by Melissa Marr
“You too,” Glenn said.
But the door was open and the crowd of bodies was right there, and all Ani could do was call back, “Sure.”
The band was old-school punk, and there was a pit. Perfect. With a gleeful squeal, Tish shoved Ani forward into the mass.
CHAPTER 6
Devlin watched for Seth as he walked through the crush of mortals in the Crow’s Nest. It was less complicated to await Seth here; the alternative was going to the Dark Court, and dealing with the Dark King could be fraught with difficulties. Niall, the Gancanagh who’d once lived in Faerie and now ruled the Dark Court, had changed. His years with Irial, his centuries advising the Summer King, and his recent ascension to the Dark Court’s throne all combined to create a faery monarch who should not be trusted.
Not that Seth should be trusted either.
Seth was loved by the Summer Queen, had been gifted with Sight by the Winter Queen, and had been declared “brother” to the Dark King. Rather than nullify the threat of a mortal walking among all the courts—as Sorcha should’ve done—the High Queen had remade Seth as a faery and invited him into her court. Devlin couldn’t help but wonder at the logic in some of the decisions she was making of late.
Mortals pushed against Devlin, and he had to remind himself that physically relocating them was considered aggressive in the mortal realm—and that aggression was not a quality he was supposed to embrace. He threaded his way through the crowd.
With the noise and blaring music, the shadows and flashing lights, the Crow’s Nest called to the discordant side of his ancestry.
“I am looking for Seth,” he told the barmaid.
“Not here yet.” She glanced at his wrist, seeking the age band that would indicate whether or not he was allowed to order alcoholic drinks.
Devlin shifted his appearance so that she saw a glowing strip of plastic, white under the black lights hanging over the bar.
“Wine. White.” He dropped a bill on the bar.
“Change?”
He shook his head. Exchanging funds for alcohol was odd; in Faerie such transactions were unnecessary. What one required was simply provided.
The barmaid grabbed a bottle of chardonnay, filled a cocktail glass, and set it on the bar. It was the wrong glass and cheap wine, but he didn’t expect much else from the Crow’s Nest. Her hand was still cradling the short glass when Devlin wrapped his hand around the other side, interlacing his fingers with hers, holding her attention. “I’m Devlin.”
She paused. “I remember you.”
“Good. You’ll tell him I’m here,” Devlin said.
She nodded and turned to the next customer.
Neither the doorman nor the barmaid had seen Seth, but between the two, Devlin was assured that Seth would know Devlin was looking for him the moment he arrived.
Drink in hand, Devlin retreated to the periphery. Something in the club was making Devlin want the release of a fight.
He looked over the crowd, but it wasn’t Niall or Seth that he saw on the floor: Bananach stood in the shadows across the room. Her presence explained the extra urge to violence. Just as being near Sorcha made him feel calmer, being near Bananach made him feel disorderly urges.
If Sorcha knew that her mad twin was in the club favored by Seth, the illogical anxiety the High Queen had experienced of late would worsen. If Bananach injured Seth, Sorcha would be… He couldn’t fathom what she would be. However, he was certain that he needed to convince Bananach to leave before Seth arrived. It would be preferable if Seth returned to Faerie—at least until the likelihood of true war in the mortal world was past. If Seth were injured, Sorcha might very well involve herself in battle with Bananach, and that could not end well for anyone.
Devlin didn’t observe social niceties as he went toward Bananach. Instead, he pulled his glamour around him like a shadow to hide his presence and shoved mortals from his path.
Necessary logical aggression.
“Brother!” Bananach smiled at him and casually knocked a mortal to the ground.
A small fight broke out as two guys both blamed the other. One threw a punch. The one on the floor came up swinging.
“How are you, Sister?”
“I am well.” She flicked her wrist out and cut a thin line on a mortal who wasn’t in the squabble yet. It wasn’t much of an injury, but her talon-tipped fingers were bloodied. Neither her presence nor the quarrel were random, but he wasn’t yet sure what her agenda was just then, only that she had one. War might start in madness, but to flourish it must be calculating—and Bananach was the embodiment of war.
