by Melissa Marr
"Be more careful and enjoy your time, my Gancanagh friend." Then, after giving Leslie a brief once-over that made her feel so exposed that she wanted to hide her body, Keenan walked away.
Leslie stared at the shadowed yard. Despite the darkness, she could see the faint outline of Keenan's body as he strode off.
Beside her, Niall watched the shadows in silence.
Leslie stood next to him. She touched his forehead, his neck, his chest: the fever had broken. He seemed physically fine—tired, but fine.
"Keenan means well, but he has worries—"
"He's rude. He's demeaning. He's not the person he pretends to be when Ash is around. He—" She stopped herself and adjusted her tone. "If there's a reason to be nice to him, now might be a good time to tell me what it is."
"I can't. He's under a bit of stress. Aislinn helps, but there's so much I can't tell you. I would if I could. I'd tell you everything. You might not want to see me afterward, but…" He pulled her into his lap and stared at her.
"But what?" She wrapped her arms around him. And her anger at Keenan, her distrust, her unease—they all slid away.
Niall said, "I hope you do want to see me after our secrets are spilled. It'll be your choice, but I truly hope you still want to be near me." She wasn't sure she wanted to know, but she needed to. She liked Niall, far more than she should after so short a time, but she wasn't interested in getting further involved if he was mixed up in something criminal. She'd had enough of that in her life already. "Are you involved in anything illegal?"
“No.”
"No drug deals?" Her body tensed as she waited.
"Not me. No."
"Keenan?"
Niall snorted in laughter. "Aislinn would never tolerate that, even if he had inclinations that way—which he doesn't."
"Oh." She thought about it: the fact that Keenan rarely went anywhere alone, the weird club, the strange allergy, the secrecy Aislinn and Seth were somehow a part of. None of it fit together right; it didn't add up, no matter how she looked at it.
Which should terrify me. But her emotions weren't quite cooperating with that thought. Which should also frighten me.
She held Niall's gaze and asked, "What did he call you?"
"Gancanagh. It's a sort of family name. But I can't explain beyond that right now." Niall sighed and pulled her close. "Tonight I'll do my best to answer your every question, but Aislinn … She needs to speak with you before I can. No more questions until tonight. I'll explain to her, that we, that you … She'll understand. Meet me at the Crow's Nest? We'll talk to her."
She wanted to push him to tell her immediately, but she could tell by his tension and his worried tone that he wasn't going to. She turned so she was facing him. "Promise you'll tell me everything? Tonight."
"Promise." Niall smiled then.
Leslie kissed him cautiously. She knew he would tell her, felt certain of it, of him.
But he pulled back from their kiss almost immediately and asked, "So can I see what you have so far of the tattoo? Or is it somewhere improper?"
She laughed. "It's up by my shoulders. … Subtle topic shift."
It had worked, though—or maybe it was his kiss that made her feel so relaxed. Even though he was holding back, she felt her body responding in a way she hadn't thought she ever would again.
"So can I see the tattoo?" He started to tilt her forward, still holding her.
"Tonight. Rabbit is finishing it tonight after work. Then you can see it—when it's all done." She wasn't sure why, but from the moment she'd walked out of Rabbit's shop, she'd had a strong aversion to showing anyone her ink. Not yet.
"Another reason to look forward to our date, then. Talking, looking at your art, and" — he gave her a look that sent her pulse racing—"anything else that makes you happy."
He gently kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her eyes, her hair.
"I don't want you to go away," she whispered, finding it easier to admit in the darkness. "But Keenan's comments. The way he … I want you with me right now. I've wanted you with me for months."
He kissed her for real then, not gently as he had before, but fiercely.
Afterward he told her, "I'll leave Keenan and Aislinn's side if I need to. I'll walk away from everything, everyone, just for the chance to be with you. …"
While she didn't understand much of what was going on, she did understand that he was offering to give up his family for her. Why? Why would being with me mean that? She traced her fingertips over his face.
