Page 10 of Veil of Blood and Bone

Minutes tick before a thick throat clears. When I glance up, a trio of men have stopped. One of them raps their knuckles on the hollow plastic table while his buddies snicker.

“Hey, nice display.” Marvel’s Loki high-fives a Temu version of the same character and both of them snicker, but neither divert their gaze from my tits. “How much?”

I stifle a curse under my breath. “I’d be able to give you a better answer if you looked at my face.”

His friends guffaw and elbow him in the side as if they know he needs a prod to keep going.

The boy tugs at what appears to be a newly purchased ax slung in a holster on his hip. Right where he wants us to think his cock would land.

Sure.

“I’d be happy to make conversation with you—” Another glance at the girls, “—all night long. What do you need to be convinced?”

“Solid pass, thank you.”

He sucks in a sharp breath, and his attention snaps to my gaze for a beat before his cheeks mottle.

“Wow. Fucking bitch.” He skulks off with his friends, leaving more muttered curses in his wake because I won’t pretend to swoon.

Rejection sends them hurrying toward the axe throwing, where the line has already grown and the contestants are being supervised like rowdy toddlers at an overrun daycare.

“Scum,” Audra mutters. “Why do so many men lose their shit at some mammaries?”

I shrug. “Women, too. Don’t be sexist.”

When I turn, the raven is closer, hopping across the grass and clicking its beak.

“I think your plan worked, though,” Audra says with a smirk. “The training-a-murder-to-do-your-bidding scheme. Which is not helping you get a date.”

The thing is huge. And it’s been watching me from the top of the tent for the last hour.

“He wants the bread,” I correct.

She chuckles. “No, he's angling for the shiny things on the table.”

“Well, we’ve got the right set up. Offering food and gifts.” Ravens make fine companions, I’ve heard.

This one is large enough to make people think twice from stepping up for a good tete-a-tete with the tatas. If it chooses to stick around.

I take the remnants of rye bread and leave it on a napkin, sliding it closer to the raven, then grin when it doesn’t immediately fly away. “Here. This is for you.”

“Honey, look! They have tarot cards.”

The call comes from the left, a beaming woman with dangling purple chandelier earrings clapping with excitement.

“These were hand painted by the shop owner's mother.” I tap the top of the deck. “They’re one of a kind.”

It’s people like Lydia, who walks away with a new deck and a serene air of bliss, who make days like this worthwhile. The Longship Festival is cool the first time you attend, and decent the second time.

The colors grow drab, the costumes mundane.

Audra yawns, and once her social battery is as dead as her wheelchair one, she heads to the back of the tent with her back to me and reads.

More stories of Valkyries, I’m sure.

I snag the last of the cold Köttbullar for a protein boost, skin prickling before my fingers nab the meatball. The undeniable sensation of eyes sends a trickle of ice water along my vertebrae and freezes each nerve.

Most of the crowd is gathered to watch the longboats make their way back to the dock and see which one wins. The throng lightens, and aside from the raven, snacking on rye bread, there isn’t another set of eyes cast on me.