“You’ll see.” I winked. “Just trust me. This’ll be an adventure. Plus, it might provide the distraction we need to slip a message to Damien.” Her nervous laughter followed me as I excitedly grabbed a cloak from the wardrobe.
“Adventure, she says.” Maeve chuckled. “As if we need any more ofthat.”
Striding towards the door, I called over my shoulder, “Oh, come on, Maeve! Life’s no fun without a little chaos!” My words echoed down the hall, a testament to the unpredictable path I was about to tread.
The clatterand jostle of the carriage rumbling over the cobblestones toward the Southern District lent an air of unease to the atmosphere inside. Maeve nervously wrung her hands as she sat on the cushioned bench across from me. Her eyes darted every so often to the windows as the less-than-savory sights of the district passed by.
“Alright, my lady, I'm all for a good adventure, but you have to tell me what we're doing,” she pleaded.
Leaning forward, I beckoned her closer with a crooked finger. When she leaned in, I whispered conspiratorially, “I’m going to give something a try—something that hasn't been working lately, but I hope will work today.”
Maeve blinked, taken aback. “And that is?”
I grinned, leaned back, and gave a casual shrug. “You'll see.”
Maeve gritted her teeth, annoyed. “That’s not an answer, my lady.”
I chuckled. “I know.”
When the carriage pulled to a stop, we disembarked in front of The Broken Tankard. The tavern's faded sign swayed in the breeze, emitting an ominous creak that threatened to bring it crashing down on our heads. In the daytime, the place was just as rundown as I remembered, with peeling paint and a ramshackle entrance that promised all sorts of nefarious activities inside.
Grabbing Maeve’s wrist, I pulled her along with pep in my step. “Come on. Let's blend in.”
The place was packed, filled with the pungent smell of cheap alcohol and ringing with raucous laughter and heated arguments from gamblers in the back room. I scanned the crowd looking for a table where we could sit and people watch, but it was standing room only. Gripping Maeve’s wrist, I pushed through the tight crowd to get a better look, just as a pair of burly werewolves vacated a table near the back. I steered Maeve through the crowd and snagged the spot just in time. We hurriedly sat down and pulled the hoods of our cloaks back.
Maeve sighed. “What's your plan, my lady?”
I winked. “Just watch.” Then I sat back and searched the room for the right kind of trouble to stir up.
Thirty seconds later, two witches draped in layers of dark, shimmering fabrics approached us. One was dark and one fair, but both were obviously displeased. The brunette’s sharp eyes glittered beneath her hood as she haughtily said, “Excuse me, but we’ve been waiting for a table quite a while and this one'sours.”
I tilted my head and unflinchingly met her gaze, realizing I didn’t need to look for trouble… trouble had just found me.
I flashed them my most charming smile, the one that usually got me into more trouble than out of it. “Oh, is that how it works here? See, where I'm from, it's first come, first serve. And it looks like you were just a tad too slow. So, that means this table is ours.”
Their expressions flickered between irritation and disbelief. The blonde witch sputtered, “You can't just—”
“Can’t just what? Sit here?” I interrupted, spreading my arms wide and leaning back in the chair. “Look, I’m not saying you’re slow, but if this was a race, you’d still be tying your shoelaces while I was crossing the finish line.”
Maeve gasped, then reached for me and whispered, “My lady!”
The witches' eyes narrowed. “Shoelaces? What are—”
“Never mind.” I waved off their confusion. “But seriously, stick around. I'm sure another table will free up before you can say 'eye of newt' three times fast.”
As the witches stood glaring down at us, the brash brunette leaned closer, her voice low and threatening. “You might think you're funny, but this isn't your playground,human.”
I raised an eyebrow, meeting her challenge with a casual tilt of my head. “Oh, come on, it was just a joke. But hey, if you want to dance, I can lead—or follow, your choice.”
The witch's scowl deepened. Without warning, she flicked her wrist and a glass from a nearby table hurtled towards us.With reflexes honed in far more hostile environments than a dingy bar, I caught the glass mid-air and set it back down with a clink. “Nice try. But if we're throwing things, let me know—I’ve been known to throw a mean party.”
Her companion, evidently less amused and more combative, stepped forward, her hand shimmering with a faint, magical glow. “Enough!” she hissed, launching a condensed ball of air straight at me.
The patrons’ lack of interest told me that fights broke out with numbing frequency, which was fortunate for me because no one came to the witches’ aid. Dodging to the side, I grabbed a tray from a passing server’s hands and used it as a shield. The air blast hit the tray with a thud, scattering a few leftover peanuts. “Really? Over a table?” I taunted, tossing the tray aside. “You must be fun at parties.”
Frustrated and clearly out for blood, the brunette attempted a more physical approach, lunging towards me with a speed that was almost commendable. But this wasn’t my first bar fight. I sidestepped, grabbed a chair by its back, and swung it in a wide arc. When she collided with it, the impact sent her stumbling back.
“Okay, last chance to walk away,” I warned, my voice steady despite the escalating situation. When they both advanced again, steely determination etched into their features, I sighed, resigned. “Have it your way, then.”
