by Amy Sumida
“Most of the fairies here don't want any trouble,” Killian said. “It's only those few criminals with strong magic who we have to worry about.”
“And what of King Barra?” Breasal—one of my guards—asked. “His guys don't give you any problems?”
“Nah.” Killian grinned lopsidedly. “He's in that awkward position where he's rebelling, but he's doing it under the guise of innocence. He doesn't want the Councils to come after him directly. So, all he's done is issue statements in response to our orders to close the sorcerer shops; saying that he isn't breaking any laws, and technically, he's right. He has protested our right to go into his Underground and close these establishments—which aren't technically breaking any laws either—but he won't oppose us physically.”
“Because if he does, he will be breaking Council Law,” I concluded.
“You got it.” Killian nodded. “It's not exactly safe down there, but not exactly dangerous either. The only attacks have come from sorcerers fleeing the scene.”
“Have there been any arrests?” Cleary asked.
“Arrests?” Killian looked surprised. “No; but there has been a death.”
“A sorcerer?” I lifted my brows.
Killian nodded. “That one I told you about; the one we found... stuff on.”
“I can't seem to rustle up any regret over that,” I muttered.
“I can,” Killian growled. “I'm fucking pissed.”
“Why are you pissed?” Torquil asked in surprise.
“Because I wasn't the one who got to kill that scumbag,” Killian growled. “Edgar got him.”
“Edgar?” I asked.
“Extinguisher Sloane,” Killian said to me. “One from your branch of the Great Tree.”
Extinguishers—all of them—were descended from the Five Great Psychic Families of Ireland. Yes; that's their title. When the Fey first started giving humans problems, people with psychic abilities—including the ability to see auras and, therefore, see the Fey—came forward to defend their neighbors. It became evident that these psychics were mainly from five families: Sloane—which was my human father's family, Kavanaugh—my mother's family, Murdock, Teagan, and Sullivan. All extinguishers married other extinguishers—insuring that the psychic abilities stayed in the families and flourished. I had been an exception to that rule.
“Actually, he isn't,” I said softly.
It was hard to say the words, but I wasn't a Sloane. My human blood came only from my mother, who was a Kavanaugh. Ewan had raised me, and I had loved him as a father, but I didn't share his blood.
“Right,” Killian murmured. “Sorry. I forgot about that.”
“It's okay.”
“You know; just because he wasn't your birth father, it doesn't change the fact that Ewan was your father, Seren,” Killian said. “He loved you, and I'm sure that he considered you to be a Sloane. Not to mention the fact that with the way extinguishers intermarry, you probably do have some Sloane blood in you.”
“Yeah; you're right.” I paused and then decided to change the subject. “I just realized that we won't have any problems with using last names with this team.”
“Yep.” Kill laughed. “We've got one from each of the Five Great Families. No confusion there; we can go standard military with them and use only last names.”
Killian pulled into a parking lot with a circular fountain; front and center. A shopping mall stretched before the fountain. Kill parked, and we all climbed out of the car. Conri pulled into the stall beside ours as I eyed the entrance of the mall.
“Shopping?” I asked.
“Yeah, the entrance to the Underground is down the street, so I figured this would be a good place to kill some time.” Killian took my hand. “I thought we could walk around, shop a little, maybe grab a hot drink. You know; do some normal, human shit for once.”
“Yeah, that sounds good,” I said as I pulled my coat more firmly around me. “Especially the part about the hot drink.”
The Star's Guard wasn't as convinced as I was, but they followed obediently after us. I think they were just glad that I hadn't left them behind this time.
The mall was decked out for Christmas already. As soon as Thanksgiving was over, the shops celebrated. Monstrous bells and ball ornaments hung from the soaring ceiling, with a green garland connecting them. The sound of avid shoppers and their screaming kids was like a slap in the face—strident against the background of Christmas music—and I nearly turned around and walked out. But it was cold outside, and I really wanted that drink. I had been to war; surely I could face some screaming kids... possibly.
