by Cori Vidae
“Gentlemen, how can I help you?” Valerian said. “And no, I have not eaten the charming young lady.”
“He knew your name,” said Cora.
“I dunno. I can’t really remember having been here. Can’t remember not having been here, either,” said fae-boy. “Are you sure this pendulum of yours is working right?”
“Bloody taotien,” said St. John. “And you?” He poked Cora with his index finger. “What was so wrong with answering the phone and filing stuff that made you fraternize with the likes of him?”
“Filing—? Fraternize—?” Cora stared at St. John as if he’d told her pigs could fly. “He’s been stalking me! You mean you knew he was… something?”
In what he seemed to think was an attempt to be helpful, fae-boy said, “I think Rafe just wants to know why you slept with this guy.”
The silence that followed was quite thick with metaphorical knives.
Oh my, what a night, thought Valerian, smiling like blades.
* * *
5. The legends don’t mention any enemies. He is at the top of the food chain. The truth is, there’s a lot of things that go bump that he doesn’t like.
“Never mind my sleeping with him. What do you mean, has he eaten me? He’s not a cannibal, is he? Please tell me I didn’t just have sex with a cannibal.” Cora began to shake a little, probably from anger as much as hurt. Fae-boy looked on with marked disinterest.
“Of course I’m not a cannibal. That would be downright uncivilized,” Valerian said with a disapproving headshake.
“You are as uncivilized as monsters come, greed eater,” St. John said. He stabbed a finger at fae-boy. “And you are going to pay for what you’ve done to him.”
“And don’t think that’s all you have on your tab. You damned near snapped my neck.” Tears pooled in Cora’s eyes and spilled down her cheeks. She was shaking, hugging herself, but her eyes! Oh, her eyes lit up like a supernova, burning with anger.
What fine prey you make, Valerian thought, smiling to himself.
Then he sighed and rolled his eyes so everybody noticed. “I was nowhere near breaking your neck. You make me sound like a short-tempered redneck asswipe who doesn’t know his own strength, and I assure you, nothing could be further from the truth. As for you, Mr. St. John, I don’t know what I’m supposed to have done to your blank-eyed friend over there. I don’t even know him. Now, the way I see it, you’re trespassing, since I didn’t invite you in.”
“Son of a bitch.” Cora aimed another slap at his face. He caught her hand before it could connect.
“Oh, I don’t think so. Once was all you’ll ever get.”
“Let go of me,” she said, blade-sharp calm coating her voice. She yanked her arm back, and Valerian let her. Oh, he would still have his payback. He’d punish her stroke by swift stroke, and enjoy feeling her squirm.
“I don’t think I know this guy, either,” fae-boy said.
“He was on the bridge with you the night I found you, Chris. I guess I was looking for him after all,” Cora said, hard eyes boring into Valerian through a mask of drying mascara stains.
“He’s a bloody taotien. They’re sly. Good at seducing people, too,” St. John said. He never took his eyes off Valerian.
“Do you think anyone would believe that?” Valerian asked without any sarcasm in his voice at all. “If we called the police, I mean? Because what else are you and the Scooby gang gonna do?” Valerian directed an extra strong stare at St. John, just so the rhetorical character of the question became very clear. Fucking hell, I want a smoke.
In Valerian’s expert opinion, things were not yet unsalvageable, really. Sure, the P.I. and his clique were inconvenient, but nothing that he couldn’t handle. However, the moment he was thinking about the soothing effect of nicotine, things got worse. The lights flickered. The air took on an ethereal quality. The smell of crushed lilac petals flooded the room.
“So you are the glutton that dared lay a hand on my chosen,” said a voice behind Valerian, rich as dark oak, slicing as ripe lemons.
Fucking. Faeries.
* * *
“What in the hell…” Cora backed away, keeping Valerian between herself and the radiant creature that had just materialized at his back.
“The Fair Folk. Better keep your distance,” said St. John, his wicked hair bathed in the fae’s aura.
“I think I saw this guy before,” said Chris, pointing at the faerie.
