Go Broncos.
Gray rolls to a stop in front of C-5. Five empty beer bottles sit on the ledge under the front window, and shards of amber glass glisten on the ground. A lovely collection of clothing, including several pairs of boxer shorts, hangs on the chain link fence, drying in the sun.
At least we know he’s home.
“Look at the bright side,” I say to Jonathan. “There’s no landscaping to block the view of your Hummer from the front door.”
The knight snorts, but he doesn’t sound amused.
Suddenly, something hits me. I look at Gray in the driver’s seat…then I look at Eric in the passenger seat. Jonathan’s next to me, I’m in the back middle, and that only leaves the empty seat to my right that currently contains Charles.
“Um.” I raise my hand like I’m in school. “Question?”
“What now?” Gray puts the vehicle in park.
“Say the troll is home, and say you arrest him, where are you going to put him?”
Gray turns, meets my eyes, and then pointedly looks at the seat next to me.
Right.
Not happening.
I lean forward. “You expect me to ride next to a troll? Why can’t we throw him in the back like you did the sprite?”
“The Fair Treatment of Trolls Act of 1994,” Jonathan says.
I find myself gaping at him. “Trolls have rights?”
“Since 1994.”
A headache niggles behind my right eye. “But…they’re trolls.”
“Trolls have feelings too.”
Unable to let the subject drop, I argue, “But you wrapped the sprite in a tarp and tossed him in the trunk of your car. Don’t sprites have rights?”
Eric shrugs and joins the conversation. “Sprites aren’t protected under the Troll Act.” He turns and meets my eyes. “Just trolls…as the name suggests.”
“Careful, Bunny.” I pin him with a look. “I actually like you.”
“Hey, what about me—” Jonathan starts to protest, but Gray cuts off our conversation with a barked, “Shut up,” and gets out of the car, sliding a pistol into a holster on his hip.
I blink at the weapon. “You can’t toss them in the back of a moving vehicle, but you can shoot them?”
Gray smirks. “There are a few very convenient loopholes in the act.”
“Better grab your cat, Maddie,” Eric says, sliding on his own gun. “You don’t want to leave him in the car. You know—just in case.”
As brave as I would like to pretend to be, my fingers tremble as I scoot out the door, Charles’s case in my hand. Then, because no one offered me a gun, I pull the Taser from my purse.
Gray takes the lead and knocks on the door. A young boy with a faux-hawk comes out from the duplex across the street. His eyes lock on the guns, and his face lights with an emotion that can be nothing but glee. He makes shooting motions with his fingers and giggles to himself—not like a child pretending to be a cowboy. No, more like a kid who has a bright future in a state mental facility.
“Go back inside,” I say to him, adding a little magic to the words.
Instantly, he turns and disappears through the door. When I look back, I find Gray watching me with narrowed eyes. “What was that?”
“What was what?” I ask, my tone innocent.
“You just—”
Fortunately, the door in front of us opens, cutting Gray off. The man who stands on the other side is six-foot-four—at least—and built like a bodybuilder before they outlawed steroids. His ears are three sizes too small, his head is pointy, and his eyes are too close together.
Thank goodness he’s using his magic to mask his appearance, or he’d be sort of ugly.
The man who can be nothing but a troll narrows his eyes. “What do you want, Knight Guild filth?”
My mouth drops open, and not because of what he said. No, it’s how he said it…like he swallowed helium. That kind of voice should belong to a ten-year-old girl, not a monster straight out of a fairytale.
And because my nerves are already shot, I giggle.
Which, judging from the look on the troll’s face, is the absolute last thing I should do.
Apparently sensitive about his squeak, he lunges forward, waving his ham-hands in a classic troll-style, out to hit someone but not really caring who. He yells out a loud roar, but it sounds like a kitten pretending to be a lion.
And, so help me, I laugh a little more. But the men have pulled their guns, so I should probably control myself before I make the situation worse than I already have.
