19. Bodin
Chapter 19
Bodin
A warning growl slices through the air, low and menacing. Not mine. Legion’s countenance hasn’t shifted, only his hand. It is now an inch closer to Cait across the bar. It’s all she needs to understand the threat.
“Relax,” Cait purrs at him. “I was never going to go through with it. Her soul is already taken.”
“You were going to what?” Willow gapes. “Wait. Taken by who? You?”
Cait’s smile turns feline, all sharp teeth and secrets. She points to a bottle behind her. “Another Screwdriver tonight?”
“Um. No.” Willow pats her flat belly nervously and shakes her head. “Last time, it didn’t go down well.”
“Hm. Not for anyone, it seems.” Something in Cait’s eyes flickers—almost fondness, I think. But it’s gone before I can be sure. Instead, she shifts her gaze to Legion’s face. “You realize I’m the one who told Fox where to look for the enchantment for those fancy useless pieces of decoration on your face.”
“Does he owe you?”
“He’s a friend. Sometimes friends help each other out for free.”
I scoff. “A Cait Sith doing something for nothing?”
“You’re not the only one who was changed by Oberon’s rule.” Her eyes darken, pupils narrowing to slits. “Continue to judge me for my actions back then and I will do the same to you.”
Did we know her before?
Displeasure flattens Legion’s lips, but he answers, “Noted.”
At my frown, Cait points at me with her thumb and asks Legion, “Is it true, then? He remembers nothing about your canary? None of them do?”
What?
He flicks a concerned look my way before returning to her. “Fox told you?”
“He had no one else to talk to,” she replied. “Despite what you think you remember about me, it’s wrong. And as I mentioned to Willow, my offer to talk stands.”
His reply is lost to the sudden roaring in my ears. A wave of heat engulfs me. My vision wavers as yellow, bloody feathers flash across my mind. I sway on my feet and grip the bar to keep my balance.
“Bodin?” Willow touches my burning forearm, and I flinch.
She tries to hide her hurt at my reaction by looking away, but I see it lurking in her posture. I can’t seem to do anything right today. I try to breathe through the unsettled feeling but the air in here is stifling. Who the fuck needs it to be this warm, and where the fuck are we that I hear the ocean?
I tug at my collar, but the laces are already untied and loose. If I remove any more layers, I’ll look as reprobate as Styx. Fuck.
Legion tells Willow, “I noticed a fresh tray of food head outside a moment ago.”
Her golden eyes widen. “I am kind of hungry.”
“I’ll take her,” I growl through a clenched jaw. Anything to get out of this place. Even the noises seem amplified. Bottles clank, laughter shrieks, and drumming music vibrates my bones. I push off the counter and check Legion is comfortable with the Sith.
“I will be out shortly,” he explains. “See to her needs.”
“Naturally.” The response rolls off my tongue in a familiar way. Legion gives me an odd look but then a firm nod. I tail Willow into the balmy night air. Outside, she takes one whiff, grabs my hand, and tugs me as she hunts her meal. With my head still swimming, I allow her to guide me around haphazardly placed lounge settees cordoned off with flowing banners and torches.
The air is stifling, yet her warm touch is not. I find myself tightening my grip and focusing on that connection to drown out the horrible, unnamed emotions still churning within me.
Those occupying the settees range from misbehaving Radiants to desperate mortals, drunkards, and those conducting shady business that likely goes against Old Code mandates. Some eat luscious foods; others drink elixirs and concoctions like they’re water.
I never understood the appeal of such sustenance. The taste is bland in my mouth. I’ll eat if I must or if I forget my true diet, but it is somewhat lackluster. Still, it fascinates me. I hate not knowing why it is so delicious that these people will eat or drink until they burst or cannot walk straight. The music grows louder as we approach dancing and musicians on a raised grassy dais decorated with wild botanicals.
Willow catches the waiter just before he heads into the throng. She taps him on the shoulder. The slim, sparsely dressed male with gold glitter around his eyes swings around to face us, his tray held high. When he looks up at my face, he almost loses balance, but I steady the tray with my free hand and say, “My Shadow would like your sustenance.”
“Shadow?” he squeaks.
“Hi.” Willow waves. “That’s me. Do you mind if I grab a few?”
The waiter blushes at her, his cheeks turning a deep crimson. “Oh. Yes. Um, here.”
His assortment of food seems to be a mix of bite-sized meat and juicy little balls of fruit. Willow plops a meaty morsel into her mouth and then collects as many as she can in one hand while the other still holds mine. Helpless desperation crosses her expression as she glances between her full hand and the plentiful tray.
“Give it to me.” I relieve the waiter of his tray. “Bring a drink for her to wash this down.”
He’s more than happy to scurry away, nearly tripping over his feet in haste.
“Sorry,” Willow mumbles through a mouth full. “I’m hungrier than I thought. I’ll be quick, I promise.”
With us caught between the sprawled settees and raucous dancing throng, she attempts to swallow as much as possible. Every time she licks her lips, she leaves sparkles granted by the nearby torchlight. But she shovels more food into her mouth . . . while still holding my hand.
I raise the tray out of her reach. Her scowl of defiance is a direct line to my cock, and it baffles me. Something primal in that gaze calls to my slumbering, like-minded instincts. They unfurl and take notice. They want more. They want to hunt—just as they did at the end of our sparring session. When I next speak, my voice is hoarse. Tight.
