‘Gods,’ one hissed to their companion. ‘It’s an Empyreal—’ A smacking sound interrupted their sentence. ‘Ow!’
‘Don’t look at him!’
‘Do you think that’s the same one that saved your father?’
‘How should I know?’
Most of them forgot he could hear everything, just as he could taste every subtle hormonal spike in their body, his own primed should one of them want to kill. Many creatures would never dream of hurting another – human or otherwise. It was why there were rarely definitive ‘good’ or ‘bad’ creatures. But he’d learned that if pushed, anything and anyone could kill.
And if mutated by the Wake? He thought of Lynch and the curator.
Then, even the mildest of beings could become a monster he’d be forced to hunt.
The person he was meeting, however, sat in view of the entrance. The nook he was in was split by the fireplace and red leather banquettes. Above, mirror and lamps set the bronze reliefs in the dark wood dancing.
He appeared to be in another meeting, his two conversation partners obscured by the wingback armchairs they sat in, so Kyan busied himself ordering a Guinness and drank enough to split the ‘G’ of it. The bartender’s thick Scouse accent was a distant comfort. Perhaps because its influences were, among others, Irish, reminding him of the emerald home across the sea that kept calling his name.
He shut it out and scoped out his contact’s acquaintances again. Surprise and interest had him moving closer to the semi-familiar profile. When the girl turned, his suspicions were confirmed.
‘Remi?’
Nicole’s best friend twisted in the armchair, her dark eyes findinghis. She blinked in surprise, then turned to the third person – who he realised was her mother.
An older man sat in the booth, dressed impeccably. He dipped his head in a silent hello.
‘Zixuan,’ Kyan greeted.
His contact – the supernatural leader of Liverpool, who also ran its Chinatown – had evidently sent their right-hand man.
Zixuan nodded, the neck of his smart jacket embroidered with gold details. He had a quiet, capable air, and his shoulder-length black hair was tied at the nape of his neck.
‘What are you doing here?’ Remi asked, scanning Kyan and the room and letting him into the near-invisible shimmer around their booth, most likely a soundproofing ward, reminding him her mother was a Hearthea.
‘I could ask you the same question,’ he said, taking the armchair to her left.
‘Zixuan knows the location of the Siren Speakeasy I need to get into. You’ve met my mother, Lawna?’
Kyan nodded.
Lawna sat to Remi’s right, a blouse of white silky material hiding her lithe form, her black hair pulled back. Dark trousers suited for fighting, or running, finished the outfit.
He wondered if this had something to do with the ‘Siren’s Instrument’ Freya’sDanteclue told them of. Along with the three ‘goddess-blessed items’ and the God of Oaths, all of these moving parts were supposed to result in something that could defeat the Wake.
Nicole could have the information from the Muse about the second of the three items before nightfall.
‘Spoken to your best friend recently?’ he asked Remi carefully, wary of mentioning Estwood or Nicole’s name.
‘I was able to leave a message,’ Remi said, cagey. ‘Have you?’
His head dipped slightly in a ‘yes’, and Remi sat up straighter. ‘Wait, does that mean—’
‘I’ll take you to her after.’
Pure joy sparked through Remi’s eyes and Kyan allowed himself a small smile.
‘Why are you here?’ Lawna asked him, cool and assessing.
‘I need to speak with the Muse.’
