Agent of the Fae (Dark Fae FBI Book 4)

by Alex Rivers

  Glancing at the crowd, it was easy to see I wasn’t the only one touched. More than half of the bar patrons around me had tears streaming from their eyes, some leaving sparkling blue and silver streaks on their faces.

  At last, the siren crooned her final note, then smiled at the crowd.

  “She’s something else, isn’t she?” a shaky voice said by my side.

  I glanced at Alvin, whose eyes glistened.

  “Definitely something.” I blinked, trying to clear my mind. “When did you come in? I didn’t see you.”

  “Just a few minutes ago.” He wiped at his eyes. “You seemed transfixed. I didn’t want to say anything.”

  “Yeah.” I looked around at the clusters of fae crammed around tables. “It’s packed here tonight.”

  “It’s the siren’s last show, innit?”

  “Where is she going?”

  He shrugged. “France? Scotland? Who the hell knows? She’s not staying ’round here, that’s for sure. A lot of fae are running for the hills.”

  I couldn’t say I was surprised, with the fae mood wavering between grim and hopeless. It had been two days, and I hadn’t heard or felt a thing from Roan, just the rumors that Cingeto’s Fortress was on its last legs. A sense of doom hovered over everyone’s head.

  Alvin’s eyes flickered to orange for a moment. “So, what are you doing here, Cass? I don’t think you came to watch the show.”

  “No.” I snatched my glass of claret from the counter. “I came for help. For advice.”

  “Ah. I’ve heard you’ve been making alliances, trying to form a Republic. Quite a role you’ve got for yourself, little pixie.”

  “You know, it’s harder than you’d imagine.” And here I’d been thinking that in Roan’s absence, everything would keep ticking along nicely without my intervention. Just a few days till Roan got back, and everyone would get along swimmingly in his absence. Hadn’t really turned out that way. “A fight broke out yesterday between the Rage Fae and the Sorrow Fae,” I said. “I’m not clear on the details, but one of them called another some sort of fae insult. A driushiud ki, I think?”

  Alvin grimaced. “Rough.”

  “Yeah. Ended up with three severely wounded fae and some pissed-off banshees wanting blood vengeance. Then, I heard that Grendel’s henchmen have been roaming around, roughing people up to demand taxes. For the war effort, he says.”

  Alvin leaned on the bar. “He doesn’t seem like a reliable guy.”

  “Pretty sure he’s keeping that money for himself, in between sexually assaulting women from the House of Ernmas.”

  Alvin nodded slowly. “Not surprised. He has a thing for them.”

  “But there’s nothing I can do about it because he’s the head of the Weala Broc Court. And there are all these sub-factions I didn’t know about.”

  “We Unseelie love our sub-factions.”

  I slammed my fist on the counter. “What was Roan thinking leaving me to hold all this together? I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know fae customs. I don’t even know what a driushiud ki is.”

  Alvin grabbed my arm, whispering, “I really wouldn’t throw that word around unless you want to get shanked. It’s a diseased bitch.”

  I drained half my glass. “He should have left Elrine in charge.”

  “Nah, she would have bollocksed it up.” Alvin grinned. “And no one is scared of her. You’re the Mistress of Dread. Fucking terrifying.”

  “Yeah, everyone keeps telling me that.”

  “So act like it.”

  That claret went down fast. “I have no idea how to act like this Mistress of Dread.”

  “And what—you think I do? What do you want from me?” Alvin asked.

  “I need your advice.”

  “Well, we have a good thing going. You buy me dinner, give me something, ask a question, and I—”

  “No.” I locked eyes with him. “Not like that. I want you to be my advisor. I need your help, like in an official capacity.”

  He stared at me for an uncomfortably long time before pulling his jacket tighter. “Look, Cass, it’s been lovely, but I have to go somewhere else now.”

  I grabbed his arm. “I need someone who understands what’s going on, who can map out my options for me. Nerius just tells me to kill everyone. Branwen is gone on a mission. And Elrine and I… Well, it’s complicated.”

  “I’m not really experienced in a governmental advisor-atorial capacity, as it were.”

