by Quirah Casey
I emerge from behind the trash can, seeing London kneeling at his sister’s side. Blood drips from his shoulder, but otherwise he looks unharmed.
I smash one of the attackers against the wall, hearing his skull crack before he goes limp. A glance behind me reveals that London and Paris have made it to their feet and are fighting off their own attackers. Just as my gaze slides past them, Paris lets out a tortured scream.
I don’t have time to turn back to her as a van pulls up to the alleyway, tires screeching. The cloaked attackers start to retreat, running for it. I snatch one of the men, wrapping my arms around his neck.
“Who do you work for?” I demand, noticing that none of his allies have turned to help him.
I feel the man reach into his pocket, and a second later glass smashes against my cheekbone.
I drop the man as pain explodes across my cheeks, eyes, nose. I can’t breathe. My face is on fire, but a hundred times worse. The agony is blinding, I’m blind. I can’t open my eyes, can’t even feel them. Blood streams down my neck, and my head spins as I slump against the wall. It feels like my entire face is melting off. In the distance, I hear the metallic roll of a van door closing and the squeal of tires.
I sit in stunned, breathless, agonized silence for seconds, minutes. Finally, the pain starts to lessen, and I can feel my skin starting to expand, to knit back together. I’m still blind, but I can hear all the sounds in the alley: Paris whimpering, London yelling for help, my earpiece full of voices calling my name.
Still not quite able to open my eyes, I feel around on my arm, finally finding the button for my mic. “I’m fine,” I say, silencing Marie and Mel. “I was hit with some kind of chemical, but I’m nearly healed.” I have no idea what the hell it was, but it hurt like a bitch. My head is filled with a dull ringing.
When I’m finally able to pry my eyes open, I cautiously rub at my face and then examine my hands. They’re covered in blood.
Shit.
I turn my head and see London kneeling over his sister, desperately trying to force his blood down her throat. Powerful gamics can use their blood to heal others, but even from a distance, I can see that London’s effort isn’t helping his sister.
I lurch to my feet and move toward them. “She’s dying,” I say, standing over the two of them. The sight of Paris…the blonde’s skin melts away before my eyes, exposing muscle and bone, broken veins gushing blood. I guess my skin was melting off. Paris is fading quickly, her heartbeat barely audible even to my sensitive ears.
London glares at me. “They used the same thing they hit you with, but she’s not healing like you. It’s just…spreading.” He braces his sister’s raw, bloody head with one arm while forcing blood into her open mouth from his opposite wrist. It’s a pitiful scene.
“That’s not working.”
“Thank you for stating the fucking obvious,” London snaps, his voice breaking.
“Call a healing team, Mel,” I say into the speaker, taking pity on the pair. I want them dead, but not like this. When the Stendahls die, it’ll be at my hand.
“Already have, but they’re five minutes out.”
“She won’t make it that long.” I notice that the ringing in my head has finally abated.
“Blue,” Melodiya says softly, and I know what she wants. It’s already crossed my mind.
“Move.” I push London out of the way, watching as Paris’s head hits the ground.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he bellows.
I squat next to Paris. “Saving your sister’s life.” I let my claws emerge on my right hand, slice open my left wrist, pry open Paris’s mouth, and place the cut against her lips, squeezing to make the blood come out faster. “Hold her mouth open, would you?” I snap, watching as the chemical stops spreading—Paris is no longer melting. London’s eyes widen, and he doesn’t say another word as he grasps his sister’s jaw and holds it ajar. I reopen my wrist after it heals up. The worst part about healing so quickly is that when I need to bleed, it takes a lot of cutting.
I cut my wrist once more, watching Paris’s skin grow back, reconnecting over the exposed muscle. She’s not bleeding out anymore, and her heart rate is steady.
I wipe my blood from around Paris’s mouth, more out of paranoia—I can’t just leave my blood lying around—than courtesy. Standing, I lick the excess blood from my arm as London looks at his rapidly healing sister in amazement.
“Your blood…” He glances back and forth between me and her, and I feel a small bit of regret. He now knows a secret of mine, a coveted ability that I take care to hide. There have always been rumors that my blood isn’t quite the same as other dragons’, but few know just how true those stories are. Hell, I’m surprised that the chemical affected me at all; it makes me wonder what could possibly have been in it. Not even nabesy hurts me so badly, and that’s expressly made to kill dragons.
The sound of sirens cuts through the air, and people start to gather in the mouth of the alley. None of them saw what I did for Paris, and that’s how I plan to keep it.
“Not a word to anyone else,” I tell London. “She’s still in bad condition, but she won’t die.” I keep my voice low. Then I stand and walk away.
As I turn the corner, I call over my shoulder, “You now owe me two, Stendahl.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Hello, Blue.” Ona, the owner of Charisma and one of the most powerful faeries in town, greets me as I walk into her shop. Her tone is steely, and I turn my head to meet her gaze. She’s tracking my movements, light eyes narrowed in resentment.
“Is there a problem, Ona?” I snap as I approach her.
The young faerie woman at the register is looking at us. I glance around and see that Ona and I have the attention of all the other faeries in the shop as well.
