Page 103 of Veil of Blood and Bone

“No trouble,” she warns. “I’m mean it. You drain another vamp on my territory, and we’re going to have a problem.”

She doesn’t blink before sliding the bar’s signature drink, the Widow’s Breath, toward a necromancer. He swaps grave dirt for currency and demolishes the liquor, smoky absinthe with a single drip of ghost light, in two gulps.

Fallen angels play pool with each other. Shifters wearing their human faces throw darts until the richness of whiskey wafts off them.

Someone has to have some answers.

Someone, a relic from the past like me, like Maeve, will know why the cycle has sped.

A few humans mill around with death in their aura, enough of it to fool the wards and scatter the salt boundaries.

Maeve sends a decanter of blood toward me along with a shot glass that narrowly misses the edge of the bar. “Help yourself.”

The bar itself is carved from a single piece of black walnut cleaved by lightning and sealed with blood magic to keep violence out. Or so she thinks.

Fights have a way of birthing themselves despite precautions.

“You’re trying to extort me.” I drag in a breath. “I know what this kind of premium product costs.”

It’s fresh. Virginal.

Why?

Why toss generosity in my face now? My eyes narrow. She holds them a second longer than comfortable then pivots and spits.

“You’re busier than usual,” I call after her, my mouth watering.

“Tourists.” She grinds the word through her teeth.

The veil is thinning. More and more newcomers find their way through the thin places and while they always end up here, why now?

I pour a shot of blood and sip it down, refilling the glass. “Any from Asgard?”

Maeve pauses. “You know better than to ask.”

“And you know how much I fucking hate it when someone withholds answers from me.”

She twists to stare over her shoulder. “Don’t you think I would have called you? If I’d seen any Asgardians in here?”

I shrug, my gut tightening with the next shot. “No.”

Maeve fancies herself an opportunist instead of a snitch. But any who pass through her doors understand. She wants a bag of coins? It’s the only way to shift her loyalties.

Any deals we might have brokered in the past are only as good as my willingness to keep paying her.

“How about any of the Queen’s bloodletters?”

She lifts her hands. “Look, Silver, they don’t come here. Freelancers only.” Her smile flashes, gums as black as the bar. “They don’t get in my way, and I don’t get in theirs.”

I drum my fingers on wood. “Tourists, huh?”

One upside to the influx of bodies—at least I’ll have plenty of fresh perspectives. Surely somebody can shed some fucking clarity on Audra’s visions. A bystander might have heard if the Norns are moving. Or not.

The decanter of blood rests in place, the selkie side eying it. Dirty stubs of candles drip down from scones of twisted metal and bone. Ash and dust darken the lines. Velvet wallpaper boasts claw marks, dark enough to eat the light.

Across from the pool tables, the piano plays itself. Shelves of liquor gleam, filled with whatever the paying customer needs.

“Make sure you behave yourself. And down the whole thing so you don’t lose control.” Maeve hisses out the warning knowing I’ll hear her.