Her intermittent madness was increasingly absent as she became more powerful. The visible presence of her strength was in her shadowed wings—which were shadows no more. They’d been made manifest. Bananach drew strength from the growing intercourt conflicts and mistrusts, and her strength enabled her to increase the conflicts. It was a deadly cycle—one he didn’t know how to end. Bananach had manipulated the courts, inner-court factions, and her sister until they were on the precipice of war. He’d seen her do so over the centuries, but this time he was afraid that they wouldn’t escape without more deaths than he could comfortably sanction. The last time she’d been so effective was when the now-dead Winter Queen, Beira, had killed the last Summer King, Miach. Miach had been Beira’s opposition, her lover, and father to her child. The consequences of his death had set the courts off balance for nine centuries.
Devlin pulled out a chair for his sister. Once she sat, he dragged another chair over and sat beside her. “Had you wanted to quarrel?”
“Not with you, dear.” She patted his hand absently as she watched the mortals fighting. “If the Dark Court could feed from mortals’ emotions and faeries’ emotions… that would change things, wouldn’t it? Imagine if I could make it so.”
“They can’t. You can’t,” Devlin pointed out. The Dark Court thrived in times of discord, but they were denied access to the throngs of emotional mortals all around them.
“Perhaps.” She traced a jagged line down her forearm with one talon-tipped finger. “Or perhaps I just need the right sacrifice.” She stretched her arm out, turning it so the blood dripped into his glass. “Blood makes Faerie stronger. She forgets, pretends she’s not like us.”
Devlin wrapped his hand around the glass of wine and blood now swirling together. “Sorcha is not like you, and you”—Devlin lifted his glass in a toast—“are not like her.”
War stabbed a passing mortal. “We are all—faeries, mortals, and other creatures—alike.” She stood and stabbed the mortal a second time. “We fight. We bleed.” She looked across the room at someone and smiled. “And some of us will die.”
The mortal pressed a hand to his side, but the blood wasn’t slowed.
“Stop by for dinner soon, precious one.” Bananach leaned over and cupped Devlin’s cheek with her bloody hand. She straightened. “Hello, my pretty lamb.”
Seth came up to them, glaring at Bananach. “Get out now.”
Devlin stepped in front of Seth, blocking his access to Bananach. He pointed to the mortal on the floor. “That one is injured.”
Seth raised a fist. “Because of her.”
“You can help him or argue with War,” Devlin said. “You cannot do both.”
Seth scowled. “And you won’t do either.”
“That is not my function.” For an unexpected moment, Devlin wondered if the sometimes-mortal-sometimesfey boy would fight Bananach or save the injured mortal. He hoped that he’d not have to try to wrest Seth from Bananach’s grasp tonight.
Is he logical enough to sacrifice one mortal to strike Bananach or compassionate enough to save the mortal and plan to confront Bananach later?
After a lingering disdainful look at Devlin, Seth lifted the injured mortal. “At least help me get him to the door.”
Bananach stood to the side and watched, a bemused smile on her lips. She, undoubtedly, had weighed the possibilities too. The knowledge of Seth’s a
ctions would be factored into her next maneuver. The strategy behind maximizing conflict required skill and patience.
Devlin cleared a path so they weren’t jostled. It wasn’t quite the way he’d hoped the evening would proceed, but his primary goal was met: Seth was uninjured. All things considered, everything was as fine as it could be.
Then he saw her.
Seth stepped past Devlin, blocking the sight of everything else for a moment.
“Wait here?” Seth shifted his hold on the injured mortal. “I’m going to get him to the…”
But the rest of the words he said were lost on Devlin: the girl laughed, joyous and unfettered. Absently, he nodded and stepped closer to the crowd, closer to her.
Ani.
She had shorter hair: close-cropped in the back so that it framed her face, longer toward the front so the pink-tinted tips brushed the edge of her jawline. Her features were too common to be truly beautiful, yet too faery to be truly common. If he hadn’t already known she was a halfling, a look at her overlarge eyes and angular bone structure would be sufficient reason to suspect faery ancestry.
