The Glass Gargoyle (The Lost Ancients Book 1)

Damn and double damn, Crusty Bucket was drunk again.
I looked around as a snippet of song rang out over the noise of the pub. A song sung by only one creature I knew—my
faery, Crusty Bucket—and only when she was dangerously drunk. I had no idea where she was in the pub. The Shimmering
Dewdrop was deep in a raging bar fight and, from the bodies littering the floor, it had started long before I pushed open the
door. Pretty much the norm for a Saturday night . . . except this was Tuesday night and the mayhem seemed more focused than
usual. The smell of spilled booze and cheap tallow candles was far stronger than it had been for a long time.
I took a deep breath and shook off some of the rain that had hounded me the entire way here. Maybe I was wrong, maybe I
hadn’t heard her. But again the high pitched singing flew over the noise of the fighting.