“You know, you’re all just ruining what was turning out to be a delightful evening,” Valerian announced as he turned to face the fae.
And what a specimen he was! His hair was too long to be anywhere near fashionable, and veil-straight, which made him look like the muse of a Victorian poet; it shone like the first touch of fall that makes the leaves blush copper and red. Ridiculously long lashes practically dripping mascara framed his lilac eyes. He wore the usual renaissance faire attire that you’d expect, except, of course, this wasn’t renaissance faire clothing at all. This was a genuine, not-off-the-rack faerie dress, probably made from spider silk or something equally ridiculous. It even radiated in a pretentious sort of way, cut to reveal as much of the baby-oil-drowned-marble chest as possible. The points of his nipples were just as visible as the bulge in his trousers, which looked too tight for comfort.
Valerian was vain, and he had no problem admitting it, but fucking faeries? The conceited bastards spent entirely too much time looking pretty and just gleamed and shone all the fucking time, as if they were in the pocket of the sunglasses industry.
“I’ll show you a ‘delightful evening,’ motherfucker,” Cora snarled.
What a wild temper you have, Valerian thought. “This is no longer just about you and me, my sweet, so hush.”
The fae poked his chin toward Valerian and crossed his arms in front of that slick chest. “Greed-eater, it is you who has stolen my one delight from me,” he said, his voice heavy with the standard self-entitlement fae carried around like a lucky charm. “And I demand retribution.”
“Oh, come on. For what?” Valerian crossed his own arms. Damn it, he’d probably have to kill the faerie. He just hoped he could do it without needing to remodel the entire place afterward.
“This one.” The faerie pointed one elegant and manicured finger at Chris. “He was supposed to be mine. But you have taken all his desire and left an empty shell behind. I demand restitution.”
“You said ‘retribution’ a moment ago.”
“First the one, and then the other. Such is our law.”
Valerian rolled his eyes. “Screw your law, princess. This is not your realm; it’s not even the Between. You don’t just get what you want around here just because you want it.” That’s why he hated the fae. They thought themselves the ultra-superior class of all things alive and breathing. If they wanted something, it was their right to have it, no questions asked. Because that was The Law.
Give me a fucking break. If you really want something that bad, don’t write a law for it; learn how to take it.
The fae’s mascara framed eyes settled on Cora. “I will take this female. She has your foul smell on her. Your pet, yes? There is some magic in her blood, too. She will do nicely in replacing the damaged one.”
“I am not a pet, and he’s not damaged,” Cora spit at the fae.
St. John, wisely, held her back before she could dish out another of her signature slaps. “Don’t. Faeries. Not to be toyed with.”
At least the P.I. knew what he was about. Hopefully, he didn’t know too much. Why get rid of the fae for sport when he could do it for a price?
“You won’t get rid of him without my help.” Valerian jerked his thumb at the fae who was eyeing Cora like a sweet slice of chocolate cake. “They play only by their own rules. Normally, I wouldn’t care who he wants to carry off, but the fact is, I hate them meddling in my business. I especially hate having to scrub this damned lilac scent out of my own home. So, Cora, if you can find it in yourself to forgive me for
not being entirely honest with you earlier, if you can find it in yourself to be nice and friendly toward me, I’ll take care of him for you. You can even sleep with me any time you want to. As an added bonus, I’ll not eat you. Deal?”
“Bite me, asshole,” Cora said, and all her nerve did was turn Valerian on.
“Suit yourself. I didn’t take you for a faerie lover. You do know what they do to their human playthings, don’t you?”
St. John paled. “Uh, Cora—”
She leaned around Valerian to sneer at the lilac-scented douche. “No, I don’t. What’s so great about being chosen?”
Valerian could have kissed her. Or bitten her. Or both. Another time.
The faerie smiled, revealing perfectly white teeth. A smarter creature would have noted Cora’s ice-water glare, but she’d hit on the fae’s favorite topic: all of the Fair Folk loved to boast to lesser beings about all the amazing shit they did with their time and their well-oiled bodies.