“Come on, I see a Starbucks,” Killian said, immediately boosting my confidence.
“Oh, thank you, gods of overpriced coffee,” I declared. “I will gladly give you a ridiculous sum of money for something hot and sweet.”
“You don't have to go giving your money to Starbucks,” Killian said with a smirk and a wave down his body. “I've got your hot and sweet right here, baby.”
“Har-har.” I went on to really chuckle, despite my fake-laughter rebuke.
We got in line with all the other fools willing to dish out their hard earned cash for a bit of caffeine and whipped cream, and I spoiled my Guard by buying all of them coffee too. Those baristas were pros, and we had beverages warming our cold hands within minutes. One sip and the lethal fairy knights were smiling appreciatively, and looking up at the shiny Starbucks sign with new respect.
“I always liked mermaids,” Ainsley said with a sigh.
“That's a melusine,” Torquil pointed out the mermaid's double tail.
“But there's no such thing as a melusine,” Ainsley argued. “How would she swim with two tails?”
“Hey, I didn't make their logo,” Torquil huffed. “Nor did I come up with the foolish idea of a two-tailed mermaid. I was just pointing it out.”
Killian and I ignored the men and walked, hand-in-hand through the mall. The aggressive sights and sounds became more bearable with the sugar and caffeine bolstering us. We made an unusual group—especially in Meridian, Idaho—and several people stopped to stare as we passed. The assortment of hair color alone was eye-catching but combined with the stern visages of hardened warriors—softened only by their occasional sips of coffee—and their vaguely historic clothing, our collective appearance became odd enough to warrant a second look.
I ignored the stares and eventually stopped noticing them altogether. There was simply too much stimulus in a shopping mall during the holidays to be able to focus on something as minor as a few nosy nellies. We even did a little shopping, and I got Torquil to distract Killian long enough for me to buy him a few presents. The Guard was fascinated by the animated Christmas displays and a little overwhelmed by the rush of shoppers, but they seemed to enjoy themselves. By the time we had to leave, I was happy that we had come. It was nice to do normal, human activities once in awhile.
We put our purchases in the SUVs and then walked down the street to where we were meeting the extinguisher team. I wasn't surprised to find the entrance down an alley. It seemed that alleys were the best place to put a public access point to a fairy underground. The team was already there, prepping by double-checking their combat gear and anti-fey charms. Each extinguisher was equipped with Kevlar body armor, an iron-lined helmet, iron weapons, pouches of charms, and silicone-lined iron cuffs for arresting fairies. We were going in without a kill contract, so the cuffs may be necessary.
With the humans was a fairy. I pegged him as unseelie sidhe by his moonlight skin, and he was dressed in casual, human clothing. He stood off to the side of the extinguisher team, his hands serenely clasped before him as he waited. He had a look of controlled strength about him—like a meditating ninja. I wouldn't be surprised to discover that he was a knight.
When they spotted us, the extinguishers nodded a greeting, but continued with their preparations. The fairy, however, came immediately over and bowed to me. His dark umber hair was pulled back into a neat br
aid, and when he lifted his face, I caught the color of his eyes; the pale brown of a sapling.
“Your Majesty,” he said. “I am Hunter Cyrus Frost, and I'll be your guide through the Underground today. It's an honor to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too, Cyrus.” I reached out a hand, and he shook it with some surprise. “I had been wondering how the extinguisher teams were getting into the Underground. No one told me they had hunters with them.”
“Yes; we are collaborating again,” Cyrus said. “Any fairy criminals will be handled by the extinguishers, but I am here to open the way and apprehend the humans.”
“The sorcerers,” I clarified.
“Just so, Your Majesty,” he agreed. “Most have eluded us. The one time we came close to making an arrest, the suspect fought back viciously, and things got messy.”
“I heard about the killing.” I nodded.
“I was”—Cyrus glanced at the extinguisher team—“displeased by the outcome.”
“Displeased that you couldn't make the arrest or that you weren't the one to kill the sorcerer?” I asked.
