her. Which is yet another strange situation, because I definitely shouldn’t be trusting her right now. She’s still a suspect.
“Okay then. I’m going out for a while. The bathroom’s through there and there are snacks in the fridge if you’re hungry.” Fridge might be a misnomer. It’s more an icebox, with a literal chunk of enchanted ice. But she’ll get the drift.
I force myself to standing and turn toward the door.
“Claire,” she says softly.
I pause. Why does my heart leap when she says it? Maybe I should eat something—it’s the only explanation I’ll admit to myself for why my brain isn’t responding to any of this properly.
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for saving me.”
“Of course. I try not to kill unless ordered to.”
Which is why I’ll talk to Mab tomorrow. Otherwise you won’t be thanking me for long.
I close the door behind me and lean against it, trying to collect my thoughts. Roxie shouldn’t be here. She should not be a part of this equation. Having her here in my room makes no sense; neither does leaving her alone. If she were a normal fling I’d have my way with her and get it over with like all the other boys and girls and playthings in between. I have a job to do, and she’s getting in the way. If I were thinking straight, I’d send her back home and use her as bait to find her employer. I shake my head.
“Get ahold of yourself,” I mutter.
I turn to my door and run my hand along the doorframe, funneling a small amount of power into the magic embedded in the stone. Glyphs flare to life under my fingertips, and I feel the magic race through my room, sealing off all the exits, rendering any magic used inside moot. It’s a dangerous magic, but I made it so only I can trigger it—otherwise I know Mab would use it against me. Hell, she’s the one I learned it from as a kid. Had to keep me in line somehow.
Once I know Roxie’s safe and secure, I turn and stalk off down the hall. I know Pan will want to chat, and I definitely know Mab will expect a debrief. But they’re both used to my nature—I’ve never been the most talkative after a hit. At least my years of being a hermit have helped with something.
The joys of living in an enchanted castle are many, but the main one is the ease with which you can escape. Getting around inside? Tricky as sin. But getting out is cake.
One door later and I’m outside, in one of the many back alleys that stretch out from the castle wall like a spiderweb. I can’t get Roxie out of my mind as I head toward the bar. I try every trick I’ve been taught, every meditative practice and mantra. I even try jabbing my finger with a dagger to focus on the pain. But it doesn’t work. As I trek through the cold streets of Winter, all I can think about is her curled up on my sofa, her changing into my pajamas, her wondering what’s to become of the rest of her life.
I should be focusing on the job at hand. On the logistics. Someone out there is clearly funneling Dream, and they’re not afraid to be bold in their strokes. They’re infiltrating our usual sources and creating new ones—big hitters. So whoever this is isn’t interested in hiding. They want to make an impression. They want to show they mean business.
I should care. I should be worried. Or plotting. Or actually giving a shit about who is behind all of this. But I don’t. I can only think about Roxie. And as everything else in my life feels like it’s falling apart, I can’t help but admit that I like it.
The Lewd Unicorn’s pretty dead for this time of night, not that any of the other bars along the strip are faring any better. Now that I know just how dire Winter’s resources are, I can’t help but feel a sort of desperation here—the need to forget what you can’t afford to waste. I wonder how many of the citizens here are actually feeling the pinch, or if Mab’s keeping up a lavish air right up to the very last drop of Dream.
In any case, the regulars are still
“Okay then. I’m going out for a while. The bathroom’s through there and there are snacks in the fridge if you’re hungry.” Fridge might be a misnomer. It’s more an icebox, with a literal chunk of enchanted ice. But she’ll get the drift.
I force myself to standing and turn toward the door.
“Claire,” she says softly.
I pause. Why does my heart leap when she says it? Maybe I should eat something—it’s the only explanation I’ll admit to myself for why my brain isn’t responding to any of this properly.
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for saving me.”
“Of course. I try not to kill unless ordered to.”
Which is why I’ll talk to Mab tomorrow. Otherwise you won’t be thanking me for long.
I close the door behind me and lean against it, trying to collect my thoughts. Roxie shouldn’t be here. She should not be a part of this equation. Having her here in my room makes no sense; neither does leaving her alone. If she were a normal fling I’d have my way with her and get it over with like all the other boys and girls and playthings in between. I have a job to do, and she’s getting in the way. If I were thinking straight, I’d send her back home and use her as bait to find her employer. I shake my head.
“Get ahold of yourself,” I mutter.
I turn to my door and run my hand along the doorframe, funneling a small amount of power into the magic embedded in the stone. Glyphs flare to life under my fingertips, and I feel the magic race through my room, sealing off all the exits, rendering any magic used inside moot. It’s a dangerous magic, but I made it so only I can trigger it—otherwise I know Mab would use it against me. Hell, she’s the one I learned it from as a kid. Had to keep me in line somehow.
Once I know Roxie’s safe and secure, I turn and stalk off down the hall. I know Pan will want to chat, and I definitely know Mab will expect a debrief. But they’re both used to my nature—I’ve never been the most talkative after a hit. At least my years of being a hermit have helped with something.
The joys of living in an enchanted castle are many, but the main one is the ease with which you can escape. Getting around inside? Tricky as sin. But getting out is cake.
One door later and I’m outside, in one of the many back alleys that stretch out from the castle wall like a spiderweb. I can’t get Roxie out of my mind as I head toward the bar. I try every trick I’ve been taught, every meditative practice and mantra. I even try jabbing my finger with a dagger to focus on the pain. But it doesn’t work. As I trek through the cold streets of Winter, all I can think about is her curled up on my sofa, her changing into my pajamas, her wondering what’s to become of the rest of her life.
I should be focusing on the job at hand. On the logistics. Someone out there is clearly funneling Dream, and they’re not afraid to be bold in their strokes. They’re infiltrating our usual sources and creating new ones—big hitters. So whoever this is isn’t interested in hiding. They want to make an impression. They want to show they mean business.
I should care. I should be worried. Or plotting. Or actually giving a shit about who is behind all of this. But I don’t. I can only think about Roxie. And as everything else in my life feels like it’s falling apart, I can’t help but admit that I like it.
The Lewd Unicorn’s pretty dead for this time of night, not that any of the other bars along the strip are faring any better. Now that I know just how dire Winter’s resources are, I can’t help but feel a sort of desperation here—the need to forget what you can’t afford to waste. I wonder how many of the citizens here are actually feeling the pinch, or if Mab’s keeping up a lavish air right up to the very last drop of Dream.
In any case, the regulars are still
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