Myreille led Zane back to the entrance, where a massive door led into the vault and the winding corridors.
"What do you think you're doing, sweetheart?" a smoky voice reached her ear as soon as she stepped out the door.
Myreille's muscles tensed instantly, though her head turned deceptively slowly to take in the source.
Leaning casually against the wall, the fae they had passed at the entrance was dragging on a cigarette. Behind him, the dark eyes of his goons stared back at them.
If she'd had a heart, her pulse would probably have quickened now ... but luckily for her - and the cat - hers had long since stopped.
"Tadgh," she said deceptively calmly, gesturing for Zane to stand behind her. Cursed and sewn up! Of course, they wouldn't get out of here that easily; it would have been naive to hope so... But the first obstacle right here? That was... annoying.
The Fae detached himself from the wall and pushed the cigarette between his lips. They stood facing each other in the corridor like two enemy commanders on a battlefield. The air was so thick you could have cut it with a knife.
"What are you doing here, Myreille?" the dark voice asked as the piercing gaze traveled over her face, which was still covered by the mask and lace veil. "I'm pretty sure... that this thing is not in the protocol...(*)"
"Assuming it is..." the Strigoi replied, jutting her chin up to look directly at the Fae. "What would it cost me to keep it that way?"
Tadgh was the head of the snake; the others were just henchmen. Lackeys who danced to his tune only saw what he wanted them to see. So she had to convince him first.
The fae laughed, and the dark brows under his fedora lifted as he let out a thoughtful hum. 'If you don't want us to wipe the floor with him, it will cost you... after all, we'll surely be slaughtered like rats if this gets out...' he muttered, leaning down to the petite figure.
The long, pale fingers lifted and played cheekily with the hem of the veil, slipping underneath and sending an unmistakable message as they stroked the soft curve of her jaw. "Damn, girl, is he worth it?" he asked, disbelief in his dark voice that she, of all people, had put herself in this position for a traitor and wanted man. "Is he that good?"
Myra remained motionless as the would-be don's rough fingers slid over her chin, and he grazed the curve of her lips with his thumb.
"You needn't worry about that," she replied as the thugs behind Tadgh suddenly became more agitated.
The fae's gaze slid past her, and a tingling sensation on the back of her neck told her that Zane had moved even before the footsteps came closer. A low, warning growl sounded behind her ... and Myra cursed inwardly. Stupid cat now was not the time for burgeoning protective instincts or misguided heroism!
"The prize," Myra reminded all the more calmly and forcefully, now reaching for the bruiser's chin in her turn to draw his attention back to herself.
"I suppose you like to dance on the volcano." Tadgh laughed softly, took the cigarette from his mouth, and leisurely stubbed it on the floor. He didn't take the Cait-Sith seriously in his condition. And he was right - all Tadgh had to do was raise the alarm, and they would end up where Zane had just taken them. Both of them, at worst.
Leisurely and slowly, the fae leaned forward, his eyes not on her but on the Cait-Sith, until his warm breath brushed the shell of her ear.
"A good word with your master, girl. I've wanted to get out of here for a long time..."
The smell of cigarette smoke and booze hit her, but she was too shrewd to turn her nose up at it.
"And one night with you."
That was all? Small-minded fool. He could have achieved much more. But it should be ok with her.
"Fine."
A confident smile flitted across the scarred face, fading briefly as Myra pushed his hand from her chin.
"If you also give us a coat and a hat, we're in business."
"Myra," it suddenly murmured close behind her, and a hand grabbed her upper arm. Not roughly, but firmly enough for hidden anger to flow through her fingertips into her arm. Like a dog that had just secured a new toy and didn't want to share it...
"Myra?" Tadgh echoed before her, now his lips curled into a spiteful grin. "Oho? Are you little lovebirds on nicknames yet?"
Myreille gave the cheeky fae a sharp look, then gave in to the tug on her arm and looked into the Cait-Sith's displeased face.
What was that all about? Now was not the time to play the moralizer. Besides, she already knew what she had to listen to - she had had this conversation too often in her long life. Mostly when possessiveness came into play with clients and customers—or even worse, feelings.
The last time she'd discussed her profession was with Kaye ... and now she wasn't going to discuss it with his big brother. "Zane," she said quietly but firmly, "We don't have time to discuss this right now. Stay out of this."
The tom bared his teeth in a snarl, but she was already returning to the trolls.
"So? Coat and hat?"
"That costs extra, Madame," one of the trolls growled because the cat would probably have to get the clothes from one of them - the faes were too small for him.
Sighing, Myra reached under her hat and pulled out the shimmering hairpin. Immediately, the soft, silvery waves of her long hair came loose and tickled her shoulders as she held the glittering jewelry out to the rogue.
Gemstones and shimmering gold for a few scraps? The troll made no further questions or demands.
"Well, sweetheart, I'll see you around," rumbled a satisfied laugh behind them as Myra hurriedly grabbed Zane's arm to pull him along. They had lost enough time!
Looking round the next corner, she pushed him into the shadows between two pillars. The look on Zane's face when she handed him the coat was indescribable.
"I know he reeks of troll," she admitted as the vampiress placed the wide-brimmed hat on the Cait-Sith's head and hastily tucked his hair underneath. "But fugitives can't be choosy."
The cloak fell too far over the Cait-Sith's broad shoulders, of course, and he could have been wrapped in it twice - but it would do for the escape.
"Come on, keep going," she whispered, leading the way. Her eyes kept glancing around vigilantly as she ensured Zane followed her. They couldn't take the main exit. After the commotion, everyone was too alert and excited. But maybe one of the side exits, which weren't as well guarded, would be an option...
"Wait," Myreille hissed abruptly, pushing the Cait-Sith against the wall behind her with an outstretched arm. Rough fabric and silken gloves separated her fingertips from his skin. And though she listened intently, her eyes gliding over the figures moving through the corridors, she felt the pounding beat of his heart, accompanied by a slight tingling sensation as if it lay beneath her fingers.
Badum. Badum. Badum.
For a second, this feeling distracted her like a river tearing away a leaf. Feeling life so close ... always aroused a mixture of longing and melancholy in her. But above all, they were feelings she shouldn't have.
But then she heard a commotion. A grey stone statue of a knight turned his head, scratching, as one of the men in the striking trench coat approached him and spoke excitedly. Like dry tinder, these sparks of turmoil jumped from one corner to the other. Heads turned, weapons were clutched tighter...
Someone must have discovered that the latest catch had escaped.
(*) Mafia jargon: 'Something is not in the protocol' means: It is a secret action that the top management does not know about and may not know about.