Page 3 of Fire to the Stars

“Don’t yell at her,” the first man growls. He shoves the girl’s accuser into a barmaid, who drops her tray.

A small leather coin purse falls to the ground between the men. The girl picks it up and offers it to her defender with a timid smile. “You dropped this, monsieur.”

With a bellow, the girl’s accuser tackles her defender onto the glass-scattered ground. “It was you!” He reels a fist back. Semi-sober men shout at them to stop. A few struggle to drag them apart.

It happens so fast, I almost miss the girl empty the coin purse, tuck the coins down her bosom, and toss the leather into the fray with a smirk worthy of a tinderfox. She sips her wine and calmly watches the fight, as immovable amid the chaos as the owl constellation among the stars.

I snort. This girl doesn’t need a hero. If anything, I should watch my pockets around her.

Our eyes meet. Her smirk vanishes. Then she offers a flirtatious smile and struts my way.

“Come with me,” she says.

Before I can respond, she takes my sleeve and leads me through a scrutinizing crowd. I’m glad to leave the judgmental glances behind—until she pushes me up against the brick exterior of the nearest inn.

“Mademoiselle—”

She cuts me off with a finger to my lips, swallowing her last mouthful of wine. “You’rethe slayer everyone’s talking about?” she coos. “Abel, Abel, Abel…That name rings a bell.”

I push her hand away. She must’ve heard my last name by now, but perhaps it didn’t stick. “Abel Estellio. If you don’t mind, I have a bounty to pursue.”

She frowns. “You’re here toslaya dragon?”

This again.

I catch her hand near my back pocket. “Yes. As you can see from my badge, that’s my job.”

She blinks slowly, as if she can’t connect my name with my history. Before I tried to cure my brother’s dragon curse, I was great at my job. Now I have a reputation to recover. That shouldn’t be hard to comprehend, even for a drunk.

The girl smiles sweetly. “I know who the dragon is.”

Her claim halts me. Civilians don’t typically approach slayers with information. Sighting reports usually go through the Gendarmerie. There must be a catch—a reason she came to me directly. “Please explain.”

Beside us, an elderly innkeeper with a broom opens the inn’s front door. One sweep of ash outside and she’s squinting at me, as if I’m the one pinning this drunk girl to a wall and not the other way around.

“Who’s your friend?” The girl presses her glass into my hand and scratches Lucy’s chin. I flinch out of her reach, but my bulky pack hits the wall. I don’t like this thief’s hand anywhere near my pack’s pockets. Especially not near my journal. My research is too important to lose.

The innkeeper glares. I try not to look guilty.

“There’s nothing going on here—” I start.

“Is that so?” The girl skims a fingertip down my chest and traces my slayer badge, then turns away with a wink. “Well. C’est la vie, Monsieur Abel.”

My lead is walking away. Swaying, in fact. Even the innkeeper slams the door on me with a self-righteous huff.

There must be a way to get the girl to stay.

First rule of dragon hunting: Consider the bait.

“Her name is Luciole,” I try.

“Luciole?” The girl returns, smiling as if she knew I’d stop her. I’m flirting with her using the slayer’s handbook. Diu spareme.

“Lucy for short.” I run a hand through my hair. “Want to hold—”

Shockingly, Lucy leaps off my shoulder and into the girl’s arms.With a satisfied whine, she buries her face into the girl’s scarred chest and curls up in her embrace.

“Ah. ‘Firefly.’ ” The girl giggles and kisses Lucy’s forehead. “Bonsoir, ma Luciole. I’m Claire.”