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Noel shifted to conceal Grey’s presence in their corner booth, warding away the scowls while Grey tugged up his hoodie to hide the collar a little more.
“I would’ve ripped it off by now,” Noel mumbled, running his thumbs up and down his water glass while they waited for their food.
Grey remained quiet for a moment as he gathered his hood around it. “I prefer wearing it over the alternative.”
“You mean getting kicked out?”
His dark eye snapped up to meet his green. “Having someone decide to torture and kill me because they deem me as a threat.”
Noel’s heart squeezed in time with his fingertips pressing against the glass. He glanced over his shoulder just as the waitress started their way with a tray, a smirk tugging at her lips as the bar patrons made quiet jabs for her to watch herself. She shook her head with a quip that she could take care of herself, further adding to Noel’s irritation.
She slid the tray onto the table, depositing each bowl of stew without so much as a look in Grey’s direction before she left. No pleasantries. No additional kind words to let them know she’d assist if they needed anything else. A simple cold shoulder since they’d already paid.
Grey tucked into the food anyway, slowing to blow on it and take sips of water between bites like a starved animal. Noel continued stirring his while he tried to ignore everything wrong with Grey’s reserved behavior in the face of death threats. Outside of his panic at the obelisk?—
Noel paused. That hadn’t been the only time he’d shown panic. He’d been inconsolable under the oddities shop before Doctor Cavan had trekked down the steps with his goons. “Grey.”
He stopped mid-chew, staring at Noel in question.
“Back in the basement?—”
Grey shook his head, swiping his sleeve across his mouth. “I didn’t mean to get you hurt?—”
Noel shook his head. “That’s not what I’m trying to ask. I was actually wondering why you reacted so violently until the doctor showed up.”
Grey hesitated and lowered his spoon handle to the rim of the bowl. “When… when I was twelve, macharomancers killed my parents and locked me in a cellar for a month. They said it was because someone from their town was murdered and we were the only ones that lived close enough, so we were guilty by proximity. They never allowed hemomancers in, so…”
He shrugged, nudging some of the meat chunks around the stew. “At first, the woman that kept me there made her children practice macharomancy on me. I couldn’t really heal without touching something to trade with, so they usually caught and dumped mice down there for me. But, winter hit, and she decided I’d be easier to deal with if I couldn’t see anymore because I kept trying to break the basement windows to escape. I ran out of mice.”
Noel’s stomach turned over, losing his appetite from the mere thought that the fear he’d seen in Grey’s eye back in Doctor Cavan’s house of horrors had been the same look a younger Grey had given his captors years ago. “But you didn’t do anything… Why would she?—”
Grey bit his lip. “I think it’s a lot like how I’m treated in this town, or like how hemomancers are depicted in the archive. Perception is all that matters. I’m a thing: a threat, child or not. I don’t help in a way that could protect from the fair folk.”
“But you can heal.”
A puff of unamused laughter. “You’re the first person that’s trusted me enough to allow me to, let alone countless other hemomancers that’d undoubtedly try to help our fellow mancers. They just see our destruction when we defend ourselves and when we trade, so that’s what we are: forces of destruction.”
Noel swallowed. “So, how did you escape?”
“My aunt—my guardian that I call my aunt—found me. She was scouting the city for a while because apparently other hemomancers had gone missing, and her husband had recently been accused of killing one of their livestock. She confronted my jailor since she was one of the town leaders, and I cried for help. Or—I guess I screamed at the top of my lungs until I passed out. When I came to, I was wrapped in a blanket and a coat in the back of a car with my uncle saying everything would be all right and that we were going home.”
Noel scooted closer. “I’m so sorry?—”
“You didn’t do it,” Grey whispered. “Don’t be sorry. I just learned it was easier to behave whenever my warden appeared to hurt me because it wasn’t drawn out and to throw a fit whenever they left, so I might have a chance to escape.”
“You shouldn’t have even needed to learn that anyway,” Noel hissed, scolding himself when Grey flinched. “The fact that someone did that to you is downright disgusting. And you being pulled into the Wild Hunt seems unusually cruel, especially hearing what you’ve gone through.”
Grey winced, dropping his voice to below a whisper. “I don’t think Queen Mab cares who she chooses as long as they put on a good show for her. Maybe she knows I’ll run until my legs give out or heal myself over and over again until my body gives up.”
“Or that you could possibly offer her something so great she’ll dismiss you?”
Grey opened his mouth, then shook his head. “We can only hope.”
Noel’s heart sank as Grey went back to his dinner, picking through it much slower now, but keeping a steady pace, like he wasn’t sure when his next meal was. He supposed neither of them knew when their next meal would be, so he began to dig into his too.
The squeal of the tavern door came with a raucous laughter and a squad of leather jackets bearing iron spikes and shoulder guards. The leader—his halomancer brand on full display—called out to the bar as his companions piled into the corner booth on the opposite end of the dining hall. “Round of drinks for my crew.”
“Good haul?” the barkeep asked, a grin splitting her face as she motioned for the waitress to help her.
