Tiago scowled. “I live in a house when I have time.”
Rune strode forward, demanding, “When did you and Dragos decide you would leave New York without Wyr bodyguards?”
The faerie threw him a hassled look. “We discussed it this morning.”
Graydon joined the triangle. “Sugar, I think we should revisit that decision. It’s gonna be a hell of a shock when you go public with your real identity. Most people think your whole family’s dead. There’s gonna be some Dark Fae who will feel mighty displaced when they find out you’re the real heir to their throne.”
Tricks slapped her fists over her ears. “We’re not talking about this. I’m not talking.”
Still standing by the elevator, Pia watched the angry quartet in fascination. She didn’t understand everything that had just happened, but it was clear the four of them were tied together with much more than just inter-Elder politics. They were in the middle of a knockdown, drag-out family fight.
She looked around, feeling awkward and quite the outsider. She recognized where they were from the earlier tour. At the end of the hall were large double oak doors, at present propped open. They led to Dragos’s offices.
Overcome with curiosity, she inched down the hall and peered into the inner sanctum to find yet more luxurious appointments and a rampant display of wealth. She sucked in a breath. She didn’t recognize a lot of the artwork she had seen in the penthouse, but she was pretty sure she was staring at a painting by Jackson Pollock that hung directly opposite the open doors.
Dragos stood nearby. He was deep in conversation with a large shaggy young man who managed to look rumpled and somewhat shabby despite wearing an expensive suit. Dragos caught sight of her and he smiled. The warmth of his smile spread through her, and she smiled back.
A moment later his face darkened with rage, the swift transformation so inexplicable and unexpected, she recoiled. He strode toward her and yanked her against his side.
“She’s not alone. We’re here. We’ve got her,” said Graydon from around the corner, behind her. The gryphon had followed her. He stood not five feet away, relaxed but alert with his back against the wall.
She looked around as Dragos glared down the hall. Rune had planted himself several feet farther away. He was still arguing with Tiago and Tricks, but he had positioned himself between them and Graydon and Pia.
The rigidity left Dragos’s body and his expression eased. That was when Pia caught up. She pinched her lower lip between thumb and forefinger. His look of rage hadn’t been for her. It had been for her bodyguards. She said to him, “If I ever make you that mad—again—you will give me a chance to apologize, right?”
He pulled her hand away from her mouth and kissed her swiftly. “You won’t make me that mad again.”
She was all too aware of the young shaggy male’s fascinated gaze. Dusky color painted her cheekbones. She patted Dragos’s arm and murmured, “As long as you believe that, big guy.”
He turned, pulling her with him. “Pia, this is one of my assistants, Kristoff.”
She met the shaggy Wyr’s gaze, which was lit with appreciation. He gave her a shy smile. “Hi.”
Pia’s day brightened. Not everybody disliked her at first sight. She said, “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Take ten,” Dragos said to Kristoff. He led Pia into his office.
Vertical blinds were pulled back from the two outer walls, and the large office was filled with bright, hot, early-afternoon sunlight. She blinked, dazzled. She gestured at the door and said, “I didn’t mean to interrupt. They were all busy talking outside and I thought I would just take a quick peek—”
“They were the ones interrupting. They’re making enough noise to wake the dead,” Dragos said. He punched a button on the wall. With a near-soundless motor purr the vertical blinds closed over the windows, remaining half open but providing some shade from the blinding blaze of light. “Your arrival was a welcome bonus.”
Her attention returned to the windows and the cloudless bright blue sky outside. “We heard thunder?”
He sighed. “Tiago’s Wyr form is the thunderbird. Lightning and thunder come when he really loses it. It’s something to see in battle. Normally his temper is much better controlled, but everybody’s on edge right now.”
Pia caught sight of the two landscapes hanging on the inner walls. “Oh, these are magnificent,” she breathed. She walked toward them. The aerial landscape effect had been created by a mix of media, with paint, cloth, glitter and beads. The day landscape had a river cutting across the canvas. The night landscape conveyed an impression of towns scattered over a patchwork land. They couldn’t be more perfect for him. She could just see him sitting at his desk and looking at them as he imagined flying overhead, and he contemplated all the parts that comprised the whole. She turned to smile her delight at Dragos. “More patterns.”
