Faerie Lords Boxset

by Isabella August

  She snatched the mug from the table silently, avoiding his eyes.

  “I’m very sorry,” Simon said. “I should have expected something like that. She’s been more overbearing than usual since I got into trouble in Blackfrost.”

  “She loves you,” Zoe said. She cleared her throat, warming her hands on the cup. “You somehow forgot to mention that you were her son.”

  Simon flinched. “I’m not,” he said. “Not… exactly. Rose was her daughter.” He rubbed at his forehead. “For the longest time, the Lady hated me. She accused me of stealing her daughter. Everything else I told you was true — when Rose died, she lost her mind. The Lady begged me to keep her company. I felt… I still feel responsible for her, in many respects.” He paused, and Zoe saw a smattering of guilt overtake him. “You shouldn’t have had to deal with her, though. That’s my job.”

  Zoe let out her breath. Be better, she thought. In the end, Simon had used the Lady’s power to help save her. Whether the mad faerie meant to or not, she had indirectly protected Zoe’s life because of what she was.

  “I think you love her too,” Zoe said finally. “In a… weird kind of way. She seems to have adopted you.” She forced herself to say the next words. “I don’t blame you, Simon. I don’t even blame her. She’s slightly more reasonable than your average faerie lord. I figure that’s why I’m not a tree right now.”

  Simon smiled in relief. He reached out to ruffle her hair. “I’m sure that you would make a very lovely tree, Zoe,” he teased.

  A liquid heat spread through her at his touch. She couldn’t help but be incredibly aware of his nearness. As he withdrew his hand, Zoe was hit with an overwhelming, desperate longing to have him touch her again. She clenched her fingers, forcing a laugh. “Don’t push it,” she said. “I think I’m nearly tapped out on niceness for the day.”

  Simon raised an eyebrow. “It’s eight-thirty in the morning,” he said.

  “It’s gonna be a long day then,” Zoe replied. There was a slight edge to her voice as she said it.

  A really long day. She was going to be turning that non-answer of his over and over in her mind the entire time. Suddenly, she found herself desperate for air, for space away from him, for a chance to think. Simon and his golden aura and his sweet charm had dug so deep down into her at this point that she knew she was getting dangerously close to throwing all caution to the wind.

  She needed to check in with Dorian. Surely someone had found Vivienne by now. Montreal wasn’t that big.

  Zoe swung her legs over the side of the bed… then paused as she caught sight of her bare legs, only partially covered by the hem of Simon’s long-sleeved shirt.

  She also needed to find some goddamn pants.

  “Do you have my phone?” Zoe asked tightly. “I want to see if Dorian called. He’s normally up before now.”

  “I’m afraid your phone is dead,” Simon said. “But I gave him my number. He hasn’t called yet.” He sipped at a mug of his own. “He may be preoccupied with this situation with Vivienne.”

  Zoe set her jaw. Or he might be avoiding me like a coward. “Well… if he’s not going to pick up my stuff, I’ll need to make do. Do you still have my clothes from before?”

  Simon frowned. “Well, yes,” he said. “They’re a bit… bloody. I can leave them soaking and see how much comes out, if you like.”

  What other choice did she have? Even if she could convince Simon to leave her alone long enough to grab her clothes, the wards on her door would make it a very unpleasant experience for him without her there. The few acquaintances she might have called to borrow clothes from were all indexed on her currently-dead phone.

  …well. There was one.

  An idea formed in Zoe’s mind. If she was right, it would solve more than one of her problems at once.

  “Can I borrow your phone?” Zoe asked.

  “I cannot believe you called the police station.”

  If looks could kill, then the short, copper-skinned woman who currently stood in the doorway of Simon’s apartment would have already struck Zoe dead. There was, however, a gym bag of clothing slung over her right arm — which Zoe snatched from her without preamble.

  “It was a non-emergency line,” Zoe said sheepishly. “Anyway, you do owe me a favor, Jaz. I’d say a few clothes is a pretty cheap trade, huh?”

  Sergeant-Detective Jasmine Basak narrowed her dark brown eyes warningly, but Zoe didn’t elaborate any further. Zoe liked the grumpy officer, current situation notwithstanding. Jasmine didn’t deserve to have her dirty laundry aired in front of a relative stranger.

