Page 42 of Stealing Tink

“Of course I do. So why bother claiming you have everything you need? You know I don’t appreciate being lied to.”

If the Nomad means it as a threat, Lars doesn’t seem to take it that way. In fact, his grimace appears to be more related to contemplating whether speaking to the Nomad is worth the time he’ll lose on whatever he’s doing currently. “Are you here to tell me you’ve found one for my collection?” He turns his monocled eye on me, scanning me up and down, bending not so subtly to try to get a look behind my back.

A shiver snakes down my spine. My feet ready to run, but the Nomad sends a silent shake of his head my way. It’s not the commanding sort, nor is it intimidating. In fact, if I didn’t know better, I would think it’s supposed to be comforting.

I must be a fool, because I stay put.

“I’m afraid she’s not for sale,” says the Nomad.

“Then you’re wasting my valuable time,” says Lars, shooing at the Nomad.

“Yes,” drawls the Nomad, looking with disdain on the dissected insect. “I should let you get back to more important matters. But before we leave, I’ll urge you to hear out my proposition.”

Lars doesn’t answer, which must make the Nomad assume is an invitation to continue. “I need your help breaking into a Fate’s lair.”

I wait for Lars to guffaw. To tell the Nomad he’s crazy.

Instead, without looking up from his insect, he says, “Which Sister?”

I raise a brow in surprise, but it’s a fair question. There’s a gradient to the Sisters’ cruelty, though now that I think of it, I don’t know much about the Youngest.

“Does it matter?” asks the Nomad.

“I won’t get on the bad side of the Middle. No, not that one,” he says, shaking his head as if speaking to himself.

The Nomad and I exchange a look, but he shrugs, then says carefully, “Well, then we’re all in luck. It’s the Eldest Sister we intend to steal from.”

“And what are we stealing?”

“We? I like the sound of that.”

“We is hypothetical in this situation.”

“The artifact in particular is of no importance to you. What is important is your payment for helping me retrieve said artifact.”

Lars waves his hand. “I don’t need money. Money’s just…”

“Yes, yes, I know. It’s just coin. Only valuable because someone in power told us so and all except you are fools,” says the Nomad. “Except I don’t intend to pay you in money.”

“You already said you don’t have what I want.”

“Oh, I have what you want,” says the Nomad. “You just can’t add her to your collection.”

Lars looks up once more, his curiosity clearly piqued. He’s not the only one.

“You see, in order to infiltrate the Sister’s lair, one of us will need to fly.”

A tingling sensation courses from my spine through my wings.

“Then get yourself some faerie dust.”

My limbs freeze. The Nomad is going to have this man bloodlet me. Memories of Neverland pierce my flesh, the translucent membrane of my already tattered wings.

I spin on my limbs to run, but the Nomad catches me by the arm. When he leans to whisper in my ear, his voice is soft. “It’s not what you think.”

Before I can struggle further, he says to Lars, “That’s the problem. The team member who will need to fly is immune to faerie dust.”

My heart stops. Winged faeries can’t use faerie dust to fly. Since it comes from our blood, we metabolize it too quickly.