Hell and High Water

by Charlotte E. English

‘That’s it? Hello, Daix?’

  ‘I trust you’ve been well.’

  She snorted. ‘Better than you, I’d say.’

  ‘I won’t ask how you know that.’

  ‘Fine, but Tai says I have to tell you allll about it.’

  ‘Since when do you do what Tai says?’

  ‘When it happens to coincide with my own interests. I’ve been keeping a close eye on everything, Fi. Everything. Including you, including Tai, and including Eventide, and you can thank me later. It’s owned by the Quinn-Diamhors now.’

  ‘I know that name,’ I said slowly.

  ‘I would hope so.’

  The Quinn-Diamhor family are leannan sith. At their best, the leannan are sensitive aesthetes and devoted patrons of the arts, and the Quinn-Diamhors are certainly known for associating with artists by preference. Wealthy, successful artists. Their purchase of Eventide made sense from that perspective.

  The leannan are also known for being dangerously seductive, and they are terrifyingly beautiful. The kind of beauty that’s hard to resist; the kind that could persuade you into almost anything. In fairness, the same can be said of many of the fae, including selkies; it’s just that the leannan have it in buckets and spades. Those old stories about mortal girls, seduced by the Fair Folk and disappearing under the mounds? It’s often the leannan sith they are talking about. Not always, but often enough. Anyone with their wits about them treads very carefully around the leannan.

  Tanna’s words floated through my mind. Acted like it was a big secret. She knew she shouldn’t be going there. Thrilled about it.

  If she had run into the leannan, that might explain the secrecy — and the thrill.

  I groaned. ‘Why are girls so attracted to bad boys?’

  I could practically hear Daix smirking. ‘They’re a hell of a ride.’

  ‘You would know,’ I heard Tai saying in the background.

  ‘Like you wouldn’t,’ Daix said tartly. She didn’t speak the name of Phélan, but it hung there, all the louder for being unspoken.

  ‘Low blow,’ said Tai.

  ‘Harsh but fair,’ said Daix.

  ‘Look,’ I said, cutting in. ‘We need to look around Eventide. Tai and I will go there tonight. Daix, can you employ whatever connections you have no doubt cultivated and try to find out more?’

  ‘You don’t want me with you at Eventide?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’m offended.’

  ‘A great pity.’

  She snickered. ‘All right. You and Tai can dress up to the nines and go hobnob with the rich and powerful all night. I’ll sit alone in my bunker, trawling the underworld for word on the Quinn-Diamhors, on Eventide, and on anything sticky the leannan are known to have their fingers in lately.’

  ‘Your bunker,’ I repeated.

  ‘It’s cosy. Everyone should have one. Oh, we should probably tell you—’

  ‘Fi,’ came Tai’s voice, cutting Daix off.

  ‘Hey,’ Daix objected, distantly.

  Tai ignored that. ‘We’ve been to the Puca,’ she said. ‘There are rumours of some kind of shady selkie-skin-dealing crap going on in there. Sluagh.’

  My stomach performed a slow turn. ‘Ah,’ I said, mouth dry.

  ‘I know. We don’t know who they are yet, but Tully’s going to let us know if they show up again.’

  Ah, the sluagh. Fine folk, in many cases; I’d be the last person to throw shade on the entire race. But they have… quirks. They are merciless warriors, and unquestionably the fiercest and most bloodthirsty of the fae. When they troop, they make up the Wild Hunt — together with the coin-sith, what might colloquially be termed hell hounds. To look upon the Wild Hunt is to go mad, certainly if one is a mortal, but even the fae are not impervious to the combined effects of many sluagh in one place. Individually, they aren’t so dangerous, though they have an ease with the souls of the departed which is, frankly, creepy — especially since some are known, or at least said, to devour them. Short of that, they can mess with your head in ways that are… not pretty. Tai can testify to that.

  When the sluagh turn to crime, the results are not pretty either.

  A picture was beginning to form, and it was making me uneasy. If we had sluagh and leannan sith involved in the same scheme, that made for too many dangerous powers, working together in troubling ways. If some of those folk also had the backing of rich and powerful people — possibly the Quinn-Diamhors, even — then this problem was bigger than a couple of unfortunate selkie-girls who’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  ‘Meet me at Eventide,’ I told Tai. ‘Eight o’clock.’

