by Alex Rivers
My pulse raced. “A pre-emptive strike.”
For a moment neither of us said anything. I wondered what the operative listening to us was doing. Was he adjusting the volume dial, making sure we weren’t whispering to each other? Was he writing down A long pause in conversation in the log? I wanted to grab Scarlett’s phone and smash it on the table, but that would get her in trouble.
“I’m just worried,” Scarlett said, and I could see it in her face. “Our people estimate that you have a week. Maybe two. So does Roan. You think he’s different than the other fae? Do the right thing for him. We can get him a visa and he can join you in the States. But if he doesn’t leave this city very soon, he’s a dead man. And you’re going to join him.”
I shook my head. “He would never leave. He’s been waiting for this opportunity for centuries.”
“He wouldn’t leave for you? What’s more important to him—his politics, or you? You could try offering it, at least. He knows he’s about to die. Maybe he would rather choose to live.”
I said nothing, my mind whirling.
She leaned back in her chair, her face strained. “I’m just trying to keep you safe, Cass. It’s not safe here.”
Understatement of the year.
Scarlett held up her hands. “Sorry. I’m done with the sales pitch. Now you need to decide. I just have one little request.”
“What?”
“So, the Unseelie have five courts—”
“Six,” I blurted.
She lifted an eyebrow. “Yeah? I know of five. Fear, Dream, Rage, Mirth, and Sorrow. What’s the sixth?”
“Never mind,” I muttered.
She crinkled her forehead, perplexed. “Okay, well, anyway, fae politics being what it is, a lot is changing right now, and our intel guys need to update their spreadsheets. Because no better way to understand complex power struggles than spreadsheets. They need some names.”
“Names?”
“Just the top people who rule each court. Just a list of names. We can get it from our sources, but they thought you’d be more reliable.” Again, her voice said one thing, her eyes said another. They were saying Cooperate, or they’ll stop treating you as an asset and start thinking of you as a threat.
I stared at her, no longer quite sure where my loyalties lay.
She drummed her fingers on the table. “We could really use this, Cass. The situation in London is a shitshow. Humans are going to die, and we need to be on top of it. Just get us a list of names. It won’t harm anyone, and you’ll get to protect some humans in the process.”
And, I knew, it would protect me, and keep me on the CIA’s good side.
Chapter 14
Tired as I was, sleep refused to take me, even as the night stretched on. Roan hadn’t yet returned from some sort of complex negotiations with Grendel, so I lay alone on the bed, entangling myself further in the sheets every time I rolled over.
I closed my eyes, begging my own mind to stop churning. I may have once possessed the powers of a goddess to control others’ fears, but I lacked the power to stop my own anxious thoughts from whirling. Maybe I needed Roan here.
Whatever the case, I couldn’t shut off my brain. I could only imagine that Scarlett was completely baffled by her best friend—someone who’d left her successful career behind to jump into a dark and twisted fairy tale. Now, she was offering me a way out. I wouldn’t get my life back, but I would get security and safety. I would be back in my country. My hesitation must have confused her. And she was right—maybe I could help to save some human lives. This war between the Seelie and the Unseelie had already claimed enough innocent bystanders. And, if things didn’t go our way, it would be smart to keep that offer standing, a way to escape with Roan when it got desperate.
It must have been two in the morning by the time I got up and sat by my desk. I pulled out a pen, jotting down a list of those in power, of their roles. Grendel Weala Broc, Court of Terror. Coel Balor, Court of Rage. Scarlett was right. Information could protect lives, I knew that well enough. A simple list could save CIA operatives and British civilians. I didn’t have to make a choice yet. I could help out a bit while I considered my options. Nyfain Ernmas, Court of Mirth.
My hand hesitated a bit before jotting down Roan Taranis, Court of Lust.
I swallowed hard. What exactly would the CIA do with this list? Just put it in a spreadsheet, like Scarlett had said? If this list really was information they could get elsewhere, why did it feel like a betrayal?
