CHAPTER ELEVEN
Yael
“What a fucking disaster,” I muttered to myself as I slammed the door to the apartment I kept in the Playground.
Everything that could have gone wrong that night had done so in spectacular fashion.
The fact that we’d managed to get out of The Lion’s Den without being found out was a small miracle, but if our encounter with Damian was any indication of how getting the information I needed was going to go, we were in trouble.
Unless I could figure out why that happened before we interrogated the witch.
With that daunting task weighing on me, I tossed my bloodied coat over the barstool by the kitchen island and headed down the hall on the left to my bedroom, checking my phone along the way.
There’d been no word from the healer since I left Myra with him, and I was anxious for a report.
Gilwin was a curious creature who insisted on privacy while he worked, which had left me in a predicament.
Her leg needed healing beyond my abilities, but leaving her alone with him was less than ideal for myriad reasons, not the least of which was how unconscious and vulnerable she was.
Before I left, I’d made sure to impress upon him just how important she was to me, and that if anything were to happen to her, death would come for him.
The way the blood had drained from his face at my warning had given me confidence that all would be well in my absence, so I’d hurried home to change and await his call.
Stripping off my clothes, I thought about how fragile she’d looked when I handed her over to him.
Given her abrasive persona, it was easy to forget that so much about her was effectively human after being cast out of the Deep.
She was tough but not unbreakable, and that night had been a healthy reminder of that fact for us both.
If a simple accident could render her incapacitated, what would happen if someone actively went after her? And then there was her magic…
I exhaled hard and flopped backward onto my bed.
I had never known another with the gift of the Siren’s Song, but from the bits I’d heard, nothing like what had occurred in the basement with Damian was part of the magic.
Myra had seemed genuinely shocked when the poor bastard exploded to bits.
Was it a spell? A strange interaction between her magic and his?
A glitch in her power while on land? There were multiple possibilities, none of which I could narrow down without potentially exposing her gift, and regardless of what she thought of me, I’d meant what I said when I promised to do everything I could to keep it a secret.
But if she was going to blow up an unwilling participant every time she had to press them for answers, keeping her power under wraps was going to be as difficult as getting the information I needed—before the interrogated party expired.
Arm draped over my eyes, I lay in bed, playing out the possibilities in my mind as I awaited Gilwin’s call, while simultaneously dreading how the little mermaid would react when I came to get her.
Colorful curses spewed from her mouth in my imagination as she threatened my life, my manhood, and anything else she could think of that I cared about.
I laughed aloud at some of the creative phrasings, wondering if I’d actually heard her use them at The Riff Raff or if I just understood her so well that I could string them together on her behalf.
But that was Myra: fiery and fierce, with a short fuse and sharp tongue.
I’d found those traits wildly entertaining since the day we met…
I hadn’t expected to find myself cast out by the fae queen after she stole the throne, but unlike so many others, I still had my head attached, so I didn’t complain.
And since I was alive, I still had a chance to worm my way back into her good graces somehow.
Choosing the wrong allies in the interim—especially in the Devil’s Playground—would put a nail in that coffin, which was why, instead of cozying up to powerful mafia types or black-market pirates, I found myself staring at a hole in the wall pub of sorts, ready to grovel for work if necessary.
The funds I had amassed during the king’s reign wouldn’t last indefinitely, and given that I had no clue how long my exile might last, I needed a plan that accounted for the queen’s fickle heart.
Because I would eventually need both her money and resources if I wanted a chance at finding Jemma.
The message I’d received from the owner told me to go in through the door off the alley, so I made my way through the dank, narrow corridor, hoping the ripe smell of the dumpster wouldn’t seep into my clothes, and stepped through the propped-open door into utter chaos.
Fire flared in pans left unattended on the stovetop and smoke filled the air as I walked deeper into the melee, unchecked by the man elbows-deep in a sink full of dishes or the one carrying boxes taller than he was out of the walk-in cooler.
I’d nearly made it to the swinging doors that led to what I presumed was the dining area when a frazzled male with a flash of grey in the front of his hair came barreling out of the smallest office I’d ever seen.
