I blinked owlishly, realizing at last that the detective had brought me to one of the safehouses that Gretel had mentioned in her office. Was that why she’d sent me to find Max? If so, I owed the litigator a bouquet of flowers. Of course, it also raised a horde of new questions—like what Max and Camila were doing hiding out with a bunch of Faeling refugees, for example, or how Maria had gotten involved.
“Fine, but afterwards I want some answers,” I replied, unwilling to drop the subject. “Who else is here, anyway?”
The answer surprised me. Faces, both familiar and unfamiliar, crowded an entrance hall that reminded me of an alleyway you might stumble upon in the oldest of the European cities; high stone walls bordered either side of a narrow path, their brick facades cluttered with doors and windows from which dozens of Faelings had emerged. Some I knew by name, others by sight. Ennis, a one-armed ogre with a face that looked far crueler than he actually was, loomed over a small tribe of shifty-eyed goblins. A Kelpie I’d once interrogated leaned out over a windowsill; the majority of her fishy parts hidden in shadow. Pixies flitted about above my head, occasionally alighting on clotheslines which hung across the gap. In the end, however, it was the sky that stole my attention; it surged and roiled with every color of a sunrise—blushing pinks and molten golds intermingling with pastel blues and fiery reds.
“Do you like what we did with the place?” Petal asked, her voice so close to my ear I nearly swatted at her out of reflex. She giggled and settled on my shoulder, kicking her little legs back and forth like a child on a swing.
“How d’ye manage all this?” I asked, gesturing helplessly at everything.
“Much of it was here before we arrived. Grammarie, unlike glamour, does not fade with time. This place was fashioned when Boston was ruled by Puritans, back when our magic was strong, and iron was scarce.”
I did a little mental arithmetic and realized Petal was talking about events some three hundred years prior. The way she said it made me wonder just how old the pixie was—and what all she’d seen. For a brief moment, I considered taking her aside and telling the pixie what all I’d been through; perhaps she could offer me the clarity I was looking for. Sadly, there wasn’t time.
“What is everyone doing out here?”
A voice cut through the din, and the gathered crowd parted like the sea—their myriad shapes peeling away in a kaleidoscope of color until there stood a single, solitary figure standing at the far end of the alleyway: Camila Velez. The bruja looked haggard, even hollow-eyed, as she took stock of her surroundings. And yet, I couldn’t help but notice the Faelings straighten beneath the weight of her gaze.
It was clear who was in charge.
“You all know it is not safe for everyone to be out like this,” Camila said, her accent somehow more sibilant than her brother’s. “I am sure Senorita MacKenna appreciates the gesture, but now you must go back to your homes.”
As one, the Faelings ducked their heads and dispersed like a defeated mob, though a few made sure to offer a friendly wave or fleeting smile before departing. Still, it put me in a grim mood.
“She is right to send them away,” Petal whispered into my ear. “But also wrong.”
“Why’d she do it?”
“We draw too much attention when we come together. It makes us easier to find. But if we must stay hidden away, then we are bound to fade.”
“How long has it been?”
Petal’s laughter chimed like a bell beside my ear.
“What’s so funny?” I asked, mindful of Camila’s stare from across the way.
“It’s nothing. You mortals ask such silly questions sometimes, that’s all.”
“Aye, we mortals,” I echoed, drily. “So, now what?”
“Now we find out whether Camila trusts you, or not.”
“What’s that supposed to—”
Camila beckoned us forward, turned on her heel, and began walking towards a door at the far end of the alleyway—an iron door, unless I was mistaken.
“Guess she’s decided,” Petal said before leaping from my shoulder in pursuit of the bruja, zipping away before I could ask which way the scales had tipped.
Chapter 11
The iron door had already shut behind the other two by the time I caught up and was far heavier than I expected. Though it took a while, I managed to open the thick metal slab in six-inch increments, its hinges squealing so violently in protest that the screech of metal followed me into the next room like chthonic theme music. And yet, no one turned to greet me when I entered, or even to bitch about the noise. Instead, I found a slew of figures squaring off in the middle of the room, fighting for elbow room as they squabbled.
