Bayou Moon - Andrews, Ilona [45]
He wanted to jump up and down and pump his fist. “To your house? In the swamps?”
“Yes.”
Play it cool, play it cool. “Hmm.”
Cerise glared at him, her dark eyes bright. “What do you mean ‘hmm’? You think I invite just anybody to our family home? If you’d rather be dead because you decided to play the hero and save me, you’re welcome to it.”
“What about your family? Won’t they mind?”
“Until we get my parents back, I’m in charge of my family,” she said.
The road broke through the trees, and they entered a small town. Wooden buildings, some on stilts, some on stone foundations, formed narrow streets. Somewhere to the left a dog bayed. The air smelled of food and people.
“Decide, Lord Bill. Yes or no?”
“Yes,” he said.
“We might get killed along the way,” she said.
“Nice of you to mention it.”
“My pleasure.” She pointed left. “Come on. Zeke’s place is over there. We have to go that way anyway, and the more people see us together now, the better. It will reinforce the idea that you’re working for me. And we can get rid of that awful thing.”
He won. He won, he won, he won. He could see the method in Declan’s madness now. Playing a hero had its advantages.
“I happen to think the fish head is an impressive specimen,” William told her.
“It stinks.”
“You wore a jacket full of rancid spaghetti for three days.”
“It was a disguise! Nobody pays attention to homeless people in the Broken.”
“Why were you in the Broken?” he asked.
“None of your business.”
She stuck her chin in the air and strode down the street. He snuck a glance at her ass—it was a remarkable ass—and followed her.
EIGHT
ZEKE Wallace’s shop occupied a large wooden structure that in the Broken would’ve been a barn. In the Edge, it must’ve passed for a respectable storefront, William decided, since it had a giant gator head above the door and a sign that said ZEKE’S LEATHERS under it.
William swung the door open and remembered to hold it for Cerise. The inside of the store was cool and dim. A long counter sliced the floor in half, offering a variety of knives, gator leathers, belts, and assorted junk. A man sat behind the counter next to a large crossbow.
William glanced at him, evaluating. In his early forties, lean, probably still fast. Skin like a walnut—weathertanned and lined. Hair, once black, now neither here nor there, worn on the longer side. Hooded dark eyes.
Their stares met. “What can I do you for?” the man asked.
“Looking for Zeke,” William said.
“I’m Zeke. What are you and your lady looking for?”
Cerise turned to him. “Hi, Zeke.”
Zeke flinched.
It lasted half a second, a mere flicker across the man’s face, but William caught it: eyebrows raised, eyes wide, lips stretched back. That was the one human expression he was very familiar with—fear. Zeke Wallace was afraid of Cerise.
The man recovered fast, in the same breath. “Hello, Ms. Mar. And how are you this fine evening?”
“Good, thank you.” She wandered down the counter looking at the knickknacks.
William raised the fish head. “I need this stuffed.”
Zeke looked at the head. “That’s a Gospo Adir eel.”
Cerise grimaced. “Yes, and he’s very proud of killing it.”
“The Sect won’t like it,” Zeke said.
“Can you do it or not?” William let some growl into his voice.
Zeke frowned. “Fish mount is a tricky thing. You have to scrape the meat out from the cheeks and skull and then soak the thing in alcohol to get the rest of the meat to harden. I don’t do them, but my nephew, Cole, has done some on occasion.”
“If it’s a question of money, I have it.” William pulled one of the Mirror’s coins from his pocket and tossed it to Zeke. It looked just like a normal coin, except for the engraving of the Adrianglian lion. The lion on the real coins had three claws, not four.
Zeke snapped the coin out of the air and looked at it. “Right. Well, you know what they say—money fixes everything. Like I mentioned,