(eng) Lisa Mantchev - Theatre Illuminata 01 by Eyes Like Stars

Author:Eyes Like Stars [Stars, Eyes Like]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Suspicions and

Superstitions

Bertie?”

She curled into a ball and tried to pull the covers over her head, but there weren’t any blankets within reach. A tiny hand touched her shoulder.

“She’s sleeping, but she smells funny.”

Bertie’s nerves jangled, her skin crawled, and her eyeballs felt three times too large for their sockets. When she tried to lift her arm, every joint creaked in protest.

Strong hands stood her upright and held her there as someone sniffed at her mouth. “She’s been drinkin’ somethin’.”

The low whir of wings flapping near her ear. “No fair! She didn’t share!”

“We weren’t here, stupid.”

Their voices. So shrill.

“What time is it?” Bertie tried to swallow the fuzz on her tongue, wished for a glass of water, and gagged.

“Time t’ pay th’ piper.” Nate’s voice rumbled through her rib cage, but she still didn’t open her eyes.

“It’s also teatime!” Moth said. “How about a nice fry-up?”

With a moan at the idea of greasy eggs and sausages, Bertie buried her face in the soft cotton of Nate’s shirt, burrowing until she reached warm flesh and short, wiry hair that tickled her nose.

Apparently, it also tickled Nate, as he made a discomfited noise and set her down on the chaise. “Leave off.”

“I must have fallen asleep.” Bertie winced at the late afternoon sunlight slanting through an upper window. The brightness slapped against her cheek in time with her pulse.

“You have to speak with the Hamlet Players,” Peaseblossom said. “Call another rehearsal—”

Nate cut in. “What were ye drinkin’?”

Bertie didn’t want to answer, but the edge to his voice demanded the truth. “Just a few sips from Alice’s ‘Drink Me’ bottle. Ariel said—”

Mentioning Ariel was a misstep, as Nate’s glare intensified. “He was here wi’ ye?”

She rubbed her hand under her nose, unwilling to discuss what had transpired.

Nate moved her hair aside and nearly burned a hole in her neck with his gaze. “Where’s th’ scrimshaw, Bertie?”

“In my pocket.”

Nate brought his fist down on the arm of the chaise hard enough to splinter its unseen, wooden bones. The fairies scattered, squeaking with surprise at the unexpected assault upon the furniture.

“I told ye not t’ take it off.”

Bertie held herself stiffly away from him, feeling as prickly as a hedgehog and wishing she had spines for protection. “I was afraid I’d cry on it. Tears are saltwater, Nate. Even a thickheaded pirate should know that.”

“It was meant t’ protect ye,” he said, “from people like him.”

“I don’t need your stupid necklace for protection.” Bertie pulled the medallion out of her pocket and shoved it at him.

“No, ye obviously do!” Nate jerked it out of her hand to contemplate the broken chain.

Every word was like a smack to the head. “Don’t shout at me!”

“I’ll shout at ye until some sense sinks into that thick rock ye call yer skull.” He pulled a leather thong out of his hair and used it to tie the medallion around her neck.

“That’s tighter than necessary,” Bertie said.

“Ye ought t’ be thankful I don’t strangle ye wi’ it.”

The scrimshaw’s familiar weight settled against her skin, and though she didn’t mean to, Bertie took comfort in its gentle warmth.

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