“Renault, turn down the heat on the sauce!” he yelled at the one with the armful of boxes. He dropped them to the floor in a heap and did what he was told as stray peppers spilled from the crates across the floor.
“Is this a bad time?” I asked, drawing the attention of the man I assumed was the owner.
He looked me up and down without shame. “Are you Yael?”
“I am.”
He thrust his hand out toward me to shake mine. “I’m Ravi. Have you ever worked in a kitchen before? As you can see, I’m too short-staffed to do a lot of proper training.”
“I did many things to get by when I was younger, and I’m clever. I don’t think this will be difficult.”
His eyes narrowed with suspicion. “I know the circumstances that led you here must be grim, but The Riff Raff is neutral territory, which means your kind may be patrons here on occasion. Is that going to be a problem for you?”
“Not if I’m back here cooking. Should I expect any other potential problems?”
Ravi shook his head. “No, but we’re a rather eclectic bunch,” he said as a brunette with a bob haircut pushed past us to grab her orders off the warming shelf.
She took one look at me and smiled as she backed through the swinging doors.
“We get along like a dysfunctional family, and there are some rather colorful personalities that you might have to—”
“Ravi!” a female voice boomed from beyond the kitchen.
“Not again,” the owner muttered under his breath as those double doors blew open, revealing a storm cloud of pale skin, oilslick black hair, and sea-blue eyes filled with rage charging toward us. “Yes?”
“Where’s your filet knife?” she shouted over the din of the kitchen as she made her way over.
Ravi pinched the bridge of his nose as he turned his attention to the storm cloud. “Why?”
“Because I’m about to butcher the bastard at table seven who keeps grabbing my ass, and I don’t have a lot of time to waste because we’re getting slammed, so—”
“Myra—”
“Oh, wait,” she said, grabbing a steak knife off the counter, “this will work perfectly. He’s been bitching about wanting one for his meal anyway. He can use it once I’m done.”
“But it’s dull,” I said, drawing her ire.
She looked me up and down, knife gripped tightly in her hand. “Apparently, you are too, because that’s the whole point—it’ll hurt more that way.”
“But you wanted to save time,” I countered, enjoying her irritation for some reason.
She studied me for a moment, then turned her attention back to her boss. “Who the fuck is this?”
“We need a new line cook.”
“He doesn’t look like he’s cooked anything in his whole life.”
“Actually, I—”
“Not interested, pretty boy,” she said, cutting me off before her attention fell back on the owner, who looked exhausted by the interaction. “Hire him if you want, Ravi, but you’re going to regret it, and I will be there with bells on to say ‘I told you so’ as loudly as I possibly can when you do.”
Not waiting for a reply, she spun around and stormed out of the kitchen with her weapon of choice while Ravi stared after her, undoubtedly waiting for the screams of her unsuspecting victim.
When they didn’t come, he let out a relieved breath. “Myra is a little… salty, and not especially trusting of strangers—or anyone, for that matter. But she’ll come around… actually, no, she won’t. Just steer clear of her and you’ll be fine. Anyway, do you still want the job?”
I looked at the swinging double doors she’d disappeared through as shouts rang out just beyond and smiled. “I couldn’t imagine a more perfect place to work.”
The buzzing of my phone pulled me from my thoughts, and I snatched it off my nightstand to find Gilwin calling.
Finally…
“Is it done?” I asked by way of greeting.
“It is.”
“Good, now—”
“But there’s one small problem.”
I sat up quickly and stared blankly at the white wall before me. “What’s the problem?”
Silence.
“She’s gone.”
“Gone?” I asked, jumping up from the bed. “What do you mean ‘gone’, Gilwin?” He started to answer, but I cut him off midway. “If anything happens to her, I will make that death I promised you as painful as possible.”
“She can’t have gotten far,” he said, as though that were helpful. “I was just in with her a minute ago.”
“I hope for your sake that’s the case.”
I hung up and threw on clothes as I made my way to my apartment door.
The last thing I needed was her roaming around the Playground questionably conscious and half naked.
She’d be a lamb for the slaughter, especially if Argo had somehow figured out what happened to Damian and her involvement in his death.
With that thought in mind, I sprinted from my building, hoping I found her before someone else did.