He said, "If you want me in your life, I'll be here. As long as you want. Remember that. It'll be okay. I'll stay with you, and we'll be fine. No matter what else happens or what you learn, remember that."
She nodded, though she felt like she'd wandered into a weird world where everything she thought she knew had faded away. But even with all the weirdness, being in Niall's arms made her feel safe, loved, like the world wasn't awful. She couldn't stay in Huntsdale, though, not living with Ren and her father, not where everything had gone so horribly wrong. "I can't ask you to give up everything when I'm not even sure where I'll be next year. College. And we don't know each other, not really. And—"
"Do you want to get to know each other?" he asked gently.
“Yes.”
"Then we'll find a way." He stood then, with her in his arms, and walked toward the train. A yard or so away from it, he put her down. "Go in and sleep. I will be here when you wake. Tonight Aislinn will talk to you … or I will."
And when Leslie curled up in bed, she felt herself believing in Niall, believing in them, believing it really could be okay. Those dreams of finding someone who cared about her, who saw her as a person—maybe they weren't as impossible as they'd seemed.
Chapter 20
The morning was barely upon him when Irial walked into Pins and Needles, watching the mortals outside the shop with a new interest. Leslie would give him enough of her mortality that he'd be able to feed on them, to grow stronger. It had worked for a few of the thistle-fey, had worked for Jenny Greenteeth and her sisters. He couldn't grow weak. He couldn't allow his fey to grow weak and be ended by mortals. That wasn't an option. He'd have his mortal, nourish himself—through her—to feed his court. If they were strong enough, he and his mortal, they could survive it. If she was not as strong as he thought, she would die or slip into madness; he'd starve, fade, or worse—fail his court.
But she's a strong mortal. He hoped they would both survive. He'd never cared for one of them; there were a few halflings, like Rabbit, who'd mattered—but no true mortals.
"Iri." Rabbit's face lit with the inexplicable happiness he seemed to feel when Irial visited.
"Bunny-boy."
Rabbit scowled. "Man, you really need to stop calling me that. Ani and Tish are around somewhere. You know how they are."
"I know." Irial grinned. He couldn't see Rabbit as a grown man, despite the proof in front of him. "How are the pups?"
"Troublesome."
"Told you. It's all in the blood." Irial pulled out the book he'd brought with him. "Gabriel sends his best."
"He has a best? Been nice if they'd inherited it." Rabbit took the book, flipping it open as eagerly as he had the first time Irial had given him images of the more reclusive fey. The symbols and crude sketches were the start of what would be tattoos tying mortals to the Dark Court. Rabbit would re-create them in ways that faeries could not, capturing the flaws and beauties until they were pulsing on the page, seeking the mortal who could wear them. It was a disquieting skill—one neither of them spoke of.
Then Ani and Tish flew into the room, squealing in that eternally hyper way they had. "Iri!"
"How's Dad?"
"Did he send anything? He was here."
"He met Leslie."
"Rabbit won't let me go to the square anymore."
"Have you seen the new queens? We know the one, the Summer Queen."
"We don't know her. We met her. It's different."
"Isn’t."
"Let Irial talk." Rabbit sighed. He might scowl a bit, but he watched the girls with a care their father wouldn't have. Halflings were typically too fragile to live in the Dark Court, too mortal, but the High Court would've broken their spirits—impeded their natural passions with unnatural restraints. Sorcha's court took the Sighted ones and all of the halflings—unbeknownst to the Winter and Summer Courts—but the Dark Court tried to keep their mortal offspring out of that rigid realm. Rabbit had repaid that secrecy by looking after the other halflings Irial'd found.
"There's trinkets from the Hounds." Irial held out the bag. "And one of Jenny's kin sent those garments you wanted."
The girls snatched the bag and scurried away.
"Exhausting beasts." Rabbit rubbed a hand over his face, then called out, "No clubs tonight, you hear me?"
"Promise," Tish yelled from somewhere in the back.