“Let’s take this to a table,” I suggest.
Relief courses through her eyes, and she nods. I scan and locate a nearby group of people standing around a tall round table. Perfect. Three strides, and we’re there. I glare and part my lips, intending to growl them into submission, but am pleased when they scamper away first. But the fools leave a mess, and the surface area is lacking. I relinquish Willow’s hand for the opportunity to swipe every glass and plate to the floor. Once every crumb has gone, I gently lower the precious cargo but almost lose it all when the waiter appears and startles me.
“The drink, sir,” he squeaks and holds out a glass filled with a vibrant cherry liquid.
“Oh, you’re too kind.” Willow grins at him, flashing her tiny fangs.
He blushes again and bows. Hm. Prompt and appropriately subservient toward our Shadow. And I don’t wish to pluck out his eyes with my teeth.
“Your name?” I demand.
“Ah . . . um. My name, sir?”
“Yes.”
Willow’s smile is kind as he fidgets and flusters. It makes me realize I am frowning, so I relax my jaw and brows. I do something with my lips and cheeks that could be considered a smile. It’s nowhere near as approachable as hers, but at least it’s not a death stare.
“It’s okay,” she says. “You can tell Bodin. He won’t bite. Much.”
She winks at me, pops another morsel into her mouth, and something fizzes in the region of my lower belly. Now I’m frowning again. Fuck.
The boy’s eyes widen, and she quickly explains, “He bites me. Don’t worry, I meant me .”
“Your name, mortal?” I remind.
“Colin, sir.” He bows again. “Recruit rank. I woke up during the last Interlude, sir.”
I give the male a once-over. Not much to look at. Scrawny. Hardly any muscle on his bones. No charms. I sniff in his direction. Younger than I first thought.
“Are you a Never?” I ask. “Or not industrious enough to gain yourself a charm by now?”
Willow’s next morsel pauses halfway to her mouth. Her eyes narrow on me as if I’ve said something displeasing.
“I, um . . . I guess I’m what they call a Never,” he says, voice pitched high as though it’s a question. “I can’t use charms.”
“Then why are you here? Everyone knows this sordid open-air brothel is where the mortals curry favor with Radiants in turn for charms.”
“I want the coin, sir. Cait pays me well, and I need every advantage I can get for the trials.”
Unfortunately for him, she will soon leave to hunt for our enchanted mirror, closing this establishment down.
“Are you buying weapons?” Willow asks him, now fully invested in the conversation. He nods, and she adds, “What House are you with?”
“House of Embers,” he grumbles, his shoulders sinking.
“Figures,” she snorts. “How old are you, Colin? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“It’s fine. I turned sixteen last month. I think.” He scratches his head. “It’s hard to know the exact date these days.”
“You’re only a baby,” Willow gasps, dismayed.
“No, I’m not.” He scowls but quickly dips his head. “I just hit puberty late.”
“How many exhibitors are under eighteen?” she asks, almost to herself.
“A few of us, I suppose,” he answers. “At least ten in the House of Embers. We have the biggest group of youngies.” He snorts at himself. “That’s what I call us. Cos we’re young. Get it?”
It’s the oddest thing. Willow smiles, yet her eyes shimmer with unshed tears, and she seems to have trouble answering. So I fill the silence for her. This banter is becoming long-winded, and I have a reason for initiating conversation with the youth.
“You snuck up on me,” I state gruffly.
“Sir?” His sour fear hits my nose.
“Someone with your skills is more useful trained as a Phantom for when the Interlude is over.” For when the war renews.
“Me?”
“That’s what I said.” Perhaps I was wrong in my assessment if I must constantly repeat myself. At his blanched complexion and Willow’s echo of surprise, a nervous roll in my gut makes me second-guess myself. So I add, “Unless you . . . actually want to compete in the trials?”
“No!”
My brows raise.
“I mean, no, sir, I don’t want to participate in the trials. I’d very much rather learn to be a Phantom. I’m only here because . . .” He looks nervously at Willow. For guidance, I realize. She seems to soothe the fractious fear so often witnessed in mortals around me.
“Speak freely,” I say.
“It’s just that, sir, us Nevers don’t often get promoted to anything beyond recruit. That’s what they tell me, anyway. And the thought of working on a farm or indentured servitude doesn’t appeal to me?—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Willow holds her hand up. “What do you mean indentured servitude?”
His eyes widen. He looks at me, so I put him out of his misery and remind Willow, “Nevers—like Cricket and Finch—must contribute to the good of our nation by either serving the Folk directly or working a farm and supplying a tithe of produce and resources.”
Her jaw drops. “I didn’t know that.” She closes her lips. “I mean, Max mentioned something about a farm. And Cricket did say she . . .”
The troubled look in her eyes concerns me. “Willow?”
“It’s just that I’d made assumptions based on brief conversations. I thought all the mortals were in Nocturna or at the Nexus.”
“Oh no,” Colin offers eagerly. “There are thousands of us up here, too. In fact, I think mortals outnumber the Folk. Right?”
He looks to me for confirmation, but I am still stuck on Willow’s troubled face and ask, “Did you not know?”
“I did not.”