Chapter 17
“That office should be somewhere around here.”
We had wandered down the hill and across several streets.
The atmosphere was more lively, as people strolled and rolled past us on their way to a gay time in the bars and restaurants that popped up here and there.
Lanterns and signs advertised their open doors, and women milled about the less modest businesses, soliciting their wares to any man who gave them even the slightest hint of attention.
“Cathair seems to have a lot of, um, interesting trade,” I mused as I watched two voluptuous women stroll up to an oogling man.
The ‘gentleman’ wore the uniform of the Ironshore Legion, and he was only too happy to show off a few medals on his jacket as he stretched his arms over both their shoulders. His entourage and he strolled into their house of ill repute, the girls giggling and the man leering.
“Every port will have as many women as it can support,” Marc told me as his eyes twinkled. “In Cathair’s case, the large company of Admiralty men gives them a lot of support.
“So are we getting a show with our food?”
At that moment, someone crashed through the front window of one of the nearby pubs. The man tumbled across the sidewalk and onto the road, where he lay on his back staring blankly at the sky. Another man half his size stood in the broken window with his hands on his hips.
“And don’t touch my girl again!” the short man snapped as a woman sauntered up to his side. He looped his arm around her waist and looked her over. “You alright?”
She rubbed her hand against his chest. “Of course, darling. You handled him magnificently.”
The man grinned. “I’ll handle you the same if we go upstairs.”
The woman giggled as the pair slipped away from the window so he could fulfill his promise.
I stared blankly at where the pipsqueak of a fellow had stood before I turned my focus to the stunned behemoth on the ground. “Does this happen often?”
“Often enough that there are almost as many glassmakers in the city as pubs,” Marc revealed as we continued on our way.
“I meant about the small man throwing a big man,” I pointed out as I veered away from any further windows. “How did he even lift him up?”
My stomach squirmed, and my ‘baby’ spoke. “Have you learned nothing about magic?”
“Can anyone just sprinkle magic dust over themselves and become super strong?” I wondered.
A heavy sigh came from my belly. “Not without giving up something. I’m sure the man was hideous, or maybe he was missing a big toe.”
Marc smiled down at the two of us. “If I had to guess, I’d say he was a fangrel.”
I blinked at him. “A what?”
“A human who can turn into a wolf.”
I jerked to a stop, and my mouth dropped open. “You mean a werewolf?”
“Have you already forgotten the fangrel was back there?” Ramaro snapped.
I choked on a laugh. “No, that’s what people who can turn into wolves are called in my world. Werewolves. You’re telling me they’re real here?”
“They aren’t real in your world?” my little pouch buddy inquired.
“No. They’re just myths, or very old legends.” I took in my surroundings with a very fresh pair of eyes. “Are there a lot of were-I mean, fangrels?”
Marc’s sharp voice squashed my merriment. “Keep your voice lower.”
I shrank beneath his scolding, and my words were barely a whisper. “Did I say something wrong?”
He drew me closer against his side and offered me a smile. “No, but there’s an old saying among the islands: talk about a fangrel and you’ll meet one.”
“Really?”
“They don’t like to be called out,” our ‘child’ muttered. “They think it’s some sort of personal insult if you go around asking about them. They’re making up for a lack of something.”
I unconsciously dropped my gaze to Marc’s groin. He noticed and burst out laughing. The noise caught the attention of several of the merry-makers, who stared curiously at him.
Ramaro shifted against me. “What’s so funny?”
“Not that sort of lacking,” Marc assured me with twinkling eyes. “Though I assure you I’m not lacking.”
A heavy blush accented my cheeks, but I cleared it away by clearing my throat. “Then what are they lacking?”
“Numbers.”
“Come again?”
“Most fangrels don’t like to come out of their mountain homes, so you don’t often see them in the cities, and if you do, they don’t look any more unusual than the average teacher.
” He stopped us in front of a small hovel-like establishment and smiled.
“I hope all that talk of fangrel hasn’t ruined your appetite. ”
I looked over the eatery. The windows were boarded up, the door was shut tight, and not a peep was heard.
Every front-facing board was well-weathered, and the wood awning over the door sat askew on its rusted nails.
Even the stones in front, worn by many treading feet, sank toward the doorway like a slouching man going to work on a Monday morning after a month’s vacation.
The longer I stared, the less hungry I felt. “Are you sure about this place? It doesn’t seem, um, safe.”
“Do you doubt me?”
My eyebrows crashed down as I detected a hint of teasing in his voice. “This really isn’t the place, is it?”
“Of course it is,” he insisted as he led me toward the door. “There’s no better place in the city to eat.”
“And get food poisoning. . .” I murmured as we passed under the eave.
A vast array of cobwebs hung low, trying to catch unsuspecting flies and customers. I shrank down to avoid their sticky touch. Marc was now practically sliding my heels against the smoothed stones. We reached the door and he rapped, but not in a normal rhythm. The tapping was more like a tune.
The door creaked open a few inches, and a pair of red eyes glared at us. “What’s wanted?”
Marc grinned at the eyes. “Your freshest steak, but we don’t want to have to catch it.”
The bright orbs widened, and so did the door. That was flung open, and two long arms grabbed the front of our collars. We were dragged inside, and the door was slammed shut behind us. A hollow sound echoed around the room.
The brightly lit, impossibly clean room.
My jaw hit the spotless floor. The worn exterior hid a large room that stretched deep instead of wide.
Small, round tables dotted the space, and plush red booths lined the wall on our left.
They were decorated with shimmering white cloths and candles in round glass jars.
The small flames cast their gentle glow on the shiny walls of bright white wood, and the half dozen chandeliers added to the soft ambiance.
A cold breath blew over the back of my neck. “What do you think of my parlor?”
I yelped and spun around, stumbling away as I did.
The pair of red eyes belonged to a slim man of forty who wore a dark robe from neck to toe.
His wardrobe accentuated his height, which was several inches above Marc’s.
He clasped his pale hands together, and a crooked smile slipped onto his pale lips. The man really needed to get out more.
And see a dentist.
My eyes bulged out of my head when his smile revealed two long canines. I could feel my pulse quicken, and the flicker in his eyes told me he could feel it, too.
The man chuckled. “I see we have fresh blood for the evening.” His gaze fell on Marc, and he inclined his head. “It is a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Torvus.”
“The pleasure is all ours, Adrien. What do you have on your menu this evening?”
Adrien’s eyes flickered to me, and the tiny bit of attention made my heart jump. “We may have your lovely young friend here if she does not soothe her heart. She is nearly prepared to have heart failure.”
Marc grinned down at me. “She shouldn’t be afraid of you, Adrien. You wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
Adrien’s red eyes glowed brighter, and I swore his teeth grew a little longer. “Perhaps not, Mr. Torvus, but I do not eat flies.”
I shuddered beneath his steady, unblinking gaze. Marc tightened his grip on me and nodded at the tables. Some of them were occupied by people who were thankfully not as pasty as an uncooked pastry. “Is a table still reserved?”
“Of course, Mr. Torvus,” Adrien confirmed as he gestured to the booth table in the corner. “Will all of you be dining at the table, or will Mr. Ramaro wish for a window seat?”
Ramaro stuck his head out of my coat. “What’s on the menu there?”
“Flies, and a few spiders.”
Ramaro scurried out of my coat and down my leg. He presented himself in front of Adrien and puffed out his chest. “Show me to my seat.”
“We’ll manage ourselves,” Marc added.
Adrien bowed his head and led Ramaro away.