His expression lightened with surprise and pleasure. He said simply, “Yes.”
A tapping made them both turn. Tricks stood with a sheepish smile in the open doorway. She said to Pia, “I’m so sorry you had to witness what happened in the hall.”
Grinning, Dragos said to the faerie, “Goddamn, ma’am.”
The faerie’s cheeks darkened. She said, “What, you’ve never said something stupid in a fit of temper?”
“Never,” said Dragos. He snagged Pia’s wrist and pulled her with him as he leaned back against his desk. As she settled at his side, he drew light circles on her back.
Pia coughed. He looked at her. She muttered behind her hand, “Big roar, last week?”
His fingers slid under the hem of her shirt, and he pinched her. Pia jerked upright and huffed at him.
Preoccupied with her own sense of grievance, Tricks didn’t notice their byplay. She said, “Dragos, you’ve got to do something. Tiago’s giving me fits.”
“Clearly,” said Dragos.
Tricks scowled. She told Pia, “I’m great friends with all the other sentinels, but I barely know this guy. He’s always off somewhere fighting things. Over the last two hundred years we’ve had maybe a dozen conversations whenever he’s been called back to New York. Suddenly he’s seething and snarling around the place, thinking he can tell me what to do?” The faerie turned to Dragos. “He’s a junkyard dog. He shouldn’t be allowed in the house. Would you please send him back to South America?”
“The South America contract is unimportant. I canceled it a half hour ago,” said Dragos. “We’re pulling the rest of the troops home.”
Tricks’s slender shoulders sagged. She wore the expression of someone watching her life crash in pieces around her. Pia’s mouth slid into a sympathetic pout. She knew just how the faerie felt.
Tricks gave her a grim smile. “How about some alcohol with lunch?”
“Sounds good to me,” said Pia.
FOURTEEN
Pia and Tricks said good-bye to Dragos and left his offices. In the hall, Graydon and Rune were talking to Tiago. Tricks ignored the trio as she sailed past them. Tiago glared after her. The handsome laughing man Pia had glimpsed so briefly was once again supplanted by the hatchet-faced assassin. Pia matched the faerie’s shorter stride and kept her expression scrupulously neutral.
Tricks took her down to Manhattan Cat, the restaurant on the ground floor. “It’s owned by a Wyr-fox, Lyssa Renard,” the faerie said as they walked across the crowded lobby. “Lyssa’s a bit of a snobby bitch but she does know her food.”
“I’ve heard of the restaurant,” Pia said. She caught a glimpse of Rune and Graydon keeping pace a few feet away, their eyes constantly roving over the crowd. “It’s gotten some decent reviews.”
“You’re a vegetarian, right?” Tricks pushed the restaurant door open. “Of course, there’s a lot of dead animal and fish on the menu, but there are also some good salads and a few tofu dishes I like. Best of all, they stock this 2004 Piesporter that makes me crazy. You like white wine?”
“Absolutely.”
“A girl after my own heart.”
Tricks turned as the hostess, a dark, slender young Wyr-cat with slanted eyes, approached with menus and a smile. “Hi, Elise, I’m sorry we’re late.”
“No problem, Tricks,” said the hostess.
The restaurant’s decor was simple and sleek, featuring dark wood, white linen tablecloths and fresh flowers. Every table was filled, and while one or two people called out a greeting to Tricks, most of the occupants paid no attention to them. The sounds of conversation and cutlery accompanied them as the Wyr-cat led them to a small private room at the back that was, Tricks explained, on permanent reserve for Cuelebre executives.
There were three tables in the empty room. After letting Pia precede them, Tricks stopped in the doorway. She said to Elise, “We’ll have two orders of the tofu stir-fry, a bottle of the Piesporter and no men allowed.” This was thrown at the two gryphons who were hard on their heels. Elise nodded with a smile and slipped away.
“Aw, Tricks, come on,” said Graydon.
