by L. A. Banks
“But who would be so bold . . .” Sir Rodney walked over to the high, leaded, beveled glass windows of his chamber. “Chaos magick is not just the province of the Unseelie Fae, but could be employed by strong covens, Vampires, any dark sorcerers. This is outright terrorism!”
“Milord . . . as we investigate, our first order of business is to protect our citizenry.”
A paranormal community emergency call had gone out to all the allies, and the result filled The Fair Lady with multiple Parliaments of varied entities. Time was too short to get everyone quickly to the Sidhe; Ethan’s place, reinforced by readied soldiers, was the best they could do with short notice.
Fae archers; burly Order of the Dragon riders and their colorful, silk ribbon–sleek mates; Pixies; Brownies; Gnomes—every ethnicity of Elves was present. All except the members of the shy, forest-dwelling Mythics, like Unicorns and Yeti, were in attendance—but even they sent proxy representatives by way of nature Sprites and Wiccan Whitelighters.
Phantoms moaned and hid within earshot inside the walls, while tiny Faeries danced gray plumes of fear amid the bar lights. There were so many paranormal leaders crowded into the main hall that there was now standing room only.
The establishment drew its shades to the human public as the afternoon sun cast golden prisms against the immaculate blond wood floors. A discreet sign was hung outside—PRIVATE PARTY—so as to not offend the limited human clientele or law enforcement. No Vampires would have been allowed, however, under the given suspicions. But that point was moot, since the meeting was strategically being held during the day. Only allied wolf packs were given admittance.
Sasha looked around the room, knowing that Sir Rodney’s worst nightmare had come true. The secret was out amongst the allies; it had gotten so bad that an executive decision had to be made—for the safety of his people and those who clung to his protection, there had to be some disclosure. Pure defeat filled her; she and Hunter had failed.
Ethan cleared his throat and tapped the stage microphone, trying to wrest order from the nervous patrons, while his bartenders passed out free drinks and overflowing steins of Fae ale to quell unrest and to make his message easier to absorb. The steely-eyed captain of the Fae guard awaited a proper introduction as Ethan tried to bring order. Then the door opened one last time and she saw him.
The sun framed Shogun with his retinue not far behind. His gaze hunted for her, found her, and locked on her with breathtaking intensity. Golden bronze, clean shaven, his hair an onyx spill down his back in sharp contrast with the white linen shirt and pants he wore. She couldn’t take her eyes off of him and her libido came to life with a vengeance though Hunter stood right next to her. Yet she couldn’t look away.
How could this be; why was this happening? Sasha felt like she was suddenly drowning in a well of emotions that made no sense.
This is insane, she thought to herself, casting her gaze to the floor while she struggled to breathe. Get it together, Trudeau.
Hunter’s attention had snapped to the bar’s entrance and now he tilted his head, narrowing his gaze. The two brothers nodded in strained recognition. Heaven help her—her inner wolf was clawing at her insides. whatever had affected Hunter earlier in the day, she now had a full appreciation of his agony. Her breasts had become heavy and tender in a matter of seconds, the tips of them stinging pebbles that ached so badly she had to ball her fists at her sides to endure. Sasha briefly shut her eyes. She craved touch; wetness betrayed her, engorged her till she bit her bottom lip.
Eyes forward on Ethan, ever the soldier, she stood at attention, watching the proceedings and hearing nothing. Her goal was singular—to get through the meeting without starting a Wolf war.
“Now that most of the leadership is assembled, we must make you aware of some strange goings-on that have some of us deeply concerned,” Ethan said, hedging. He waited until the crowd settled down more and shouts and calls asking what the gathering was all about subsided. “My two lovely Phoenix waitress showgirls were recently found flamed . . . without the normal transition back to their gorgeous human bodies.”
An audible gasp ripped through the bar and then entities began calling out questions all at once.
“Please, please, this is difficult enough to convey without a lack of order. I first wanted to address the rumors of the deaths of our most cherished employees and friends before launching into even worse matters at hand . . . if one can even compare. All of your questions will be answered. This is why Sir Rodney has sent his captain of the Fae guard—Captain McIntyre—to go over everything in greater detail. But as I said, our Phoenixes were the first to be so horribly—”
“Well, is it contagious?” a huge Dragon rider shouted out from the back. “If so, what the hell is wrong with you, man, bringing us all in here to catch the rot?”