  ‘I’ll be there.’

  I hung up, and relayed the news to Jane.

  ‘Right,’ she said, her mouth forming a grim line. ‘I’m going back to the studio. I’ll get in touch with everyone I can think of, see if anybody else has received an unexpected invitation to Eventide lately.’

  ‘Ask if anyone knows who Melly was seeing,’ I said. ‘And Narasel. I wouldn’t be surprised to find that there was a mysterious stranger in her life lately, too.’

  Chapter Eight: Tai

  Strange, going back to Eventide in Fionn’s company. Bittersweet, because it was just like old times — and yet nothing like that at all.

  Strange going back under any circumstances, to be fair. I don’t mix with the type who go there now, not if I can help it. It was a sad day when Ayaka retired. No one with any sense could approve of what’s been done with the place since.

  The staff used to be merely friendly. Now they’re downright creepy — if you’ve eminence enough to pull your weight in there. As successful artists with a modicum of fame, Fi and I do, more’s the pity.

  Eventide’s front doors are just for show. And what a show: clear glass lit with its own golden radiance, like afternoon sun on the water. Beyond that, a swirl of drifting mist, moon-silver, opaque; peering into that golden world is like catching a glimpse of heaven. Tantalising, provocative, out of reach.

  Pretty, manipulative shit.

  You can tell who’s new to Eventide, because they’re trying to get in that way. They don’t get far. The real entrance is around the back, and that is like wandering into the garden of paradise. Roses rambling everywhere, whatever the season; water features; thick carpets of golden moss, bejewelled with diamantine dew; and somewhere in there, a door, discreet compared to the front ones. It’s guarded by a couple of bouncers, typically drawn from the troll clans.

  Tonight was no different.

  ‘Ladies,’ said bouncer number one, as Fi and I approached. Seven foot tall and stacked, the guy made for an intimidating door-guard. Nobody much wants to tangle with one mountain-troll, let alone two, although if the pair of them couldn’t keep their eyes where they belonged I’d be reconsidering my stance on that.

  I clenched my fists, running my thumbs over the stones adorning my knuckles. I’d left the gloves at home. The jewels are decorative enough, in their way, and if their presence gives anybody pause before they think about getting too close to me, all the better.

  Fionn stepped past me, nudging me none too gently as she did so.

  Right. I was scowling. I replaced my thunderous expression with a smile; it felt badly pasted on, but it passed muster. Whatever Fi said to the tossers on the door produced a chuckle, and with a gracious inclination of her elegant head she was sashaying inside.

  I followed, receiving an obsequious hat-tip as I passed.

  So far so good. I paused inside the door to take a breath, and unclench my fists.

  Fionn gave me a cool look. ‘You used to be better at this.’

  ‘Out of practice,’ I said shortly.

  That might have been a flicker of sympathy somewhere at the back of her eyes, but I couldn’t be sure. Maybe it was just a trick of that silvery mist. She looked incredible, of course, in all her supermodel glory. Her shimmery satin gown looked like a sheath made of water itself, its style evoking the best of 1930s glamour. She wore p
earls in her upswept hair, and her eye make-up was fabulously over the top. Perfect.

  I’d gone for a more severe style. Black velvet: floor-length, long-sleeved and backless. Fi had lent me a pair of her skyscraper heels, which I had accepted only reluctantly, expecting to resent their spectacular lack of practicality. Actually, I didn’t. I liked the way they made me feel. Taller, for one, which is important anytime I have to stand next to Fionn.

  Eventide wasn’t busy yet; the fashionable hour wouldn’t hit until nearer midnight. We had time to settle in, get our bearings, grab a drink or two, and try to remember what the fuck we were supposed to do in there.

  I wasn’t kidding when I said I was out of practice. My old instincts aren’t entirely gone, but close enough. I could have walked up to the music stage and rocked the joint without a moment’s hesitation, but to mingle and hobnob and angle for information? These days, I’m more inclined to punch people than make nice to them.

  Fi catwalked her way to a table and slid into a silk-brocaded chair, somehow managing to look coolly unconcerned and oblivious to those around her. I, though, recognised the signs: the way her gaze flicked from face to face, taking note of who was there, observing who sat with whom. The way she positioned herself so as to have a view of as much of the room as possible, her back to the wall. She wasn’t out of practice.

