The Heartbreak Show (Bound By Ravens #3)

22. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Cian Lonan-Merrick

Owen cut behind me in a sharp landing. The women skidded to a stop as I spun to face him. Wind from his wings whipped at their skirts and blew hats from their heads. Scooping me up—like the damsel in distress I really now was—he flew back toward Corbin, who was waiting in the air.

“Primry Green!” I shouted over the thundering whoosh of his wings. “Ground level.”

I was too dizzy from magic loss to stand that high above the streets.

We flew over rooftops, to throw off the Ladies, before angling down alleys. A familiar twinge of knowing nipped at my gut when we turned a corner. A persistent feeling that grew as we angled deeper into the alley. I tapped on Owen’s arm and pointed to a space near a gas lamp. After nearly being mauled, I didn’t want to face thieves in the shadows too.

I sprang from Owen’s hold the moment we landed and began retching.

My entire body was shaking from shock, my head woozy from magic drain. Moons above, this was wretched. I’d rather be hungover from drinking too much. Was this how Filena felt?

Gentle hands scooped back the long strands of my wig. “I can’t marry you now, love bug.”

I started laughing, appreciating Owen’s call back. Stars, I needed something to break the tension inside of me. Slowly, I straightened, pressing a hand to my still churning middle, and took in our surroundings.

A brick building stood at my back with two servant entries. A nightclub, I believed. Boisterous piano music was spilling out of the partially open windows a story above us. The flicker of lamplight warmed the space around us, though we stayed in its darker patches. Across the alleyway was another brick building, but its atmosphere seemed more relaxed. A casino, perhaps? Or a sit-down restaurant?

“So,” Corbin awkwardly drawled, gesturing at me, “you glow.”

I erupted into laughter all over again at his comment; I couldn’t help it. All I could think about was that delightfully lewd romance about Lugh and his shining cock.

“I apparently have a goddess form,” I said, wiping tears from my eyes. “And she’s . . . she’s a sassy bitch”—I started laughing once more—“The priestess had the audacity to ask for a blessing. And I . . . the goddess me . . . she called them all cows”—I fell into another round of laughter—“called them cows and . . . and . . . told them to share their plenty.”

I was on the verge of wheezing at this point. That whole ceremony was the most deranged thing I'd participated in and I enjoyed all kinds of kinks. I blew out a slow breath. My chest was heaving from laughing so hard. I wiped at more tears, the fellas too.

Gods, it felt good to laugh like this.

I had been dying inside since the first agricultural innuendo.

“Speaking of cows,” I said, exhaling another slow, measured breath, “mine is in a Molly house named Beau Fine .”

The fellas immediately sobered.

“The Syndicate stopped you?” I asked next.

“Aye,” Corbin answered, “to ask what our business is on their nest.”

Owen added, “Establishing connections with a few bosses for Rhylen, we told them.”

“Then they saw the Ladies of Lugh and flew away faster than the wind.” Corbin studied me. “Not even a second later, you began to shine.”

I fell against the brick wall behind me and peered up at the stars to gather my thoughts. I had glowed.

Glowed.

“You’re sure your cow is in a male brothel?” Owen asked.

I rolled my head toward the lads. “Emeline mentioned two other places, the Palace of Stars and a nightclub named The Crow and Bar .” Owen pulled a face of disgust. Aye, it was a terrible name.

“ Beau Fine makes the most sense,” Corbin agreed.

Almost every village had a brothel. But it was illegal to entertain the same sex and gender on the mainland. A male house of ill-repute would be the last place a lady would tread. Not even half-crazed, zealous ones.

I paused.

Actually, nothing would surprise me about that lot of women. Maybe the Syndicate underestimated them.

I sighed. “ Beau Fine rhymes with ‘bovine.’”

Owen snorted.

“I’m too indecent for polite society.” I gestured to my drawers. “The Ladies of Lugh will immediately recognize my sparkly, shiny arse too.”

“I’ll take the Beggar’s Hole strip,” Corbin said to Owen and I relaxed. It would be much faster for them to hunt for Beau Fine .

Owen nodded, then considered me. “You’ll be fine here by yourself?”

“If trouble finds me”—I patted the brick building I leaned against—“I’ll slip into this fine establishment.” I shooed them away with my gloveless hand. The glove I had removed for the berry was probably in the skirts I also left behind.

I expected them to leave with that last reassurance.

Instead, the lads, for the first time since landing in this alley, took me in, their grins crooked and eyes crinkled in humor. I looked ridiculous. Opportunistic strumpet that I was, I declared, “Goddess pose,” then stuck my arse out, touched my gloved hand to my lips in a flirty smile, and kicked up a leg behind me to show off a cock boot.

