Scythe & Sparrow (The Ruinous Love Trilogy, #3)

by Brynne Weaver

“You look like a TV doctor. Dr. McSpicy or something. What are your credentials?”

“To be honest, I was relieved it wasn’t the raccoon again. Do you know how hard it is to get a codeine-addicted raccoon out of a ventilation system? Fucking hard.” Rose’s expression brightens. “I kind of wouldn’t mind watching Dr. McSpicy rolling up his sleeves and getting into fisticuffs with a crazed trash panda.”

“Please just stay. I promise I’ll bring you to the clinic so you can watch me get my ass handed to me the next time the trash panda infiltrates the fortress. I’ll be worried about you with the corn children if you go back.”

“Shut up, ya feckin’ gobshite,” he hisses. “I have not been ‘fucking my way through Boston,’ I’ll have you know.

turn toward Eric’s body to start patting him down for his phone. When I tug his torso into place to sit upright on the driver’s seat, I find it in his front pocket. As with pretty much everything in the truck, it’s covered with blood, so I wipe it off on my shorts. “That’s good. Make sure you get the evidence really embedded in the fibers,” Fionn says.

“Dear God,” Fionn says, and it comes out more like a resigned groan than any true shock. “This is a fucking travesty.” “I know, right? What a waste of good beer on this asshole.” “That’s not exactly what I meant.”

“I proposed to her,” I finally admit, something I don’t usually share with anyone. “She said no.” “The raccoon?” I guffaw a laugh and Rose’s eyes sparkle with delight. “Such a shame. I would have loved to come to the wedding.” “You could have been the officiant.” “Even better.” “The only caveat is that it would have been circus themed, so you’d have needed a clown costume.” “Sign me the fuck up.”

“Fucking Barbara,” he hisses. I grab a crutch and hop up onto my good foot. “Yeah, fucking Barbara. Let’s fuck her up,” I say, whipping my knife from the sheath at my back. “Who’s Barbara?” “The raccoon.”

“I’m sure you will. Drive safe, Shitflicker.” “Listen here, ya little banshee—” “Rowan,” Sloane hisses as she wallops him in the stomach with her good arm. My grin begs to ignite. “She beat me with her crutch, Blackbird.” “And then you ate three helpings of her waffles this morning and single-handedly drained her maple syrup supply. I think you’ll survive, pretty boy.”

“Yeah. You’re definitely not. You’ve been stickered. You’re part of the sticker-bitch crew now. Count yourself lucky she didn’t put them on your tits.”

“It’s on, you fuckin’ clown,” he snarls through a feral grin.

“Go, Rose. And if you don’t come back, I wish you well.” I nod. Press my eyes closed. Listen to his heart as we sway in the summer sun. “And take the raccoon with you. She keeps getting into the churro batter. Do you know how many batches I’ve thrown out?” I

“And you can’t keep telling Barbara she has rabies. She doesn’t like that.” “You have Barbara?” I ask, and she gives me a faint nod. “I thought she was performing with the poodles.”