“Stand down,” Gray orders, pistol pointed at the troll’s chest.
The troll’s face is still twisted with fury, but upon seeing the weapons, he controls himself. That is, until Charles yowls from the crate.
The beast’s eyes darken with hunger, and suddenly there’s a troll—an honest to goodness, “burn the village down,” troll—standing in front of us.
In truth, except for the green skin and yellow dripping fangs, he doesn’t look a lot different.
“Madeline, get back!” Gray yells.
But I don’t get back, because that green beast is staring at Charles’s crate, licking his chops, getting ready to help himself to a tasty kitty morsel.
So I zap him with my Taser.
Just like Rent-a-cop, his eyes go wide, and he falls to the ground, twitching. There’s just a lot more of him to twitch.
When he stops, I zap him again. You know, just to be on the safe side.
Satisfied he’s down, I look up and meet three stunned sets of eyes. Well, Jonathan doesn’t seem all that stunned, but his expression is caught between amusement and that look someone wears when they’re wondering if the person in front of them is unstable.
“What?” I ask. “You said to use it if I felt threatened.”
Eric mutters a low curse of surprise, and then his face stretches into a grin. “Let’s load him up.”
We argue over seating arrangements, and it’s finally decided that Jonathan will drive, Eric will take shotgun as usual, Gray will be in the middle back, and I’ll be next to him on the right with Charles on my lap. That way Gray gets to sit next to the kitty-eating, currently unconscious, troll.
“Do you think anyone saw?” I ask as Jonathan pulls away from the duplex.
“Doesn’t matter,” Gray says.
I frown. “It doesn’t matter?”
Because the troll is so large, and quite frankly quite pungent in this tight space, Gray sits as close to me as possible. His leg is fully pressed against mine, and his arm is flush with my arm. If we were any closer, I’d be in his lap.
Not that I’ve thought that far into it. Obviously.
He meets my eyes. “How many law officials are going to believe someone who claims their neighbor turned into a troll, and a five-foot-seven blond in heels zapped him with a Taser and stashed him in a Hummer?”
“What if someone got it on video?”
“It’ll look like a fake, make its rounds in the tabloids, and circulate on the internet for the rest of the foreseeable future. Listen, princess, this kind of thing is reported more than you think. We have teams scattered all throughout the US, listening to police scanners. Half the time the stuff that comes in is nothing but fraudulent reports, most often courtesy of alcohol and television. When it’s legitimate, the Knights’ Guild steps in. We’ve been doing this for over a thousand years. It’s just gotten a little more technical in the last fifty.”
In reply, I make a noise that’s rather like a grunt—not very ladylike, but I’m too tired to care.
“Your report should be easy to file.” Eric turns back to look at me. “We didn’t use an ounce of magic.”
“We didn’t,” Gray says, narrowing his eyes at me.
Jonathan, missing the way his fearless leader is watching me from the backseat, laughs. “We won’t even need it if we keep Madeline around. She’ll take ‘em out before we even have a chance to question them.”
Chuckling with
the other guys, Gray drapes his arm over my shoulder in a friendly, buddy-buddy gesture and leans close, his lips awfully near my ear. “Do not think this is over. We will discuss it very soon. Sparrows can’t use persuasion.”
CHAPTER NINE
“Hi, Agatha,” I say as I sweep past Finn’s secretary’s desk.
Agatha looks up, startled. “Oh, hello, Madeline. Finn’s actually disposed at the moment…”
She says more, but I’m already in the hall leading to his office. Just in case he has someone important in there, I knock instead of barging in like last time.
There’s a bit of shuffling, a few voices, and then the door opens.
Finn stares at me, dumbfounded. “Madeline. What are you doing here?”
My best friend stands just behind him. “Madeline!” Maisy gives me a big smile. “How are you?”
