A Curse Of Glass And Iron (Dark Heralds Book 2)

by Lynn S.

  “Aren’t you tired? Even truck drivers take a break, you know.”

  Francis Alexander didn’t require sleep, but still, he needed to keep up appearances. There was a lengthy list of things to keep tabs on until he could show his true self.

  They stopped at a motel along the interstate, one of many privately run hospitality businesses eager to boast tickets and discounts to attractions that were still some six hours away. They didn’t need much: a shower, a bite to eat, a couple of hours on a pillow top. Marissa was not aware of how tired she was until her body touched the bed. She slept solidly and woke up alone, to a note on the nightstand.

  Consider this the official start over. Sorry about all the bitching on the road. Just unwrap this thing and I’ll make sure it’ll be special. -Alexander

  There was a chance, after all the pain, confusion, and a whole heap of paranoia, that her fiancé was back.

  Marissa was thrilled to open the box, with its intricate design and black stamped logo of a Manhattan boutique. All the running, and still he had time to surprise her. The lid opened and inside was a piece of cobalt blue; a fun, short dress covered in eyelash lace with a sweetheart neckline. It also came with soft silver heels and a pair of sapphire and diamond earrings forming a pattern in a delicate loop. It was extravagant, considering they were in a motel in the middle of nowhere; risky when one was not looking to gather unwanted attention, but she wore it anyway.

  Sitting in front of the mirror, Marissa considered piling up her hair and then decided to let it fall loose. Looking at her reflection, she felt a sting of sadness. Might have been the clothes, or the hair falling wildly upon her shoulders, but she found she was looking more Adriana than usual.

  As much as she hated to admit it, her mother’s sudden disappearance bothered and pained her. Marissa knew Adriana to be rash and impulsive, but storming out of her life was odd at best. Esteban had told her to sever all ties, even change her phone number, but she kept that old cell phone in the bottom of her bag, waiting for a call. However, the distance between them just grew wider. In the past week, Marissa felt the whole process revert, her dhampyr laid dormant. Damn! She even missed the nagging voice of the instinct.

  “You’d look above radiant if you weren’t so sad.” The man who insisted on being called Francis or Alexander, even when by themselves, stood in the doorway. He wore blue jeans and a hunter green polo shirt that made his tanned skin look golden and his hazel eyes darker.

  “I was thinking of Adriana.”

  He hugged her. Though the tender gesture was only an excuse to shield the contempt that made his eyes flash emerald for a fraction of a second. There were things Francis Alexander needed to control while pulling the strings of a body that was not his own. Emotions rushed in through human channels and it was a bother. His voice, though, managed to carry the inflections of care, even if his words were meant to hurt deeply.

  “How come you never called her mom?” He needed to shake her further, in order to feed from her distress.

  “Now that you know everything,” Marissa continued, lost in the embrace, “you’ve never seen my mother for who she really is. Even as we all had that moment of truth back at Innisfree. That forty-something appearance is just a mirage. Adriana Popescu is a dhampyr and doesn’t look a minute older than twenty-five years old. I can see through the glamour, and each passing day there’s a woman who looks more and more my sister than my mother. Eventually, she’ll look younger than me, and that unnerves me.”

  “Not anymore,” he answered. “Adriana is now a vampire and you are frozen in time as well. Your days are longer now.” His thumbs caressed her cheeks. He needed her uncomfortable but not desolated. After all, there were still plans for the night. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Your mother will show up whenever she considers it to be okay. In the meantime, no more grim faces. Come on, I’ve been dying to show you something.”

  “Don’t you think I’m a little bit overdressed? You are so relaxed.”

  “I’ll make it so we’ll both feel overdressed by the end of the night.” He winked at her before leaning in for a kiss. “But please allow me to do the romantic thing, if only a little. It will be worth the wait. I found this place that works wonders by moonlight and might give you fair ground to judge Florida.”

