The Wicked & The Dead (Faery Bargains Book 1)

by Melissa Marr

  I heard them, creatures I had called to life again, calling to me.

  “Mati.”

  “Moeder.”

  “Rest,” I said, spoke, thought, urged.

  “We go. Go with you,” they insisted.

  Eli was up and moving, but so was the soil. Ripples moved as the earth looked suddenly liquid. Fingers, arms, and legs were poking through the roiling ground as plentiful as spring flowers. A roll of moving earth followed us as we ran to the fence.

  “Don’t stop.” Eli cupped his hands for my foot. “Over.”

  I didn’t argue. The best I could do was try not to let my sword hilt touch him. No steel should be on the pretty faery. He could handle it because he wasn’t full fae, but it hurt him.

  “Plug the energy, Geneviève,” Eli urged. “Release it. Do something.”

  I put my foot in his hands, knee against his chest, and hand on his shoulder. My breasts were at his face, and I looked down at him. Eli glowed like a small star had been sewn inside the shape of a man. With my magic, I could see that he was brighter than anything in the city.

  “You’re beautiful,” I said, all but sighing the words.

  “Now is not the time.” Eli lifted me then, half-shoving me over the fence. “Go on, Geneviève. Over. The dead will come as long as you are in reach.”

  I couldn’t speak around the voices that crowded my mind, but even in that blur, I knew I trusted Eli. I grabbed the fence and hauled myself the rest of the way over, despite the voices begging me to stay with them. The truly dead called to me in a way that was as close to maternal as I would ever be. I wanted to heal them, save them, swear to them that they would be okay.

  I landed in a crouch outside the fence and waited. I wanted to run, but I couldn’t leave Eli to be torn apart by creatures I’d summoned. I straightened and looked at Eli as he shook free of a hand that had grabbed his boots.

  “He is mine,” I thought at them, words surging on my magic. You do not touch what is mine.

  The hand retracted.

  “Yours.”

  “Be yours.”

  “Mother.”

  “Sleep, children. Sleep.” My words were edging into desperation.

  If the dead returned to their bodies at my whispers, they were souls caught in some midway point where they were neither alive nor in an afterlife. They had something to share, some task to finish, and I wasn’t sure if that task was making amends to someone else who was dead or avenging their own murder. I could spend an eternity trying to shepherd the souls that lingered—or I could chain them to my will. I opted to do neither.

  I had nowhere to house a home full of walking dead. I hadn’t quite mastered taking care of my cat reliably, and somehow, I was fairly sure that taking care of the dead wasn’t going to be as easy as installing a cat door.

  I could see hands and heads pushing through the soil nearest the fence as Eli scaled the fence. My magic animated them, and if they stayed near me, their hearts would beat again, their lungs would draw air, and they’d follow my orders and--if possible--they’d settle their own unfinished business.

  But if I left, they’d drop back to their graves, as if the soil was reclaiming them. I just needed to get out of range.

  Once he was beside me, I took Eli’s gloved hand in mine and began to run. The further we went, the more the voices lowered to whispers.

  We stopped two blocks away.

  “What just happened?” Eli asked quietly.

  “He was stronger than he should have been,” I pointed out. “I needed excess grave magic.”

  “And it slipped?”

  I nodded. Talking about my inability to harness my own energy wasn’t going to lead to a calmer me. I needed to relax.

  “Any draugr nearby?” Eli asked after a longer than normal pause.

  I sighed and listened. Of course there were: The sun had set, and the reawakened were always around in New Orleans. I just didn’t know how many yet, so I sent out a gentle “hello, dead things” message with a surge of my excess magic, directing some of the energy I had summoned into a wave I scattered for an eight-block radius.

  “Three? Four?” I waved my hand in the general direction of the corpses. “Two are together. The others are solo.”

  “I can take you to safety,” Eli offered.

  “Lead the way.” I drew my sword. Walking after dark in New Orleans was always risky. Doing it with my particular allure for the dead was often an adventure. Tonight, though, with grave energy radiating from me, it was dangerous.