A knock interrupted my thoughts. I grabbed the paper from the desk, crumpling it into my purse.
“Come in,” I said, my voice breaking.
The door creaked open and Roan stood in the doorway. I shoved away my uneasy emotions, trying to appear normal. Could he sense what I was feeling—my indecision? My guilt?
“Normally you just come in and get in bed with me.” I couldn’t hide the note of regret in my voice that this scenario wasn’t happening.
“I saw your light on. I didn’t want to barge in.”
“How’s it going with Grendel?” I asked.
“We secured a deal this morning. I was out searching for Siofra and Abellio with my hunters, but I was interrupted by a message. From Alvin.”
“Alvin? He contacted you?”
“Apparently, the head of the Court of Dreams wants to meet.”
“When?”
“Right now.”
As we drove through the dark streets of East London, Grendel’s declaration rang in my head. Fear is the most ancient and powerful emotion. Gormal Balor had told me something similar when I had met him in the interrogator’s lair. Maybe it made sense—the fear center was the oldest part of the brain.
“Roan? Do you think fear is the most powerful emotion?”
“Only a terror leech would think that.”
“So what do you think it is? Lust?”
After a moment, he said, “Love is the oldest emotion, and the most powerful.”
My lips quirked in a smile at his unexpectedly romantic response. And yet—I didn’t think he was right. What methods did people use to wage war, to control populations? Not with love. With terror. The wicker pig was a perfect example. “Roan…” I began. “I thought I saw something in one of your books in the library. Something about the Unseelie executing humans.”
He nodded. “Yes, it happens sometimes. We haven’t done it in a while. Most humans don’t even know we exist.”
I bit my lip. “It was something about burning.”
He nodded. “That’s right. Humans fear fire. It’s an effective deterrent against those who would want to hunt us.”
I could feel my blood rising. “Why the pig?”
Roan frowned. “It’s insulting, I suppose, but when you’re burning to death, I don’t imagine it much matters if you’re in a pig-shaped structure or a simple cube. Burning is burning.”
“Were you there in the 1880s? At the large mass execution?”
He turned onto a dark street, the fluorescent street lights flickering above us. “Ah, right. The humans were caught creating iron weapons to attack us. We dealt with the threat. But I didn’t watch the execution. Unlike the terror fae, I’d have no reason to attend such an event. I do remember the smell.”
“Humans fear fire,” I repeated. “The Unseelie use fear to control people. Not love.”
“What’s worse than burning to death?” he asked.
“Uh, nothing.”
“Watching someone you love burn to death.” He slowed his car. “Here we are.”
Roan parked the car just outside the concrete tower block of an apartment building in Bethnal Green. I stared up at it—it had to be fifteen stories at least, all the windows dark. It looked like just an ordinary, depressing East London building on a dark side street.
“This is the address?” I asked, not for the first time. “It’s not what I’d imagine for a Court of Dreams.”
Roan frowned. “The dream fae are never what you’d imagine. B
e careful when we go inside. Eons of feeding on the chaotic emotions of human dreams have shaped the dream fae into something… confusing. They’re unpredictable and dangerous.”
“What’s the plan? Do we have anything to offer them?”
Roan turned off the engine. “The Court of Caer Ibormeith hate the Seelie. We are giving them the opportunity to unite against their ancient enemies. Luckily, the dream fae don’t have century-long vendettas against other Unseelie courts. They’ve always remained neutral. We’ve already united five of the courts, and they won’t want to remain behind.”
“Five?” I asked. “Has the House of Sorrow agreed?”
“Elrine sent a missive. The bond ceremony will take place tomorrow.”
I blinked. “Tomorrow? Wow. Have they even had time for a full conversation before their nuptials?”
“Just about.” He nodded at the apartment building. “Are you ready for this?”
“Not really, but let’s go anyway.”
Outside the car, the cold air nipped at my skin through my thin coat. Roan crossed to a black door and pulled it open. The chilly, concrete stairwell smelled of something rotting and moldering.