  “I took my lunch for this,” Jasmine said shortly. “Please tell me your big favor wasn’t just to prevent a walk of shame back to your office.” Her eyes fixed on Simon, who flushed red as he caught the insinuation.

  “Er, no. That’s not…” He trailed off, caught at a loss for words.

  Zoe rolled her eyes at Jasmine. “Get your mind out of the gutter, s’il vous plait,” she said, exaggerating the last bit. She set the bag down on the couch, rummaging through it. Aha. Jasmine had delivered. Zoe pulled out a pair of white winter tights and a perfectly-serviceable long black skirt. “Anyway, you gotta be nice to me, I’m sick. Those are the rules, I didn’t make them up.” She held up her uninjured wrist, where a plastic hospital bracelet still clung visibly.

  Jasmine’s scowl softened abruptly — she would probably have been horrified to know that she now wore an expression of very human worry. “What happened?” she asked.

  Zoe glanced at Simon. “Apparently, an animal attacked me,” she said wryly.

  Simon frowned, and opened the door further. “Would you like to come in, Miss…?”

  “Call me Jasmine,” the detective informed him shortly. She accepted the invitation without preamble, stepping past the door frame. “That weird incident was you?” she asked. Then: “What really happened?”

  Zoe paused, halfway through zipping back up the gym bag. She hesitated. This was the sticky part. “Maybe I didn’t call you just for the clothes,” she admitted. “You, uh… mind sitting down for a sec? There’s some stuff I figured I shouldn’t say over the phone.”

  Jasmine frowned — but she took a few long steps for the couch, to settle her hip against the arm. “Weird shit,” she muttered. “Great.”

  Zoe chewed on her lip. “I got chewed on by a vampire,” she said.

  Jasmine froze. The pulse point in her neck quickened. Fear filtered through her aura, tangy and distinct.

  “People are handling it,” Zoe said quickly. “That’s why I’m here. You know. Without pants.”

  Jasmine wobbled slightly on the edge of the couch. Simon reached out a hand for her shoulder, clearly worried, but the detective slapped it away with a hissed-in breath. “You didn’t drink any blood back?” she asked Zoe sharply.

  Shit. Of course that would be what she’s worried about. Zoe cringed. Vampire blood wasn’t just addictive — it was the gateway drug to undeath itself. One taste and you’d get yourself hooked. Two tastes and you’d be desperate to finish the change into a vampire yourself. Two-timers often went insane if they weren’t soon changed, as they found themselves endlessly craving human blood, but unable to properly digest it.

  “No,” said Zoe. “Blood-swapping wasn’t on the table. Don’t worry, I’m not craving a trip to the blood bank anytime soon.”

  Jasmine relaxed imperceptibly. The detective’s hand drifted instinctively toward her wrist, where a blunted iron nail still hung from an old charm bracelet.

  Very few people knew it, but Detective Basak had been forced to drink a vampire’s blood just a few years ago. Still just a one-timer, Jasmine had nonetheless endured the resulting cravings with a will of steel, carrying on with her life as though nothing had happened. But when Jasmine had come into La Voûte’s office looking for a cure, Zoe had reluctantly bent her no-magic rule just long enough to slip the detective a talisman to dull the edges of her cravings. The detective didn’t know precisely wh
ere Zoe had gotten the talisman, of course… but she’d known that it wasn’t a small thing. Since the first time Zoe had handed over the talisman, Jasmine had been forced to come back to get the spells on it renewed a handful of times. Each time, she seemed reluctant to do so — it was like admitting that she couldn’t control herself without extra help.

  Truthfully, Zoe had never meant to call in that favor at all, but she suspected that Jasmine wouldn’t be terribly averse to what she had in mind, as long as she explained herself properly.

  “Tell me someone’s hunting it down,” Jasmine said. Her voice was flinty. Vampires were always it to her — inhuman, worse than animals. She didn’t believe that the leeches were capable of truly civilized behavior.

