“Merci.” She looked him over with what could only be described as a sinful gaze. “Take that bourbon to the bar.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He stifled a grin. He hadn’t been inspected that thoroughly since the time on the freighter when Chrysabelle had been blood drunk and high as a cloud.

Olivia followed him, hoisting herself into one of the high chairs in front of the mahogany bar top. “I like mine neat.”

He set the bottle down, then surveyed the bottles already on the shelves. “You want me to pour this bourbon that’s already open?”

“Cher,” she said, her bright amber eyes as sharp as jewels. “If I wanted that bourbon, I wouldn’t have brought out the reserve. That rotgut is for visitors I don’t like.”

Smiling now, he opened the new bottle and poured a few fingers’ worth into one of the crystal glasses stacked near the sink. “Here you are.”

She let the glass sit on the bar. “I don’t like to drink alone. Actually, I don’t mind it, but it’s more fun to drink with someone. Pour yourself a glass, vampire. I’m waiting.”

“How do you know I can even drink bourbon? Maybe I only drink blood.”

“Oh, shut your mouth. You vampires drink like fish.” She hurried him along with a wave of her hand. “Allons, I’m thirsty.”

He poured a glass for himself. “And you know this how?” He clinked his tumbler against hers, then lifted it. “Cheers.”

She raised hers, then took a taste. “Had a vampire lover right after I moved back here.”

Mal choked on the liquid, swallowing the smoky-sweet alcohol just in time to keep from spewing it all over her.

“Don’t look so surprised.” She sipped her bourbon. “If you weren’t so enamored of that one over there”—she nodded toward Chrysabelle—“I might take a go at you.”

“How do you know I’m enamored of her?” The old woman was a live one, that much was certain. No wonder Augustine lived here. Maybe he was paying his rent horizontally. Didn’t seem like Olivia would be against such a thing.

“I know a lot of things. Like you live under a darkness.”

Darkness didn’t begin to describe it, although the voices were just a low hum at the moment. “How…”

She tapped a frosted nail near one eye. “You think this color comes from human bloodlines? My mother was a quarter fae. Haerbinger, if my grandmere was to be believed. We Goodwin women have always had a touch of the sight.” She twisted in her seat to look at Augustine. “Just like I know he’s going to say no to whatever your friend is offering.”

“Guardianship,” Mal offered.

She turned back around. “Of the city? Never happen. Mortalis tried once before. Augie isn’t made for that kind of work.” She smiled, sipped her bourbon. “Plus he’s watching over me.”

“Is that why he lives here?”

“I like the company. Plus I’m a poor, defenseless old woman.” Her smile turned wistful. “I need him.”

Mal swirled the liquid in his glass. “I better see how it’s going.” He’d been half listening to the conversation and could tell it wasn’t going in Chrysabelle’s direction. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Olivia nodded, now engrossed in the other conversation herself, if the faraway look on her face was an indication.

He sat beside Chrysabelle, who didn’t pause to acknowledge him.

“I understand this job is a big responsibility, but I’m offering you enough money that you could have a house like this of your very own.”

Augustine leaned forward. “I don’t want a house like this of my very own. The space I have here is plenty.”

“You live in the attic,” Mortalis said. “Like a squirrel.”

Augustine scowled. “This conversation has come to an end.”

“Please.” Chrysabelle shifted to the edge of the sofa cushion. “You could just take the job for a week, then resign. I don’t care.”

Sitting back, Augustine raised one brow, then looked at his brother. “You should really educate your friends better.”

Chrysabelle shot Mortalis a glance. “What does he mean?”

“I tried to tell you this earlier but you stopped me. The guardian is a lifetime position.”

“Until someone resigns.” She glanced at Mal. “Just like Sklar will have done by now.”

“Then he’s already dead.” Mortalis shook his head. “A guardian either dies in the job or chooses fin’denablo.”

“The final honor,” Augustine translated. “Any fae who resigns from the position of guardian is basically asking to be killed. Mortalis is right—as much as it pains me to speak those words. If Sklar resigned, he’s already been dispatched. The elektos take those kinds of pronouncements very seriously.”

“Loudreux said he was the Prime’s son. Surely that carries some weight….” The color drained from Chrysabelle’s face and she went very still, very silent.

Augustine shook his head. “The Prime may have killed Sklar himself to save face.”

She inhaled a ragged breath and dropped her head, closing her eyes for a moment. “Holy mother,” she whispered. “I hate this.”

Mal covered her hand with his. Her skin was like ice. “I’ll kill Loudreux if you want.”