  Keeping to the interstate, they drove into Pensacola. It was night, but quite easy to catch the changing aspects of the road. Half an hour into their little excursion and it felt as if they had stepped into a different place. Cypresses and elms were soon forgotten as the air took on a salty taste and the roads ran through sand. Beachside, the shore gleamed white and neat under moonlight. These were the hot, steady currents of the Gulf of Mexico, so different from the angry break of waves in the northeast.

  They walked from the parkway to the lighthouse, hand in hand. Fingers intertwined, whenever he touched her engagement ring, even absentmindedly, the stones in the set hummed ever so lightly, and Marissa felt that need to be closer to him. Deep in the recesses of her mind, she found herself accepting that Esteban O’Reilly had to die, that she had to embrace this new person he had constructed, in order to be truly happy.

  Francis Alexander pointed to the lighthouse. The edifice was tall and imposing, with an elegant observation deck atop a white tower. A potent light fragmented in six directions, guiding ships along safe waters.

  “This is beautiful and ridiculously romantic!” Marissa allowed for a nervous giggle while taking off her shoes. She wanted to feel the sand underneath her feet. It was surprisingly warm for that hour of the night.

  He held her shoes, gentlemanly as ever, and told her, “You need to catch the view from above.”

  Fae fed on emotions, the Leanan Sidhe also added a little blood into the mix. Francis Alexander was eager to feed, but he had to be most careful with Marissa. He thought it would be easier to make her subservient, believing that her desperate need to be normal and her disposition to forget all that was supernatural about her might make her cave faster. But there was something deep inside her that still resisted, something that might shake her off at the first sign of true fear.

  He brought her to the lighthouse for three reasons. The first, to trigger a level of emotion strong enough to sustain him without that extra sip of blood. The second, to walk together the length of a hundred and seventy-seven iron steps to the top. Each of those steps over cold iron might rob a bit of his strength, but it was meant convince her there was nothing wrong with him. She had to be certain nothing strange or unnoticed crossed along with Esteban from the land of Aval into their world.

  The third reason was a bit more complicated.

  Ten, eleven, twelve…It was impossible not to keep count of the stairs in his head. His only advantage being that, in half light and with such thin, spiral steps, Marissa walked ahead of him and didn’t notice his effort to keep up. The wound in his thigh throbbed and it was hard to control his breathing when his lungs were on fire, but he made it. Once they reached the observation deck, it was different. The floor was hardwood and tile and the layers of these elements on top of the original construction kept away the unbearable pressure of iron.

  “Isn’t it odd that it is just us here?” Marissa noticed the sign that advertised the lighthouse for all kinds of public uses.

  “Not tonight. It’s all ours. Don’t go around worrying over anything. I know how to do my transactions. The rental is untraceable.”

  “And I’m feeling like a criminal in three, two…”

  As he pretended to laugh off her comment, Francis Alexander knew he’d gladly pay all that was asked of him for access to that lighthouse. He had sacrificed a bit of magic for a whole treasure trove: his third reason.

  The Unseelie Sidhe, though dark, were still sons and daughters of Aval and bound to the rules of that land. Francis Alexander had closed the portal behind him, severing his pathway to the so-called Fairyland. Now he needed magic, and there was only one true way to replenish it. He had to find his way back home, if only
for a moment.

  The lighthouse was a landmark on a beach known as Five Flags. In time, locals and visitors just enjoyed white sands and good surf and quite few people paid attention to the origins of such a name. Francis Alexander had never been much of a tourist, he always visited places with a clear purpose. In this case, the need for a point of convergence. Five different flags laid claim to Pensacola during the course of the city’s history: Spain, France, Great Britain, the Confederate States, and, finally, the Union. The Sidhe didn’t care about human affairs or land possession, but they minded chaos. And this definitely had all the right readings of a point of strife. Land upon which blood has been spilled in strife left a palpable trace of energy, for those who knew how to channel it.

  “Allow me.” He showed her to the far side of the deck, where there was a bottle of champagne on ice waiting for them. “Here’s to us.”