Ani ran back in. Grinning madly, she skidded to a stop a hairsbreadth away from Irial. "Did you like Leslie? I bet you did. Very hot." Her words all tumbled together. Then she stuck her tongue out at Rabbit. "We'll get to go tomorrow, then. Promise?"
As Rabbit put a hand over his eyes, Irial found himself offering, "I'll take them."
Rabbit made a shooing motion at Ani. Then he flipped the sign on the door to closed. "Now, let's give this a try."
The room was exactly as it had always been, immaculate and unchanging. Rabbit had aged some, not as fast as mortals, but he looked closer to early twenties than teens now.
Rabbit motioned to the black chair where his clients sat. "You okay?"
Irial squeezed Rabbit's forearm and admitted, "Tired."
After he handed Rabbit the cords Gabriel had sent, Irial sat down in the chair and stretched his legs out in front of him.
"I heard about Guin." Rabbit pulled out three needles and as many vials.
"Gabriel's got the Hounds patrolling; they think they're immune still. The leannan-sidhe are to stay out of sight." Irial leaned back in the tattoo chair and closed his eyes while Rabbit bound him with the cords. Irial always found himself talking freely with Rabbit. In a world of careful deceit, there were so few people Irial could trust without reservation. Rabbit had inherited all of his father's loyalty, but also the mortal sense to think things through, to talk rather than fight.
"I think the ink exchange will help." Rabbit rolled up Irial's sleeve. "It's going to hurt."
"Hurt me or the girl?" Irial opened his eyes briefly. "I saw her, the mortal."
"You. Leslie will just feel the tattoo. I think. She did well with the outline. The court's tears and blood are an easier adjustment for a mortal. Her emotions will be volatile, fleeting by now. She's coping, though. Your blood will be harder for her. …" His words drifted off. He picked up the brown glass bottle that held the strange ink he'd mixed for the exchanges. "I'm not sure how she'll do, since it's you. She's good people."
"I'll look after her," Irial promised. She'd be bound to him, but he'd make sure she was well cared for, satisfied. He could do that.
Rabbit tied another cord around Irial's arm to help raise a vein. Unlike the cords that bound him to the chair, this was a simple thing—a length of rubber like those in mortal hospitals.
"It'll be fine." Irial tested his bonds, then nodded to Rabbit. There were few creatures he'd trust to hold him immobile.
Silently, Rabbit located the vein on the inside of Irial's elbow.
"She's stronger than you know, or she wouldn't have picked me."
Rabbit jabbed a thick, hollow tube into Irial's arm. "Ready?"
"Yes." It was barely a sting, not anywhere near as painful as he'd feared.
Then Rabbit added the tiny filter only he could make to the tube.
Irial's spine bowed; his eyes rolled back. It'll make me strong. Feed my court. Protect them. But the extraction of blood and essence was nightmarishly awful, as if tiny incisors were set to roam inside his body, ripping and tearing at places where sharp things should never enter.
"Keep the pups out of my reach," he gasped as his vision began to blur. "Need." Irial's stomach cramped. His lungs tightened, as if all the air he'd ever breathed were being sucked out all at once.
"Irial?" Ani's voice was in the doorway. Far enough away that he couldn't reach her; too close, though.
His hands clenched. "Rab …"
"Ani, go." Rabbit stepped in front of Irial then, blocking her from view.
"It'll pass, Iri. It always passes. Tell him, Rabbit, tell him he'll be okay." Ani's voice faded as she walked away.
"She's right."
"Starving." Irial dug his finger into the chair until the leather ripped. "You're destroying me. My court."
"No. It passes. Ani's right. It passes." Rabbit pulled out the tube with a schluck. "Rest now."
"Food. Need. Call Gabriel."
"No. Not until I finish the tattoo. Nothing until then. Else it won't work." Then Rabbit left, locking the door behind him, leaving Irial unable to move from the chair.