  “As you command, truffle.”

  I rolled my eyes, but followed my sometimes-partner as he led us to whatever safehouse he’d undoubtedly located.

  Chapter Six

  I watched for the dead as we walked. I felt them less and less as I locked my magic in tightly. Corpses ambling after me wasn’t on my to-do list, and as much as I was okay killing more draugr, I was exhausted already, and everything felt like too much. My magic being off meant that scents were growing harder to ignore. I’d always brewed a few concoctions to keep them muted, but lately, it wasn’t enough. Cigars, pot, or woodsmoke couldn’t be muted. I guess it was a generic fire awareness—which, considering how often witches were put to the flame in history, might not be a bad thing.

  Tonight, the scent of smoke from recent cigars mixed with the vaguely wet smell of city streets. No earthy scents of recent dead. Nothing alarming. I exhaled loudly in relief.

  On the street, the dead could be recently gnawing, growling shamblers or they could be powerful, elegant, and centuries old. The older they were, the faster and more articulate they were. And while Eli was stronger than humans, and I was capable of feats I’d rather not broadcast, it was still risky to walk around with my impossible-to-silence magic sending out a come-hither-dead-things beacon.

  My body ached like my skin was too thin to contain me. That only happened when my magic was out of control—which was far too often lately. I needed to hold everything in check while watching for the dead. That meant that I didn’t want to speak.

  We walked about a mile before Eli stopped at a building in the Garden District that looked like it could have been one of the first in the city. A fence, stone not iron, surrounded a house that had the shimmer of old magic to it, as if the city was built around it, drawn to the echoes of power that the stones whispered. The house itself had no balcony or gallery, no porch or Ionic columns. It was almost so plain as to be unnoticed—which required magic in this area.

  I glanced at him. “May I?”

  He nodded, and I stepped closer.

  I knew the moment I touched the exterior that it had fae protections woven into the foundation so securely that living in it was beyond my paygrade and whatever my future highest paygrade would be, too.

  “What is this?”

  “Be welcome in my home, Genèvieve Crowe.” Eli bowed his head. “I offer you my hearth.”

  I paused. “Your home? I thought we were going to a safehouse.”

  “There is nowhere safer in New Orleans,” Eli said. “The bones once belonged to my great-gran.”

  I reached out and touched the building again, placing both hands on the stone. As I did, I let another small pulse of magic slide from my skin into the wall. I really didn’t need to have Eli’s dead grandmother step out of the walls. I felt for bones, hoping they were restful and ancient, wanting them to be deep asleep.

  Nothing answered my pulse.

  I had no idea how old Eli was, so his great-grandmother’s death could have been centuries ago. Or perhaps she was full fae and wouldn’t hear my call. I’d never woken the dead fae.

  I pushed a little more forcefully, sending the grave magic out in waves that rippled and returned to me.

  “No bones,” I said lightly, still not entering the building. “Are they ground? Treated? Dust?”

  “Bones of the blackhouse where she lived, cupcake,” he said with a laugh threaded into the words. “Not her bones. What kind of monster do you take me
for?”

  The grave was still too close to my surface, or maybe the thought of being in Eli’s house clouded my judgment. Either way, I asked, “Do the fae leave actual bones that can wake?”

  “Gran was human.” He opened the door and gestured for me to enter in front of him.

  Peace beckoned as I stood in the foyer. The floor was marble so polished it could be glass. I couldn’t feel its origin, but the wood under the bannister reached back to me as I slid my hand over it. I felt new shoots start to press outward, buds curling at the tips of branches as if they were feeling spring rains.

  My eyes fell shut at the energy that still rolled through my blood. Pausing here was like finding a forest in the middle of the city. In nature, I could let go, send my magic into the earth. The natural elements here tempted me to do the same. Cautiously, I relaxed more—until I felt my magic brush against Eli.

  That glancing touch was enough to make my body flush. He was the very opposite of the grave. I wanted to roll around in that. I let my energy move toward him, feeling my entire being burn at the nature that was contained in Eli.