  Desperate, I pulled him closer, summoning my angriest glare. “There is no one else. I am Cassandra Weala Broc, Mistress of Dread. You will do as I ask, or suffer my wrath.”

  Alvin glanced around furtively, his face paling. “You’re gonna owe me for this, mate.”

  “I won’t owe you anything. You’ll do this to regain your place in the Unseelie world. And for your people. And for yourself.”

  Alvin stared glumly at the floor. Suddenly, Leroy slid a plate of soft cheese and a tall glass of wine toward him.

  “Alvin Taranis, Special Advisor. This one’s on the house.”

  Alvin blinked in surprise, staring at the cheese as if it were about to eat him. I shot a grateful look at Leroy, which he promptly ignored.

  “All right!” Alvin glared at me, his eyes flickering with orange. “Mate. You help a woman once or twice, suddenly she owns you.”

  Victorious, I held his gaze. “Do you know where I’m staying?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “I booked a room for you. I want you to get your ass over there tonight, after you finish your food. A woman named Idelisa will get you some nice clothes.”

  He stared down at his rumpled pants, and I read the slogan emblazoned on his shirt: If The Earth Isn’t Flat, How Come The Horizon Is Straight? “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

  “Just wear what she tells you, okay? Take it from me, it’s much easier that way.” I drained the last drops of claret. “I’m glad we had this talk.”

  “Wait.” He shot up from his chair.

  “What?” I asked, surprised at the sudden intensity in his expression.

  “All this stuff—the territorial fighting, the insults, the angry lords… that can wait until tomorrow. But Grendel is up to something. You know that, right?”

  I gave him a small nod. “Any idea what he’s up to?”

  “No.” He shrugged. “But he’s up to something. Like, right now. You can’t let him outwit you, Cass.”

  “He won’t,” I said, my voice a lot more confident than I felt. “I’ll see you soon.”

  I parked the car on a dark side street, south of the river—about a mile away from what used to be Roan’s mansion. A hard rain hammered the car. I killed the engine, and turned off the lights. On a night like this, I doubted anyone would notice me here.

  I wished I’d had the foresight to buy myself some Cheesy Wotsits and Doritos. It might prove to be a long night, but at least I had a thermos of coffee.

  I pulled a mirror from my bag—a square mirror, fifteen inches wide. I stared into the clear glass, mentally merging with it until my mind clicked, and I searched for Grendel. I found him easily, several reflections pointed right at him. I shifted through them in my mirror, finally settling on the one that gave me a clear view of his face.

  He sat in one of the bedrooms in Roan’s mansion. I mentally corrected myself—his mansion. To my surprise, he wasn’t lounging in Roan’s old bedroom—the master bedroom. That choice struck me as out of character. Grendel would surely insist on the best room.

  I grimaced when I noticed the naked woman lying in bed behind him. Just like all of Grendel’s women, she was covered in bruises, with a black eye and a bloody lip. I hadn’t even noticed her at first because of her stillness—she stared vacantly into space, maybe trying to avoid his notice again. It made me sick that we had to ally ourselves with this monster, had to give him more power.

  He wore tight leather pants, the top half of his body bare. Over his pale, oily stomach folds, the pelvi
c bone dangled. He kept fingering it, caressing its edges, his tongue occasionally flicking out. Suddenly, I was glad I hadn’t brought snacks, because I’d be puking orange all over the car right about now.

  Grendel was talking, and at first I wasn’t sure if he was talking to himself or to the woman. Based on her empty stare, she wasn’t listening to a word he said. But then, after a few seconds, she nodded, and uttered a single word. “Yes.”

  The exchange carried on, Grendel talking, with the woman saying at certain intervals things like “of course,” and “you’re right.” Once, it seemed she was slow in answering, and Grendel’s head sharply turned as he barked something at her. The woman paled, nodding furiously. Her eyes were wide, and it looked like she was saying, “yes, of course,” over and over.

  Disgusted, I focused on Grendel’s lips, trying to tune out all other distractions. I had some basic training in lip reading, but it was still damn hard without context. I had a clear idea of what was going on with the woman. She was just feigning interest and complacency to avoid getting smacked again. But Grendel’s endless monologue was harder to understand.