Chapter 21
Half afraid last night had been a dream, Leslie looked out the window. He's still here. Niall was doing some sort of stretching in the yard. Either he'd been awake for a while and was bored or he was just going about his routine. He'd shed his shirt, and in the light of day the spiderweb of scars that covered his torso was difficult to look at. Thin white lines crisscrossed thicker, uneven raised marks, as if something had clawed his skin. Seeing the full extent of it made her want to cry for him. How is he even alive? He was, though. He was a survivor, and it made him all the more beautiful.
With as little noise as she could, Leslie opened the door.
“Hey.”
He paused in midstretch, standing so still that he seemed frozen, as if he were carved of some rare dark stone. Only his voice proved that he was a living being. "Shall I take you to the school?"
"No." She shook her head as she walked toward him. Until then she hadn't decided, but looking at him— knowing that whatever happened next would mean they'd be changed from what they were in that moment—she knew that wasting the day was foolish. Spending the day at Bishop O.C. … it simply didn't make sense to her.
"What are you doing today?" she asked when she was standing beside him. Without conscious thought, she lifted her hand, letting her fingertips graze the scars on his chest, like following a map of chaos, lines bisecting lines, furrows branching into ridges and ripples.
He hadn't moved yet, staying as still as when he'd seen her walking toward him. "Taking a long swim in the cold river?
She stepped slightly closer. "No."
He swallowed. "If I keep suggesting things, will you keep saying no?"
"Maybe." She smiled, feeling brave, confident with him in a way she hadn't felt with a guy in longer than she wanted to consider. "Do you want me to?"
"Yes. No. Maybe." He gave her a shaky smile. "I'd almost forgotten how much fun this dance was, the wanting without having."
"Is it okay if I lead?" She actually blushed when she said it. She was far from innocent, but he made her feel like this mattered, like they mattered.
"I'm rather liking it." He cleared his throat. "Not that pursuing you—"
"Shh."
"Okay." He watched her curiously. He still hadn't moved, feet and hands in precisely the same position as when she'd approached. It was odd.
"Did you go to military school or something?" she asked before she could stop herself. What a dumb question!
But he wasn't laughing at her or acting like she ruined the moment. He answered seriously, "Not like you're thinking, but I've had to learn a number of things because Keenan's father needed me to do so. Training … It's good to know how to protect yourself and those you care for."
"Oh."
"I can teach you how to defend yourself some. Not" — he held her gaze—"that it will always keep you safe. There are times when no amount of training will stop what others would do."
"So why …" She let the question drift
away.
"Because it helps me sleep at night, because it helps me focus, because sometimes I like knowing that maybe if I were in danger again it would help." He kissed her forehead. "And sometimes because it gives me hope that it'll make me strong enough to be loved and protect the one I would try to love."
"Oh." She was at a loss once more.
He stepped back. "But you were going to lead this dance, so I'll work on following … after I ask if we could pause at the loft so I might bathe."
And just like that he eased her fears and brought the tension back to that comfortable zinging feeling they'd shared before he started talking about violence and love.
An hour later, Leslie walked through Huntsdale with Niall—sure that once she stepped away from him, the near illusory connection they had would end. It was so different from their walk the night before, when they'd stopped to kiss in alcoves and dark doorways.
Eventually he gestured at a tall old building in front of them. "We're here."
They stood at the edge of a small park that felt forbidden, as if the air before her had taken form and made a barricade around the greenery. Trees of all sorts bloomed in a riot of contrasting colors and scents; the grass, though, was trampled flat, browned as though by a fair or concert. The park was clean, too; there was no litter or debris at all. It was also empty of people: not even a vagrant lay on any of the odd wooden benches that were scattered throughout the park. Old stone sculptures glistened like they belonged in a museum, and the water in a fountain rose and fell as if a song controlled its flow. Leslie stared at it, the curiously enticing park, wondering how something so beautiful could be here and unused.
"Can we go there?"
"The park?" Niall looked from her face to the park, where she'd been staring. "I suppose."
"It's not private?" She watched as the flow of water shimmered like a girl undulating in some dance that she should remember, that her bones once knew.
