thinking it.” And I usually can, too—part of Mab’s training was learning
“Something like that.” I glance to the door. Whoever drafted that contract will be here soon—they’d have felt the death of the band members immediately. “Now come on, before they get here. We can discuss the intricacies of faerie politics later.”
“I don’t go home with girls when I don’t even know their name,” she says. There’s definitely a hint of a grin now, and it’s too forward a statement to think it’s just me. Maybe this wasn’t such a bust of a night after all.
“Claire,” I say. I begin fishing around in my jacket pocket. The one without all the knives.
“And how are we getting to this other world, Claire?”
It sounds so silly when she says it, like she can’t believe it even though her band members are currently dead and lying in pools of multicolored blood. I pull out a piece of chalk and hold it up with a grin.
“Magic, of course.”
Then I turn and start drawing a portal on the back of her bus door.
Mab is going to kill me for this. She hates it when I bring pets home.
Six
Roxie’s clearly been dealing with some supernatural shit.
She doesn’t seem at all perturbed by the chalk portal I draw on the bus’s wall, nor does she freak out when she steps toward it and finds herself standing in my study back in Winter. About the only thing she does to reveal any surprise is shiver. I can’t blame her—she’s not wearing anything beyond that leopard-print dress, and that was definitely made for sweating it out on a stage. I flick a wrist and fireplaces roar into life. There are two in the study, each with a lintel carved to resemble a crouching griffin and roaring dragon respectively. Warmth immediately floods the room, but I know it’s a relative term when living in the land of eternal winter.
“I should have let you grab a coat,” I mutter, suddenly remembering just how messy the rest of my space is. The study’s about the only place that’s sacred to me, at least in terms of cleanliness. “Wait here for a moment.”
I head into the living room. There are clothes all over the place, and I sadly have yet to get Mab’s jewelers to craft me an Amulet of Cleaning or something awesomely useful like that, so I pull the college bro maneuver and run around, tossing bits of clothing into piles, throwing blankets on said piles, and trying to make it look like this place doesn’t double as a frat house. (And no, I’ve never been to college, but I’ve taken down enough Fey on college campuses to know what they’re like.)
Then I run into my bedroom and do much the same, though in here at least there’s less clothing and more weaponry. As for getting Roxie something warmer . . .
I rush over to my cabinet and throw it open. She’s a lot curvier than I am, but a bit shorter, so I grab a velvet nightgown and some soft, stretchy pajamas that will hopefully do the trick. When I head to the study to meet her, she’s already in the living room, examining one of the many weapons racks along the wall.
“I wouldn’t touch that, if I were you,” I say. Her hand hovers a few inches from a large bastard sword, the blade of which is a sickly acidic green. If that doesn’t scream poison ,I don’t know what does.
She drops her hand and turns, looking at me suspiciously.
“What did you say you do for a living?” she asks.
I walk over and hand her the clothes.
“They should fit,” I say. Then, “And I didn’t say. I’m an assassin.”
“So you use these. To kill people.”
I shrug. “Mostly. Some are just for show. Spoils of war and all that. That bastard sword’s a bitch to try and wield.” She doesn’t say anything, but I can tell that’s because she’s holding back.
“Are you judging me?” I ask. I almost laugh. “I just saved your life and you’re judging me?”
“I never said that.”
“Yeah, but I can tell you’re thinking it.” And I usually can, too—part of Mab’s training was learning
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