  I strutted over to join her. Wasn’t even intentional, but you can’t wear four-inch heels without strutting about like a damned peacock. It’s sort of the basis of their appeal. ‘One might ask what you’ve been up to all this time,’ I said to Fi, ‘besides staging a takeover of the world of haute couture.’

  Her gaze settled on me, more or less expressionless. ‘That’s more than enough to keep a person busy, I assure you.’

  To which attempt at side-stepping my question, I merely raised an eyebrow.

  ‘What?’ she murmured, cool as ever.

  ‘Been taking a side job or two?’ I persevered.

  ‘You mean, do I secretly run an underground detective agency in some dingy back street?’

  ‘By day, she decks the city in silks, satins and pearls,’ I said. ‘By night, she champions the down-trodden masses from her secret lair.’

  ‘Nonsense.’

  ‘Come on, Fi. Once a Fatale, always a Fatale.’

  ‘Really? Where then is your secret lair?’

  ‘If I told you, it wouldn’t be much of a secret.’

  Fionn bestowed upon me a withering look, and signalled a waiter. ‘Bring me a strawberry gin fizz,’ she murmured.

  ‘I’ll be needing something stronger,’ I said, flashing the waiter a smile. ‘Pray get me a love potion.’

  ‘Which is what?’ said Fionn.

  ‘Fruit juice and vodka, emphasis on the vodka.’

  ‘You’re nervous.’

  ‘I’m never nervous.’

  ‘And you never lie.’

  The waiter had gone; I permitted myself a grin. ‘The truth should never be allowed to get in the way of a good joke.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Fionn, gracefully inclining her head. ‘Protecting the sanctity of the joke. Nothing whatsoever to do with protecting your pride, resisting perceived pressure, or stubborn bravado.’

  ‘See, this is why I stopped having friends,’ I said. ‘Too much self-knowledge is bad for a girl.’

  ‘You prefer self-deception.’

  ‘Who doesn’t.’

  Fionn, bless her, actually considered that question, and finally awarded me the point. ‘I can’t say that you’re wrong.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Only you need not actively cultivate it, surely.’

  ‘I do indeed need, if it gets me through the damned day. Also, starry-eyed dilettante to your left.’

  Fionn did that thing where she looked without seeming to. I… tried. We observed, more or less covertly, as a frighteningly young-looking girl came in, dressed up to the nines in too much make-up and too little satin, her eyes everywhere as she took in the scene. She’d gushed and stammered her way past the door guards, and as Fi and I watched, she tripped over to the bar and repeated the trick with the bartender. She walked like she was taking an exam in nonchalant elegance, and expected to fail.

  ‘Never been here before in her life, I’d wager,’ I murmured.

  Fionn nodded. ‘Never expected to be, either.’

  ‘Does she look selkie?’

  Fionn gave a tiny shrug of one shoulder. ‘I can’t always tell at a glance.’

  Neither could I. The girl was certainly beautiful, in a gauche way, and just as clearly fae. Eventide was still close to empty; we’d arrived early on purpose, wanting to watch as the clientele came in. The newcomer took a seat alone, and sat with an air of suppressed anticipation, eyes everywhere.

  Our drinks had arrived. I took a larger-than-advisable mouthful of raspberry and searingly-strong vodka, and felt steadied by it.

  ‘She’s meeting someone,’ said Fionn.

  ‘Someone with clout, if they got her name added,’ I agreed. It was one thing to finagle an unusual guest past the door guards if you were present to talk them into it; another to contrive admittance for them on their own account, unescorted, at any time they chose. There was a list somewhere, by repute a short one, of people welcome to frequent Eventide — the sort who lacked the eminence or connections to score an invitation on their own. I didn’t know who might have the power to get a name added to that list — besides, of course, the club’s owners.

  ‘We should go talk to her,’ I said.

  ‘No,’ said Fionn immediately. ‘We shouldn’t show ourselves yet.’

  ‘What do you mean, show ourselves? We’re just patrons here, enjoying a drink, mingling with the other guests. And that girl looks ready to faint with joy at meeting a certain name in fashion design. Unless I miss my guess, that’s one of your pieces she’s wearing.’

