A nearby Were snatched up one of the gold, satin-striped chairs usually provided for bidders that had been shoved to the side tonight to accommodate the throng. He threw it at the head of a troll who was rhythmically smashing one of his pack member's faces into the side of the steps. He missed his target, but he didn't miss Seb.
One of my guards moved to help his felled boss and the other only had me by one arm. He didn't look too bright, but he made up for it in muscle. His suit bulged even more alarmingly than Mart's, to the point that I expected to see Mm burst out of it like the Hulk at any moment. He was a norm, brought along as cannon fodder in case of an emergency, to buy time for the mages in the group to hustle the boss out of danger. He obviously didn't view me as a threat, which in his case was pretty accurate. At least until the little bird fluttered down onto the dragon's nose and looked at me inquiringly.
It wasn't easy getting the muzzle off one-handed, but I managed it. "You're lazy and stupid, and nobody thinks you're tough," the gamelan told my guard. "And you look ridiculous in that suit."
The guard collapsed to his knees, holding his ears and shrieking. Gamelans don't merely speak the truth, they rip away all the happy little lies we tell ourselves to mask it, forcing us to acknowledge it deep in our very souls. They make us face the raw facts about our lives, and most of the time, they're not pretty.
Seb had gotten back to his feet, but he took one look at the feathered menace and stumbled back a step. It seemed he'd read the catalogue. Unfortunately for him, he was trapped by his own guards, who had formed a line to hold off the mad brawl the salon had become. "You have no talent for business, and three of your relatives are planning to kill you," the bird informed him, raising its high, thin voice to be heard over the noise. "Oh, and one of them is sleeping with your mistress."
Seb screamed and started clawing at his guards, desperate to get away before he heard any more. But the bird had lost interest in him. I eyed it with apprehension as it sized me up out of one bright black eye. "Your father never loved you, and he wasn't even your real father," it finally informed me. .
I looked at it incredulously. "That was your best shot?" I'd figured that much out by the time I was six.
It gave an odd sort of bob with its whole body. "It's no fun when they already know their life sucks," it said to no one in particular, and flew off.
I looked around for an avenue of escape, but everything was chaos. The Weres appeared to be losing the battle, mainly because the customers, annoyed that the auction had been interrupted, had joined the trolls. Or, at least, most of them had. A few had decided to take advantage of the pandemonium to make off with some free merchandise. I saw a vampire, who had been the witch's chief competition for the djinn, make a dive for her. She glanced at him in annoyance and, with a word I couldn't hear, sent him flying across the room into a glass display case. The case broke, scattering shards everywhere and causing him to roar in rage. He didn't roar for long.
The case had held a group of charms and all the magic swirling around activated them. Individually, they wouldn't have been much of a problem for a vampire, but he obviously didn't know how to handle several dozen at once. His body was caught in wild tendrils of magic that wrapped around him like brightly colored ribbons, each with a different function. I couldn't see everything through the sparks and swirls, but a lot of the charms must have been baldness cures, because he ended up enmeshed in a cloud of long black strands that sprang from his own head. He tried to break free, ripping out handfuls of hair by the roots, but it grew back almost immediately. The witch doubled over in laughter.
I didn't wait to see what happened when he got loose, but punched the button to send the podium back underneath the stage. I insinuated myself into the small open area in the back, where the auctioneer's legs usually went, to ride it down. The service ramp used for unloading trucks with big items was adjacent to the lower level. If I was lucky, I could get out that way and circle around to my car while everyone was preoccupied with the fight.
It was a slow mechanism, but no one seemed to be paying me any attention. The only person nearby was the old mage who had seemed so enthralled by the rune. He had somehow fought his way back to the stage, and in the midst of the bedlam, had eyes only for the stone. He grabbed it, ignoring the banshee who immediately started up again, but he didn't take off with it as I'd expected. He started chanting something instead, holding the stone in front of him with a look of rapture on his face.