  “Geneviève,” Eli said.

  I opened my eyes to find him a moment from touching me. Up close, his eyes looked like tiny lights danced in them. I should have retreated, but I needed to know more. I inhaled, pulling the essence that was Eli into my body.

  Hunger. Longing. Power.

  “What do you long for?” I whispered, my hands on his chest, my body leaning into his, as if closeness would answer. Humans were easier to read. Draugr were probably easier. With Eli, I could feel magic pressing on walls that seemed impenetrable.

  But I glimpsed Elphame. Elf Home. His world. It was vibrant and inviting, and I felt his longing. Home.

  “Why not go home?” I stared at him.

  After a longer than normal pause, Eli said, “Someday, I will tell you, but I would rather you know my secrets from my lips than stolen from my flesh.”

  I swallowed and stared at his lips. Unconsciously, I licked my lips.

  A wave of desire rose up and crashed over us both. The longing was not just for home. He wanted me in a way that was equal to his desire to go home. “Me? Why?”

  “Geneviève . . . you aren’t ready to hear these answers.”

  I stepped back, jerked my hands away, and summoned my self-control. Maybe he was right. I didn’t particularly like being told what I was ready for or felt or needed. I didn’t like it as a child when my mother did it, and I sure as fuck didn’t like it as a grown woman.

  “Shall I tell you what I long for? What I need?” Eli asked in a voice that was thick with the same desire I’d glimpsed.

  I took another step backward. At the thought of what he undoubtedly would offer if I said the word, energy surged out of me in a wave that rattled the ground under us.

  “Or shall we drop this line of conversation?” he asked lightly.

  “I can’t. We . . . we cannot,” I said, although I wasn’t sure which of us I was trying to convince.

  I wanted him. I doubt that anyone could be on the receiving end of Eli’s charm and not consider it. Maybe if he spoke to me like he did to the women he took to the back room at the bar, or even if he offered the excuse that it would mean nothing, I could give in. He never gave me that, though. No fae-lies. No excuses.

  He didn’t move away like he usually did. “Many believe the fae are gifted in touch. Some even say that there is no magic to being faery-struck, simply the fact that no lover is as thorough as a faery.”

  Despite myself, I said, “Being faery-struck is a scientifically proven phenomena. Some mortals are simply overwhelmed and cannot return to human lovers.”

  He laughed and motioned for me to ascend the stairs.

  “Are you admitting to being more fae than you claim, Eli?” I glanced back at him.

  His laughter vanished, and he stared at me intently. “Would that change anything? My heritage? Or my secrets? Or perhaps my full disclosure? Is that your price?”

  “Eli . . .” I swallowed and whispered, “You want something I can never give you.”

  “Do you truly want to debate this, Geneviève?”

  I refused to answer, choosing instead to look away and continue up the stairs to the second floor of the building. This was a bad line of conversation.

  “I can’t do this,” I admitted. “I can’t lose you.”

  “And yet, I am here.” He kissed the air near my face, close enough that I shivered. It wasn’t just sexual. It was so very much more. And I knew then that he meant more than in my life. He was in my life, my world, my city. He was at my side.

  Then he motioned me forward. That mask, the vaguely amused beautiful face, was back in place, but I saw the things behind it—and I was terrified. To be fae was to want a family. I would never have children. I knew what I was, and I could not pass that on. Not with Eli. Not with anyone.

  Most of the time, that decision didn’t hurt. With Eli, it did. Maybe it was his feelings that were making me feel this way. The image of being with Eli wasn’t something I could allow myself. Not even for a moment.

  Eli and I were connected as surely as I was to my two closest female friends and my oldest, dearest friend, Jesse. If I were an animal, I’d consider them my pack. If I were a regular human, I would think of them as my team, my squad, my family. All I knew was that they had my sword as long as I lived—or beyond if I stayed animate after death. They were mine.

  Eli was mine, in the way Jesse and Sera and Christy were. He could not be more than that. I wasn’t able to give that to anyone. I wasn’t sure what I truly was, so attempting a relationship was out of the question—especially with someone I cared about too much to hurt by leading him on.