Jeers met Ethan and he held up his hands and shouted above the din to be heard. “No, it’s not contagious in that way,” Ethan said quickly as the crowd erupted again into disgruntled murmurs.
Captain McIntyre stepped forward, causing a respectful hush to momentarily befall the crowd. “What is of foremost concern now is it seems the humans can see through our Fae glamour . . . It’s not working . . . nor are any of the other races’ illusion castings able to protect them from the naked human eye, for some reason. At least that is what is happening in New Orleans; we’re not sure if it extends beyond this region.”
“What?” a Fae archer called out. “Man, have you gone daft? Do you know what ye are saying?”
“We’ll all have to hide, go deep into the woodlands as though in exile,” another shouted, pointing at Ethan and ignoring the captain. “This is dark magick afoot, if ever I’ve seen such! You’ve brought this on our heads from the Vampires, Ethan!”
Hunter looked at Sasha. “Are you going to help the man out, or what?”
She nodded, but her voice wouldn’t work on demand. She stared up at Hunter, mesmerized by his mouth as a shudder of violent need passed through her womb. A quiet gasp is all that came out instead of protest, but the recognizable sound drew Hunter closer. Common sense clicked in as she saw Shogun working his way through the crowd to get to her.
“Don’t kiss me—not here. Please, I’m begging you,” she said in a tense whisper, and then propelled herself forward toward the stage.
“My human squad witnessed what Ethan and Captain McIntyre told you—what they say is true,” Sasha shouted and Ethan hurriedly dropped the mic down to her so she could be heard. The captain stretched out his hand to help her up, but in one fluid move Sasha jumped up, caught the microphone, and landed on the stage without assistance. She saw Shogun stop advancing. Hunter closed his eyes in a slow blink. She had to get them all to understand quickly and then get out. “This isn’t Ethan’s doing! And don’t shoot the messenger,” she said, motioning toward Captain McIntyre. “The same forces that tried to separate us before are no doubt trying to be sure that we do not stand united now!”
“Those are pretty serious charges,” a Brownie called out nervously. “How do we know who’s behind anything? It could be a new virus or Fae sickness.”
“There’s never been a sickness that steals glamour,” Ethan yelled without the aid of the mic. “When in our history have innocent Phoenixes ever burned and not come back? This is foul play, I tell you. Open your eyes!”
“Ethan is right,” Sasha said, each breath labored. “Something is wrong. It’s not normal that Fae glamour is permeable to human awareness. It’s not normal that Phoenixes can’t transition properly, or that wolves are having primal transformation spikes before the full moon even rises. What’s more important is we all know that after the trial, the Vampire Cartel, in collusion with a treasonous Fae, Dugan, and double-dealing area Werewolves, had an axe to grind. We can’t prove they are the source, and to say so is libel and slander, which I’m sure they’d seek redress for—so I’m not saying they did anything without proof. But we’ve got two dead girls from an establishment that turned s
tate’s evidence against them. Where I come from, murder is a capital offense worth investigating.”
Fearful murmurs broke out, creating a low din. Sasha closed her eyes and wiped the sweat from her brow.
“I hate to break it to everyone, especially before Sir Rodney’s fabulous gala,” Captain McIntyre said, standing firm and speaking in a loud, clear voice, “but it is advisable to watch your backs and to stay out of human sight. We don’t want to cause a panic amongst the locals or human law enforcement.”
“When did Sir Rodney learn about this?” an angry patron yelled out. “We need to find out if his Sidhe is still a safe haven, or maybe we should just go home this year. I didn’t come all the way from the Bonnie Isles to have me last days end in a swamp in New Orleans! We could attend the fêtes in Scotland, Wales, Ireland, for that matter . . . even London—but we came at the invitation of the Seelie Court king.”
A rousing aye rang out, and Sasha knew that she and Ethan were losing ground fast. The only thing to do at this point was appeal to the sense of righteous indignation that all worthy Fae owned when they thought they were being run off.