“Which floor?” I asked after one flight of stairs.
“They didn’t say,” Roan muttered. “I’m waiting for a sign.”
Graffiti marked the walls—not fae graffiti, just humans who’d tagged their names, calling each other pussies and trying to paint suggestive forms. A mattress lay pushed up against a wall, covered in stains, and broken glass crunched beneath our feet. Definitely not what I’d expected of the Court of Dreams.
Why did I have a feeling we were about to climb fifteen flights?
It must have been more than fifteen flights when my thighs started burning, my legs shaking. How was it that this stairwell was still going? Around us, the graffiti almost seemed to glow. Fluorescent lights flickered, highlighting skulls drawn on the walls. Roan peered back at me. “All right?”
“Yeah. Lovely place.”
From behind one of the doors, I thought I heard a woman singing—an eerie song, with a mournful violin to accompany it. I paused, pointing to the black door. “Do you hear that, Roan?”
Concern etched his features when he looked at me. “Hear what?”
“The music.”
He shook his head. “There is no music.”
“What? How can you not hear that?”
“I’ve lived in the woods for centuries and have a very well-developed sense of hearing. There is no music.”
Extremely well-developed appreciation of your own skills, too, but we’ll leave that alone for now. “Fine. How much further are we going to walk?”
The fluorescent lights flickered again, and Roan cocked his head. “We’ve only been up one floor.”
Okay, now I was losing patience. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Look, Roan, while you were living in the woods, I was living in cities. I have a very well-developed sense of how to count floors in an apartment building.”
“We need to keep going.” He was already climbing again, and I forced my shaky legs up the stairs again, one flight after another. When the lights flickered again, they illuminated a series of red finger-paintings of human faces.
“Roan,” I snapped, the tiredness wearing on me. “This is bullshit. It’s a never-ending labyrinth.” I didn’t like the way my voice echoed off the stairwell—loud and emotionless.
“We might have taken a wrong turn,” he conceded.
I stared at him. “We haven’t taken any turns. We’ve just been climbing up the same stairwell.”
“We took two lefts and a right.”
“One of us is insane, and I really feel like it’s you.”
“Look.” He was staring at a door, scrubbing a hand over his chin. It looked exactly like all the other black doors. “This one is different.”
It wasn’t, but I was desperate to stop climbing the stairs. He turned the knob, and I followed him into a vast, concrete space—almost like an indoor parking lot. I gaped. How could this enormous hall fit into this building? As we walked, the lighting began to change, like a sun rising over a horizon, staining the open sky pink.
The open sky—when had we gone outside? Grass grew below my feet. To my right, a silver river flowed. On the other side of the river stood rickety wooden buildings, like old slave shacks I’d seen in history books. But they had flashing neon signs on them, reading upbeat slogans like Everything is Fine and Welcome to the Promised Land.
Okay. I get it. So this is the Court of Dreams, and it’s goddamned weird.
I glanced at Roan, noticing for the first time the mist that whirled around us, thickening around him. When he glanced back at me, his eyes glowed like sun-rays sparking off the water.
“How long do you think we’ve been walking now?”
“Hours. Days.” His voice sounded faraway, tired, sleepy.
I rubbed my eyes, and when I opened them again, Roan was gone.
“Roan!”
My shout echoed back to me, my voice changing, becoming more and more desperate as it faded away. I whirled around, and then noticed his broad silhouette up ahead, in the mist. I ran to catch up with him.
“Roan, hang on, I can’t keep up…”
How was he walking so fast? Or was I walking too slow? It almost felt as if I was running in place. Roan disappeared, the mist now as thick as cream. The grass sloped down now, a steep hill.
Somewhere ahead, I heard a voice. My own voice, calling, Roan, hang on, I can’t keep up!
I glanced at my mirrored bracelet, its shiny surface misting up constantly. I reached for its reflection, feeling nothing. I searched around me, finding no other reflections.