“Duemon was one of ours. You haven’t had the decency to come and pay your respects since he died in your club. And yet, here you are, walking into our establishment as if nothing happened, expecting us to wait on you.”
Surely I’m not hearing what I think I am.
I narrow my eyes at her. “I don’t like your tone, Ona.” I reach over the counter, grabbing her by the collar. I twist my hands in the fabric and pull her toward me. The sound of movement comes from around us, and I don’t have to look to know what it is. “If your people want to live, you’d better tell them to sit their asses down,” I warn.
Maybe slaughtering a restaurant full of faeries would put me in a better mood. At least I wouldn’t have to deal with this bitching.
“It’s okay.” Ona holds her hands out, reassuring her people and gesturing for them to fall back. I hear movement again as they retake their seats.
I pull Ona closer, raising my voice enough for everyone in the shop to hear me, because I don’t want to have to repeat myself. “When I came into this town, gamic and supernatural alike were at the bottom of the totem pole. Lobrooke was basically run by amdridians, keeping us all in subjugation to the defeated gods. And even the amdridians were only a tiny step above the humans, who were trying to kill all chöąts and pretty much succeeding. The CDA ran rampant, and the town was dying.” I grit my teeth, trying to keep my temper in check. I have a meeting that I need to get to, and the angrier I get, the later I’ll be.
“A month after I arrived, I put the amdridians and humans in their place, banishing or otherwise getting rid of any who wouldn’t comply. A month after that, I opened my establishments, bringing in people from all over the world and making this town a vibrant safe haven for our kind. By the end of that year, I had the CDA on a chain, and I haven’t let up on them since. I rebuilt Lobrooke on my own. I helped everyone who resides here. Yet you’re pissed at me because I haven’t had the time to come here and offer my condolences.” I let go of Ona, shoving her back into the wall and watching as she collapses to the ground. “Get fucking real. If it weren’t for me, you and your people would have perished a long time ago.”
I dust off my clothes, irritation still
riding me. “And don’t forget that my generosity could run out at any moment. Now go fix me a fucking burger and bring it to my table. On the house.” I pivot and stride away.
“You’re in quite rare form today, aren’t you,” Agent Levitsky says when I slide into the booth across from him. I glare at him, still annoyed. “Or not so rare, I guess,” he mutters, leaning back against the booth and crossing his arms over his chest.
I reach over to the panel of buttons on the table. They produce glamours, courtesy of the fae, which is why Charisma is the ideal place for private meetings. The customer service certainly isn’t the reason I come here. I press the button that will mute our voices beyond the booth. I don’t want anyone hearing my conversation with the agent. Hell, I didn’t even want to meet with him today, especially not in public. But after he begged me, I made an exception. Maybe there’ll be something in it for me.
“I didn’t realize you’d done so much for the town.” Levitsky watches me intently, his tone laden with implication, but I can’t figure out what he’s getting at. “I guess it's why people are so loyal to you around here.”
I look out the window. A couple of passing teenagers speed up when they see me. “Many of them were already here when I arrived. Or their ancestors were. Lobrooke was going to hell in a handbasket, so it was easy to take over.”
“Is that what you did? Take over?” he asks when I return my gaze to him.
“Almost as quickly as I could snap my fingers.” I notice a faerie standing outside the booth, holding two plates in her hands.
I let the glamour down, watching as she quickly places the burgers on the table and mumbles for us to enjoy our food before scrambling away.
Agent Levitsky hits the button to put the glamour back up. “You frighten them.”
“There’s nothing unusual about that. I frighten everyone.” I pull my plate closer. “Except for you, it seems, Agent. I’ll have to change that.” I pick my burger up. “Now tell me, why did you want to meet up?”
“There are more bodies turning up with your initials carved into them.”
No surprise there.
“Not my initials. But about how many bodies are we talking?” I take a huge bite.
“Four more. You’re not taking this seriously. All evidence points to you. You could very well be locked up for this.”
I shrug. “No I won’t, because I didn’t do it,” I grumble around a mouthful of food.
“And I believe you.”
Now there’s something I didn’t expect to hear.
I pause, putting my burger down and raising a brow as Levitsky takes a bite of his own meal. “That's a change of tune.” The last time I met with the agent, he seemed certain that I was involved in the murders. He was damn near expecting me to write my confession on the spot.
He shakes his head. “They don’t match up.”
“What don’t match up?”
“The signatures. The old ones, the ones that I know are yours—”
“There’s no proof of that.”
“They don’t match the new ones,” he continues, ignoring me. “It becomes more evident every time we find a new body. Even a child could tell that they’re different. The new carvings are a lot sloppier, more reckless than yours. Whoever is doing this is very eager.”
“So you called me here to tell me that you don’t think I’m the killer?” I ask, cramming the last of my burger into my mouth. “Great, can I leave now?”
“I called you here to tell you that if we don’t figure out who’s trying to frame you, you’re going to jail. No matter how good your connections are.”
“Who’s this we you speak of?”
“I want you to work with me on this case to clear your name.”
I let out laugh. “Me? Working with the CDA? No fucking way. I didn’t realize you were such a comedian, Agent.”
“I’m serious.”
The laughter keeps coming.
