I followed her, cutting between the tables, which were full with the late morning crowd. Pots of tea nestled against pints of beer as the various supernaturals chatted and read the newspaper.
From behind the bar, Quinn smiled at us. “Anything I can get you, ladies?”
“An umbrella?” I asked.
“You’re in luck.” He bent down and retrieved two from the shelf below the bar, one bright yellow and the other blue. As we took them with gratitude,
he leaned toward Eve, concern on his face. “How are Mac and Seraphia?”
“Hanging in there. We think we have a bit of a lead.”
He nodded. “Then don’t let me hold you up.”
“Thanks, Quinn.” I raised my umbrella in salute, then followed Eve out the door.
As in Guild City, it was raining in London. The gray sky shed not a single ray of sunlight on all of Covent Garden.
I popped open my blue umbrella, looking up to see the image of the Cookie Monster staring down at me. Eve’s umbrella had Big Bird on it. Despite myself, I laughed, then looked at Eve. “Where to?”
“The Thames.”
“Somewhere in particular?” I asked, hoping to avoid a soggy march.
“My friend lives on a narrowboat,” she explained. “On a mooring at Battersea.”
I made a face and pulled out my mobile. “Bit of a trip from here. Hold on, let me check the map…”
“Lead on.”
Together, we hurried toward the Underground, clattering down the stairs and out of the rain. Quickly, I bought us tickets, since I no longer carried my Oyster Card. Less than a month ago, I’d been a regular Londoner with no idea that magic existed. Now my return to the Tube felt old-school, familiar yet foreign.
Eve’s raven followed us, drawing stares from the humans. We crowded onto the train with the rest of the passengers, and I counted the stops as we made our way to our destination. Finally, we reached our stop, and we flowed out with the other passengers and up the stairs, back into the rain. A short walk later, we caught a bus, which deposited us relatively close to the water.
I led Eve down the street toward the Thames. The river was sluggish and brown today, traveling slowly toward the sea. I pointed to the private docks crowded with the long, low boats popular in the south of England. “Do you know which one?”
She stepped up to the railing, trying to get her bearings. “I think so. Come on.”
She led the way to the docks, bypassing the sign that made it clear that only owners and visitors were welcome.
The wooden pier bobbed underfoot as we walked. About half the boats were empty—their occupants were at work, I imagined—but the others gleamed with light.
“I can’t believe people live on these,” Eve said. “Including the man we’re visiting.”
“That’s pretty freaking cool.” Something splashed in the river beside the dock, spraying me with cold water. “Damp, though.”
“Way too damp.” Eve led me to the end of the landing, where a boat strung with fairy lights bobbed—perhaps an odd touch for the morning but welcome on that gray day. The craft was long and low like its neighbors, built of a gleaming brown wood that was varnished to within an inch of its life. Plants in little pots grew on the top.
The back of the boat was flat, with a steering wheel and a U-shaped bench situated around a table. A man lounged on the bench, his handsom
e features lit by the white lights above him. He looked like a poet—long, lean form, angled face, and full lips. His dark hair fell over his brow and he watched us with gleaming obsidian eyes.
He looked like James Dean or some other rock-star poet with dark eyes and full lips who watched you from the shadows. If my heart weren’t half wrapped up in Grey, I’d have given him a second look.
As it was, Grey was the only one I could think of. He’d fit himself into my heart and mind in a way with which I wasn’t fully comfortable, especially after the revelations of last night.
I shook the thoughts away and returned my attention to the man.
Behind him, the city buildings rose tall into the thick clouds. Golden lights sparkled in the windows, a magical backdrop for the narrowboat.