“When Sir Rodney learned of this is of no import! He is our sovereign and some things are not meant for public consumption! I have convened this meeting on the orders of our king, and his Sidhe is refuge,” Captain McIntyre shouted above the din, but was promptly ignored.
Pandemonium had replaced order and there was only one thing to do—appeal to the primal instinct within the crowd.
“So, that’s it?” Sasha shouted into the mic. Dead silence greeted her. “You’re going to fold your tents and allow a group of dark forces terrorists to just run you off your land? You’re going to allow them to best your magick, make you turn away from your Seelie king, put your tail between your legs, and hide? I don’t know what this is, but I’m not running from it! I’m staying until we hunt the bastards down—staying until the last wolf stands!”
She looked at the strongest group in the room, the Order of the Dragon, feeling their indignation palpably rising as the spiked-armored bikers glanced at one another with angry glares, snorting fire. Fae archers lifted their chins, seeming resolute now that their honor had been called into question. Pixies and Faeries began emitting dark plumes of furious black dust, while the Brownies and Gnomes were finger-sparking mad. Even the Phantoms came out of the walls, hurling glasses in peak poltergeist form, clearly ready for war. This is what was needed—unity. Division would cripple them.
Fired up, Sasha walked across the stage and then looked at the Wolf Clan factions in the room. Perspiration rolled down her back, down her cleavage, her entire body was soaked with an adrenaline rush. She was so close to a wolf transition that her voice bottomed out on a low female alto and the hand that gripped the mic shook as her nails lengthened.
“Gentlemen, ladies . . . standing your ground and defending your territory, as well as your right to exist in pure freedom, may not be the way of the Fae, but turning tail and running is not the way of the wolf!” She released the howl that had been pent up inside her, and simultaneously all the wolves in the room joined in, sending chills down her spine.
“There is an allied team finding out who did this, and the moment we are sure, we hunt!” she shouted.
A loud aye went up as a singular roar. Fire blasts and released arrows hit the ceiling. Feet stomped the floor in a unified thud.
“As one!” a lead Fae archer yelled out.
“As one!” the leader of the Order of the Dragon confirmed.
A miasma of colored Faerie lights zinged around the room as Gnomes and Brownies chanted, “As one, as one, as one!”
But the voice that cut through the din stole her focus. It was a deep baritone from the middle of the crowd that made her insides tremble.
“As one!” Shogun shouted and simply nodded toward her—the private meaning implicit in his gaze.
Hunter spun, staring at his brother for a moment, and then released his assent in a deeper baritone that was just above a snarl. “As one, brother.” He turned back to face the stage slowly, his expression unreadable as he stared at her.
The sight of two alphas so near to mortal combat spiked insanity within her. Sasha dabbed the perspiration from her throat with the back of her wrist. It was a slow, sensual invitation to claim her vulnerable kill zone and she couldn’t have stopped herself if she’d wanted to. Her body was on autopilot, her human losing ground quickly to her inner wolf. The more the alphas prepared for a lunge, the more they turned her on. Potential combat crackled in the air; the Fae were oblivious, but the wolf packs stood at the ready for a bloody brawl—waiting to see if instinct or alliances would win the silent struggle.
Breathing deeply, watching every positioning move of the dominant males in the room, she wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. Hunter squared his shoulders as Shogun tilted his head. She could see thick ropes of muscles coiling tighter beneath bronze skin, beneath dark walnut skin . . . They smelled fantastic, canines cresting, battle imminent. They were magnificent. The air suddenly became still and there was no sound, only her heartbeat, their heartbeats.
The human part of her brain tried to wrestle with reason, tried to tell her primal instinct that this had to be part of the bad juju that was affecting the area. She had to get out of Ethan’s bar. The energy here was dangerous for her, Hunter, most likely Shogun, too. But her wolf was hearing none of it. She studied both mating candidates carefully, the she-wolf within loyal only to natural law now—which one would be the dominant male . . . which one would produce the strongest heirs . . . which one would survive the vicious battle . . . which male would she mate for life. They seemed to know her questions, too; their understanding reflected back at her from the wolves in their eyes.
