I turn and look. In a group made of boys is one girl. They are all dressed similarly in formfitting pants and vests. The girl has golden hoops in her ears, a treasure of rings on her fingers, and Baarish’s nose, which she has decorated with a gold stud. She is fair, with large dark eyes and black hair scraped back from her face in a tight braid. Also, and very importantly, this girl is staring at Valentina in the same way a lion stares at a particular delicacy before gobbling it up.

Hmm.

Perhaps the girl senses my eyes on hers because she looks at me next and not as kindly. Her companions follow her gaze, and all of a sudden, I feel something alien press against my conscience—someone is trying to use magic to read us. Obviously, the magic fails to uncover the mysteries we present. The girl’s stare increases in intensity; it is a wonder I am not on fire. So, of course, I smile at her as sweetly as I can.

In the next minute, without any word from the proprietor, the other patrons of the teahouse exit the place, and the door to the establishment is closed and barred. Oh dear. This girl is entirely too easy to provoke. We don’t move from our spot, affecting an interest in our teacups and the conversation we are not having. We are master pretenders.

“I have heard about you,” the girl says, getting up from her seat. She speaks as she weaves through the tables toward us, her companions faithfully behind her.

We turn as one toward her.

“What do you call yourselves? Ah, yes, the Wild Ones.” Her tone mocks the title I bestowed on us. I bristle slightly. The girl catches it and her sneer widens. Good. She’ll give more away if she thinks she has the upper hand. “I was wondering if you would come to me.”

“Why is that?” Valentina asks, her voice lazy and disinterested. The girl starts, as if she didn’t expect Tina to talk. Her gaze snags on Tina’s lips, and her cheeks are suddenly dusted a soft pink. Hmm.

“Well…” She pulls a chair from a neighboring table and straddles it, resting her chin on the chair’s back. She smiles and says no more, seemingly content to stare at us. Well, stare at Valentina.

“Send your dogs away, would you? They make me want to scream, and bad things will happen if I scream,” I say to the girl, with my politest smile. She holds my gaze for a minute before nodding at her companions. They move away from us, hugging the wall across from our seat.

“Are you willing to talk?” Valentina asks.