Burnt Silver

by H A Titus

  I rubbed the back of my neck and looked away. "Coriander Airgead."

  Silence met my admission. I looked up, and Eliaster was staring at me, one eyebrow raised.

  "Coriander Airgead. Son of Drake Airgead?" he asked.

  I was pretty sure it was rhetorical, so I kept my mouth shut.

  Eliaster's eyes slowly darkened to a forest green. "Why would the son of an Unseelie lord who lives in New York of all places contact you—and specifically ask for you by name—to tell you that he has a lead for us about relics?"

  "Maybe because I owe him and he wants to cash in on the favor," I muttered.

  "You owe him a favor? Since when?"

  "Since he saved my life in Chicago."

  Eliaster's gaze flicked back and forth, and I could tell he was putting the pieces together. "He was the one who saved you when Llew grabbed you away from us?"

  I nodded.

  "Okay. I get not telling me at the moment, especially since we were suspicious of Larae and David. But this is the first I'm hearing about it, and it's been several months at this point."

  I shrugged. "I just … didn't want to think about it after …" After Marc's death.

  Understanding crossed Eliaster's face. "Look." He plunked down on the bike seat. "I know you're regretting that you got mixed up in all this. But the simple fact is, the Underworld has you now. You won't—"

  "Won't escape. Yeah, yeah, I've been given the grand tour."

  He smirked. "Dude, you've been given the CliffsNotes version."

  I groaned. Of course he picked up right away why I'd been reluctant to talk about it. I was dragging my feet, hoping that I'd drop off the radar. Sure, a couple of months ago I'd been all gung-ho, but I was still scared.

  Not that I'd admit that to him.

  "So, what do you think?" I asked.

  Eliaster smoothed the paper between his fingers, gnawing on the inside of his lip. "Right now, Blodheyr and Larae have a jump on us. They knew where to find one pathstone—they very likely know about others. We can't afford to not chase this lead." He handed the note back to me. "I'll back you up, don't worry."

  I nodded, feeling my stomach tighten. This would be good, right? If we found relics, and Cori was telling the truth, maybe we'd get hold of a pathstone before the Lucht. Everyone was convinced that the Lucht Leanuna getting their hands on the pathstones was a bad idea all around, seeing as how they wanted to use them to open a portal to the fae Otherworld and free a monster. After seeing the havoc Larae had wrought just to find one, I tended to agree. I'd promised Marc I'd help. So that was what I'd do.

  But I still couldn't shake the feeling in my chest—that something was going to go horribly, horribly wrong.

  CHAPTER 4

  JOSH

  I stood on the street corner, staring at the café across the road. It looked fairly harmless from here, just a cinderblock building painted brown, built back from the street a little to allow room for a tiny patio crowded with metal chairs and tables. The patio was deserted this morning, everyone preferring to get their daily caffeine fix indoors rather than letting the gray skies drizzle on them.

  The place still got my hackles up, even now, four months after Marc's death. And now, my first time back, I was walking into a meeting that could very well be a trap.

  I leaned against the stoplight, waiting for the signal to change to "walk." Water dripped into my jacket collar, and I shook my shoulders as the cold droplets slid down my neck. I tried to psych myself up. Eliaster was just across the street. I forced myself not to look over my shoulder at where he sat in my old beater of a car instead of his fancy supercar. I'd be fine. What could a fae do to me in public, with so many witnesses?

  Even as I thought it, the edges of my vision started going black. The back of my neck itched, and what felt like warm, moist breath huffed over me. I spun. No one stood behind me. But I could almost feel scaly fingers clutching the back of my shirt. I reached back and pulled at the collar of my jacket.

  Stupid question. Stupid, stupid question.

  The light finally changed, and the cars slowed to a stop. I dashed across the street, puddles soaking my sneakers and the hem of my jeans, and headed around the building to the front entrance—ironically at the back of the building, away from the street. The parking lot was full, and I felt a brief flash of jealousy for all the people who could still come here without shaky hands and shortened breath.

