Thirteen

 

The address was, unsurprisingly, in the nicest part of Galway. The dealer had a large penthouse flat in a beautiful silver-stoned building overlooking Eyre Square. I didn’t even want to know how much that had cost. We walked down the street towards the building, looking for any signs of security. A familiar face was hanging around near the entrance of the building. Misha’s curls looked more disheveled than they had been at the bar a couple of nights ago.

“Misha?” Grayson asked.

She gave him a small smile and crossed her arms across her chest.

“Why are you here?” Gray asked.

She chewed on her bottom lip and kept shifting her weight from foot to foot.

“He gives me better stuff than I can get in London…” she said, her eyes flicking up to the top floor.

“Does Tabs know?” Gray growled.

“Yes and no… I mean, she knows I like to dabble, but you don’t know what it’s like!”

We crowded in around her and gestured for her to keep her voice down. We were on the street in broad daylight. There were far too many non-magical people around. We needed to be careful.

“I come from… and they have so much, and I have nothing. I just wanted a taste of what I was supposed to be, and it’s incredible. You wouldn’t understand. You’re part of that community.”

I stared her down. She looked down at her feet.

“Can you really blame me? I mean… they want me to marry some normal guy and become a hedgewitch!” she hissed.

“What’s so bad about that?” I asked.

“You’re a Guardian! Can you imagine being in some small shop selling fucking basil all day?”

“Keep your voice down,” Gray snarled.

“You’re just as bad as her,” Misha snapped.

“Get out of here before we report you,” Gray growled.

She spat a few choice curses in a language I didn’t recognise before she stormed off down the road. Gray pulled out his phone and texted furiously.

“Tabs will be heart broken,” he said.

“Invite her over for dinner tonight; until then, we have to speak to this Connor guy,” Alasdair said.

Gray nodded, put his phone away, and set his shoulders back.

Alasdair took point, given he looked the most respectable out of the group. He walked into the lobby of the building as though he owned it. We made it all of four steps before a security guard stopped us.

“Who are you here to see?” he demanded in a deep gruff voice.

Alasdair raised an eyebrow and looked down at him.

“Mr. Byrne is expecting us. Should we tell him that you made us late for a very important business meeting?”

The security didn’t buy it for a second. He held up a hand and nodded to the receptionist woman, who picked up a phone and presumably called the dealer.

Of course, he wasn’t expecting us, but we weren’t exactly going to say, ‘Hey, we’re Guardians here to bust you, want to let us in?’

A man in his early thirties stepped out of the lift. His hair was done in a very expensive cut that framed his oval face and almost hid the small scar on his left temple. The navy-blue suit was cut so well even I noticed the sleek lines. It must have cost thousands.

“No need, Dana, I’m expecting them,” the man said with a cold smile.

“Of course, Mr. Byrne.”

We crossed the white-tiled lobby, our footsteps echoing around the large space of white on white. I thought that someone else would have felt bad walking in there in a scruffy leather jacket and scuffed boots. I, however, was rather enjoying the thought of bringing the place down a few social steps.

We stepped into the elevator with the dealer and stood in silence as it went up to the very top floor.

“And to what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from the resident lunar Guardians?” he asked as he stepped out into his lavishly decorated flat.

He led us through the wide hallway complete with mahogany floors into the flat proper. It was an open-plan affair with huge windows looking out over the park and the ocean beyond. I had to give it, the views were breathtaking. The mahogany flooring continued throughout, as did the white walls that had been present down in the lobby. The dealer poured himself what I assumed was a scotch from a crystal decanter and waited for one of us to answer him.

“And who told you we’re lunar Guardians?” Alasdair asked.

The dealer’s mouth split into a shark-like smile full of straight white teeth and ill-intent.

“I’m in the business of information,” he said, a threat rumbling through his tone.

“Then you’ll be able to tell us what happened to the witchlings that vanished from the blood moon coven,” Alasdair said.

The dealer’s eyes hardened, and I stepped around Alasdair to begin poking around the apartment. The dealer watched my every move as I looked at the modern art, splashes of colour on an off-white canvas.

“Don’t tell us you don’t know what we’re talking about,” Gray said.

The dealer laughed.

“Oh, I know exactly what happened to them, but nothing in life is free.”