  “Someone’s hunting her down,” Zoe replied carefully. “Lots of someones, mostly with sharp, pointy teeth. I figure you don’t want to cross paths with them.” She sucked in a breath. “But… if you happened to notice more weird stuff on your radar, and if you happened to pass it on to me…”

  Jasmine’s face settled into an icy expression. “You want me to dig up information so you can pass it to the leeches?” she asked coldly.

  Zoe gave her a flat look. “There’s a really desperate, hungry vampire running around the city right now,” she said. “And while I don’t think she’s got the time to waste on me personally, I’m still gonna sleep better once she’s gone. Just think of it as… protecting the city and helping take down a vampire. Does it really matter who does it, as long as it gets done?”

  Jasmine narrowed her eyes. Zoe watched as cold blue logic warred with the red embers of longstanding anger in her aura. “…I’m not in their pocket,” Jasmine said finally.

  “You don’t have to be,” Zoe reassured her. “One-time thing. If you find something, I won’t even let on where I got the info.”

  Jasmine’s lips tightened… but she nodded once, curtly. “You’re staying here in the meantime?” she asked. She glanced sideways at Simon, neatly picking out his otherworldly eyes. “You’re from the other side of the tracks,” she observed. “You think you can handle a vampire, if it comes knocking?”

  Zoe was expecting the detective’s straightforward approach to take Simon aback, but he adjusted quickly. She saw his aura shift as he took in Jasmine’s overall attitude and noted her concern instead of her abrasiveness. “My home is warded,” he said politely. “And in the very worst case, I can see Zoe to Arcadia — though I’m sure we would all prefer that to be a last resort. It’s much easier to walk a mortal in than it is to walk out with them again.”

  Jasmine raised an eyebrow at that. Her knowledge of the supernatural was relatively limited, but she knew at least enough to recognize the faerie world’s name. “I see,” she said.

  Zoe ducked into the bathroom and closed the door behind her, her new clothing tucked into her arms. She shimmied into the skirt for the moment, relieved to have something to wear in the case of any further faerie lord visits, but decided to save the rest for the moment she’d inevitably need to leave.

  You just like wearing Simon’s shirt. Zoe pursed her lips against the thought, but there was little use denying it.

  As she came back out, she couldn’t help but note that anxiety had stirred up a flurry of hunger in Jasmine’s aura. Zoe frowned. Subtly, she reached out toward the little blunted nail, where her spell currently wavered.

  She’d only meant to nudge the spell — to top it off slightly — but she’d underestimated how low her reserves had gotten. The simple effort sucked away her last bit of power, and Zoe wavered on her feet. She leaned back against the wall heavily, black spots dancing in front of her eyes.

  Right. You’re a Scorpio who’s low on blood. Not a great combination.

  Simon moved to catch her by the arm. Zoe blinked, letting out a long, slow breath as he tugged her arm up over his neck. “Whoops,” she mumbled. “Sorry.”

  Simon shot her a flat look, and she knew that he’d caught her out. “Maybe stop doing that,” he advised her in a whisper.

  Jasmine knitted her brow at Zoe, oblivious to the subtext. The hunger in her aura had dimmed, however. “Stay the hell inside,” she told Zoe. “You look half-dead.” Her eyes flickered with a new determination. “I’ll see what I can find.”

  Chapter 7

  After Simon had deposited Zoe on the couch and seen the detective out the door, he returned to settle in next to her, considering. She saw his usual thoughtfulness back in his aura, though she wasn’t sure just what he was thinking about.

  “…what?” she asked cautiously.

  A small smile appeared on his face. “Nothing. It’s just that… you go out of your way for others an awful lot for someone who considers herself of poor moral character.”

  Zoe knitted her brow. “What?” she said. “Are you accusing me of something? I can’t tell.”

  Simon’s bright green eyes flashed with humor. “I believe I just called you a good person,” he said. “Une femme généreuse. Did I use a wrong word?”

  Zoe blinked. A bright red flush crept up into her face, utterly immune to her efforts to suppress it. The simple compliment set such a warm glow into her chest that she wondered briefly whether Simon had gotten a spell past her unnaturally keen Witchsight.

  But no — he was just smiling at her. That was all it took.

  “I didn’t…” Zoe trailed off, uncomfortable. “Jaz is helping me out. I ought to return the favor.”