“I will take you to my realm where you will live at my court and join the dances of the fae. You might sing for me, if you possess the talent.” The faerie’s hand drifted to the bulge in his pants. “Your body will be as much joy for me as the other’s would have been, though first you will be trained vigorously in order to gain sufficient skill to sate me in a way as befits my station.” His perfect chin lifted. “You possess some magic, so I may even let my seed take root in you, and allow you to bear me children. You will know no more night, for in my realm the sun is always shining, and there is no end to our dances and feasts.”
There was a moment of very palpable silence that had an even greater amount of metaphorical steel in it than the one before. Not even Chris, who seemed to have developed a cunningly accurate sense for inappropriate timing to compensate for his missing desires and dreams, dared to say a word.
Valerian heard Cora’s heartbeat surge with anger, then slow to a deadly rhythm.
“Deal,” she told him. “Kill the motherfucker.”
Valerian jumped the fae, quicker than an arrow forged from lightning. He landed a few bites, but even with a tiger’s skill to wound, those weren’t going to be mortal. He’d have to gore the bastard to accomplish that. He sighed inwardly. A goring would ruin the apartment floor beyond repair.
He used his inhuman speed and strength to keep the fae from unleashing any badassery of his own. Fae were good fighters, but they didn’t do dirty. Valerian loved dirty. He brought the fae down, facing the two humans and the seething witchling. With one paw-like hand, he pinned the fae’s face to the floor while he looked up at St. John. That was all the invitation the P.I. needed. He tossed Valerian the cold iron dagger he’d stashed in his coat pocket.
Bless the man who likes his daggers, Valerian thought as he slid the blade through the fae’s ribs, slid it in until it pierced the heart. The fae went still, dying with a sigh as dignified as they come. Valerian noticed that it didn’t bleed much; nothing a little bleach wouldn’t take care of.
“So that was that,” St. John said.
“He… wasn’t human,” Cora said.
“Shit. I think you just killed that guy,” Chris said.
* * *
6. In the legends, they do not swallow people, but they harm them. He doesn’t think of what he does as harming, just as the natural course of things.
“You know, Cora,” Valerian said, blowing smoke into the night air and smoothing some dirt over the fae’s grave, “you might have enjoyed it. The fae are fantastic lovers, and their feasts are some of the wildest orgies I have ever seen. They last for days.”
“How about you shut up.” Black dirt formed a gravedigger’s Rorschach pattern on her arms and legs, and dark earth stung her feet raw. She never did put her shoes back on. And no panties, either. Valerian liked that idea very much.
Valerian could have dispatched of the fae’s body by himself, but better to make the lot of them accomplices. Chris was game—he said he’d never buried a body before—and St. John saw the necessity of it.
“What if somebody finds him? This body will make the police ask a lot of questions,” the P.I. said.
“Don’t worry about it. Fae decompose quickly. He’ll be faerie dust in two days, three at the most.”
“You really are a cold-hearted bastard,” Cora said. Valerian decided to blame her bare-footed condition.
“You told me to kill the motherfucker. Your boss tossed me the knife. All of you helped dig this shallow grave.”
“You still need to answer for Chris,” St. John said. “And all the others. I’ve been hunting you for months. I won’t have more bodies piling up in my city.”
Valerian was beginning to really like St. John. He could see how the guy seemed crazy most of the time, but he genuinely knew that the world was a stranger place than eyes alone could tell. Perhaps he had a pinch of shaman or witchdoctor in his ancestry.
“You know, I feel we’ve grown closer, so I don’t mind telling you that I did drain Chris, and some others—”
“So you do know me!” Chris chimed in.
“—but I don’t see what you are going to do about it, St. John. As you pointed out, I’m a taotien. I’m fucking hard to kill. You just saw what I did to a fae, and they’re considered the best fighters of the Between. If you’re planning for your secretary to somehow take hold of her magic and kill me with it, well, that sure as fuck isn’t going to happen now that she entered into a deal with me. If you did know how to go about stopping me, I think you’d already have done it. So, how about you keep your opinions about my diet to yourself, and I don’t break your neck right where you stand? There’s still room for a second grave.”