“There are no guarantees it will work,” Max was saying, his sultry baritone laced with uncertainty. “Harnessing that much power is one thing, but focusing it in such a way…”
“The spell will work,” Camila countered, projecting confidence. “It has to. We won’t have another chance like this in a hundred years.”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not. There are other ways, Camila. Safer ways.”
“And I have tried most of them, already. You were not yourself, or you would know that.”
Max looked away.
“Mi hermano,” Camila said as she reached for his cheek and brought his chin back around, “this is not your call to make. It will not be you doing the spell. Saving him is my responsibility. I did not ask for anyone’s help. I did not ask for any of this.”
At this point, Camila turned away and caught me staring. Though unshed tears threatened her mascara, the bruja appeared much the same as the day we first met—a dark-haired gypsy whose beauty would only ripen with time. Of course, the old Camila would have let the tears fall and collapsed insensate in her brother’s arms. This Camila, I sensed, would not.
“I am sorry for making you wait. We have had a lot to discuss, thanks to your news. Is it true? About Victor, I mean. Is he truly gone, for good?”
“He is. Truly.”
Camila smiled, and that singular act smoothed away so many lines that she appeared a decade younger at least. I smiled back, genuinely pleased to discover not everything I’d put myself through was in vain.
“Please sit, and we will talk shortly,” she insisted, pointing to a stool sitting in the corner of the room.
I opened my mouth to crack a joke about me and corners, then closed it; now probably wasn’t the best time. Instead, I did as the bruja requested and let the others get back to their heated discussion while I took the opportunity to survey my latest surroundings.
The room itself was dimly lit, sparsely decorated, and horribly cramped; the ceiling was so low I could reach out and press my palm flat against its surface, while a pair of wall sconces gave it all the ambience of a cheap bordello. Worse, there were no windows, and the air was stale. Between that and an iron door which very few Faelings could feasibly open, the entire thing felt very much like a bunker to me. A safe room sitting smack dab in the middle of a Faeling safe house like a lockbox within a vault.
Question was, what were they guarding?
And how much was it worth?
The argument I’d been successfully ignoring grew even louder the moment Maria weighed in; the detective sided with Camila, though she sounded less than thrilled about it. Unfortunately, I was still struggling to put the pieces together. Camila was clearly in charge, and apparently intended to cast a potentially hazardous spell—though why and what it had to do with this “Hex Moon” remained a total mystery.
“See,” Camila was saying, “Maria understands that I am only doing what is necessary. I cannot do this forever. The Fae need one of their own to guide them.”
“So this has nothing to do with getting Robin back by any means necessary?” Max asked.
“And so what if it does?”
“Robin made his stand, Camila. It is not your responsibility to save him or the Fae. Walk away.”
“Enough. Robin was there for me when you were not.” Ca
mila held up a placating hand. “I do not blame you, and I am glad your memories have returned, but that does not give you the right to dismiss my feelings towards Robin, or his people. I will not leave him at the mercy of that creature, nor will I forsake the Fae who followed him.”
“This is not like you,” Max said, his voice strained. “We do not fight battles we cannot win, mi hermana. It is not and never has been our way. We run, and we live.”
Camila’s expression softened. “What you are talking about is not living. Life is not about the fights you run from, but having something to fight for. I have found mine. Perhaps it is time you found yours.”
Max looked away.
“That still doesn’t answer the bigger question,” Maria interjected. “Say the spell works and we find out where they’re all being held, then what?”
An altogether new, vaguely pompous voice sounded from the shadows in response to the detective’s question. “Then, you and the...treasonous misfits orchestrate a prison break.”
Despite how long it’d been since we spoke, I recognized that voice almost immediately—though I certainly hadn’t expected to hear it in this particular room. The speaker padded forward into the light, standing several inches taller than I remembered in a designer suit tailored to accommodate narrow shoulders, a barreled chest, and overlong arms.