“No,” said the faerie. “You know this room. You know there’s only one way in or out. And you know she’s with me. Deal with it.”
Tricks slammed the door in their faces. Pia started to laugh. “There’s nowhere for them to sit out there,” she said.
“I know. I’m still mad at them. Besides, these walls are soundproofed. You know, supersensitive Wyr hearing, corporate secrets, confidential business lunches and all that.” Tricks grinned. “That means you and I get to have some girl talk.”
Pia wasn’t under any illusions about what she had witnessed. The faerie’s utterly fearless confidence around the Wyr sentinels was based on two hundred years of residence with them. They were dangerous, powerful men and Pia was going to have to carve out her own way with them. Still, it was heartening to see they had a soft side.
Lunch came quickly. The waiter propped the door open as he served them. Just outside Rune leaned against a partition opposite the door. He sucked a tooth and regarded them with narrowed eyes until the waiter left and shut the door behind them.
Some impulse had Pia say, “They’re worried about you. It’s clear they’re going to miss you when you leave.”
Tricks’s grin slipped. “I’m going to miss them too.”
Was that a wet glitter in those pretty, overlarge, gray Fae eyes? Pia looked away as she took a seat. “I’m sorry,” she said. “That was pretty personal. I didn’t have any right to say anything.”
Tricks slipped into a chair beside her. “It’s okay. You’re right.” Pia’s gaze slid sideways. She watched as the faerie flexed delicate hands and looked at them. “They’re such good guys, Pia. Even that crabby mountain Tiago. Every last one of them would take a rain of bullets for you.”
“Well,” Pia said in a gentle voice, “they might take a rain of bullets for you.”
“Oh no.” Tricks looked at her, eyes wide. “I mean, yes, they would take them for me. Without question. But they would take them for you too, just because Dragos wants you safe.”
Damn, the faerie’s sadness was making her own eyes prickle with tears. “I think I know some of what you’re going through right now,” Pia said. “Not the impending Queen stuff. That’s way out of my stratosphere. But the other stuff.”
“You mean the end of life as you know it?”
“Yeah, that.”
Tricks gave a sudden giggle. “How’d we get so downtrodden? We haven’t even finished our first glasses of wine.” She picked up her glass and clicked it against Pia’s. “Salut, new friend.”
Pia picked up her glass. “Salut.”
Tricks knocked back her wine. “Now for the good stuff. Gossip! You need to know who is lying, cheating, backstabbing, revenge-seeking, who-done-who-wrong and who is just plain hard to get along with in this place. I’m here to give you the road map every girl should have before she starts working in this loony bin.”
Hungry, Pia forked some stir-fry into her mouth. She remarked, “It sounds like I need a flowchart.”
The faerie gasped. “Beauteous. I need a pen.”
Pia watched her pat the pockets of her silk suit, then trot to the door to flag down a passing waitress. Tricks returned triumphant. She started to scribble on the white tablecloth, drawing circles and arrows between names as she chattered. They finished their lunch. The waiter came and left with their plates. More wine flowed.
Sometime later Pia rubbed her nose. She looked at her empty wineglass, then at the empty bottles on the neighboring table. She squinted at her new best friend, who listed to one side in her chair. “What is your name again?”
The faerie snickered. “It’s gotta be on this chart. I’m sure I wrote it down somewhere.”
Pia looked over the dense black scribbles that covered the tablecloth. “We were going to talk about something. Weren’t we?”
“Sure we were. You’re going to take over my PR job.”
“Okay.” She nodded. It was the perfect solution. Of course it was.
But wait. There was something she needed to remember about that. Doubts, other considerations, deadly good reasons why she shouldn’t accept. There was something. . . .
Something that twinkled in the air, a feminine Power so light and delicate and effervescent she only just noticed it, after hours of sitting saturated in its presence.
Her best friend was writing something down. T-r-i-c-k-s. The faerie drew hearts and flowers around the word as she hummed to herself.
“Tricks,” said Pia.
Tricks looked up from the doodling, tongue between her teeth.
Pia put one elbow on the table, her chin in her hand, and smiled at the other woman. “Is your Power by any chance related to charm or charisma?”