Ethan grabbing the microphone gave her a start and temporarily broke the spell. She watched Hunter’s shoulders relax as Shogun pulled back closer to his men. Sasha dragged her fingers through her hair and let out a quiet breath. Her body ached, but a sudden death match had been averted.
“We have a Shadow Wolf envoy going with me and my wife to get word of the outcome of this meeting to Sir Rodney,” Ethan said, seeming much more confident now that Sasha had swayed the crowd. “They will bring you return word about the state of his fortress. But we felt it would be completely irresponsible to leave, not inform all of you, and then come back to who knows what.”
whatever was happening to her was kicking her ass, big time. The adrenaline jolt, quickly followed by a fast diffusing of the wolf brawl, was sending her through changes that had her reeling. Sasha bent and placed her hands on her knees, gasping.
“You all right, lassie?” a huge Gnome in the front asked. Sasha looked up and snarled. “No. Not at all.”
The crone sat back in her chair, staring at Bradley and Clarissa, and laughed. “You two can’t pay me enough to do a divination on that subject. Seeing Faeries and Elves, ha!” She shook her elderly head, causing the huge golden earrings in her sagging earlobes to bounce. “Leave it be; let it rest. It’s an old fight. Sometimes you got to let sleeping dogs lie.”
Clarissa stared at the drawn, paper-thin skin of the reader’s face, studying each line in what used to be a tea-in-milk Creole complexion. Wisps of white hair escaped her lavender kerchief, making Madame Cottrell seem like a shrunken head wearing a wig. Giving up, however, was out of the question. Her second sight was waning fast and they needed answers.
Madame Cottrell smiled as Clarissa drew a breath to speak. “You’re a seer. So why you got to come to me and try and drag me into it?”
“Because, for some reason, my sight has been off ever since I got here . . . except for very surface matters.” Clarissa gave Bradley a look and he only nodded.
“Mayhap that’s ’cause there’s some things you ain’t supposed to see.”
“Maybe,” Clarissa said, baiting the elderly woman into a game of indirect revelation.
“What you know about the history of these parts?” Madame Co
ttrell asked with a toothless grin.
“That’s a broad question, ma’am,” Bradley replied with a droll smile. “We could get into the founding of the city, the Louisiana Purchase, the Civil War . . . or we could talk Vamp—”
“No!” Madame Cottrell said, slapping down her bony palm on the small oval table that divided them and making the candle on it wobble. “We cannot talk about them in here, ever.”
“All right,” Clarissa said, eyeing Bradley. She toyed with the crocheted tablecloth. “We could talk about the history of magick spells in the area.”
Madame Cottrell sat back, jingling her change purse. “That’s always been an interesting subject, especially during hard economic times.”
Clarissa nodded to Bradley, who immediately reached into his shirt pocket to produce a thousand dollars in ten crisp one-hundred-dollar bills. He fanned them on the table before the old Tarot reader like a card spread. The reader chuckled.
“That’s just about enough to give you a history lesson that will take you to a coupla months ago, but won’t give you much insight.” Madame Cottrell picked up the bills and neatly folded them away into her sagging bosom. “Now, let me see . . . how can I put this delicately?” She clucked her tongue and looked off into the distance as she picked up her cards. “Lotta years ago there was a struggle between the wee folks . . . didn’t start this side of the water.”
“The Fae?” Bradley said, glancing at Clarissa.
“Mmm-hmm.” Carefully shuffling the deck, Madame Cottrell took her time placing cards down in a Celtic cross spread. “Good ones and bad ones, just like people—good and bad.”
“Seelie versus Unseelie,” Bradley said, nodding.
“Oh, I see we’ve got us a resident expert, huh,” the old woman said sarcastically. “You ain’t as blind and dumb as you tried to make me think.” Madame Cottrell narrowed her gaze on Bradley and then smiled. “All the better. Saves me having to explain what I really shouldn’t be explaining, no way. But, yeah . . . the Seelie be the good ones, the Unseelie be the bad ones. Even the worst covens don’t mess with Fae dark magick—that’s why all of Louisiana decided to stay out of this recent row.”
