I nod, knowing exactly what he means. “Is there any news on the other?” I ask. It’s a delicate subject; one I usually don’t broach this early in the morning.
Finn stiffens. “Dere has been no sign o’ her. I may have taught Molly too well. I should’ve been less comprehensive on how ta avoid Brennus and da fellas.”
“We’ll find her. She has to agree to everything before we can hunt for her soul in Sheol.”
“A contract must be made wi’ her. I know da rules.”
“Sorry,” I murmur, “I know you do.”
Brennus walks into the kitchen. He selects an orange from the giant bowl of them on the stone island. Tossing it in the air, he catches it. Walking behind my chair, his hand rests on my shoulder. He squeezes it. I tip my face up at him and smile. “Good morning,” I say.
He leans down and kisses my cheek. “Good morning,” he replies.
He looks over at the file in front of me. “Bruno Sarcasey?” He frowns. “Is he yer client today, mo chroí?”
“He is up to bat.” I say, looking at my plate. I butter my toast.
“I should take dis one.” Brennus picks up Bruno’s dossier.
“Drop it, faerie. He’s moin.” I smirk, using his accent to humor him and ease his anxiety. He worries too much about me. If anyone should be worried, it should be me. I listen to him in the next room every night while he tries to sleep. He has terrible nightmares, too. Whenever I go to him, he’s drenched in sweat and pawing at the air, fighting unseen demons. He tries to hide it during the day, but he’s tortured, just like the rest of us. “Anyway, don’t you have that thing with Atwater?”
“Whah ting?”
“That thing…the meeting?”
“Oh, dat.” He gives an irritated shrug. “I can put dat off. He hasn’t even said why he wants ta see me.”
“Then you should seriously take the meeting. If he didn’t say, it’s bad.”
“’Tis always bad. He’s an aingeal,” he replies.
“I resemble that comment.” I feign outrage.
He waves his hand dismissively. “Ye’re na one of dem. Ye’re one o’ us. Da queen.”
I smile and rise from my chair, taking my empty plate. I slip the file from his grasp. “You’re forgiven. Eat your orange. I’m going to go give Bruno a look see.” I walk toward the sink.
“Ye’re takin’ da fellas wi’ ye, are ye na?”
“I am not. I’m just going to get eyes on him. I won’t approach him yet.”
“Dat was na a request,” Brennus says scornfully. “Ye do na go anywhere wi’out protection.”
I rinse my plate, before sliding it in the dishwasher. “Keegan,” I say, speaking to the redheaded faerie near Brennus. “What are you doing in an hour?”
“I’m going wi’ ye ta get eyes on Bruno.”
“Happy?” I ask Brennus.
“Na even close.”
I sigh. “Declan, Lachlan, and Faolan, can you come with me in an hour?”
“Aye,” they all say in unison, while continuing to eat.
I give Brennus a there-you-go gesture. “Happy now?”
“Trilled,” he says with a sarcastic smile.
Bruno, it turns out, is a wan-loving playboy with poor business practices and a really scary sense of style. From our position in the abandoned building across the street from his warehouse, I have an unfettered view of our target and his over-sized lapels.
“He’s an arms dealer,” I murmur.
“He is,” Declan growls. “He recently sold me a chillax charm dat jus about blew me face off. I say we end him on principle.”
“Why were you buying a chillax charm from him?” I ask.
“Never ye mind,” Declan replies. “Have ye seen enough yet? I have some personal tings I want ta take care of today.”
“What things?”
“Personal. Tings,” Declan replies. “I agreed ta stay longer wi’ ye while da other fellas followed Bruno’s connection ta da freight yards. Ye could say tanks.”
“Tanks. I guess I’ve seen enough.” I pack up my stuff, shoving it in my backpack. My battle hammer sings when I touch it, it makes me smile. “Shh, little brudder!” I say to it before closing the bag. “I know what will make you happy, Deck. We could stop and get those paczki you like in Poletown.”
“Da ones wi’ da butter cream?” he asks.
“Uh-huh and coffee.” Now that Declan eats real food, we have so much more in common.
“’Tis on da way ta one of me errands.”
“Oh,” I ask, “what do you have to do?” We walk through the dilapidated building to the windows on the other side. We jump five stories to the ground, landing on our feet.
“I have ta pick up me lucky shirt from da cleaners.”
I wrinkle my nose. “That’s why we have to leave.”
“Genevieve, I have a date.”
“Shut. Yer. Gob!” I get into his nineteen-seventies black Cadillac. The white leather of the seat squeaks as I slide over and close the door. I open the window because it’s grown hot in the sun. It’s been a warm spring. “Who is she? He?”
“She. And ye do na know her.”
“When do I get to meet her?”
“I will let ye know.”