“To be honest; both.” Cyrus grimaced. “War is one thing, Queen Seren, but pitting fairy against fairy, to harvest our very flesh, bone, and blood, is heinous. It turns my stomach, and I have seen some horrible things in my time; I am not a man of weak disposition.”
“I'm sure you're not. The mere thought turns my stomach as well, Hunter Frost,” I said sincerely.
The extinguishers finished their preparations and came over to introduce themselves to all of us. We had the aforementioned Edgar Sloane, then Tod Sullivan, Vincent Teagan, Lara Kavanaugh, and Jill Murdock. They were professionally cordial to us, but were obviously eager to get into the Underground.
“All right, everyone,” I said. “Let's make like Aussies and get down under.”
Chapter Fourteen
Daxon was right; Meridian's Fairy Underground was a lot different than LA's. The evidence of Daxon's care for his fellow fairies had never been so obvious to me than when I ventured below Idaho. I had already concluded that Barra didn't give a shit about his people, but I hadn't expected his apathy to show in the Underground itself.
There had been social classes within Daxon's Underground; some areas were more prosperous than others. There were fairies living in alleys and scrounging for food just like any human homeless person would above ground, then there were the average citizens—the middle class, and finally, those who were wealthy. But in this place there were only two classes: rich and poor. There were different levels of poor, and probably different levels of rich, but really, there were just the two. There was no middle class in Meridian's Underground.
You may not think that would make such a huge difference, but just as it was above ground, the LA Underground's middle class composed most of the citizenry. They were the ones who had settled in and had made an acceptable life for themselves. The poor were those who slipped between the cracks, and the rich were those who were exceptionally motivated to exceed. But in Meridian, it didn't seem to matter how motivated you were; either you were wealthy, or you weren't; there was no hope of jumping a few social rungs unless someone pulled you out of the gutter. And there didn't seem to be a lot of that going on down there.
The alley we emerged into was formed of two crumbling walls and filled with refuse as well as the smells that accompanied such things. As we tiptoed over the piles of filth, a flock of pixies took flight with shrieks of dismay. Rotten food fell from their little bodies like dirty raindrops. I stared after them in shock.
“Pixies,” I whispered.
My mind had immediately brought up a memory of Rath; a pixie I had met in Twilight. Rath and his team had been patrolling the woods around Twilight Castle when Tiernan had first brought me there. The pixies were proud and boisterous fairies; they were a lot like Killian, actually. To see them in such a state was an unexpected blow.
“This is only the beginning, Your Majesty,” Cyrus said gently. “Best prepare yourself.”
We stepped out onto a packed dirt street, pock-marked with holes full of dubious liquids. Fairies shambled about in various styles of clothing—most were a mad conglomeration of fashion—and stared at us suspiciously. Across the street from our entry alley, the best-looking building on the block boasted a wide veranda and bright light pouring out of its windows. Scantily clad women hung over the wooden railing and called out obscenities to the passerby—body parts were also flashed freely. Lively music flowed out of the establishment's open front door—I think it was Lady Gaga—and hard-faced men strode in.
“Wow; it's a fairy brothel,” I muttered.
“I thought you'd been to an underground before?” Extinguisher Murdock asked.
“The one in LA isn't as bad as this,” I said as we headed down the street.
“Ah; King Daxon's Underground,” Cyrus said. “Yes; it is an anomaly, as is its ruler.”
“You know Daxon?” I asked Cyrus.
“No, but I know of him and his endeavors,” Cyrus said.
“I notice that you gave him a title that you didn't provide Barra,” I said casually.
“Barra is no king,” Cyrus huffed. “A king doesn't just rule; there are several requirements for kinghood in my opinion, but the main one should be that he looks after his people. I think you know that better than most, Your Majesty; you're married to two true kings.”
“I am,” I said softly. “They are, in my opinion, the best things that have ever happened to their kingdoms.”
“You may be right.” Cyrus chuckled. “If a bit biased.”