She nudges Finn out of the way and pulls me inside, hugging me. As always, she smells like a perfume she concocted herself. It’s a combination of pears with floral hints, and it’s uniquely her. She’s a gifted alchemist—a magical chemist of sorts, in the Strigiformes—Owl—Faction, but she mostly uses her talent to make cosmetics.
“Hey, Maisy,” I say, more than a little surprised to find her here. We haven’t spoken since the ceremony. Part of me is embarrassed about my apprenticeship. The other part is harboring unjustified anger that she took the one I wanted.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” Maisy says. “We’re planning the Summer Soirée, and I’m in charge of choosing the flowers.” She tosses her auburn hair over her shoulder. “Lord Finnegan was trying to help me remember what was used last summer.”
Or, here’s an idea, she could ask her coordinator, who actually planned last year’s soiree. Like Finn would know. He’s a guy—guys don’t remember flowers. Guys don’t even know the names of flowers.
Maisy beams at me, making me feel guilty. It’s not her fault she got my apprenticeship, and it’s not her fault she gets to work in the same building as Finn.
No, it’s Finn’s fault.
“Roses,” I tell her. “They’re in first full bloom in June, and they’re used every year. His Grace prefers yellow.”
Her face falls. “Roses? But they are so…done.”
I shrug. It’s her funeral if she goes with something different. Members of our Aparian royalty are all about tradition.
“How is your apprenticeship going?” she asks, abruptly changing the subject. “You rushed out of the ceremony so fast, I didn’t get a chance to talk to you. Finn tells me you’re in the Knights’ Guild?”
She pulls a horrified face, and her eyes drill into mine, demanding I explain how the heck that happened.
Wouldn’t I like to know.
“Oh, it’s fine.” I briefly look at Finn. “I used a Taser on my first troll, so…that’s exciting.”
“You what?” Finn demands.
Maisy looks positively scandalized. “Oh, good heavens. You poor thing.”
I probably shouldn’t tell them it was somewhat satisfying. Though, looking back, I can admit the second time was overkill.
“Listen, Maisy, I need a few minutes with F—” I stop myself. “Lord Finnegan. Perhaps we can chat later?”
“Oh, of course.” She gives us a wave, and with a light and airy laugh, she’s out the door. “Call me!”
I slowly turn to Finn as soon as the door shuts, pinning him with my eyes.
“You shocked a troll?” he asks again, looking concerned. As he well should be.
“It wanted to eat Charles.”
His forehead wrinkles with confusion. “You brought your cat to an arrest?”
“Well, yes. I couldn’t leave him in the car.”
But it’s clear Finn has no idea why I couldn’t leave Charles in the car. Honestly, he probably hasn’t the slightest clue what Gray and his team actually do. No wonder he sent me along.
“I want out,” I demand, getting to the point. “Jonathan read my magic right away, and Gray is onto me—he knows I’m not a Sparrow.”
I barely escaped before Gray could question me further. Thank goodness the troll’s paperwork took the office girls forever. I was able to leave before he realized I’d gone.
Finn opens his mouth, but I lift my hand, silencing him.
“I’m not cut out for this. Give me another apprenticeship. Anything. At this point, I’ll even be a secretary, but please, please, don’t send me back out with Gray.”
I realize my eyes are stinging, and the last few words come out at a whisper. Finn’s face softens, and he closes the space between us and takes me in his arms. Giving in, I fall into him.
“Oh, Madeline,” he whispers against my neck, not noticing the way I stiffen. “It’s going to be all right.”
“Gray says you’re playing me.” I raise my head from his shoulder, nudging him away, meeting his eyes. “He says I’m not the only woman you’re dating. Is that true?”
Finn growls. “Gray’s delusional. You’re the only girl for me.”
But isn’t that exactly what someone who’s cheating would say? It’s not like he’d just admit it. What did I expect?
And am I honestly supposed to believe Maisy came to ask him about flowers?
I push Finn back. “Why me?”
“Why you what?” he asks, trying to pull me back.
I step away from him. “Why did you choose me for the team? Is there some reason you wanted me specifically?”