“What are ye doin’ here?” I asked, wondering how on earth I’d missed the Pooka when I first arrived.
Albi sought me out with his electric yellow eyes, the furry tips of his foot-long ears brushing the ceiling as they twitched—reacting to sounds none of us could hear. I must have looked as stunned to see him as I felt, because he spoke again without ever taking his eyes off me.
“She knows about me.”
Those four words echoed throughout the room like a gunshot, and nearly everyone whirled on me as though I’d been hit, their expressions running the gamut from curiosity to alarm. Only Petal, who fluttered about on the far side of the room, seemed unperturbed; the pixie waved.
“Why are ye lot lookin’ at me like that?” I asked.
“You’ve spoken with someone in my organization,” Albi accused. “Who was it?”
“What’s he on about?” I asked, turning to the others for help.
“Answer the question, Quinn,” Camila replied.
I fought to control my face, realizing too late that I should have simply kept my mouth shut and played dumb until I could see the whole picture—until I knew what Albi was doing here, and why. Instead, I’d run my finger across the wet canvass and left behind a smear too big to be ignored.
“Fine,” I said, shrugging. “But I have no idea what Albi is talkin’ about. I’ve been gone a long time. What would I want with a bookie?”
“Not that organization,” Albi snapped. “The Chancery. Who was it? Who told you I was in charge?”
“Who says I talked to anyone?”
“You did, the second you saw me. I expected some surprise, and maybe a little disgust. But what I got instead was pure shock.”
“Aye, well, I had no idea they’d stoop to work with someone like ye, that’s all.”
That wasn’t strictly a lie, which meant I was finally able to pour some real conviction into my voice. That’s the funny thing about lying: those who do it best manage to believe everything they say...until they don’t. Sadly, I hadn’t gotten there, quite yet.
“No,” Albi drawled, “you are hiding something. Protecting someone. You knew the instant you laid eyes on me that I should not be here. Someone has told you I took over for Robin Redcap, and that is—as the mortals like to say—privileged information.”
“Did anyone follow you here?” Camila interjected, looking fiercer than I’d ever seen her as she turned from me to her brother.
“Not that I saw. But you must trust me in this, Camila. Quinn is no spy.”
“So you have said. Repeatedly. But now I am beginning to wonder if your memories have returned, or if someone has given you new ones.”
“Are you accusing me of not knowing my own mind?”
“Don’t get sidetracked,” Albi snapped, baring fangs. “This is bigger than you two and your petty sibling squabbles. Don’t you see? If this gets back to the Chancery, it could ruin everything. Now, I want an answer. Who have you spoken to?”
Despite the brutal intensity of their combined attention, I never wavered; Gretel wasn’t exactly a friend, but she’d done me a favor by not turning me in, not to mention passing along Max’s whereabouts. Without knowing what Albi intended to do with the information, there was simply no way I was going to give her up.
“I can’t—” I began.
“It was Gretel,” Petal supplied, cheerily.
The others swung around a second time.
“How can you be so sure?” Albi asked.
“Because, I was the one who told her where Max and Maria were planning to meet, today. Which is how Lady Quinn knew where to find them.”
“You told her what?!” Camila asked, aghast.
“You may not trust her,” Petal replied, petulantly, “but Gretel has always done what’s best for us. Since Robin and her elder brother were taken, she’s gone out of her way to save us from the slaugh. Sometimes that means knowing where you all are, so she can make sure the slaugh end up somewhere you are not.”
“Except today, they found us,” Maria hissed.
Petal rolled her eyes. “Yes, but whose fault was that? Or did some other idiot cast a clumsy illusion spell and send it out into the city?”
Maria blushed and muttered something under her breath I didn’t catch.
“Of course it was clumsy. It bled so much magic a noseless, eyeless child could have tracked it. And the slaugh are not children. They are Fae’s finest, most determined hunters. The only reason we have not yet been found is that the Huntsman remains in Fae and this city reeks of iron. And even then, while you all sit here with your bickering and your plotting, they draw closer.”