  Relax. It's Cori. If he wanted you dead, he wouldn't have gone to all that trouble setting up this meeting. I shoved open the glass door. The bell jingled overhead, making me jump. The patrons at the tables closest to the door gave me curious glances, but their interest was quickly pulled away by their friends, their computers and smartphones. I stood just inside the doorway, my clothes dripping on the welcome mat, scanning the inside of the café.

  No faces had a glamour ghost blurring their features. Everyone was—weirdly enough—human.

  "Hey, buddy." One of the baristas leaned over the counter, her pierced eyebrows raised. "In or out."

  I let the door swing shut behind me and stepped up to the counter. I ordered quickly, just a regular cup of black coffee that I could've gotten a lot cheaper elsewhere. This wasn't really about the coffee, I reminded myself as the barista took my cash and handed over a scalding hot paper cup. This was about proving to myself that I could come back. That I'd made some kind of progress. Judging by the acid turning in my stomach, I had to guess that I still had a long way to go.

  But today, I wasn't going to run from memories.

  I chose an empty booth by the front windows and slid into it. It wasn't the same booth Marc and I had sat in, that night back in May, but it was close enough to make my nerves strung out like the wires on a violin. I glanced over at the table next to me and found the receipt someone had left, a brown ring of coffee marking the white paper. Five-seventy-two. The table beyond that, I could see a paper slip attached to someone's coffee cup. Two-fifty. I rolled my shoulders and sipped at my coffee absently, then gasped from the pain the burning liquid shot over my tongue.

  "Stupid, stupid," I muttered, pressing the back of my hand to my mouth. Pay attention, idiot.

  "That looked like it hurt," someone said.

  I glanced up as a slim girl with copper-colored hair slid into the booth across the table from me. I blinked, waiting for a glamour ghost to slide away from her face. Nothing changed. I blinked again. A lock of hair over her ear changed from red to white, the coarse, straight hair in bright contrast to the curls surrounding it.

  "Careful with that," the fae said, pointing to my coffee.

  I glanced down at the cup in my hand. I'd crunched in the sides, and coffee burbled between the rim and the lid. For a second, I didn't register the pain of the hot liquid.

  Then I gasped again and jerked my hand away, shaking it. I grabbed napkins from the edge of the table and dropped them on the spreading puddle of coffee, then looked back up at the fae. "Of all things, why the glamoured hair?"

  She smirked. "Yeah, you're as good as they say you are."

  My first thought was, she's kinda cute. My second thought was to trap that first thought, shove it into a mental box, and put a padlock on it. She didn't exude that sexy, over-friendly vibe Larae had—in fact, she gave off a distinctly unfriendly vibe—but I'd learned my lesson. I dropped my hands, moving my bag from my right side to my left, as if getting ready to bolt for the door. "Who are you?"

  "A friend."

  "Yeah. Sure. I bet." With my bag concealing the rest of my movement, I pulled my gun from the hidden holster at my waist and rested it on my leg. Over the ambient noise of the coffee shop, I was pretty sure no one else would hear as I thumbed back the hammer.

  The girl rolled her eyes. "Really? We're going that route?"

  Okay, so she'd heard. Dang fae and their keen hearing. I shrugged. "Can't be too careful, not with the crowd I usually hang around."

  "You're picking up Eliaster's paranoia. I don't blame you. Based on
what I've heard"—she whistled—"your entry into the Underworld wasn't exactly a cakewalk."

  "Just tell me what you want and then get out of here."

  She rolled her eyes.

  Before she could answer, a more familiar voice said, "Good grief, Aileen, just answer him."

  I glanced up. Standing beside our booth was a tall, slim fae. I almost didn't recognize Coriander at first—the last time I'd seen him, he'd been wearing dark clothes under an outrageous red leather tuxedo jacket, and his blond and red-striped hair had been spiked into a Mohawk. Now he wore his hair slicked back under a baseball cap, and the jacket had been replaced with a nondescript gray hoodie.

  He nudged the girl. Aileen rolled her eyes and scooted over, letting him slide in the booth.

  Cori tucked his hands into the pocket of his hoodie and grinned at me. "Forgive my sister. She's the dramatic one of the family."

  Aileen smirked.