I glanced down an alley as we passed and saw a woman on her knees with a man's hands holding her head to his crotch. I looked away, my face flushing, and my gaze landed on another questionable scene: two men were exchanging items. One of them looked up at me and snarled, fangs glinting in the fading sunstrip light.
“What the fuck?” I scowled at the men.
“Drugs, most likely,” Extinguisher Kavanaugh said, her lips thinning.
“Drugs?” I asked. “Faeries take drugs?”
“The Fey make the most powerful and most addictive narcotics,” Cyrus said. “Most of us are too smart to imbibe, but in a place like this, I imagine that it becomes a popular coping mechanism.”
“Why do I feel like I suddenly know nothing about my own people?” I murmured.
Killian laughed, but it sounded harsh. “I felt the same way when I went on the last raid. It's a different world down here; magic gone bad.”
“I've never seen anything like this,” Torquil said. “Different is the least of what it is, and 'bad' is too weak a word.”
“No kidding,” I said as we approached a ring of people in the middle of the street. “This isn't magic gone bad; I've seen that. This is magic gone sad.”
In the center of the gathering we stepped alongside of, were two fairies, brawling with fists and bursts of magic. The fairies standing around them held scraps of paper and shouted at the men. A redcap stood nearby, arms crossed as he loomed over a male sidhe. The sidhe spotted us and said something to the redcap before he ambled over to us.
“You folks don't look like you belong here,” he said by way of greeting.
“Stand aside or be arrested for interference,” Extinguisher Sloane intoned menacingly.
“Oh, it's like that, is it?” The man was a redhead, and I mean that in the truest sense of the word; his hair was candy apple red. “And here I was, thinking I'd be a good citizen and offer some help.”
The sidhe stood aside, but he also followed along beside us down the street. His eyes flicked over the extinguishers, their weapons, then to Killian, Cyrus, and finally, me. His gaze lingered on me thoughtfully, and I winked at him.
“Danu's damp pussy!” The fairy exclaimed. “You're her, aren't you? You've got those star eyes everyone talks about.”
I narrowed my starry gaze on the man as our group came to an abrupt halt. His face paled.
“Oh, dude, that w
as the wrong thing to say,” Conri muttered.
“I meant no disrespect,” the fairy stammered. “I was just shocked to see you.”
“You blaspheme using our Goddess' femininity, and you say you meant no disrespect?” I growled. “That's about as disrespectful as you can get.”
“Fuck,” he breathed in awe. “That's what made you mad? You are her. You're the halfling princess!”
“Isn't that a Harry Potter thing, Mr. Slytherin?” Conri asked Killian.
“No; that's the 'half-blood prince,'” Killian corrected him. “Read the books, Con.”
“Their children books, Kill,” Con huffed. “I saw the movies—those are for adults.”
“And you're the witch who was turned into a snake-fairy!” The redhead pointed at Killian. “Oh wow; this is amazing. Why are you two here? You're ambassadors, aren't you?”
“Yeah”—Killian started walking again—“and we're kinda busy... you know... ambassing, so fuck off.”
“Killian, I really think the next book you buy should be a dictionary,” I teased.
“Shit; is this the famous Star's Guard?” The man went on. “You're here because of them, aren't you? The sorcerers.”
That stopped us again. We all turned to look at the fairy with more consideration. It was Cyrus who approached him, though.
“What do you know?” Cyrus asked him curtly.
“I know enough to charge for the information.” The redhead smirked.
“You're speaking to five extinguishers, a hunter, an entire royal guard, and two ambassadors,” Cyrus said. “And you dare to ask for coin? Are you mad or do you simply have a death wish?”
“My friends would tell you that both are true.” The man smiled bigger.
“We know where to go, thank you,” I said to the fairy. Then I motioned to Cyrus. “Lead on, Hunter.”
“Wait!” the redhead cried as we started to move. “Don't place that bet.”
“What do you mean?” I turned back to him. “What bet?”
“Don't go to Havers street; it's a trap,” he whispered, his eyes darting around the road. “A bad bet, Ambassador, and I know all about gambling.”
