Page 142 of A Sanctuary from Shadow
“How does that work?” I scurried to his side, eyeing his purse. Uncle Neel had explained seeds and their temporary powers, but I’d yet to see anyone use them in that capacity besides Pete just then. “Does each seed do its own thing when you ingest it, or can you adapt them based on your personal needs?”
Pete’s strong fingers swirled through his seeds. “Some are steadfast in their purpose, others fluid.”
“And the one you just used?”
His gaze was like the skim of velvet across my freshly bared cleavage. “Fluid.”
Denying the wicked things his look did to me, I sniffed. “I should’ve guessed. I doubt there’s a widespread need for a seed specifically meant to strip people.” My jaw dropped when I finally glimpsed his current fixation. “Or to enlarge boobs!”
Pete snorted when I swatted him.
“What the hell? These better not be permanent, buddy!”
“Fret not, Shorty. It’s a mere illusion—a bit of extra padding in your bodice.”
I considered my breasts again. “Really?” They looked just about—average.
“Aye.” His brow arched. “And not much, might I add.”
“So, this—this is really just me?”
“Mostly.”
“Then that’s okay.” I pursed my lips, squelching a grin. “Still, next time ask before you do something like that.”
“Fair enough.” As if I’d cued him, he selected another seed. “Mind if I pin up your hair?”
Biting my thumbnail again, I reached for the seed. “Can I try?”
An hour later, I slinked through the darkness behind the Ceridwen Public House like I was ready to do some high kicks, my hair styled back in my favorite pompadour ponytail. Pete prowled ahead of me, ensuring we stayed under cover. He didn’t want us seen together. If anyone thought we knew each other, they might suspect I was helping him cheat. I assumed that would be bad.
The tavern resembled an ivy-roofed cabin built into a towering sycamore’s trunk. The entrance writhed with fae folk, but I could hear peepers peeping in the rear. And like any bar in any world, the rear was meant for garbage and vehicle parking.
“I was right,” Pete whispered once we sank down behind a set of massive crates that stunk to high heaven of decay. Compost containers? I wondered. “He’s here.”
“Howlite?” I searched the immediate area but didn’t see anyone.
“Aye.” Pete gestured toward a bronze domed carriage sporting the large etching I’d seen in my favorite nightmare—the ancient fae symbol for Larkspur. “That’s his lorry, there beside the pond. He’s likely already inside the tavern.”
I blinked at the slaver’s coach. The damn fool had left his wagon windows open—in a city. A fae city, but still urban in comparison to the vast countryside. In the human world, even small-town bumpkins knew not to tempt the dishonest—or the desperate, in our case.
“Hey!” I smacked Pete’s chest. “Why bother with the tournament when we could break into his carriage and steal whatever seeds we find?” Even if Howlite had his seeds bolted up, the harbinger beside me probably had some surefire way to pick a lock.
Pete’s mouth twisted. “Would that we could, Shorty, but Howlite never leaves his stash unattended in his lorry. That, he’ll have deposited in his rented room.” He shrugged. “We’ll have to fleece him out of his purse. No getting around it.”
Damnit. “Oh, fine. What does he look like? How will I know who to approach?”
“He’ll be the Danann with a golden snake pierced through his eyebrow.”
“Asnake?”
Pete enjoyed my unmasked distaste. “Aye. He calls it Hydra, talks to it at times.”
“Someone should’ve warned him how that would make him look. Since he’s a slaver and all. He should’ve chosen a more innocent animal.”
Pete clicked his tongue. “I’m fair certain the gobshite knows both snakes and slavers are widely betokened as evil and doesn’t care. In fact, he’s downright proud of it.”
“Before I go in there to convince this douchebag that I’m hot for him, can you please assure me he has at least one redeeming quality?”
