Free Black Fallen by Elle Jasper Page B

groups, and I’m with Jake, Tristan,
     and Eli. The moment I step over the threshold, I feel it. The only way I can describe
     the sensation is like a hot, wet death shroud pulled over my face and suffocating
     me. I feel it everywhere. My eyes dart to the corners of the shadows, the areas illuminated
     by the recessed lights of the building, any nook and cranny something could be lurking
     in, and I see nothing. I don’t care if the Black Fallen are possibly, hopefully still
     recovering. Their presence lingers in the air like a heavy fog. I don’t like it. Not
     one damn bit.
    Eli’s hand slips inside my coat and around my waist. I glance up at him, and in his
     eyes I find complete understanding. I lean into him, feel his hard chest close to
     my cheek, and it comforts me. I know—sounds pretty girly. Love does that to a person,
     I guess.
    Eli squeezes me and kisses the top of my head.
You look endearing with that sword strapped to your side. Turns me on.
    I elbow him in the ribs.
What doesn’t turn you on?
    Eli’s smile is predatory. I like that.
    Outside the Crescent, darkness has fallen. The air is crisp, and the sound of the
     fountain echoes against the aged stone walls around us. A tall lamp near the edge
     of the Crescent casts a light over the courtyard, causing the shadows to creep and
     stretch over the angel in the fountain. Damn, that is one creepy-ass statue. The weathered
     stone, with its decayed chips and discoloration, leaves me unsettled inside. I’m not
     sure what the death-shroud feeling was, but I know I’ll find out sooner rather than
     later.
    Sounds of traffic aren’t far away. I strain to hear the noise of the city, the drone
     of thousands of people talking at once. I tune in deeper and distinguish conversation
     on the street, just outside the Crescent. People walking by. Young people heading
     to Niddry’s Pub. I’m going to have to work on deciphering the Scottish accent, because
     it’s pretty heavy. Hard to make out.
    “Let’s go,” Jake says, and we all begin walking toward the gates of the Crescent.
     Darius takes his group first and heads up Canongate. A minute passes, then Gabriel
     leaves with his group. They also turn right on Canongate but cross to the opposite
     side of the street. They all eventually fade into the crowd, which is a little thinner
     here. Farther up the Royal Mile, there’s heavy foot traffic. Lots of activity.
    “If we separate, just remember that Royal Mile, High Street, and Canongate are all
     in one line,” Jake says. “And the Crescent is closest to the tail of the fishbone.
     If anything should happen—anything otherworldly—your best bet is to head straight
     to St. Giles’. Unless you want to cause a scene on High Street. Your choice.”
    I give a nod and adjust the weight of the sword strapped to my hip. “How in Hell are
     we ever supposed to run with this thing?” I ask.
    Tristan, his face cast in half shadows, smiles. “Walk first, lady. Get used to steel
     on your person. In time, it will feel as if it is part of your body.”
    I look at him. “Women don’t think about their
body
the way men do, Dreadmoor,” I answer. I shift the blade again, and Tristan’s lips
     twitch. “But I’ll try.”
    Peter emerges from the side of the Crescent, and with a spry walk, approaches. Still
     wearing that plaid golfer’s hat. “Shall I close and lock the gates behind you?” he
     asks Jake.
    “Aye, Peter,” Jake says. “And keep your mobile with you at all times,” he tells the
     older man. “Just in case.”
    In case of
what
?
    “Will do, Master Jake,” old Peter says.
    Now we’re on Canongate, walking two by two on the sidewalk. Eli and I follow Jake
     and Tristan at a leisurely pace. Just out of Tolbooth Wynd is Tolbooth Tavern. I may
     hit that on the way back. We pass several storefronts—Carson Clark Gallery, an antique
     map store with several cool prints framed and displayed. A whiskey shop, a few cafés,
     a kilt