“Does that mean you would be willing to strike a deal?” Albi asked in the silence that followed, pointedly ignoring the guilty expressions on display throughout the room.
“Albi!” Camila chastised. “She does not—”
“I am not a mortal child to be so easily swayed,” the Pooka replied. “If the pixie cannot prove what she says is true, then our arrangement has come to an end.”
Camila’s shoulders slumped, and I got the sense that Albi had asked for something far more serious than it sounded. Before I could inquire further, however, Petal drifted forward into the center of the room. She spun in a slow circle.
“My wings if I lie,” she said once she faced the Pooka. “Your loyalty to Lady Quinn if I do not.”
A collective gasp went up from those around me.
Albi’s smile was lecherous. “For how long?”
“Until the sun replaces the Hex Moon in the mortal sky.”
“Hah. Until the witching hour on the night of the Hex Moon.”
“Very well. The deal is struck.”
“The deal is struck,” Albi echoed.
Several seconds passed, after which the Pooka scratched manically at the coarse fur of his cheeks with a clawed hand the way a dog might. “Well, that is a shame. I’d have loved to pluck your wings, little flower.”
Petal stuck out her tongue in reply.
“Can someone fill me in on what just happened?” I asked, raising my hand.
“Petal vouched for you,” Albi replied, sounding terribly bored. “If she’d have been wrong, either knowingly or unknowingly, she’d have been stripped of her wings. Instead, I am on your side...for now.”
“And I’m supposed to trust ye? Just like that?”
Albi shrugged. “That’s how our contracts work. Once the terms are set, there is no way to break them.”
“So, if we were to strike a deal, you’d have no choice but to stand by whatever ye said?”
Albi opened his mouth to reply, but Petal cut him off almost immediately.
“Our contracts are binding,” she said. “But those we make with mortals are not. Not anymore.”
“Which means they were, though, once?” I clarified.
“Long ago, yes. Manlings had more honor, then. Their vows meant something. But that time has passed.” Petal tilted her head. “I’m surprised you have not heard any of this before.”
“It never came up,” I admitted. “But then, I haven’t exactly stopped to smell the wildflowers. There’s a lot about Fae culture I’m still strugglin’ to understand.”
“That’s alright. You are doing very well, so far. For a mortal.”
“For a mortal, huh?” I coughed a laugh into my hand. “Aye, well, I suppose it can’t be any harder than figurin’ out what made the Otherworld turn.”
A sudden cry snapped my head up; Petal had dipped a few inches, her skin so pale it was like someone had flipped a switch and extinguished the light beneath her skin. Albi, meanwhile, looked as though I’d socked him in the gut.
“Did we mishear you, or did you really say something about the Otherworld, just now?” the Pooka managed in a throaty rumble, his haughtiness all but forgotten.
“Where d’ye t’ink I’ve been all this time? Well, besides the Underworld, I mean. And the Titan Realm. And Fae, briefly.” I waved both hands. “Look, it’s a long story.”
Petal came at me like a high fastball, stopping just in time to hover mere inches from my face, her eyes brimming with tears. She clutched her hands together at her chest as though it hurt. And maybe it did; I had no idea what was plaguing her, or Albi.
“Tell us everything,” Petal said.
“Please,” Albi added, uncharacteristically.
“Well alright, since ye asked so nicely…but ye lot should probably get comfortable. This is goin’ to take a while.”
Chapter 12
To their credit, no one interrupted me with a barrage of questions, though I suspected that was largely because no one knew where to begin. What sort of follow-ups do you ask someone who rode a Faeling hound bareback, or swan-dived off a floating island, or survived being carted around in the maw of a mythical sea monster? What clarifications would have possibly made any of it seem less fabricated? Frankly, it all sounded completely ridiculous—even to me, and I was there for every absurd second of it.
Moonshine: Phantom Queen Book 11—A Temple Verse Series (The Phantom Queen Diaries) Page 8
