Page 119 of Avalon Tower
“We’re here on our honeymoon,” Raphael says in French, tinged with a Fey accent that he’s dialed up. “We recently got married.”
“Congratulations.”
“It was a marvelous wedding,” I say, sliding my arm around Raphael’s waist. I feel his muscles tense a little under his shirt. “On the beach, with the sand through our toes.”
The barman’s hand pauses as he recognizes the agreed upon phrase. “Sounds marvelous. Maybe when I get hitched, I’ll do it on the beach as well,” he says, giving me the second part of the phrase.
Raphael casually leans on the bar. “We rented a small place nearby,” he says.
The barman nods. “It’s a good place for a honeymoon. Lots of nice picnic locations and such.”
“I don’t know how much we’re going to leave the house,” Raphael says with a smile.
I look up at him, my gaze trailing over his strong jawline. “Or the bedroom,” I add.
A man at the bar snorts into his wine glass. He turns to Raphael and waggles his eyebrows.
Good. By the end of the day, every human and Fey in town will have heard about the horny couple in the cottage. It’s a perfect cover for why we won’t be leaving it.
“What can I get you?” asks the bartender.
“Some mead would be wonderful,” I say.
“And a baguette and cheese,” Raphael adds. “We’ll take it with us.”
The barman pours two glasses of mead, then goes to the back and returns a couple of minutes later with a paper bag and a baguette sticking out the top. We both finish our mead, take the bread with us, and leave.
Outside, I break the bread in two. As we expected, there’s a little pouch baked inside, and inside the pouch are a key and a tiny map. I scrutinize the map, then scan the street until I find a small cottage with a garden outside—directly across from the veil mage’s mansion. The cottage is narrow, and the second story has a steeply peaked roof. Blue shutters are wide open on two large windows on the top and bottom floor. Even in September, lavender still blooms out front, and ivy climbs the stone walls.
“That one,” I say, then rip off a chunk of bread and bite into it. I’m starving.
We enter the garden, and the air smells heavy with wildflowers and a hint of marjoram. I slide the key into the front door and turn it. The lock seems old and rusty, and the door creaks on its hinges.
Through the open shutters, light streams into a tiny room with white walls, a threadbare embroidered rug, and walls lined with bookshelves. Dust motes float in the air, catching the light. There’s hardly any furniture in here—just a few wooden chairs and an aged harpsichord.
On the other side of the hall is a tiny kitchen with a pale green cabinet, a wooden table, and a fireplace-style stove. Copper pots and pans hang from wooden ceiling beams. It’s not even roomy enough for Raphael to stand upright.
“We need to get the horses,” I say.
“I’ll go tonight,” Raphael answers. “The barman will let me keep them in the tavern’s stable.”
I turn to a stairwell with aged wooden steps. When I climb to the top, I find a single bedroom. It’s a cozy attic with an A-frame sloped wooden ceiling. Of course, there’s only one bed.
I hear the stairs creak behind me, and Raphael’s deep voice ripples over my skin. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“No need to be a martyr,” I say. “We can just alternate.”
I walk to the window and peer through the old, warped glass. Iron gray clouds slide over the sun, casting shadows on the street.
Across the road stands the large mansion with towering columns out front and the stone wall surrounding it. Two enormous Fey guards stand before the gate, armed with halberds. I survey the mansion itself. Large, three stories high, with vines creeping up the stony walls. Through one of the windows, I glimpse a figure, someone sitting by a fireplace, reading a book. I slip the spyglass from my pack and hold it to my eye. My heart skips a beat as I take him in—pumpkin-orange hair that runs past his shoulders and a glint of metallic eyes. He wears the dark robe of a veil mage. I already know his name from the intel MI-13 has on him.
“It’s him,” I tell Raphael. “Caradoc.”
Even from here, I can hear the faint humming that emanates from him.
That’s the man I’m going to kill.
CHAPTER 41