Tricks scratched the tip of one ear. “So what if it is?”
“I don’t think I should say yes to anything you ask me while we’re in the same room together and I’m drunk, that’s all,” Pia said.
One of Tricks’s eyelids lowered to half-mast, a crafty, unrepentant look. Then the faerie grinned, and sunshine and happiness burst into the room. “Oh, pfft!” she said.
The afternoon descended into early evening. Dragos, Kristoff and Tiago watched the evening news in Dragos’s office. Kristoff stood with an arm wrapped around his middle, one hand covering the back of his neck. Tiago stood with his feet planted apart, arms crossed. Barbed-wire tattoos flexed as his biceps clenched.
Dragos sat at his desk. He tapped his steepled fingers against his mouth as he watched Cuelebre Enterprises get bitch-slapped on national television.
Two beautiful people were on the screen. One was a human female reporter. The other was the Dark Fae King.
For the first time in many decades, Dragos looked on the face of his enemy. Urien had typical Dark Fae coloring and features, with overlarge gray eyes, high cheekbones, white skin and black hair that fell to his shoulders. His hair was pulled back, revealing elegant, long pointed ears.
“. . . of course, scrapping the project is quite a financial blow to the people of this community and to the state of Illinois,” said Urien, with a charming, regretful smile. “And not only for potential jobs that have been lost. We lost a valuable source of clean and economical power that would have been produced by a new electric-generating nuclear power plant, and we have Cuelebre Enterprises to thank for that. As you know, the nation faces the challenge of reducing our carbon emissions. The only way we can achieve lower emissions is by developing energy efficiencies and clean technologies, such as wind and solar power. Nuclear energy has got to be part of that mix. . . .”
Dragos punched the mute. He looked at Tiago and his miserable assistant.
Tiago said, “Urien looks good for a dead man.”
“Too good,” Dragos growled.
“I can’t believe what a fucking hypocrite he is,” Kristoff said bitterly. “He’s talking about clean energy and lower emissions when he’s still blowing up mountaintops and he has one of the most polluting companies on the planet. You know our DOE contact, Peter Hines, rejected the RYVN gran
t application like we asked. He got fired today. And Urien’s media blitz hit earlier this afternoon. Stocks are down in six of our companies.”
“The ones headquartered in Illinois,” said Dragos.
“Yup.”
“Oh, buck up, Kris,” Tiago said, impatient. “Did you think Urien would take losing his pet project lying down? Of course he was going to strike back. At least you’ve got the satisfaction of knowing you really pissed him off. Usually he has nothing to do with human media.”
Kris chewed a nail. “I know what’s going to happen next. RYVN is going to reapply for that grant with Hines’s replacement. After this, public sentiment will be on their side.”
“They’ll get that grant over my dead body,” Dragos snapped. “I said do what it takes to tear the RYVN partnership apart and I meant it.” He surged to his feet and slapped his hands on the desk. Tiago was silent and Kris looked at his feet while Dragos battled his rage. After a moment he continued, with a semblance of calm, “Get ahold of Hines, offer him a job. He’s a bureaucrat—he must be able to do something we like.”
Kris said, “Maybe he can join our Washington lobbyist team.”
“Go.” Kris fled. Dragos turned his hot gaze onto Tiago. “And for God’s sake, will you go find that slippery mother-fucker so I can tear him to shreds?”
“Working on it,” said Tiago. “He can run from me but he cannot hide forever. We’ll get him, Dragos.”
He glared as his sentinel strode out. Locating Urien wasn’t happening fast enough. He snarled down at his desk and made himself lift up his hands and get a grip on his temper. I’ve got to stop tearing the furniture up. There’s too goddamn much to do. No time for another repair and remodel.
His thoughts shifted to Pia. He glanced out the window and frowned at the early-evening light. He left the office and jogged the stairs up to a silent penthouse. He strode through the rooms. They echoed with emptiness.
He didn’t like it. His frown turned into a scowl. But what else had he expected? Did he think Pia would be here waiting for him whenever he decided to look this way—like an employee or a servant? Fuck.
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