Gilded Latten Bones

57

Though there was babble from next door and some sort of foreboding from across the way, all was calm and relaxed in Singe's office. Tea got sipped. Not much got said. Strafa, Singe, and I relaxed.

After a time, Singe said, "The caretakers and night guards should be here soon. I expect John Stretch will come with them. I'm going to draw a pitcher of the dark."

The dark was the most potent beer we had. I had been unaware of its presence till now. The cold well must have been modified to handle multiple kegs.

Singe's tail vanished round the edge of the doorway. The Windwalker said, "She doesn't like me."

"No. But she's mellowing."

"Why doesn't she like me?"

"She thinks you're trying to push into our lives. She feels threatened. She's fragile." I made no mention of her season. Maybe the Dead Man could explain that later in a way that made sense to a human woman.

The Windwalker sipped tea and frowned delicately. She seemed waiflike and vulnerable. "How could I injure her?"

I gave Old Bones a few seconds to caution me before I said, "She sees all women in the mirror of Tinnie Tate." The redhead had to come up sometime.

"The abrasive woman who was there for some of the excitement at the World Theater, back when."

"That would be Tinnie."

"You're still involved."

"You know my situation perfectly well."

She smiled a wan, forlorn little smile. "I might have looked into it."

"Singe never liked Tinnie much. She feels guilty about that. She thinks she should like Tinnie because I like her. So now she feels like she needs to be a voice speaking for Tinnie because Tinnie can't speak for herself. Today she found out that both Dean and my partner across the way approve of you. So she feels more pressured."

"I see." She glowed like a kid who had just won a tough race against outstanding competition.

"I was surprised, too."

"Yes?" The glow waxed stronger. The woman was amazing. She might be who she was, one of the dozen most powerful mortals living, with potential for growth, but she was as naive as a ten-year-old in some ways. She was starved for approval.

Strafa said, "She's right about one thing. I mean to steal you away."

She said that straightforwardly, without a hint of the fierce sensual aura she had used to taunt men, back when she was daddy's girl. She stated a fact and left it for me to digest.

"You're going too fast. ."

Singe returned with two pitchers and four mugs. She meant to do some drinking and did not plan to do it by herself. I sniffed a pitcher. "I'm in." She had brought summer ale as well as the dark.

She told me, "You pour. I have to get the door."

My stomach plunged to the deck.