“Okay, I knew it…or at least I suspected it,” I say, getting hung up on the two s’s in suspected. “You’re perrrrfect. Do you really think that’s fair to the rest of us? I’m pretty sure I’m going to marry you. Not now. Don’t be crazy. But you should just tell your Family that whatever ideas they have about you marrying someone fancy are moot.” I wave my hands in the air for emphasis.

Ash laughs. “On that note, I think we should get you to bed.”

“On that note,” I say, and lean forward, but before I get to his lips, my stomach gurgles. “Oh no.” I break away from his arms, taking a fast, dizzying scan of the room, until my eyes land on a beautiful hand-carved wastebin. I drop to my knees and grab either side of it.

Ash pulls back my hair and I throw up until there is nothing left in my stomach. He gets me a wet washcloth and a glass of water. I don’t need the morning to arrive to know that I deeply regret my drinking and the defiling of this lovely wastebin.

There is a knock on the door and Ash looks out the peephole before answering it. On the other side is Angus.

“Missed me already,” I say from my splayed-out position on the floor. “Did you know that Angus comes from Gaelic? And not only that, it means ‘one strength.’ Cool, huh?” I hiccup.

“Paying homage to the whisky gods, I see,” Angus says to me, and hands Ash something. “She forgot her wallet at the bar.”

I squint at the brown square and attempt to sit up. “That’s not mine.” I laugh. “Where would I even put a wallet in this dress? Pssssht.” I wave my hand at him like I’m batting a fly.

“Thank you, sir,” Ash says, giving the old man a wary eye.

Angus nods at Ash and raises two wild eyebrows at me before he leaves. He seems surprisingly less drunk than I do, which I consider most unfair.

The door closes with a click and Ash opens the brown wallet, pulling out a business card. His eyes widen. “Logan James…Blacksmith.” He looks at me, his expression turning dead serious.

“Right,” I say, and rub my head like it might help clear the fog. “Angus did say something about a blacksmith.”

Ash looks at the card like he’s concentrating too hard. “Why would he bring you this?”

“Hmmm?” I say.

Ash shakes his head. “There are a lot of whispers about Logan. None of them good.”

Some of my memories from my conversation with Angus float into my consciousness and I sit up, suddenly not feeling as carefree as I did a minute ago. “Angus said someone came here looking for my dad. That there’s a bounty on his head.” I look at Ash. “Have you heard of the Ferryman?”