He was far too concentrated on whatever he was doing to see the Fey come up behind him. He tackled the mage around the ankles and the man hit the floor with a thud. The rune went flying, landing right in front of me. The Fey saw and his eyes widened. He leapt for it, shouting something, but I couldn't hear him. There was a flash, a weightless feeling, and the next thing I knew, I was sagging against a cold stone wall, struggling to lift my head.
My muscles ached and my tongue felt thick in my mouth. I tried to move and tottered, dizziness eating at the edges of my vision. What the hell?
A strong hand clapped over my mouth and I was abruptly pressed against the wall by a tall, muscular form. I couldn't see a damn thing—someone must have left the lights off downstairs—but the way my body reacted told me who it was. I started to protest, but a flash of light illuminated the area at the same moment, and I forgot what I'd been about to say.
The dragon's head stood in front of me, but behind it wasn't the familiar mess of Gerald's stockrooms. Instead, I saw a black sky, with menacing gray-green clouds that rumbled almost continually. Deadly silver streaks provided the only light, giving intermittent glimpses of a cobblestone street and a cluster of two-story wooden buildings.
Just as abruptly as I'd been slammed against the wall, I was dragged behind the podium. "Stay down," was hissed in my ear. I looked up as lightning flashed again to see the Fey from the auction house crouched beside me, looking grim.
"Where are we?" I demanded in an equally low tone.
"Faerie."
I took a minute to process that. "And exactly how did we get here?"
"The rune. The mage activated it and opened a portal just as I reached you."
Almost like it was adding an exclamation point to his sentence, something hit the front of the podium, causing the heavy wood backing to shudder. The Fey was looking at something over my shoulder and I followed his gaze. The street had been clear only seconds before, but now it was rilled with about a dozen Fey, all staring in shock at the huge dragon's head. I realized that it was sticking out of an alley, so the lack of a body wasn't apparent. And in the poor light, it probably looked real.
Several of the Fey yelled in a language I didn't know, . and something slammed into the cobblestones beside my hand. I jerked back without seeing what it was, but the next lightning flash showed that they had bows in their hands and several more were drawing back to shoot. "Tell them we're friends before they kill us!" I said in a furious whisper.
"I would, except for one problem."
"What?"
"We're not friends."
"But, you're all Fey," I protested. I hadn't been able to make out a lot about our attackers, but I'd seen that much. Their bright silver hair lit up the night like beacons whenever the lightning flared.
"Yes, well, that's one way of looking at it," he muttered, beginning to root through the jumbled mess inside the podium. He was right behind the dragon's face, and arrows rattled against its surface continually, but none got through. Maybe Gerald's old man had been telling the truth about it after all. "Are there any weapons here?"
"Why? Can't you talk to them or something?"
A brief, strobelike flash reflected an exasperated pair of eyes under strands of tangled blond hair. "They're Svarestri." he informed me, like that meant anything. I just looked at him. "I'm not," he added unhelpfully.
I gave up trying to understand and he went back to pawing through the hollow head. "If the rune got us here, can't it get us back?" I asked, after a moment.
"No, don't you?"
"No. I couldn't get my hands on it in time. It must have remained on the other side." He held up something he'd discovered in Mart's trash heap. "I don't know human magic well. What is this?"
"An inhaler," I said, going by feel. "Matt has asthma."
"And that would be?"
"Completely unhelpful." I glanced back at the gaping black tunnel behind us. "What about retreat?" I'm not a fan of dark alleys, but it beat staying where we were.
"They've already sent some of their number to flank us," he informed me. I have no idea how he knew—maybe his eyes could see better than mine. Since I'd lost my glasses in the shuffle, that was a good bet. I pushed him out of the way and started my own search inside the podium.