  I could definitely see the family resemblance—the same nose, similarly shaped eyes, and jawline. "I think you both probably inherited the fae drama gene, at least." I squinted between the two of them and frowned. Cori was unquestionably full fae, with sharp features and pointed ears. But Aileen's ears were rounded, like a human's.

  She noticed me looking and touched the top of her ear. The multiple rings on her fingers clicked on her cartilage piercings. "I know. We're only half-siblings. I'm three-quarters fae—he's full. Good eye."

  "And your brother?" I remembered the shorter, broader fae I'd seen Coriander with in the Chicago marketplace. What had Eliaster said it name was. "Gray? Gren?"

  "Gren," Cori confirmed. "Again, full fae, but still only half sibling."

  I tucked the information away. Maybe Eliaster or Angel or Roe would find it useful. "Okay. So, you two care to enlighten me as to what's going on?" I gently released the hammer on my gun and slipped it back into my holster.

  Cori whistled softly and elbowed Aileen. "He had a gun on you? You're losing your touch."

  She rolled her eyes again. "You're the charmer of the family." She leaned forward, clasped her hands together on the table. "Josh. Have you ever heard the name Galen Shaughnessy?"

  It didn't ring a bell. I shook my head.

  "He's a relic runner who lives in Kansas City. Track him down, find his hideout, and the trail will lead you to a certain relic you and Eliaster might be interested in."

  I wanted for the rest, but she didn't say anything more. "That's it?"

  "That's all I can tell you."

  "Okay." I leaned back, crossed my arms over my chest. "Why? Just tell me where the relic is, and we'll go retrieve it."

  "I can't."

  "Why not?"

  She tipped her hand from side to side. "It's complicated."

  "Uncomplicate it."

  The corner of her lips twitched, as if she was trying not to smile. Aileen glanced at Cori.

  Cori met my eyes. "I wish we could, but this meeting alone is a huge risk for us. I'm not even supposed to be here. The original plan was to lure you in using my name."

  Lure me in? I shifted. It was hard to ignore the prickling on my neck as he talked. I hunched my shoulders, forcing myself not to look out the window and search for Eliaster. He was okay. He'd take care of himself.

  "I was supposed to warn you off searching for more relics," Aileen said softly. "Threaten you, if necessary. That's all I can tell you right now. We're running out of time." She leaned forward even more. "We need help, Josh. But we know that without a gesture of goodwill on our part, Eliaster won't listen to us. That's fair, I get it. So this is our offering to you."

  They both stared at me, eyes flickering just a little, both looking tense and ready to bolt. I tapped the edge of the table trying to find anything about their body language that said they were lying. One-two-three…four…five-six. One-two-three…four…five-six.

  Aileen suddenly opened her right hand, laying it flat on the table, palm up. "Do you know the rule of three?"

  I racked my brain for a second before I dredged up the information. It had been in a book Roe had given me. "It's sacred, isn't it? If sidhé say something three times, it must be true?"

  "It's sacred and binding by glamour," she said. "Take my hand."

  Cautiously, I reached across the table and laid my hand in hers. As her fingers closed around mine, her thumb brushed the edge of my bracelet. The contact sent a sudden, brief jolt or shock or something down my arm, so quick I didn't even have time to react. What was that?

  Aileen didn't seem to notice. Instead, in a low voice, three times, she said, "I swear to you by my soul and by the Allfather above in heaven, and all his aingeals there and here on earth, I am speaking the truth to your ears." She repeated the phrase a second, and then a third time.

  A frisson of glamour swirled around our hands, purple and so faint I could barely see it. I glanced up and saw the glamour reflect in her eyes, intense and gray, flickering bits of blue and purple sparking in her irises.

  I had no doubt that she was telling the truth.

  With the ritual completed, she leaned back, withdrawing her hand and staring out the window. Her eyes continued to flicker.

  Cori glanced between us. "Do we understand each other?"

  I flexed my hand, staring at my fingers as the final bits of purple glamour sank into my skin. It was weird to see someone with such tight control over their glamour. The only two fae I'd so far seen with a similar amount of control had been Eliaster and Larae, and neither of them had that tight, finely-controlled look or feel to their glamour. I wasn't even sure if Eliaster could manifest his any time he wanted—so far it had mostly seemed to arc out of nowhere when he was upset, destroying any electronics he was touching.