My brothers both laughed, shaking their heads.

“Only you, Cordelia ,” Owen teased.

“Do not tell Glenna—"

“Oh darlin’,” Owen drawled with a mischievous grin, “no bargain.” Then he shifted into a raven and flew off.

Corbin chuckled and then shifted into the air next.

Feathered peckers.

I fell against the stone wall once more and heaved a sigh. The music changed above me to a rollicky tune and a cheer went up followed by whistles. Maybe someone outside had a smoke. I desperately needed something to ease my frayed nerves.

Placing the Lughnasadh’s Day hat to my crotch, I inched into the warm lamplight. At the corner, I pressed myself to the cool bricks and peered around the bend. A smattering of small parties strolled along the lawn, too engaged in conversation to notice me. The sidewalks, thankfully, were relatively thin compared to the bustling activity a block away. I appeared to be at the far end of Crescent Street, on the opposite side of the market. And not a Lady of Lugh in sight.

Encouraged, I stepped more around the bend and froze.

Another insistent knowing pinch twisted in my gut—and I stilled.

My gaze slid to the sign above the door.

Bó Finne

The White Cow.

A brothel of males for males named Beau Fine . . .

Oh dear, sweet Emeline—no. It was pronounced fin-uh , not “fine.” The White Cow was a magical faerie tale creature whose milk never ran dry and whose path formed Bealach na Bó Finne —the Milky Way. I didn’t know many old tales, but all fae knew this one and, thus, their mortal pets.

A delighted part of me wanted to double over in laughter. Gods was Bó Finne a cleverly lewd tongue-in-cheek name for a male brothel on the City of Stars.

But I was starting to panic again.

This was why my Sight insisted we land here.

My faerie cow, whose magic milk apparently also never ran dry, had to be hidden in this establishment.

I started to step back into the shadows when a servant’s door pushed open to a flushed, giggling middle-aged woman in a silk gown. A well-sculpted man, perhaps my age, leaned against the doorframe, shirtless and in tight, unlaced breeches that hung low on his hips. His auburn hair was falling out of the corded tie at the nape of his neck. A sultry smile teased his rouge-stained lips.

Ah, so the men serviced more than males and these doors were discreet exits.

“Work for me,” the woman pleaded. “A footman, perhaps. Then we can—”

“Mrs. Halifax,” he murmured, “I wouldn’t dare ruin our time among the stars—"

She leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed him with a grunting, sloppy desperation that would be humorous if it didn’t look like she was trying to claw her way into his skin. Gently, the man cupped her by the shoulders and eased her away with a wink. The woman took a few steps backward and, upon seeing me, squealed. Then she erupted into another fit of giggles before dashing past me and out of the alley.

I flashed the man an are-you-all-right look. But he didn’t notice. His gaze was falling down my body in a slow perusal of my state of disrepair, lingering on the hideous red monstrosities on my feet.

“The goddess!” a woman screeched.

My head whipped back toward Crescent Street. The galloping heart in my chest spurred faster.

“Feck,” I hissed. “Feck! Feck! Feeeeeck!”

“I see her shining face!”

I was glowing—again? I studied my hands and nearly deflated into a puddle on the cobbled street. Just the gas lamp glow.

I pivoted back toward the alley entrance and could weep. The male prostitute was still here, peering around me to the six Ladies of Lugh dashing our way.

“I need you to hide me.”

“Ladies of Lugh are not welcome in this establishment anymore.”

My brows shot up. Anymore ? There was a whole story here that I was dying to know. But this wasn’t the time. The man pointed at the Lughnasadh’s hat in my hand. Oh . “No,” I said with a wild shake of my head. “I’m not one of them. Not really. I faked the . . .”

The dimple appearing on his right cheek stole the words right off my tongue. I knew that dimple. The sultry way his lips curled in invitation despite rejecting my plea was oddly familiar too. It was the cinnamon brown eyes sweeping across my disheveled state, however, that silenced the pounding blood in my ears.

“Drew Barclay?”

He went preternaturally still. “Where did you hear that na—” He gasped, his features sharpening. “Cian?”

“I’m hurt you believe someone this beautiful would be anyone else.”

He genuinely smiled then. “Damn, but you do get prettier every year.”

“Daughter of Lugh!” the priestess shouted, raising my pink silk skirt above her head. Silver moons above, she was spry for an older woman. Or compelled by magicked fervor.

Drew started laughing under his breath. “What have you gotten yourself into now, Cian Merrick?” With another chuckle, he tipped his head to follow him.

I jumped into the low-lit service hallway and slammed the door behind me. My fingers were shaking, but I slid the bolt into place and then slowly spun toward my former Autumn Night Market lover from South Tribe.