My heart thundered, and I began running, my breath coming in short, panicked gasps, fumbling blindly in the mist. The grassy ground began sloping, down, down, curving like an endless snail, drilling into the earth.
Trapped.
Somehow, I knew that behind me, something was following in my footsteps, catching up to me. Dark shadows seemed to whirl around me. As I walked, the sound of wings beat the air around me, a deep, slow thrumming. With a squawk, an enormous bird swooped low over my head. Was that a vulture? Come to feed on my carcass?
When I looked down at my hands, blood dripped between my fingers, and I had the strangest feeling that I’d just killed someone, but I couldn’t remember who…
My pulse raced. I had to move.
Or did I? Moving didn’t seem to be getting me anywhere.
I stopped walking, trying to see through the mist. Maybe this place was responding to my emotions—growing darker the more anxious I got.
I forced myself to breathe deeply. The misty air pooled into my lungs, damp and cool.
This was all a bad dream. A lucid dream, I supposed. I had to get control again.
I turned around the direction I’d come from and calmly began walking up the grassy hill. It was only twenty steps or so before the steep hill I’d been descending suddenly plateaued. The mist began to thin, now tinged shades of lavender and pumpkin in the sunlight. Ahead, two figures were speaking to each other.
The taller of them shouted, “Where is she?” Roan’s voice reverberated around me, harsh and furious. “If you’ve harmed her—”
“I’m right here,” I called out, forcing my voice to be calm, almost indifferent. “The dream fae decided to give me some nightmares. No harm done.”
“We’re sorry.” The other fae laughed, his voice sweet. The mist still hung thick around him, and I couldn’t see his face. “After all, we couldn’t pass the chance to see if we could spark terror in the heart of the Mistress of Dread.”
“You got me.” I crossed my arms as I moved closer. “At least for a few minutes. But that’s the thing with dreams, right? They’re short-lived. You always wake up in the end.”
“Yes.” The mist around him thinned, and my breath caught in my throat.
It was Gabriel.
Same brilliant s
mile, same thoughtful, hazel eyes. He was wearing his charcoal sweater that I loved. Blood began to seep from his heart, staining the sweater maroon.
“Gabriel?” I breathed, stepping closer, my heart slamming against my ribs.
But when I stepped closer to hug him, I caught the malicious glint in his eye that would never, in a million years, belong to Gabriel.
“You always wake up,” Fake Gabriel said. “But the range and intensity of the emotions humans feel when dreaming! Other fae never eat a full meal of emotions such as yours. They can only feed on one emotion at a time. It’s like living your entire life eating only bread. We can taste them all.”
His face transformed, and I was looking at Scarlett, a mocking smile curling her lips.
“We feed from a banquet of emotions. Up above our heads, in this very building, hundreds of humans are dreaming right now, filling me with their happiness, dread, a sense of longing, the anxiety of being late, the humiliation of walking naked in the street. Love, lust… Can you imagine how glorious that feels?”
“And all of it could end,” Roan said darkly. “When the Seelie come.”
“Could it?” Scarlett’s face turned to him, and I saw his jaw clenching. Who was Roan seeing? Was he also looking at Scarlett’s face? I doubted it. These were people I loved, not Roan. Pain flashed in his eyes, and I had a feeling he was staring at his mother or his sister.
“You won’t be able to feed from dreams when you’re dead,” he said, his voice cold.
“They will kill all the Unseelie who fight them,” Fake Scarlett interrupted him. “Five courts, allied together against the Seelie. An alliance shaped by Roan Taranis, a fae from a dead Court, with nothing tangible to offer aside of a pixie who can weave fear.”
“What I’m offering is a unified front fighting against our ancient enemies.”
Fake Scarlett licked her lips. “You’re right, Taranis. The Seelie are coming. But now, their attention will be focused on the Unseelie who stand in their way. They won’t be able to find us. They’ll leave us alone, and we’ll live on.”