  They toasted to happiness and new beginnings, and right after Marissa took that first sip, he kissed her once more. His lips felt warm against the traces of cool left by champagne. As they embraced, kiss upon kiss, Marissa fell deeper into an exhilarating feeling that soon tugged at her as loss and confusion. The scent of the sea was lost and her still bare feet felt soft grass underneath, where there had been wood just instances before. But nothing was as overpowering as his touch and she soon forgot, her heartbeat thundering in her ears as Alexander caressed her skin, the heated and intense feeling of emerging passion taking over.

  Francis smiled. He could feel the power surging, tapping both into her soul and his surroundings. She was enthralled and oblivious to all but him, but he knew well where they were crossing into.

  He needed to bind her to his will by means of something other than a spell on the mortal plane. Her instinct had to be shut down completely, and there was something left to do.

  There were things non-Fae should abstain from when dealing with fairy folk. One must never allow them to finish a story, or else the listener might find him or herself a character within it. One must never touch them, because then there was no place on earth they couldn’t find you. Under no circumstances should one step into the lands of Aval, let alone allow them to feed or be offered a drink.

  Marissa was lost in that kiss, slowly giving in to lust. Had she tried to open her eyes, she’d find herself blind, but her only desire was to cling to him, offering her body and soul to that moment. The Sidhe allowed for Aval to touch the mortal world, and it called for repercussions. After breaking that kiss, Marissa felt a little taken aback. He helped her to a chair. The elements around them were still the same, lighthouse, moonlight, sea foam, champagne, except that now the water looked touched by luminescence underneath the dancing waves and the sky had hints of soft lilac breaking through the dark.

  He offered her a nibble from a tray and a sip of the flute and that was how, unbeknownst to her, Marissa had food and drink under the skies of Aval.

  ***

  Francis Alexander was not the only one to have his way in the land of Fae that evening. Mikka, Bansit’s twin and Morrigan presiding over the dead in battle, also visited the golden abode of the rulers of Aval.

  Queen Meav, who had reigned for centuries in quiet contemplation in her realm, leaned on her throne, listening intently to the Morrigan. Her golden eyes unreadable as ever, though Mikka would have sworn she saw a trace of disappointment and impotence. Francis Alexander was a traitor to the Court, after all. Traitors bred under weak monarchs. There were also the rumors to deal with. For centuries it had been said that the Queen of the Fae had struck a deal with the Unseelie, that Meav and Francis had a special understanding, which meant the betrayal was far more personal. Meav’s long fingers tapped along the golden embroidery of her dress, revealing what could be interpreted as emotion. As for her face, it was serene as a statue.

  “Annand’s bright little pupil.” Mikka spoke as if she had no responsibility over the upbringing of Francis Alexander. It was harder for her to keep her feelings in check, therefore she avoided them. “I was waiting for him to cross into Aval and make my work a bit easier, but he just spirited a piece of your sacred soil into the earthly realm. Not that he hasn’t done enough damage already!” The Morrigan huffed, killing a curse on her lips. After all, she owed the queen a dose of respect. “Your gracious majesty, it is obvious that our common dilemma is taking good care not to fall into our hands. That is why I am here. To ask your grace for a degree of, hmmm…sponsorship in this quest.”

  Mikka swallowed a couple of times. All the archaic procedures of the Fairy Court gave her a headache. The Morrigan were older than the stars and not even Annand was that stuffy. There were few times Mikka resented her sister as she did right then, serving as her errand girl. The presiding Morrigan had no time to deal with gods, kings, or mortals.

  “State what you need, Sword of Danann.” The Morrigan was surprised the queen would remember a name so old.

  “Annand has planted an idea in Francis Alexander, an intent to work subtly into his mind, using as an advantage the element we used to have in common. As far as we know, it is working and he is on his way to New Orleans. We have allies who are willing to work along with us. My sister, Bansit, is there, though wearing a mortal disguise at the request of the oracle of the city. Still, we need someone from the Seelie Court to represent your interest in the pursuit of justice and to try to cover unforeseen events dealing with Fae magic. Annand requests the help of your son.”

  The queen smiled for the first time since she granted audience to the Morrigan. Mikka was not to her liking, but the precarious situation within the Court and the need to keep a door open to deals with other entities beyond the fairy realm required her patience toward the Morrigan. It was a little victory to see her humbled and asking for a favor.