I waded through a nasty pile of used tissues, a half dozen crumpled soft drink cans, piles of broken display containers, several scratched acrylic stands and a pair of old sneakers. No wonder Matt could never find the damn gavel! I had to go mostly on feel, as the lightning flashes were more confusing than helpful, and the dark interior of the podium was no brighter than the alley. But as far as I could tell the most lethal thing inside the dragon's head was the smell of Matt's tennis shoes.
"Nothing."
"You're sure?" It wasn't at all reassuring that the Fey sounded almost as desperate as I felt.
"Just how much do these guys hate you?" It looked like talking our way out of this was the only chance we had.
"Bad enough to kill me if they can—and anyone with me."
This just kept getting better and better. A quick look out at the street told me that the trend was continuing. Not getting any response from the dragon must have made the Fey suspicious. Either that, or they thought they'd killed it. Either way, they were slowly moving closer, arrows nocked and ready. Shit.
I didn't have time to worry about it for long, because someone grabbed me from behind. While I'd been concentrating on the street in front of us, a Fey had snuck up on us through the alley. Several of them, I realized, as two more jumped my companion. I didn't think—there wasn't time. I just focused on my attacker's aura and gave a jerk. And since I hadn't been able to affect the Fey at Gerald's, I put a lot more effort behind it than usual.
The Fey holding me screamed, a high-pitched, almost musical note, and collapsed. I landed in a heap on very hard stones, but hardly noticed. I was too busy trying to figure out what to do with the avalanche of power that had flooded into me from the fallen Fey. It was a crushing weight, strong enough to cause tiny sparks in the air, as if a swarm of lightning bugs had descended on me. I'd never known anything like it and I didn't know what to do with it, but keeping it wasn't an option.
I panicked and sent the whole thing into the pavement, where my hands rested. Instead of grounding it as I'd planned, the surge of power moved under the cobblestones, churning them up like a giant earthworm moving through dirt. A giant, electric earthworm headed straight for our attackers.
The Fey scattered, but the building across the street had nowhere to go. A second later, the power hit it dead-on. It shook violently before erupting in a burst of wood, glass and pretty painted shutters, one of which hurtled across the street and almost decapitated me. I didn't have time to freak out, because my companion had hauled me to my feet and we were sprinting down the street, away from the raining cloud of rubble. I heard yells behind us, but nobody followed. I didn't blame them.
Chapter 3
I quickly discovered that high heels and cobblestones are a bad mix, and that bare feet aren't much better. The street had obviously been laid by a sadist, because some stones stuck up almost an inch above the others. I was limping before we'd gone two blocks, and had stubbed my toe half a dozen times.
Then the storm broke, with slanting sheets of rain hitting down so hard as to almost blow us off our feet. We took cover under a building with a second story that protruded out past the first, but it didn't help much. In less than a minute, I was soaked, the chiffon dress clinging to me like Saran Wrap.
"Stay here!" the Fey yelled to be heard over the sound of the storm.
"What? No!" Before I could grab him, he was gone, the gray cloak blending perfectly into the darkened street. I stood staring out at the rain, thinking murderous thoughts and wondering what the hell I was supposed to do now. With no one to back up my story about how I got here, I wasn't likely to be believed, even assuming I could keep from getting shot long enough to get a hearing. But I didn't dare go anywhere; without my glasses, everything was a big, dark blur until I was right on top of it—including any guards who might be lurking around.
Before anger and fear could edge over into full-scale panic, the Fey was back. "I've found us a bolt-hole. We should be safe there until the storm blows over." He took off his cloak and wrapped me up like a mummy. "It's not far. Try to keep your eyes down. Dark emerald is not a common color among the Svarestri."
I had no idea what he was talking about, and at the moment I didn't care. I nodded.
"And, er, keep in mind that I didn't have a lot of choice about accommodations."
"Fine, let's just get out of here." Anything had to be better than standing exposed on a street corner, waiting to be attacked again.