He pauses, his face finally going serious when he realizes that he can’t coax me to brush my concerns aside.
“There must be some reason—something other than I’m terribly organized and all that rubbish you fed me before. And it’s not because of the magic thing”—I lower my voice—“because you could work on that no matter what job you place me in.”
Finn finally nods, and he lowers his hands until they’re clasping mine. For the moment, I let him.
“All right, Madeline,” he says with a sigh. “There is something—something important.”
He doesn’t want to tell me, but I wait him out, refusing to back down.
“Two years ago, Gray arrested a Fox, a casino owner. He cheated people out of millions and millions of dollars. There’s bad blood between them, and the man is being released in just a few days.”
I frown but nod for him to continue.
“The man has done his time. It’s imperative that Gray doesn’t go after him again, and I’m afraid he will because he argued that the sentence was too short.” He tugs me closer. “I care a great deal for my brother, but he is hot-headed. I don’t want him thrown in the Dungeons because he can’t figure out when to leave well enough alone.”
“Where do I come in to all this?” I ask.
“I need you to be my eyes. I need you to tell me everything the team is doing, everyone they’re following or watching.” He moves his hands to my waist. “There’s no one else I trust. I’m sorry—I am. I know how angry you are that I gave away your apprenticeship. But I need you.”
If you’re not sleeping with him, what’s he actually using you for?
“So that’s what this is all about?” I ask.
Finn nods.
“And what about changing my magic type? Was that just a line to get me to do what you wanted?”
He pales, and though he begins to argue, he doesn’t do it fast enough. I know he cares for me—I do. But that doesn’t mean he cares enough.
“We’re done, Finn,” I find myself saying, half-numb. “I’ll stay in your apprenticeship, report to you as you have asked, but I don’t think we should see each other. And you will give me my apprenticeship in six months. Are we clear?”
“Madeline, wait—”
“You want to prove you’re serious about me?” I readjust the purse strap on my shoulder. “Show me a ring.”
I walk to the door but turn back just before I close it. “By the way, your jacket smells of Maisy’s perfume.”
CHAPTER TEN
“A little
shorter this time,” I instruct my regular manicurist as she files my new French tips. Long nails aren’t helpful when shocking trolls.
Cheyenne looks up, frowning. “We’ve done your nails exactly the same way for three years.”
“That’s not true.” I glance at the polishes, wondering if I should mix it up with a few coats of Passion Pink. “Sometimes you add a little glitter to the tips when I’m not looking.”
Hmmm…probably a no on the pink. Mother would have my head. She believes in neat and trim, well-groomed and presentable. Designer everything, in a quiet, classy way.
But not bright—never bright. Unless it’s a tasteful scarf worn against a backdrop of neutral colors.
Hiding a grin, Cheyenne shakes her head. “It’s good for you to live a little.”
Sometimes, I feel like Cheyenne and Lillian are in cahoots.
I’ve been coming to this beauty salon for years now, even though it’s thirty-five minutes from my house, and there are several places much closer. Cheyenne is human, of Chinese descent, and she has the prettiest eyes and shiny black hair you’ll ever see.
I like Cheyenne—I would even call her a friend, but I must be careful around her, can’t let any of my personal life slip.
She’s just finishing shaping the tips when my phone rings. It’s sitting on the counter, next to the folded towel, and a quick photo I snapped of Gray when he wasn’t looking appears on the screen.
Dropping my hand, Cheyenne twirls the phone toward her. “Who is that?”
“One of my new…coworkers.”
With a great amount of effort, she pulls her gaze from Gray. “Your coworker? When did you get a job?”
“It’s an apprenticeship sort of deal. My father set it up.”
She wrinkles her brow. “Apprenticeship? That sounds absolutely archaic.”
Welcome to my world.
The phone starts on its third ring, and she pushes it toward me. “Aren’t you going to answer it?”
Guild of Secrets (Obsidian Queen Book 1) Page 7