  ‘You have been paying attention,’ Fionn murmured, with a fleeting smile.

  ‘Come on, we’re going over.’

  ‘Tai, show a little caution. People may still remember—’

  ‘Very few people remember, Fi, and she isn’t going to be one of them. I doubt she was born the last time you and I spoke.’ So saying, I got up, collected my drink, and made my way over to the starry-eyed girl’s table. ‘Serenity,’ I said, nodding towards her gown. Like many of Fi’s designs, it was pure silk and had the fluidity of running water. Fionn is the king and queen of fabric drape. ‘I think I detect a fan.’

  ‘Oh my gosh, yes,’ gushed the girl. ‘I’ve never had a real Serenity gown before. They always look so beautiful in the shows, but wearing them is even better, isn’t it? It’s like wearing a waterfall, or a cloud—’

  ‘The waterfall was, in fact, some part of the inspiration for that gown,’ said Fionn, quietly joining us, and flowing into a seat. ‘You were lucky to get hold of that piece. We didn’t make many.’

  The poor girl looked ready to explode, though not so much with joy. She’d clammed up, capable only of staring at Fionn with a kind of appalled wonder.

  Which unfortunately meant she wasn’t responding to Fionn’s prompt. I saw the direction Fi was trying to go in: she had been lucky to get hold of that gown, and the thing was likely to be eye-bleedingly expensive. Her artless chatter reinforced the idea that she wasn’t normally in a position to own such things; she lacked the wherewithal, then. So how had she got the dress — or more likely, who had given it to her?

  When in doubt, try being direct. ‘I’m jealous,’ I said, toasting her with my somewhat depleted love potion. ‘Where did you get it?’

  The girl’s gaze travelled back to my face, eventually. ‘I— well, the truth is,’ she said, her eyes going wider. ‘The truth is, I don’t know. I mean, I didn’t exactly choose it, I…’ She trailed off, looking from one of us to the other, hesitating.

  Silence from Fionn.

  ‘Curious,’ I said, laughing. ‘What, you found it in the street? I wish my lucky stars were so generous
.’

  ‘Of course not.’ She gave an awkward laugh.

  ‘No, that would have been too good to be true,’ I agreed.

  ‘I, um, found it on my doorstep.’

  I blinked. ‘What?’

  ‘Yesterday,’ she said. ‘With a note, inviting me to — to come here, tonight.’

  ‘Lucky girl,’ put in Fionn. ‘You’ve an important admirer.’

  That observation was productive of a rosy blush, and the poor fool visibly preened. ‘I don’t know who it is, yet,’ she confided. ‘Though I have an idea…’

  She had a wish list, in other words, and a head full of daydreams. I doubted any of those dreams were about to come true. Though, one question preoccupied me: did whoever had given her the dress know that she was a fan of Fionn’s, or had it been a coincidence? If the former, perhaps her mysterious admirer was someone she knew.

  The mystery of it all made me uneasy.

  ‘You’re Fionn of Cuath-Tor, aren’t you?’ said the girl, and she had probably been dying to say that for some minutes. ‘You designed this dress! You’re so amazing. I applied to walk for your shows, but, no luck yet. I’m still trying.’ She gazed at Fionn with a trusting hopefulness I found rather heartbreaking. Innocence. It’s so easy to take advantage of.

  ‘You’re a model?’ said Fionn, sipping her gin fizz.

  ‘Just getting started, yet,’ came the answer, with another blush. ‘My agent says I have potential — ah, my name’s Cellann, by the way, Cellann of Indra-Tath, I’m with the Anna Sant Agency—’

  Cellann of Indra-Tath rambled on, clearly hoping to impress Fi with her credentials. I let my attention wander. More people were coming in at the door, a few I vaguely recognised: a half ban sith brunette who was somebody in television; a tall, moody-looking sluagh I’d bumped into backstage once or twice. The rest were unfamiliar, as yet, and so far nobody showed any signs of wanting to approach Cellann’s table.

  Fionn was excusing herself. Apparently she was tired of the chatter, as was I; I toasted Cellann with the dregs of my love potion and followed Fi, though we did not return to our table.

  ‘Perimeter prowl?’ I said, falling into step beside Fionn.