  Slowly, I began to piece out some fragments, repeated phrases. “He will pay” and “they will pay” seemed to be on his lips like mantras. There was one phrase that he kept saying over and over emphatically, and the woman always reacted when he said it, but it took me a while to work it out.

  When I did, my stomach clenched. I am the true king.

  That’s it. Tomorrow, I was coming back with a mic, and I’d plant it in his room. In fact, I should probably tap the whole place. It wouldn’t be hard, since I could slip in and out of the mirrors. I doubted Grendel knew what a wiretap was.

  Just as I was about to put the mirror a way, the door opened in Grendel’s room, and one of Grendel’s hulking bodyguards stepped into the room. The woman halfheartedly pulled the bed sheets to cover herself, though the bodyguard didn’t even glance in her direction. Instead, he faced Grendel. I shifted my perspective in the room, flicking to another reflection. Now, I could see both the bodyguard’s lips and Grendel’s at the same time. The hulk stood straight and attentive, and spoke crisply, which worked well for me. It was much easier to understand him.

  “My lord … sightings of Elder Fae … in Hawkwood Forest.”

  Grendel stared at the guard, lost in thought, then mumbled something I couldn’t follow. Tend…? Ill them? The bodyguard nodded, and left without saying another word.

  Once he was gone, a cruel smile spread on Grendel’s face. I closed my eyes, reviewing Grendel’s words, the way his lips had moved.

  Tend.

  Nope, that wasn’t the first word. Ill them.

  Kill them.

  I swallowed, still not sure of the exact sentence, but knowing for sure that the first word wasn’t tend. It was send.

  Send… Kill them.

  My pulse set up.

  Send men to kill them—the Elder Fae in the Hawkwood forest. An almost reasonable request. After all, the Elder Fae had betrayed the Unseelie, letting their enemies pass.

  Except Roan was negotiating with the Elder Fae right now, and Grendel knew it. He had sent his men to kill the Elder Fae, knowing about the negotiations. He was going to get Roan killed, and try to seize control.

  A powerful urge to protect Roan overwhelmed me. I glanced at my mirror, ready to leap through into Trinovantum. I felt a desperate need to warn Roan, needed to keep him safe. My heart raced, as I stared at my mirror, intent on only one thing: finding my mate.

  I scanned, one reflection after another of the Unseelie realm, frantically flicking through reflections—in candlesticks, jewelry, swords—desperate to find him. But I could only see about two miles away. What were the chances that he was within two miles of me? Almost none—especially if he was all the way out deep in Hawkwood Forest.

  Nowhere did I see his beautiful green eyes, his golden skin—the stunning, breathtaking beauty of my mate. And never before had I felt so desperate to see him. The longer I searched, the more dread tightened its bony grasp on my heart.

  I slowed my breathing, trying to think rationally.

  I couldn’t protect him if I couldn’t find him.

  I dropped the mirror, clearing my mind. If I couldn’t find him in Trinovantum, maybe I’d have to protect my mate another way.

  Chapter 22

  Nerius pounded on the brick wall that glamoured Roan’s—or rather, Grendel’s—mansion, his thumps shaking the wooden door that lay just beyond the illusion. He paused for a few seconds, then began thumping again.

  I glanced behind us into the dark underpass of French Ordinary Court, where Elrine and Drustan stood. Was our little posse a big enough show of force? My whole plan hinged on being able to scare Grendel into compliance, and I wasn’t sure we were up to the task.

  Nerius was about to knock a third time when the door opened, breaking through the glamour. One of Grendel’s bodyguards stood in the doorway—a surprisingly short bodyguard, but one with red eyes and lethal-looking fangs. His head swiveled rapidly as he inspected each of us in turn.

  At last, his red orbs settled on me, and his smile widened, fangs overhanging his chin. “Mistress of Dread. What a pleasant surprise. Our master would be most pleased. It’s the first time he’s had such important guests in his new home.”

  “Take us to him,” I said evenly. “Now.”

  “I’m afraid he has already gone to bed. But I am sure he would be delighted if you would join him in the guest bedroom.”