Cora stepped between them. Her voice was ice and her eyes were unsheathed knives. “Try it. I dare you. I’ll break your neck before you put a hand on him.”
“You won’t. We have a deal, remember?”
“Deals can be broken.”
“Not this one. Remember how the fae said you had magic in your blood? Well, you do. You are a witchling, dear, and all your deals are binding. Try breaking a deal, and it’ll hurt so bad you’ll want to scream your lungs out. It’ll slice into your very soul like the sharpest torture dreamed up by sick minds. And if you somehow do find the strength to break a deal, you’ll be lucky to end up dead instead of broken. Isn’t that true, Mr. St. John?”
St. John scratched his head and shuffled his feet. “Well, magic users do seem to have to keep their word, once given.”
“And you are indeed aware that your assistant is one such magic user?”
“Well, according to my compass, there is something magical about her.” He countered Cora’s glare with a shrug. “I was about to tell you, but you still don’t believe that the reading of the Tarot is a science, so…”
“You got a magic detecting compass thingy?” asked Chris. “Can you show it to me?”
“What. The. Fuck,” Cora hissed, a statement that seemed perfectly suitable as the last words said at a faerie’s grave, in Valerian’s opinion.
He loved the look of her just now, make-up dissolved into an oily mask, and her face looking almost like she had dipped it in a pot of ash the way he knew some proper mages did before they went for blood.
“You know what? We should all head over to that quaint little coffee place across from your office and have some breakfast. Sun’s almost up, and I think we could all do with something to calm the nerves.” Valerian blew the last bit of smoke away with the predawn breeze.
“Oh, I’d just love coffee and bagels,” Chris piped up. “But I don’t think we should tell anyone about this.”
“Why, Chris. You are being so sensible. It makes me want to fuck you again.”
“Well, I can’t really remember the first time. Did I enjoy it?”
“Sure.”
Cora picked up a clump of dirt, and for a second Valerian thought she would throw it at him, yell, or maybe even raise spirits of earth and wind by accident. The idea turned him on, but the moment passed.
Cora dropped the dirt and just turned away from him.
“Shall we, Chris?” Valerian waved fae-boy ahead of him. “I never had breakfast with someone I buried a body with. I’m sure we can make this memorable. Cora and the esteemed detective can meet us later—assuming they want to give you and I some alone time.” Valerian looked back at Cora and St. John with a very sweet leer.
The detective and his assistant exchanged glances. Sure, they probably hated Valerian’s guts, but they wouldn’t leave him alone with Chris again, not that Chris had much to fear from Valerian. For now.
* * *
7. The legends say not to trust them. He could not agree more about that part.
They must have made a strange picture as they walked into the coffee shop a second or so past the crack of dawn.
Cora didn’t say a word, just nursed her cup until the steaming liquid turned cold, her eyes hard as frozen sapphires. Chris talked like a waterfall and offered up details about himself Valerian wasn’t really interested in. St. John flirted with the morning shift barista (you know, brownies aren’t just cake. They are as real as you and me. Tin foil? That’s silly, but really, carry some cold iron with you at all times).
All in all, Valerian enjoyed himself like a child who discovered a new toy under the tree on Christmas morning.
When they finally finished their post-grave-digging breakfast, it was well past eight. Rafe lingered to talk more with the young barista while Chris left for the office where he’d been staying since Cora found him on that bridge. Cora excused herself and went to visit the ladies’ room.
Valerian got up quietly. Neither St. John nor the barista noticed as he followed Cora into the ladies’.
Valerian closed the door behind him silently just as she was flushing.
“What the…” she said as she exited the cubicle, her eyes widening.
And then, she actually took him by surprise, the pain of the cold iron dagger shooting out from just below his ribs. Oh, you pocketed it, sly thing, didn’t you?
The moment he felt the blade slide into him, Valerian, still focused on those fantastic eyes with their glacier abyss, noted that her pupils dilated. Her almost eclipsed irises gleamed, and her mouth parted in a scream that would not come; the pain was just too great. Cora collapsed, and Valerian caught her with one arm while he pulled out the dagger with the other.