Ani. Here.
Beside her stood her brother, the tattooist who’d bound mortals to faeries in the ill-fated ink exchanges and raised his halfling sisters as if they were his own children.
“Rabbit! Where did you come from?” Ani grinned at him.
“You were to call an hour ago.”
“Really?” She tilted her head and widened her eyes beseechingly. “Maybe I forgot.”
“Ani.” Rabbit glared at his sister. “We talked about this. You need to check in with me when Tish is with you.”
“I know.” She was completely unapologetic. Her chin lifted; her shoulders squared. In a pack, she’d be an obvious alpha. Even with her older brother, she was trying to challenge the dominance order. “I wanted you to come out with us though, and if I didn’t call, I knew you—”
“I ought to drag you out of here,” Rabbit growled at her.
She went up on her toes to kiss his chin. “I miss you. Stay and dance?”
Rabbit’s expression softened. “One song. I have work yet tonight.”
“’Kay.” Ani grabbed the hands of her sister, Tish. They shoved another girl toward Rabbit, and then pulled several mortals toward themselves, and they all writhed like fire burned in their skin. Their dancing was joyous and free in a way that Devlin admired.
I want to join her. He realized it with a start. The Hound was Dark Court, mortal, predator, any variety of things he should not find tempting. Or beautiful. He did, though. Her freedom and her aggression made her seem like the most beautiful faery he’d ever glimpsed. If only for a moment, Devlin wished he could step into her world. It was a deviant urge: Ani shouldn’t hold his attention as she did in that instant. No one should. It is illogical.
When the song ended, a mortal girl whispered in Rabbit’s ear. He dropped an arm around her shoulders, but before he left, he paused to tell his sisters, “Be good. I mean it.”
They both nodded.
“Call if you need me,” Rabbit added. Then, he led the mortal into the crowd.
The music resumed, and Tish bumped into Ani’s shoulder and said, “Dance, silly.”
Ani mock-growled, and they both giggled.
Devlin watched Ani, transfixed as he’d never been before. She shouldn’t even be alive. If he’d obeyed his queen, she’d be long dead. But here she was, alive and vibrant.
After the first time, he’d never sought her out. He’d seen her in passing, but he’d kept away from her. His only intentional encounter with her had been when he was sent to kill her—and didn’t—but as he watched her just then, he wondered if he should correct his oversight.
The request Rae made was to spare Ani, not to let her live for always.
The loophole was there; it had always been there. Ani was the proof of Devlin’s deceit, the evidence of his failure, and the most captivating faery he’d ever seen.
CHAPTER 7
Ani lost herself in the music and the thrashing sea of bodies for hours. Club nights were essential as her hungers grew more intense. When Gabriel had taken her away from her home with Rabbit, her family and court acted like her ability to feed on mortals’ emotions was a secret she’d hidden away. It wasn’t: it was new. A matching hunger for touch had risen up over the last few months, and she couldn’t reliably control both of them. She’d been trying—and failing—since she first noticed them.
“Do you mind if we step out again?” Tish yelled into Ani’s ear.
Tish pointed to the edge of the crowd. Glenn was on another break, and as he had for every other break, he’d unerringly sought out Tish. Every time he headed their way, Tish asked, and every time, Ani shook her head. She’d never stand in the way of anything that made her family happy.
Before Tish could reach Glenn’s hand, some guy with punk-for-the-night clothes grabbed Tish by the hips.
Ani snarled loud enough that Tish looked alarmed. “Ani!”
Forcing back her temper, Ani turned her gaze to her sister. The guy said something crass and moved on.
“Eyes!” Tish hissed. “Eyes. Now.”
“Sorry.” Ani closed her eyes, willing away the sulfurous green that she knew Tish suddenly saw there.
“I’m okay, NiNi,” Tish assured. She leaned close and suggested, “But you should eat.”