  “Of course, from one ruler to another, honored Phantom Queen, we will grant your petition. You shall have the help of our son in your quest, though the Court will see his parting with deep emotion.” Meav pointed toward the green gates, indicating the whereabouts of the prince. Mikka bowed before the queen, giving her one final courtesy before leaving. As she stepped into the gardens, it felt like the weight of the worlds lifted off her shoulders. Prince Auberon had an ample understanding of the mortal realms and was easier to deal with than the rest of the royal household.

  “Prince, oh sweet prince! This is Mikka, one of the Three Who Wait, requesting your favor.”

  The man leaning against a fragrant cedar railing turned to meet her.

  “Oh! The big bad crow stayed home. The quiet one is useless as ever. That leaves the bitch to deal with.”

  Mikka couldn’t believe it. Annand would surely tear the head off her shoulders for her stupid mistake. Meav had said the Court was to be taken by deep emotion in the parting of its prince. Such emotion would be joy or relief, for sure. The fairy queen promised a son, but never said which one.

  “I can’t say it’s a pleasure to see you again, Killian.”

  Chapter VII

  The Prince and a Few Other Problems

  Francis Alexander was close to completing his purpose with Marissa. By means of a binding, he came near to obliterating her instinct. He had silenced it after being able to neutralize Adriana. Once her tutelary vampyr was out of the game, Marissa’s dhampyr force was reduced to the point of becoming almost nonexistent.

  Almost being the operative word.

  It all pointed toward Clan Popescu having an upper hand. When the head of the family, acting on his legendary paranoia, forced Francis Alexander to drink of his blood, the patriarch created an aversion between his brood and House Alexander, an enmity passed in the blood from generation to generation. Even if there was a compatibility between them, if Marissa was indeed the key to the dark Fae gaining a foothold in the earthly realm, there would always be a shadow of a doubt, a touch of mistrust, to contend with.

  Marissa Salgado and Esteban O’Reilly were able to surpass that obstacle by virtue of being innocent. Surely both knew their respective stori
es and both decided to keep details from one another. However, whenever the right questions were asked, they never denied a truth. Inadvertently, Marissa and Esteban created a sacred Circle of their own. That union of flesh and spirit, sustained by its own kind of magic, grew stronger with every truth that came to light.

  Francis Alexander now wore the skin of someone who had never forged a harmful lie against his lover. With every passing day, his suit had worn thin. At that moment, Marissa believed because she needed to. She was alone, separated from all she had known, and loved by a trickster. But there were always doubts coming to the surface, those moments of orchestrated truth were, at times, a little too transparent. That glimpse of Fairyland might have cost him dearly.

  “Leanan Sidhe.” The phrase escaped Marissa’s lips as horror echoed in her eyes. She pushed him away, letting the thin champagne flute fall and roll on the wooden floor. As she took a step backward, looking for something to hold on to, Francis Alexander knew that if Marissa were to touch that iron rail she’d be able to see him, truly see him, underneath her lover’s skin. He had to think on his feet.

  Pulling her closer, he held her against his chest, burying his face in her golden hair. Gone was the insinuation, the sensual desire. He held onto her as someone held on for dear life, as a response to an imminent danger.

  “Marissa, what did you see?” His eyes mimicked hers, saddened and worried. His face a perfect mask of despair with a touch of fear. If someone saw them from the other side, if she saw something that might allow for doubt, he was set to fail. Words, Francis needed words, carefully chosen statements, not quite lies, but nothing that might call for him to reveal further truths either.

  “I heard you say Leanan Sidhe, Marissa. It’s what the Dark Heralds call themselves. I know, because the patriarch of their house is linked to the Alejandros by blood.” There, plain truths, and a little confession of sorts. Esteban O’Reilly had never conceded knowing anything about his Fae heritage, but after what happened in Innisfree, it was impossible to say he was not aware. A tiny reassurance, unveiling a bit of himself to make her trust even further.