was occupied until the shrouded form in it leaned forward.
Short, curled horns rose over the stranger’s greasy dark hair. His thickly furred legs ended in dainty cloven hooves, but above them he wore a worn leather jacket that was opened to expose his potbelly and a vivid red tattoo of a thorned circle on his chest.
My first thought was Numa, then I realized this satyr was far uglier than even my hated boss. His face was a mire of pockmarks and poorly healed scars.
He looked me over with yellowish eyes, and finally grinned, exposing crooked brown teeth. “Mind if I light up, pretty thing?”
I shook my head.
The satyr conjured a cigar and trimmed it neatly, then lit it, taking several deep puffs and releasing the dense greenish billows into the air.
If it’d been hard to see before, it was nearly impossible now. I resisted the urge to cough or wave the smoke away, my eyes watering.
Fionn finally came back, holding a fizzing pink drink in a glass. He handed it to me and sat down, putting a blessed wall between myself and the girls.
I curled up against him, taking a surreptitious peek at the drink. Rose petals and a slice of bloodred fruit floated in the carbonated concoction, and it smelled like summer.
“Found myself a snack,” Fionn said, smirking at Brightkin.
I raised it to my lips, and the ring Robin had given me flared white-hot against my skin, causing me to miss whatever Brightkin had just said back.
It took every ounce of effort not to jerk and spill the drink everywhere, but I lowered it quickly.
“Something wrong?” Fionn asked, his brows drawing together.
I smiled at him, peeking up under my eyelashes, and tittered. “It’s just so sweet! We don’t have them like this back home. It’s all home-brewed there.”
Prepared this time, I raised the glass again, and the ring flared once more. It was only for a split-second, not long enough to really burn me.
But, if I was willing to make an educated guess, Robin had left out one important thing about the ring: it was telling me the drink was tainted or poisoned.
Fionn had likely dropped a roofie in it, along with the roses and cloying faerie fruit to disguise the taste.
I wanted to push his head back and make him choke on it, but Robin was counting on me.
“They’re more pliable, you know?” Brightkin was saying. His words were slurred, making him sound sleepy. “Like clay in my hands. Look at her.”
He put a finger under the chin of one of the girls, a brunette with a ring in her nostril. Barely moving his finger, he got her to raise her head and looked at the ceiling.
When he took his finger away her head stayed there, tilted back so far she could go no further. Brightkin giggled, a sound that grated on my nerves. “Let’s give her a drink, Fionn.”
The satyr shook his head. “Too mortal. I like those water nymphs, those nereids— already wet. Don’t have do nothin’ to get them going.”
I realized Fionn was looking at me, a little of the friendliness gone from his eyes, and made my choice. I couldn’t pixie out now, not without ruining any progress I’d made.
I sent up a silent prayer to the Blessed Branches, ignored the white-hot flare on my hand, and took a sip of the pink drink.
Fionn’s brow smoothed and he got up. The satyr had leaned back into his shadows, but I knew he was there, watching, his eyes likely on me.
I took another drink.
Who knew how long I had until the drugs kicked in and I couldn’t walk out? All I needed was to witness this with my own eyes, but I couldn’t go without a show of good faith, or I’d never be able to squirm my way back in again if necessary.
Fionn had a bottle of pixie-made wine. For some odd reason, I was glad it was deep emerald instead of sapphire; like seeing sapphire would’ve tainted the association forever.
He held it over the mouth of the human girl, whose head was still tilted back, her eyes wide open.
“Pour, pour, pour!” Brightkin chanted, still giggling, and the satyr’s eyes glinted like hard stones.
Fionn started pouring. Her mouth was like a chalice, and when the emerald wine spilled over and ran over her cheeks, he stopped, waiting for her to save herself and swallow.
I realized I was holding my breath, half-expecting her to drown on pixie wine in front of me, and if I