Page 125 of Tracking Snow

Rap stands across from her in black leather, chin lifted, every inch the woman who gave me a job, a stage, a family I chose.

My old almost-mother and my new big sister, facing each other down under the lights of Poison Apple.

Queenie’s gaze lands on Rap with polished warmth. "Rapunzel." She says her name in a way that could either be a compliment or an insult. "There’s no need for us to be hostile."

"Could have fooled me." Rap falls into an open, relaxed stance, hands on her hips and expression bored.

"I came as soon as my schedule allowed," Queenie says, turning slightly so the phone catches her face. "A young woman was left dead on your doorstep. No decent public servant could ignore that. I’m here because this city deserves to know how that happens outside a place calling itself a sanctuary."

Rap’s gaze flicks to the aide holding up the phone. "You brought a livestream to a condolence call?"

Queenie’s smile barely moves. "Transparency matters."

"Oh, so you’re here to confess to riling up the Humans Against Magic movement so they would attack my bar?" Rap asks. "I certainly appreciate the transparency."

A few people near the tree mutter. The aide turns the phone toward them.

The muttering stops.

Queenie lets the silence settle until she somehow controls it again. I’m in awe of that ability. I can't help but open my mouth and pour into the silence with insults or accusations in moments like this. But both Queenie and Rap are battling on a totally different level. Every word counts. Every pause is a chance for the other to stumble, and I keep bracing for it.

"I was also made aware that earlier this week, this establishment was the site of another violent incident." Queenie’s face is perfectly pained, as if she really is bothered by the news. But there is something just a tiny bit plastic about it, like she knows how to hit her mark more than feel the emotion. "People were hurt. Property was damaged. Citizens were terrified."

"Interesting way to say HAMs stormed my bar and attacked my patrons," Rap says, cocking her head to the side. "Your supporters, your voters. Wonder what spurred them to come try and clean house?"

"Any violence is unacceptable," Queenie says, but again she shifts so it’s being said to the livestream.

"Any violence?" Rap repeats. "Or just the kind that might reflect poorly on your image? The kind that might be perceived as unnecessarily over the top, and I don’t want to throw it out there, but what the heck. Hate crimes."

Queenie’s brows lift. "I’m concerned for the safety of everyone here."

Rap’s lips spread wide this time in a genuine smile, and my stomach does that flip-floppy thing again. "Ah yes, so that’s why you’re teeing up inspections, nuisance complaints, occupancy reviews, and whatever else your office can use to choke this place out."

Queenie blinks.

Red squeezes my hand. She caught it too. Rap called Queenie out on her plans, somehow having the scoop on Queenie’s inside information. And Queenie wasn’t expecting it, and doesn’t like it.

For some reason, I think back to that elf with the sweet kickass moves. Fireopal. Rap has a way of getting secrets, and the way Fireopal rushed in here the day the HAMs attacked tells me the elf is likely one of her spies. Not that Rap would ever admit to paying off spies.

Queenie recovers her cool in no time. "Those are dramatic accusations."

"So is sanctuary," Rap says. "But you used that one just fine."

Queenie’s gaze moves to the fairy tree, then over the crowd beneath it. "Isn’t it interesting? A regular human woman becoming such a trusted hub for magic-kind. What faith they must have in you."

Queenie’s gaze stays on Rap. "Especially considering how long Poison Apple kept its doors closed to them."

Rap’s chin lifts a fraction.

"For years, Boston’s most infamous humans-only bar," Queenie continues, her voice smooth for the phone. "No mages. No fae. No exceptions."

"That was city law," Rap says. "And this place was built on the spectacle around magic. Humans came here in droves for the illusion, for the taste of it. Just like those boxes of Magic Morsels keep flying off the shelves because so many humans are desperate for a taste of what they can't have."

Queenie's face shutters.

Rap's smile turns predatory, intimidating, as she shows her teeth. "Not everyone's afraid."

The room tightens around us. Queenie gives her a soft, pitying smile. "From what I've heard, there was a time you understood the danger better than anyone. How magic can take root in a life. How it can be viewed as a sickness that needs a cure."