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Anxiety and tension are twin weights pressing down on my chest. Breathing is harder. The silence would have been better than this. Hearing about riots and danger doesn’t bring me any joy. As a general rule, Summer Fae don’t engage in conflict. We create. We enjoy life. When conflict inevitably arises, we side-step the actual problem and drink until the problems no longer seem as bad.
As the newscaster continues, I shut my eyes. Immediately, the image of the mysterious Winter Court female comes to mind. Does she have family in those riots? Is she worried about them? After a week of dreaming about her, I am fairly sure I will see her again tonight.
My entire body is jittery. On edge. Feverish warmth and excitement pound through me.
The rest of the drive goes by in a blur, and I only snap out of my stupor when the Warlock parks the car. He turns off the news before looking over his shoulder at me.
The Warlock raises a brow, and I can feel him considering whether I am worth asking for a secret. After a moment, he huffs a laugh and names a monetary sum. “Don’t stiff me, or I’ll cut off your ears.”
I shake my head at the mindless threat and throw the cash at the driver, thanking him for the ride. As I climb out of the taxi, I sigh in relief. I don’t have to remember if there are any secrets no one knows. If I were to tell a secret that someone knows, even accidentally, it would endverybadly.
Anticipation builds with each step toward my office. I put one hand in my pocket, nervously lighting and extinguishing a flame between my thumb and forefinger. The repeated action is soothing, and some of the tension in my shoulders dissipates.
I draw my hand from my pocket when I open the office door and snuff out the flame. My employer sits behind the desk, sifting through a large stack of papers. What kind of name is that? Boss? He believes himself to be so much better than me that he never even told me how to address him otherwise.
“Sprigg. Perfect. You’re here on time.” Stating the obvious, he sniffs the air once with his long, crooked nose before his purple eyes look at me accusingly. “You were drinking.”
The words aren’t phrased as a question, which is good. I can’t lie, but I can easily choose not to answer sentences like that. Instead, I shift my weight from one foot to the other.
The Warlock pinches the bridge of his nose with long, pale fingers. After a moment of obvious deliberation, he looks at me. I don’t know how I can tell—without irises, his eyes are just purple voids—but I just feel the weight of his glare.
A full minute passes before he leans back in the chair.
“I suppose your kind has existed for thousands of years and operates an entire court half-drunk. I won’t do anything this time, but try to be more discreet next time.”
I nod. There isn’t anything else to say.
He inhales sharply. “Seriously, you smell like you rolled around in the bar.” He raises an eyebrow, but I don’t take the bait.
My business is my own.
He stands to leave and points to a stack of papers. “I expect these to be finished before the end of your shift. Make sure the northern clients do their paperwork before they disappear.”
Thrill spreads through my body like water from a hot spring. Northern clients. She is coming. I hesitate, and he notices.
“What?” he growls.
Dammit. I wanted to ask about the clients in a casual and not-at-all creepy fashion. Unfortunately, the chance of doing that just went out the window. I blurt out, “Is there anything I should know about them? The clients, I mean. They seem–”
“Don’t finish that sentence.” The Warlock’s eyes flash violet, and a shudder runs through me. “I don’t pay you to ask questions.”
“No, but–”
“I would stay as far away from them as possible. Northerners are a savage people. Their government will just as soon kill you if you are seen talking to them.”
That threat shuts me right up.
He nods. “I see you understand.” He walks over to the door, putting his hand on the knob. “One last thing, do not look at their paperwork. Those documents are for my eyes only. Remember, Nathaniel, I will know if you do it.”
Nodding tightly, I settle in the chair. “Understood.” Enchanted papers. Losing my eyeballs. The usual.
A shudder runs through me as he swings open the door, and a brisk wind blows through the office.
The door slams shut behind him, and I run my hands over my arms. To say that the Warlock is very unnerving would be an understatement.
Lighting a new flame in my hand, I stare at the brilliant red and orange light as it casts small shadows on the walls. Worry and anticipation grow into a twisting knot in my stomach with every passing moment. I eyeball the enchanted papers from a distance. My desire to know the Winter Fae’s name is at war with logic.
In the end, I decide not to risk it.
