Fallen Reign (Sins of the Father 1)

“Back to the Black Market. I need to see a lady about some underpants.”

19

“You’ve got to be joking,” Beatrice said, scoffing as she turned away from me, her nose high up in the air.

I clenched my teeth as my fingernails dug into her shop counter. Man, I really could have used some backup, but Raziel predictably took off before we’d even made it to the manhole in the middle of Silk Road. He muttered something about how inappropriate it was for angels to be seen browsing in the Black Market. Typical.

“Oh, come on. Don’t we deserve a chance? We’ll make it a fair trade. We give you enough of Florian’s concoctions, which you can very easily resell with all of your connections down here. You know all these people. What have you got to lose?”

Beatrice frowned at me, held out her hand, and stabbed the center of her palm with one lacquered fingernail as she punctuated every angry word.

“Time. Money. Both are precious to me. Why should I bother trotting around the Black Market trying to offload these allegedly delicious liquors your friend makes when I could be making money directly from a sale or service? It sounds like a pyramid scheme. And let’s not forget the fact that you casually mentioned how no one has actually tasted the damn things. You’re expecting me to go on good faith here, Mason.” She slammed her palms onto the table, rising up on the balls of her feet, glaring. “Poison. You could be foisting bottles of trash juice off on me, and I would never know. This is a classic scam. I am a businesswoman. A business. Woman.”

I ran my hands through my hair in frustration. “Okay, fine. Then what about some potions you can use in your work? Florian is really good with brews of all sorts. He’s basically an overqualified alchemist. You can infuse your clothes with his dyes, strengthen their enchantments with the filters he makes with his own bare hands.”

You caught me. I was totally pulling that out of my ass. I didn’t know the first thing about either alchemy or enchanted tailoring. And from the way Beatrice’s mouth was shuddering with the beginnings of derisive laughter, she could tell, too.

“Don’t insult my intelligence and experience, Mason. I am a trained seamstress and have har

d-earned degrees in both mundane and enchanted fashion design from the most esteemed colleges. The most! I’ve apprenticed under entities who can weave magic from their very fingertips.”

“But – ” I started to say. No dice. Beatrice barreled on. I’d hit a tender spot, apparently.

“Using decoctions and dyes with my craft would be all well and good if I had any evidence of the quality of the product. Which I clearly don’t. Plus I’m not in the market for those, anyway. If I needed raw materials, I’d go with my regular people down here at the bazaar.” She cocked her head at me, her lips in a flat, disapproving line. “There is no demand for your supply, I’m afraid.”

The double doors to her shop creaked just then, the little bell above them ringing as they swung open. I checked over my shoulder, relieved to find Florian’s smiling face as he shambled into the workshop, his eyes taking in Beatrice’s wares with open wonder. He wasn’t going to be the most effective backup, but he was better than nothing.

“Hey, man,” Florian said, grinning and nodding at me in greeting, his hands in his pockets as he approached the counter at an extremely relaxed pace. “I did my rounds, had a look at the places here. I think I’ve picked out a few businesses that might be interested in our stuff.”

If he noticed Beatrice, he made no indication of it, but I had the oddest suspicion that he was focusing on me on purpose and ignoring her deliberately. And damn it, it actually worked. Beatrice’s demeanor had changed entirely. She was leaning over her counter, her chin in her hand as she tucked a lock of hair away from her face, her lashes fluttering.

“Mason,” she trilled. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to this muscular friend of yours?”

“Oh, of course. This is Florian, the dryad friend I was talking about. Florian, this is Beatrice Rex. But you already know that, what with her face being right on top of the store.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Florian said politely, extending one hand.

“Same,” Beatrice said, shaking his hand and holding it just a little too long, her head tilted, like she was assessing him.

“Florian. What is that, German? Strange name for a dryad, isn’t it?”

“Oh, you know so much?” Florian folded his arms and grinned. “Name five dryads. Quickly.”

Beatrice laughed. “You’re so funny. Mason, you never told me you had a funny friend.”

I rolled my eyes. “So, Beatrice, remember the guy I was talking about? The one whose goods you said you would never dream of trading, because they might be – what were your words again – just bottles of trash juice?”

Her mood shifted again, the sharpness of her scowl cutting into my flesh. The daggers firing from her eyes could have honestly pinned me against the wall.

“I said no such thing,” she answered, her voice soft, but her eyes still burning holes into my head. She turned to Florian, laying one hand gently on his forearm. “All I was telling your friend Mason here was that it would involve an exchange of a lot of product to meet the value of the shimmerscale. It’s a very, very expensive reagent after all.”

“Quite rare,” Florian said, nodding, his eyes never leaving her face. “And beautiful. And precious.” I couldn’t really tell if he was talking about the shimmerscale anymore. The toss of Beatrice’s hair and her tittering laughter told me I was right.

She waved her hand across her shop. “I will gladly offer you a choice selection of some of my garments in exchange for a sample of this – did you say it was specialty wine? Or liquor? And Mason did mention that you might be talented at brewing special dyes and decoctions I might use for enchanting, as well. Maybe we can come to an arrangement. I could trade you some of my pieces in the shop. A few of these things might look good on you.”

What the – before Florian showed up, all she’d done was berate me about even bringing up the possibility of bartering. And didn’t she say that she wasn’t interested in new suppliers? I frowned as I glanced Florian over, head to foot, and back again. Was he really that hot?

“I don’t think I’d fit in anything you’ve got stocked here,” Florian said, stretching and curling his arms for Beatrice’s benefit, the weird woodsiness of his genetic structure making him creak softly with every bicep flex.