Page 31 of Storm of Shadows

“If you’re going to–” I start to warn my brother.

“I got a name,” he says quietly with an even bigger grin on his face.

“What?”

“I got you a name. Her name. Little Miss No-show.” He takes a long sip of his drink, peering over the rim of his glass at me with mischief brimming in his eyes. He knows I’m as impatient as hell and he loves to tease me.

Once he’s swallowed, he takes his time licking his bottom lip, fiddling with his lip ring, and I’m tempted to grab the lapel of his jacket and shake the information out of him.

“Are you going to tell me?”

“So, you are still interested, even though the little brat failed to show up as asked?”

“I’m even more interestedbecauseshe didn’t turn up,” I growl.

“Yeah,” Dray says, eyes twinkling, “me too.”

“So, what the hell is her name?”

“Briony,” Dray says, “Briony Storm.”

“Storm?” I repeat, frowning. It’s an unusual last name and yet it stirs something in the back of my mind. Like I’ve come across that name before. Or is it just …

“I have a feeling our little brat could be stormy by name, stormy by nature. Maybe this could be fun after all,” Dray says.

“So you’re now in favor?”

“I don’t have a choice,” he answers, “so I’ll make the best of the situation. And,” he tips the rest of his drink down his throat, “have some fun in the meantime.” He winks at Dahlia, slams his empty glass on the bar top and goes to stalk off in her direction. I grab ahold of his arm and stop him.

“How about the black eye? Did you find a name for that too?”

“Possibly,” he says, “some kid called Stanley.”

“Stanley,” I repeat, committing the name to memory.

I let go of Dray and he walks away, leaving me on my own.

Not for long though. It doesn’t take two minutes for Henrietta Smyte to slide up alongside me. She is the taller of the twins, her straight red hair falling in curtains around her pale pointy face. She’s wearing an ivory dress that, against her pale skin, makes it look as if she’s wearing nothing at all.

“Why the long face, Beaufort?” she says. Her lips are painted a blood red to match her hair and it leaves an imprint on the rim of her glass as she takes a sip of wine, probably in a manner she believes to be seductive.

“My face is the same as it always is,” I grunt. Henrietta and I were an item last year. She wasn’t happy when I ended things. She’s been trying to manufacture a reunion ever since. It’s not going to happen. The girl is vain and boring.

“Did your little thrall not live up to your expectations?” She laughs, high and shrill, making my teeth hurt. I’ve always hated it. “Was she a disappointment? Any one of us could have told you that. I mean, Beaufort, a girl from the Slate Quarter, what are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking I don’t have to explain myself to you, Henrietta, or anyone else for that matter.”

I’m not going to tell her our thrall never even showed up. That would set the girl purring with delight.

“Our thrall is an absolute dream. So obliging, so willing, so good with his hands.” She curls her tongue up inside her mouth and steps a little closer. With the bar behind me, I can’t step away, instead I draw myself up to my full height. “I’d be happy to share.” She places her hand on my chest, sliding her fingers across the soft cotton.

I snatch her wrist and yank her hand away.

“Go bother someone else, Henny,” I say in my most bored tone, pushing her away.

She snaps her arm forward, tossing a bolt of magic right at me, I block it with the swing of my arm and it explodes right in front of my face.

I take a step towards her, lifting my hand. My magic crackles in warning.