Excerpt
Sky glared at the (entirely too long) spiral of chipped red stairs and cursed Ram once more.
Not aloud, mind you, and not with any real intent. Being only half Wyndling meant she wasn't terribly strong in magic, but she'd rather not risk her theoretical cursing becoming a real fairy curse through sheer carelessness. Especially not when her beloved former mentor was enjoying a well-deserved retirement in the Wynd.
She hoped.
But right now, she desperately wished him here by Lady Stairs. Because she wanted his counsel, especially now as she was trying to pick up where he left off. Because she missed Ramsay "Old White" Whitebridge more than her own long-absent father.
And, most importantly, because she really wanted to give Ram a piece of her mind.
He could have had a flat anywhere in Edinburgh's Old Town, as long as there was an active human close or wynd nearby. By the end of his 300-year tenure as Protector of all the Sideways along the Royal Mile, he had a very comfortable living from his long-term investments.
Sky knew this, because it was all hers now.
So, when he could have had any flat he chose, why had he chosen Lady Stairs Close?
Her ire wasn't about the long flight of stairs, not really. Any location along the Royal Mile would have that problem, since there would always be shops below. (Although he could have chosen something other than the very, very top.)
It was just that this spot was so…central.
So full of people. All the time.
People always trying to climb these bloody stairs. Because someone had helpfully labeled them and now the damn tourists thought they were part of the Lady Stairs Close experience. Lovely green James Court, even more picturesque honey-and-smoke-colored Makar's Court, the Writers' Museum…and the red stairs that clearly must be the famed Lady Stairs the close was named for.
(They were not.)
Sky liked people. She liked the noise and color and bustle of Old Town, from the nigh-constant drone of the bagpipes to the crack of the street performer's whips to the sidewalks cluttered with displays of tartans and kilts from the dozen wool-and-cashmere shops that populated her block alone. Unlike many of her former (human) coworkers from the banking job, she even liked these late-summer crowds of tourists.
But she didn't like them climbing the stairs to her flat. Every day. All day.
So why here, Ram? Sky would never in a million years try to use Lady Stairs to cross over into the Wynd—it was far too popular, although its popularity certainly gave it more power than some of the other Sideways. And now she would have to be extra careful about her appearance in her own home, with the risk of random folk coming up the stairs…and possibly seeing a silhouette that didn't look…human.
Not to mention the inconvenience right at this very moment, waiting for the most recent tourist—English, she thought—to realize he was blocking the way to her flat. Walloper. No clue he was keeping her from her job, of course.
Which was not to be standing at the foot of the stairs and wishing she was elsewhere.
Her job was to go upstairs, look into the Eye, read a few more pages of the stacks and stacks of notes Ram left her…and then don her amulets and be ready to start her patrol by late afternoon.
Before the dusk and the twilight.
When doors might open.
When anything could happen.