  Creepy. Of course. Irritation flared. “Wake him and tell him to meet me in the library.”

  “My master would be very displeased with me if I didn’t show you proper courtesy. The library is undergoing some changes, and is not really a place to talk. Please follow me to one of the guest bedrooms.”

  “We know our way around,” I snapped. “Go wake your master, and we’ll meet him in the dining room, then.”

  The bodyguard eyed me, then quirked his head. “As I understand it, this is now my master’s mansion. Taranis gave it to him as part of the condition of his alliance.” He arched an eyebrow. “Was I mistaken?”

  Again, I was lost in fae etiquette. Elrine simply stared straight ahead, arms folded, while Nerius was no help at all, looking like he wanted to rip apart some terror leeches.

  “Fine. Take us to the guest room.”

  As we walked down the hallways, I began to suspect that he wanted to take us to the guest room just to mess with us. This room was at the far end of the mansion, taking us through a maze of hallways. As we walked, the doorways stood open, giving us a view of all the changes Grendel had made. Before we’d left, the doorways had been engraved with the ornate carvings of tree leaves and birds, but each of them was now covered in rough graffiti. The coats of arms that had lined the walls had been burned, slashed, painted. On top of them, Grendel had hung his own sigil—a skeleton submerged under water. So similar to my biological father’s coat of arms, I realized with a shudder.

  I clenched my fists, glad that Roan wasn’t here to see the destruction. I couldn’t believe I was related to this goddamned driushiud ki.

  Elrine walked by my side, her jaw clenched, eyes glistening. We exchanged looks, both hurt and furious at the damage. Nerius’ face began to redden, his lips pressed into a thin line. I hoped he would be able to restrain himself.

  As we approached the guest room, we passed a closed door—the door to the master bedroom. My spying told me Grendel didn’t sleep in there. So what went on in there?

  I paused outside the door, and the bodyguard spun to face me, his fanged smile widening.

  “Do you like what we’ve done to the place?” he hissed.

  I shrugged. “It’s Grendel’s house. Why would I care about his interior decorating choices?”

  “Do you want to see what we did there?” He nodded at the master bedroom.

  “No need.” I clamped my hands on my hips. “We just want to talk to your master.” I would spy on the master
bedroom later.

  The bodyguard didn’t seem to want to take no for an answer. He walked back to the door. “I think you’d like it,” he said. “It’s one of the master’s favorite rooms.”

  He turned the knob, and when the door swung open, a wall of foul air hit me. Everything looked as it once had—except that crimson bloodstains covered the bed and the floor, the furniture and the walls. It looked like a slaughterhouse.

  I suppressed my urge to gag, refusing to give the guard the satisfaction of seeing my reaction. I kept my expression blank, staring straight ahead.

  “The master has been reviving the old ways with a decapitarium,” the bodyguard explained placidly. “In the old days, humans made sacrifices in order to receive our blessings. They sacrificed themselves to us, and we fed from their terror. You remember, Cassandra.” He moved closer, his fetid breath hot on my face. “I know you’re young, but deep in your fae blood and bones you remember the thrill, and you crave it.”

  I shot him my most blasé stare, comforted by the knowledge that we would kill Grendel when this was all over.

  “The master believed this room, in which Taranis once indulged his lusts, was the perfect spot for terror-reaping. I believe the other decapitarium was once the bedroom of the Mistress of—”

  Nerius’ hand whipped out. He grabbed the bodyguard by his throat, slamming him against the wall. As the guard’s eyes bulged, Nerius squeezed the fae’s neck. Spittle burbled from his fanged mouth as he hurled unintelligible curses, trembling with anger.

  “Nerius!” Elrine and I shouted together.

  Nerius ignored us, his eyes burning with madness. Then, the black void of Drustan moved forward, and a sound of fluttering wings enveloped us. Darkness swarmed around Nerius and the bodyguard, and they disappeared from sight, as did the bloodied bedroom. Darkness hovered, pulsing, alive, and then it shrank back. The door to the master bedroom had been closed. Nerius was sitting on the floor, dazed, while the bodyguard lay on his back, coughing.