“Blue.” The sternness in his tone makes me look up. The laugh dies in my throat when I see how earnest his face is.
“Der’mo, you’re serious.” I shake my head, wiping my hands clean with a napkin as I prepare to leave. “It's going to be a hard no from me on this one, Agent. Nice seeing you, though.”
“Wait.” He reaches out, grabbing my wrist to stop me. I look at his hand pointedly before raising my eyes to his. He releases me. “Just sit back down.”
“Fine.” I lower myself back onto the seat, my eyes never leaving his. “I’ll let that one slide, but the next time you put your hand on me, be prepared to lose it, Levitsky.”
“I just want to help you. I think that if we work together, we can figure this out quicker. Which will make a big difference, seeing as you don’t have much time until the CDA makes an arrest.”
“And what do you want in return?” No one does anything for free. I should know.
“Nothing.”
He has to be lying. “My answer is the same, Agent. I’ve been taking care of myself for over a century, and I don’t need any help now. If they do arrest me, I have a pretty damn good lawyer on retainer.”
It's time to leave.
A look of regret clouds the agent’s face, and his voice lowers as he plays his trump card. “I know about Quest and Journey.”
He doesn’t have time to react as I practically fly over the table, seeing red as I wrap both hands around his throat. “How the fuck do you know about them?”
The agent’s eyes dart around, obviously looking for someone to come to his aid. Even though they can’t hear us, the other customers can still see us. But no one is going to move a muscle to help him, not when they know that the repercussions would be fatal.
I ask again. “How. The. Fuck. Do. You. Know?” Levitsky tugs at my wrists, trying to pry my hands away, but it's no use. No matter how powerful he may be, he isn’t stronger than I am.
“Let me go and I’ll tell you,” he wheezes, his face flushing red.
I debate that for a moment. I want to kill him now, but I can’t, not in public. Not when the CDA is already breathing down my neck. Not when I need to know how he knows about Quest and Journey.
I release Levitsky, inching back into my seat as he coughs. Finally, he manages to get his bearings, his wide eyes meeting mine. He seems shocked that I almost killed him. I guess he hasn’t done quite enough research on me.
“This is no time to look stupid, Agent.” I berate, barely holding my temper in. “Speak. Tell me how you know about them.”
“It’s a long story—”
“Well, you’d better make it a short one.” I cut him off, glaring across the table, fire in my eyes.
“I had a private friend, someone not with the agency, hack into your bank accounts.”
“That’s illegal.”
“So are half the things you do, but you don’t hear me complaining. And I am the law, for fuck’s sake.” He sees my temper rising and holds a hand out. “Let me finish.”
“Make it quick,” I snarl.
“There was a payment to Wide Wings, the camp for dragon kids, on one of your accounts.” Fuck. My own sloppiness is what put me in this situation, apparently. I can’t remember the last time I made such a stupid mistake.
Levitsky continues, “After that, it was only a matter of hacking into the camp’s database and going through all the files. Your name wasn’t on any paperwork, but there was one name that didn’t come back as an actual person in the CDA database: Ru Loresky. Quest and Journey had been signed up by a woman of that name. From there I put the pieces together, did a little more investigating.”
“I see. And now you have to die because you were so damn nosy.”
He shakes his head. “No, I don’t. You’re missing the point. If I could find out about them, so could the person who’s framing you.”
My blood runs cold as I realize that he’s right. The people who have it out for me could easily come across the girls, my biggest weakness.
Levitsky must see the pan
ic on my face, because his expression softens. “No one else knows about them,” he says quietly.
“You didn’t tell Alenin?” I ask, and he shakes his head. “Don’t lie to me. If that troll knows about them, then I need to get moving ASAP. I’ll rip his heart out.”
“You shouldn’t make threats like that in front of me. I promise I didn’t tell him. He doesn’t even know that I’m meeting with you. And I won’t tell him if you say yes to working with me. It’ll be between us; no one at the agency will know. If your answer is still no, fine. I won’t hold the girls over you or tell anyone else about them.” I look at him, finding nothing but honesty in his gaze. “You have my word.”
I need to take his offer. No matter how big my pride is, or how much success I have working alone, I need to put that all aside. Because the quicker I find the person setting me up, the quicker my girls will be out of danger. “Fine, I’ll work with you. But you need to keep your mouth shut about them.”
“Okay.”
I press the button to let the glamour down. I need to get home and think this over, discuss it with Melodiya. But all of a sudden, the air seems to thicken as I feel a familiar presence, and then the bell above the shop’s door jingles. I hear Ona offer a greeting, much more warmer than the one I got.
My shoulders tense as I hear footsteps approaching. Agent Levitsky looks over my shoulder, offering a slight smile.
“Miss me, Pudding?” I hear, and a quick turn of my head confirms my suspicions. London Stendahl is standing next to our table, his wind-tousled hair falling over his shoulders. There’s a grin on his face as his gaze sweeps over my body.
I look at Levitsky, trying to figure out what the hell is going on. “Why is he here?”
“Mr. Stendahl will be working with us.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Are you going to put that on silent or what?” Melodiya asks, gesturing to my phone as it rings for the thousandth time.