  Best not to ever risk developing feelings at all.

  Chapter Seven

  I stopped at the second-floor landing of Eli’s home. In front of me was an ornate door, wood inlaid with silver and brass. To enter Eli’s home required entry into the building—and I had noticed the formal words to lower whatever barrier the door held beyond physical—and now another door. Two doors and acceptance verbally. He had three points of opening simply to enter his home.

  “Look back,” Eli said lightly.

  Behind us, his polished stair-railing was covered in buds and blossoms. It was chaotic and beautiful, but it interrupted the polished look of his foyer. I wasn’t sure if I ought to apologize or expect gratitude. Either way, I felt awkward.

  “It was an accident.”

  Eli gave another of his shrugs. “The magic must go somewhere. Best to fight or fuck it out, if not for its intended purpose.” He paused until I met his eyes. “And you are unwilling to invite me to do either, correct?”

  “Eli . . .” I had done well resisting him so far. Most of the time, we were better at being just friends, but just now, I had to lie, avoid, or run.

  “You can leave, Geneviève. I will not stop you,” he reassured me, speaking in that tone that said he knew and accepted my flight urges. “If you want to go, you are free to. There is no trap. I give you my word of honor.”

  Eli was strong enough to give me a better fight than anything other than older draugr. Most people had no idea just how physically strong the fae were. Even I hadn’t realized it, and the excess power in Eli’s wiry body made me question how well I’d hold up against a full-blood fae if Eli was no more than half.

  “Don’t do this tonight, Eli. Don’t be so . . . you when I’m already energized.”

  He nodded, somber as he rarely was. “I shall not imply so overtly that I desire you.”

  “That’s a very fae way to say that.”

  “If you want to speak without restraint, we will speak of everything. I will answer any question—or demonstrate. Say yes, Geneviève, and I will do anything you ask of me.”

  “No.” I swallowed my fears for a moment, and before I could second-guess myself too much, I admitted, “I just . . . I can’t. If you meant nothing to me, I’d already have taped your s
mart mouth shut and fucked you until we couldn’t move. You know that, don’t you?”

  He stepped closer to me before the words were fully said, reaching around me to unlock his door. “You won’t want my mouth taped when we are finally together.”

  I could have moved aside. I should have moved. I needed Eli’s friendship. I needed the ease of someone who saw what I could truly do and still thought I was safe and good. I hid parts of myself from Jesse, from Christy and Sera, but with Eli I was more wholly myself than with anyone else I’d met in my life. I couldn’t give that up, not even for what would undoubtedly be fabulous sex.

  “If,” I managed to say. “If we are.”

  “And if you were insignificant to me,” he said hoarsely. “I’d have seduced you by now. I adhere to your rules, Geneviève, because you are important to me. But when we are, you’ll wish you hadn’t delayed.”

  We stood that way, me in the open embrace of his arms and him close enough that my magic wanted to surge into him, follow the air he’d exhaled into my hair back into his lungs, to know him inside.

  “Don’t.” His words were barely a flutter against my neck. “If I must keep my words and mouth away from you, you cannot touch me with magic again. You’ve asked me to play nice. You must do the same, Geneviève.”

  His reaction to my magic exploring him seemed oddly dangerous. With most people, I did so as reflexively as asking their names. A quick scan told me what I needed to know.

  Maybe it was different with Eli because of what he was or what we were.

  I stepped forward, into his home, and said in the lightest tone I could muster, “Drink?”

  Being in his home was new, but he made me relax and I treasured that. My magic felt erratic, and there was literally no one else in New Orleans who knew what could happen if I wasn’t fast enough to contain my calls to the dead. Eli steadied me. He was strong enough to defend himself against many threats, and he had a knack for getting me to listen to reason.

  “Vodka? Gin? Tequila?” He nodded to an inset to our left when we went further inside his home. Gleaming bottles, some so rare I wanted to stay right there and examine all of them, beckoned me forward.