The Fey led me through a warren of narrow lanes that were fast turning into little rivers, then made a sudden rum into a dark doorway. The room beyond, although lit only by a few lanterns and a crackling fire, seemed bright after the street. I had a brief impression of raucous laughter, trestle tables filled with people, and the smells of wine and roasted meat. Then a large woman in an apron bustled over to us.
She and the Fey started a conversation while I kept my eyes down, trying to melt into the cloak as much as possible. I hoped I looked calm outwardly, but inside I was panicking. How did I know he wasn't bargaining for his own life by turning me in? I hadn't expected us to walk into one of the houses of the people who had just tried to kill us!
It didn't help that I couldn't follow a word of the conversation, but finally, I heard the chink of coins as the Fey paid the woman for something. Then we were following her across the room and into another one, where the lights were even lower and the activities of some of the people made my eyebrows rise. By the time we reached a flight of wooden stairs, I had seen enough to realize why the Fey had found it necessary to apologize. Several sets of hands tugged at the cloak as I passed, but he whipped it away from them almost before I'd noticed. A question was shouted after us, but I didn't understand it and the Fey didn't respond, so I just kept going.
We found ourselves in a small room with a bed, a window closed against the weather, and a washbasin on a stand. The woman said something, then left, clicking the door shut behind her. I couldn't stand it anymore and collapsed onto the bed in a fit of half-hysterical giggles.
"I didn't know you guys had brothels," I wheezed, after a moment.
The Fey had placed the basin on the floor and was balancing over it, taking off one of his boots. What looked like half a gallon of dirty water flowed out of it. "We don't."
"Then what was going on back there?"
"We could go back and take a look, but we might get more offers to join in." He tossed the basin's contents out the window, letting in a chilly gust of wind and rain before snapping it shut again.
"I thought the Fey had, uh, problems in that area."
"What area?"
"Conception and, um…" He looked up from emptying the other boot, amusement filling his eyes, and I trailed off.
"Not for lack of trying," he assured me. He unwrapped a sodden piece of cloth attached to his leg that I realized after a moment was a knife sheath. "This isn't a brothel," he added. "It's a rendezvous point Our people often marry for fertility instead of attraction, but that tends to pall quickly. Sex isn't as enjoyable if it's being done only to conceive."
I just nodded, getting a clear look at him for the first time. The Light Fey are as legendary for their beauty as the Dark
are for their gruesomeness, but it's a haughty perfection, sharp as pain. There is no softness about it, no sense that underneath the glacial exterior is anything less frozen. They have the awesomeness of primal forces, like an avalanche or a volcanic eruption. And they use their beauty like a weapon, just as effectively as their swords or enchantments.
Which is why it was a surprise to see one looking like a drowned rat.
Beads of moisture clung to his high arched brows and dark lashes and his hair lay plastered to his skull. His soggy blue tunic and leggings outlined a nice body, but for once I was too amused to care. He also didn't seem to be glowing anymore. He could have passed for a very tall, very wet human, except for the pair of gracefully curved ears that stuck up from the dripping mass on his head.
I grinned, and he arched an eyebrow. "You should see yourself," he told me. I was actually glad I couldn't.
"Gerald's is supposed to be neutral territory," I said, trying to figure out what about his face was bugging me. "How did you get a knife past the wards?"
"Mysterious Fey trickery. That and the fact that I didn't take in anything big. Which means that this," he held up the small item he'd wrestled from the sodden sheath, "is our only weapon."
"How do you know I'm not carrying one?"
He smiled, those blue eyes running over me. "That would be a good trick."
I looked down to find that the rain had made the damned evening dress all but transparent, and I hadn't been able to wear much underneath because of its almost nonexistent back. I closed the front of the cloak, and he made a slight moue of disappointment. "I talk too much," he commented.
"Too little." I finally figured out what was odd about him. His jawline was stronger than those of the other Fey I'd seen, but it was mainly his expressions that were off. He had some.
On the Prowl Page 19