  I took a deep breath. "Yeah. I can't promise anything, but I think the promise Aileen just made will hold a lot of weight with the Tyrones."

  Cori nodded and stood up, tugging on Aileen's arm. "Follow the information we gave you. If it proves correct, let Aileen know, and she can meet you to provide a more thorough explanation."

  Aileen flicked her fingers in a subtle motion.

  I followed the small burst of glamour until it puffed against the dry corner of a napkin that I'd put over my coffee spill. A single line of digits scrolled out on the paper, as if an invisible hand had written it there as I watched.

  She said, "This is my burner phone. You're the only one who has the number, unless you give it to someone else. Use this from now on."

  I waited as the brother and sister made their way out the front door, then stood to leave. When I stepped out into the parking lot, it was empty. They'd disappeared, far quicker than they should've been able to.

  I blew out a deep breath and ran my hand through my hair, then looked down at the scrap of napkin in my hand, the purple, shimmery ink spelling out my only lead to a pathstone.

  I just hoped what I'd told them would be true. I just hoped that I could convince Eliaster to chase this lead with me, and that I hadn't just lied to a couple of really desperate fae.

  CHAPTER 5

  ELIASTER

  I leaned back in the passenger seat of Josh's old beater car, idly scrolling up and down through the tracks on my mp3 player.

  I glanced up, watching as Josh crossed the street at a jog. He looked miserable, and not just from the rain dripping down his hair and glasses. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets and he just looked done. He hesitated in the doorway of the café, then stepped inside.

  I kinda felt bad for him. This was the last place he'd seen his best friend, Marc, before his world went crazy. Well, the last place he'd seen him normal, anyway. Marc had been a half-fae, and he'd died because an insane fae had decided to shove a rusty iron knife into his gut. I knew Josh blamed himself, and while there wasn't anything I could do about his guilt, I personally couldn't wait until I got hold of Llew again. Preferably with an iron knife in my arsenal. The burns on my hands would be worth it.

  As soon as the thought entered my mind, I closed m
y eyes and took a deep, slow breath. In. Out. That's not who I am anymore.

  I got out of the car and hopped over the ledge of the parking garage. Not far from where I stood, a couple of benches sat under the overhang of the garage, a metal trashcan with an ashtray on the top separating them. I rummaged in my jacket and pulled out the package of cigarettes I usually carried. I didn't smoke, but sometimes, pretending to gave me an excuse to hang out in one spot for a bit. Just something Angel had taught me.

  I tapped out a cigarette, lit it, and watched across the street. Josh had settled in a booth near a window, just as we'd agreed on. After a moment, I noticed a fae girl walk beside the booth. Josh jumped, and the girl laughed and said something to him. I tensed. He was supposed to be meeting Cori, not a random fae girl.

  My neck prickled, and at the same time I heard footsteps echoing in the parking garage behind me.

  "You know you're not fooling anyone, right?"

  I turned my head just enough to see out of the corner of my eye. An unusually broad-shouldered fae leaned on the barrier of the parking garage. I'd never met him before. I eased my hand down to the knife at my side.

  As he hopped over the barrier, the chains strung along his jeans pockets clinked.

  I dropped the cigarette and turned, angling my body into a defensive stance.

  The fae held his hands up. "I'm unarmed. I just want to talk."

  I scoffed. "Yeah. Gren Airgead just wants to talk? I'll believe that when I see it."

  He raised an eyebrow. "I know who you are, but how do you know me? We've never met before, right?"

  "Right. But those are a pretty distinctive look." I gestured to the chains. Now that he was closer, I could see that his belt had multiple tiny loops in it, with one end of the chains fastened there, and the other end disappearing into the large front pockets. I had never met anyone who knew precisely what he kept in the pocket watches on the ends of the chains. Some people said bombs, some said poisons, some said they were family heirlooms and he just wore them all for the aesthetic. All of them or none of the above were also legitimate answers.