18. Conall
Conall
"What the fuck?" I bark. Ivy turns, brow furrowed, surprised by my outburst and not understanding why I'm upset. But I understand just fine. "You started without us?"
Ivy's eyes go wide as she takes in the room.
Laz stands at a podium at the front of the barn, high-beamed ceilings overhead.
The place still carries the faint smell of sawdust and hay, even though it's been a meeting area for years now.
On either side of him, two long tables sit with three council members each.
Laz has his arms crossed, glaring down at a small elderly man with a nose no less than nine inches long, flaming red hair, and grass green eyes. Randy Flannigan.
"We thought it prudent, Sir Conall, to discuss the matter amongst those of the town. Those who have lived here their whole lives should have rather more say than a girl who has no idea what living here even means," Randy says in his high-pitched voice, astutely ignoring Laz.
"Meanwhile," Ada calls from the front row, where she's sitting next to Amy, Layla, and Dolly, "we've been arguing that that's bullshit." She turns to Randy. "Plenty of the monsters living here are of mixed descent."
"Hell, I'm like ninety percent human," Amy calls out.
"But you're not truly human," Randy counters, with an air of pomp I find sickening.
I glance at Ivy. Her expression is carefully blank. Before tonight, I'd have read it as cold indifference. After the conversation on the way up here, I think it's something worse. A wall built quickly around worry.
My gaze swings back to the council. "Laz needs her blood to fix the wards. Did everyone forget that? It won't do anyone any good if you kick her off the island and the wards never get fixed."
They all squirm in their seats like baby worm dragons.
Killian, head of the small centaur clan on the island, stamps one hoof. "We have no proof that her blood is actually what Laz needs—"
Laz cuts him off. "She is the successor. By blood magic, she's the one. To question that is foolish, Killian."
Killian blusters. Centaurs are such prideful folk.
"Excuse me," Ivy pipes up, and every eye in the place swings to her. "If we're talking about me, maybe talk to me."
Silence.
She goes on, "Does your island not have basic laws? I know you're all creatures and monsters and whatever, but you're not just lawless brutes, are you?"
"Who are you calling a brute?" Killian snaps.
I bare my teeth and step forward.
"Anyone who thinks they can supersede a will,” Ivy says. “Now, my aunt's attorney from Claw and Law said he'd be here. Is he?" She squints around the room, clearly unsure what she's looking for now that no one's hiding their form.
Nicholas Claw pushes off a wall at the side of the barn where he'd apparently been lounging until called upon.
All the council members, except Laz and Killian, shrink slightly in their chairs.
Nick is a shadow as he strides up between the two rows of seats.
He wears a dark black suit and tie. His short black hair is slicked back, and red horns poke from the crown of his head.
A red tail trails behind him, and his blood red skin shines in the overhead light.
He trails a line of black smoke permeating the air with a bonfire smell.
I move slightly in front of Ivy on instinct.
Nick notices and shows all his bright, white, sharp teeth when he smiles.
"Miss Smith, it's nice to finally meet you in person. We've been doing a lot of business by mail. I'm Nick Claw." He holds out a hand, and Ivy, the damn mortal that she is, reaches for it. I slap his hand away, and Ivy flinches a little. I file the motion away for later.
"He's a contract demon, Freckles. Don't shake his hand, don't say your full name in front of him, and don't sign anything he puts in front of you unless you've read it thoroughly."
Her eyes widen and scan Nick. Likely that advice was a little too late, considering she’d likely signed items to inherit the cottage and store, but hopefully Nick had stuck to the arranged inheritance and nothing more.
Nick spins, putting his back to Ivy and me and facing the council.
"I've enjoyed your little chatterings long enough.
I was employed by Ursula Shipton to represent her self-claimed niece, and I was locked into a deal I cannot break.
Therefore, it doesn't actually matter what this little council decides.
The mortal isn't leaving before the wards are fixed.
And after? Well, we'll see. And if for some reason you found a way around me…
" He pauses, glancing over his shoulder at me, amusement and malice dancing in his eyes. "You'll have to go through her mate."