Here, in the crowd and surrounded by bodies, Ani could let go of her appetite control a little. She was Dark Court enough to ride the surge of emotions, Hound enough to swallow the sensation of touch, and peculiar enough to do so with mortal and faery both. The Crow’s Nest offered her all of it.
Ani opened her once-more brown eyes.
“You okay?” Tish asked. “I can stay with you. Rab’s going home now that he knows we’re okay, and…”
Ani shook her head. “I’m good. Go on.”
“If you—”
“Go.” Ani shoved her sister gently into Glenn’s embrace.
He gave her a questioning look. He might not know what she was or what she needed, but he’d known her long enough to recognize that she was on the verge of trouble.
How do any of the Hounds stand it? Gabriel dealt with his through fighting; Rabbit dealt through tattooing; and Tish didn’t seem to have a skin hunger. Maybe it was easier with just one appetite to suppress. Maybe it was easier with a pack to embrace. Instead of being alone all the time.
Ani moved farther into the crowd, hoping for enough of a crush that she would be able to lose herself again.
As she slid through the outstretched arms and gyrating hips, she saw him: a faery stood on the periphery of the crowd, just close enough that she could tell that he was someone altogether new. Solitaries passed through Huntsdale regularly. Having several regents in one place was an anomaly, and faeries were ever intrigued by anomalies.
The faery on the edge of the crowd was oblivious to the appraising looks he was getting, but he would’ve stood out even if they were at a faery club like the Rath and Ruins. His hair was so pale that it looked white, and Ani suspected that the shimmers of color weren’t just the reflection of the club lights but a little bit of his true appearance. He was eye candy. And he’s staring at me.
She stopped moving and asked, “Are you coming over or just looking?”
No one around her would hear her ask, but the eye candy in question was a faery. He heard her and answered, “I really don’t think that’s wise.”
Ani laughed. “Who cares?”
Like many faeries she knew, he was sculpture-perfect, but instead of being wrought of shadows like those in her court, this faery had a tangled feel to him. Shadow and radiance. He didn’t look much older than her, until she saw the arrogance in his posture. Then, he reminded her of Irial, of Bananach, of Keenan, of the faeries who walked through courts and crowds confident that they could slaughter everyone in the room. Like chaos in a glass cage.
“Come dance.” She turned her back then and let herself
be swept into the crowd. Hands and emotions were all around her; it was like drowning in euphoria and need.
And he’s watching.
She glanced toward the shadows where he stood. He hadn’t moved. So she held his gaze while she danced, not for the mortals in the room, not for the feelings that every brush of skin brought to the surface.
“Come dance with me,” she whispered.
He stared at her, not even glancing at anyone else, even when they spoke to him or stood in his path. No one else in the room was there for him. Just me.
Twenty minutes later, the band took a break, and the floor cleared enough that there was more room to dance.
He was still in the same spot.
She considered going over to him, but she wasn’t a pet to be summoned. She was a Hound. He could come to her.
“Hey!” Tish said.
Glenn had an arm protectively around Tish.
“You coming out with us?” Tish couldn’t stand still. She might be more mortal than faery, but she had the Hound tendency to be always in motion.
Behind her, Glenn was immobile.
The club music came on to fill the silence while the band was on break.
Ani took her sister’s hands, and they danced near Glenn as they always had. It was different now. Before, Glenn had always looked at them like they were about to consume everyone’s good sense. Now, he watched Tish like she was his own personal heaven.
“I’m fine here,” Ani said as she swung Tish around so that Glenn had her back in his arms. “Go on.”
“Do you need my glasses?” Tish reached into the little bag she had slung over her shoulder. Emergency sunglasses had become a necessity since Ani started changing. The moment of green eyes earlier had been too close for Tish.
“Honest, I’m good.” Ani kissed her sister on the tip of the nose. “Go”—she caught Glenn’s gaze then—“and you take care of her, or else.”
Glenn snorted.
Tish stepped between them. She pursed her lips as she looked back at Ani. “You be good. Glenn’s our friend.”
