Read Online All That Glows by Ryan Graudin - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ryan Graudin
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The last word leaves her in a breathless giggle, so clearly rehearsed.
“Thanks.” Richard’s response is vague, unrooted. He scoots his chair a little closer to mine.
“So what’s the plan, mate?” Edmund asks. “A few more drinks here? Maybe we can meet up with Brick and his mates at The Green Fairy.”
The word sets Richard on the edge of his chair. He nearly knocks over the fresh round of pints the server is trying to balance close to his head.
The stench of so much alcohol and malty wheat swirls up and into my head. The smell of food and drink, the smell of anything at this point is enough to wake the deeper sickness in my bowels. I clutch the bottom of my chair, my fingers digging, digging into its wood. This helps takes some of the edge off.
“Whatever sounds good,” the prince says, recovering his composure.
The waiter sets a drink in front of me. Some kind of soda mixed with a sappy sweet liquor. I try my best to shove it away without anyone noticing.
The pub swarms around us like a hive, drones and worker bees shuffling and mingling on what soon becomes the dance floor. Drinks keep flowing. Somewhere between his third and fourth pint, Richard slides his arm around my chair. I don’t have the heart to push it away. Eyeliner shoots daggers from the other side of the table.
The rounds ordered to our table soon evolve from pints to straight whiskey. The prince’s breathing is already heavier and his movements a bit freer as he reaches for the glass.
Something magical, something other, smothers the air around us. The buzz of electronics in my head goes flat, dampened by whatever has walked into this pub. It’s a soul feeder.
My fingers close around Richard’s wrist just as the first douse of whiskey wets his lips.
“I think you’ve had enough,” I yell above the music, and pry the glass out of his hands. I scan the crowd, searching every designer dress and every inch of skin for signs of my enemy.
“Hey, now,” the prince starts to protest, groping for his lost drink.
I shove it far out of his reach.
“Buzzkill!” Edmund hollers across the table at me, and claims the condemned drink as his own. He finishes the entire thing in one swallow. “You’ve got to learn to loosen up, love! Live a little!”
“Careful, Ed! Emrys can blow your brain into bloody bits!” the prince bellows back, his words slurred and slightly sloppy.
There she is. A vision of raven hair and skin of porcelain white, ebbing and flowing through the crowd, searching for flesh. A dress of gray gauze floats around her—making her look ghastly and otherworldly even to mortal eyes.
A Banshee. Strange that she should be here, picking through such thriving nightlife. Their main draw is death: funerals, deathbeds, fresh graves. Someone must have died very recently in this pub, or somewhere nearby. Otherwise she wouldn’t be interested.
“We should go—” I try to tug Richard’s arm, but he isn’t paying attention. Like every other man at the table, he’s staring at the hauntingly beautiful, dark-haired woman approaching our table.
The woman who’s staring straight at me.
The Banshee presses her slim hips up against the table’s edge, cutting through the space between Edmund and a very flushed Eyeliner. “Hello, gentlemen. Ladies. Sister.” She says the last word very clearly and carefully at me. “Care if I take a seat?”
“This is your sister?” Edmund blinks at me, trying to reconcile our very different appearances.
“Don’t talk to her. She’ll eat you!” I snap, and then turn the bulk of my fury at the deadly spirit. “You. Leave. Now. We wouldn’t want things to get ugly.”
“Eat me?” Edmund looks back up at the Banshee, his eyebrow cocked in his signature fashion. “I like the sound of that.”
“Don’t worry, woodling. I’m not here for your precious prince. His friends are meaty enough.” Her fingers slide, thin and frail as spider legs, over Edmund’s shoulder. “You’re
“Thanks.” Richard’s response is vague, unrooted. He scoots his chair a little closer to mine.
“So what’s the plan, mate?” Edmund asks. “A few more drinks here? Maybe we can meet up with Brick and his mates at The Green Fairy.”
The word sets Richard on the edge of his chair. He nearly knocks over the fresh round of pints the server is trying to balance close to his head.
The stench of so much alcohol and malty wheat swirls up and into my head. The smell of food and drink, the smell of anything at this point is enough to wake the deeper sickness in my bowels. I clutch the bottom of my chair, my fingers digging, digging into its wood. This helps takes some of the edge off.
“Whatever sounds good,” the prince says, recovering his composure.
The waiter sets a drink in front of me. Some kind of soda mixed with a sappy sweet liquor. I try my best to shove it away without anyone noticing.
The pub swarms around us like a hive, drones and worker bees shuffling and mingling on what soon becomes the dance floor. Drinks keep flowing. Somewhere between his third and fourth pint, Richard slides his arm around my chair. I don’t have the heart to push it away. Eyeliner shoots daggers from the other side of the table.
The rounds ordered to our table soon evolve from pints to straight whiskey. The prince’s breathing is already heavier and his movements a bit freer as he reaches for the glass.
Something magical, something other, smothers the air around us. The buzz of electronics in my head goes flat, dampened by whatever has walked into this pub. It’s a soul feeder.
My fingers close around Richard’s wrist just as the first douse of whiskey wets his lips.
“I think you’ve had enough,” I yell above the music, and pry the glass out of his hands. I scan the crowd, searching every designer dress and every inch of skin for signs of my enemy.
“Hey, now,” the prince starts to protest, groping for his lost drink.
I shove it far out of his reach.
“Buzzkill!” Edmund hollers across the table at me, and claims the condemned drink as his own. He finishes the entire thing in one swallow. “You’ve got to learn to loosen up, love! Live a little!”
“Careful, Ed! Emrys can blow your brain into bloody bits!” the prince bellows back, his words slurred and slightly sloppy.
There she is. A vision of raven hair and skin of porcelain white, ebbing and flowing through the crowd, searching for flesh. A dress of gray gauze floats around her—making her look ghastly and otherworldly even to mortal eyes.
A Banshee. Strange that she should be here, picking through such thriving nightlife. Their main draw is death: funerals, deathbeds, fresh graves. Someone must have died very recently in this pub, or somewhere nearby. Otherwise she wouldn’t be interested.
“We should go—” I try to tug Richard’s arm, but he isn’t paying attention. Like every other man at the table, he’s staring at the hauntingly beautiful, dark-haired woman approaching our table.
The woman who’s staring straight at me.
The Banshee presses her slim hips up against the table’s edge, cutting through the space between Edmund and a very flushed Eyeliner. “Hello, gentlemen. Ladies. Sister.” She says the last word very clearly and carefully at me. “Care if I take a seat?”
“This is your sister?” Edmund blinks at me, trying to reconcile our very different appearances.
“Don’t talk to her. She’ll eat you!” I snap, and then turn the bulk of my fury at the deadly spirit. “You. Leave. Now. We wouldn’t want things to get ugly.”
“Eat me?” Edmund looks back up at the Banshee, his eyebrow cocked in his signature fashion. “I like the sound of that.”
“Don’t worry, woodling. I’m not here for your precious prince. His friends are meaty enough.” Her fingers slide, thin and frail as spider legs, over Edmund’s shoulder. “You’re
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