Page 77 of A Sanctuary from Shadow
“What do you mean—beyn like me?”
“I mean that you’re Danann. Have you not noticed you’re the only one of your kind here?”
I scanned the tavern, and, damn, he was right.
“Dananns don’t usually mix with us Unseelie lowlings.” His voice carried humor, but his message was heavy. “Not by choice, anyhow.”
Now I understood the frosty glances I’d received upon entering the tavern. Everyone assumed I was a racist snob, though I looked like one of the masses. Did even poor Dananns act like their shit didn’t stink?
Taking another bite of his bread, Pete talked while he chewed. “Most Dananns who stumble upon this place would sooner dine alone in their quarters upstairs than mingle with a Troll fae like Reed or a human like me.”
I raised my chin. “Well, I’m not like that.”
“You are a bit different, aren’t you?”
Funny, but that didn’t seem a negative comment coming from him.
“Now, what nasty trick of fate brought you to this place?”
I exhaled a breath and regaled him with that day’s ordeal—excluding my tree hugging stint. That was irrelevant.
When I finished, Pete clicked his tongue. “Sounds like you had a dose of a day.”
If that meant bad, I agreed. “Now I’m just waiting around to see if my companion will show up. Did you happen to pass another Danann on your travels today?”
“Can’t say as I did.”
“Yeah, that would’ve been too easy.”
“Where were you headed? Just the two of you?”
I shrugged. “Home, I’m told.”
He arched a brow at my abstruse answer, but I knew better than to elaborate.
“Two ales for you.” Jade placed two horn tankards between our trenchers. She pursed rosebud lips at Pete, ignoring me. “Just had a word with Reed. You’ll pay your tab tonight, hear?”
Inclining his head, Pete sobered. “Yes, mam.”
Sniffing, Jade waddled off to tend other customers.
“Did you do something I don’t know about?” I wondered at his friends’ mood swings.
“Not as of yet.” He swigged his ale, winking. “But they ken me well enough to figure I will.”
That night, Pete bought me more than a few ales, and by the time midnight cuckooed, my skin fit much better than it usually did.
Briar still hadn’t arrived, but I’d forgotten about him midway through my second round. That’s when Pete had led me to an empty dining table, where we chitchatted while playing cards.
“You’re not the only one fond of the black-market, darlin’,” Pete lilted, dealing me two cards from his prized Bicycle deck. He must’ve noticed me eyeing it. “I picked up this fine manmade treasure at the Goblin Market last year. I always find the best baubles there. Bartering’s a sticky venture, of course. Goblins can be right underhanded, and you must mind your phrasing, else you’ll get naught but ash.”
“Ash, huh?” I chuckled, swigging my ale. It went down sinfully smooth. “Sounds like false advertising to me. Call the Better Business Bureau.”
“The what now?”
I snorted down at my tankard, so tickled by my own joke, I didn’t give a shit that he didn’t get it. Pete laughed anyway, doubtless at my peculiarity.
My mirth ebbing, I considered my cards. He’d been teaching me bachram—a popular fae card game comparable to Texas Holdem poker. The only major difference between the two games was that bachram employed the jokers. They were higher than aces and could ruin a good hand in a blink. If a joker was dealt, that hand’s big blind would pick it up, then discard one of their original cards. A new card then would be dealt in the joker’s place. Barring that, the rules were simple. I still sucked at it, though—beaming whenever gold appeared to me.
