Starling by Lesley Livingston Page A

small, a hoodie emblazoned with a private school crest, and a pair of combat boots that looked as though they’d been run over by a freight train.
    “I’d suggest the dark wash jeans in the slim fit,” she said, handing him another stack of pants to consider. He’d already had her put the socks and underwear on his bill and was in the dressing room trying on shirts and jeans. “They’ll go well with that tailored button-down. I’ve also got a few outerwear pieces I can bring you to try. There’s a soft canvas jacket in hunter green—”
    “Leather,” Fenn said. It was harder for teeth and claws—and swords—to get through leather. Not that he was going to tell the salesgirl that. “I’d like a leather jacket, please, if you have one.”
    “Of course,” she agreed. “I have a nice piece left over from last season that’s marked down.”
    “And boots.”
    “I already have a pair ready out here for you to try, sir.” When Fennrys finally emerged from the dressing room, the saleslady cast an approving eye over him. “You’ll be wearing the items, then?”
    “Yes.”
    “Shall I burn the ones you came in with?”
    He grinned at her. “Thank you, no. Just put them in a bag for me.” Fennrys had an idea. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the girl from the school. Her face, the memory of those deep blue eyes, was the only thing that had kept him focused instead of disappearing into a mental tailspin as he’d sat under the bridge, waiting for the morning. Fennrys didn’t know why, but he knew he needed to see her again. And returning the borrowed items was the only excuse he had. Fennrys paid for his new wardrobe and, as the saleslady handed him his shopping bags, asked, “Know any good hotels around here?”
    The escalator carried him up a chartreuse neon-lit corridor and out into the expansive, fantastical lobby of the River Hotel with its vaulting, vine-covered ceiling and sparkling chandelier. There was a long wooden check-in desk carved with the spreading branches and roots of a massive, twisty tree. It reminded Fennrys of something, but he couldn’t, in that moment, think what it was. Behind the desk, soaring windows looked out onto a terrace that was a secluded oasis in the middle of the city—a profusion of greenery scattered with teak chaises and banks of cushions for lounging. It was early for check-in, and the girl behind the counter was giving him an apologetic hard time about the fact that he would need a credit card as a damage deposit to secure the room. All Fennrys had was Rory’s wad of cash.
    He was about to abort the attempted check-in and walk away when he saw a tall, model-gorgeous woman in an elegant, figure-hugging suit signal to the girl he was speaking to.
    “Will you excuse me for one moment, sir?” the girl said, and slipped away to confer with the other woman.
    Fennrys sighed and figured that he was on the verge of being tossed out of the hotel. He pushed away from the desk and turned but paused when the girl hurried back to him with a sunny, slightly anxious smile pasted on her face.
    “If you can wait one moment, Mr. Wolf, I’ll just check to make sure your accommodations are fully ready for your stay. I’ve upgraded you to our penthouse suite, and the lounge will be pleased to offer you complimentary refreshments, once you’re settled.” She slid a key card across the polished surface of the desk toward him.
    Fennrys glanced back over to where he’d seen the woman in the suit standing, but she was no longer there. “The upgrade … is there an extra—”
    “No. The same price as the regular room. For you.” She paused as he looked at her, confused. “Everything is taken care of. Please enjoy your stay.”
    There’s got to be a mistake here , Fennrys thought. A nineteen-year-old nobody— literally —does not get this kind of treatment in a swank hotel .
    He slowly picked up his two shopping bags and nodded at the clerk. He wasn’t going to push