  “You ought to take the compliment,” Simon corrected her. “Does it bother you, that you’ve done something nice?”

  Zoe frowned. “No, that’s not it. I just…”

  Why does it bother me?

  A memory drifted across her mind. Someone screaming in the dark, thrashing in agony. Not her. Someone else.

  I didn’t help. I couldn’t do anything. And then… what Malcolm gave me…

  Zoe shivered unconsciously. The memory left a dirty, hollow feeling inside her.

  If I were a good person, I wouldn’t still be here.

  Simon tucked a blanket around her shoulders. At first, she thought he’d mistaken the shiver for a chill — but he left his hands on her shoulders, and she saw that he was looking at her intently.

  “What happened to you, Zoe?” he said quietly.

  Zoe froze.

  Don’t! Don’t tell him anything! You can’t…

  The blanket did less than nothing for her trembling. Her body ran away from her control; the shaking worked its way down into her limbs, worming its way into her fingers.

  “Zoe?” Simon touched her cheek. He searched her eyes. “I would never hurt you,” he said softly. “You know that, don’t you?”

  You wouldn’t mean to. Her heart ached at the genuine look on his face. That golden aura held her in its thrall, promising comfort, understanding… maybe absolution. She wanted so badly to capitulate, to tell him everything — to beg someone to understand, to be told that it wasn’t her fault.

  “I…” Her voice trembled. “Simon, please. I haven’t told anyone. No one, Simon. It’s a secret I have to keep.”

  Simon pressed his forehead gently to hers. The rest of the world fell away, blocked out by warmth and fresh rain and perfect quiet.

  “I swear by the name Simon Leclair,” he murmured. “If you tell me this secret, I will never repeat it.” There was a thrum of power in the air as he said his name — his full, true name, backed by the intention of his magic. Zoe’s eyes widened. “If the Lady herself should ask me, I will have to decline her. Do you understand?”

  That’s his name. He just gave me his name.

  Simon had put his life and soul into her hands. With the power of his full name, spoken from his own lips, Zoe could affect him with her magic near-effortlessly. Worse, he’d sworn an oath on that name — if the Lady tried to force him to break it through the use of their pact, he would be unable. He’d be stuck between a rock and a hard place, magically-speaking; the force of it could kill him.

  “Why would you do tha
t?” Zoe whispered. Her heart twisted in her chest.

  Simon smiled wryly. “I would hope you didn’t wear yourself out using magic on my behalf only to reverse course now,” he said. His eyes grew serious. “I want to know what’s wrong. You can be sure I will not tell anyone. But I will wait, if you need.”

  The shivers didn’t cease. If anything, they grew worse. Zoe knew that she couldn’t deny him. She didn’t want to deny him. She felt a desperate, terrible need to tell him the truth, to tell someone.

  “I…” Zoe choked. Her fingers closed in the fabric of his shirt. “I’m not a witch, Simon. The power — it’s not mine.”

  The touch of his name on her lips — even the first part — sent a flinch through him. Distantly, Zoe realized that this was how it would be from now on — she owned his name, and her use of it would always affect him. But Simon shook off the feeling wordlessly, focused on her confession. Grave contemplation flickered across his aura. That’s impossible, he was thinking. But he believed her. Slowly, he was adjusting his definition of the impossible, making room for her admission.

  The words kept tumbling out, more desperate now. He was going to look at her differently, Zoe knew, but she couldn’t help it. She had to tell him, to put every damning thing on the table at once.

  “I was just… I was normal. I was this kid in the system. And I was angry, and alone, and I hated everything. And then Malcolm showed up, and he said that magic existed, and that if I went with him, he could show it to me, teach me how it use it.” Angry, miserable tears sprang up in her eyes. “I knew he was bad. I knew it. But I said yes anyway, because… because I wanted it so badly.”

  I was so stupid. But everyone else paid the price for it, in the end. Not me.

  Simon slipped his arms around her. His scent sank into her like medicine. His warmth helped with the trembling. Zoe pressed her cheek to his chest, her eyes tightly closed. She didn’t want to cry. It drove her crazy that she was crying now. But maybe if she had to cry, it wasn’t the worst thing in the world to do it in front of Simon.