The Exile: Book One of the Fae

by C. T. Adams

  He didn’t laugh, just shook his head. Some things never changed, his parents were among them. “I’m fine, Mom,” he lied. “I needed to get away from the press and the phone. No big deal. Everything okay with you and Dad?”

  “The news people keep calling, looking for you, wanting an interview.”

  Nick groaned. “What did you say?”

  “Your father talked to them.”

  Dear God, that was even worse. His dad, the hardhead. Nick loved him, but he had opinions and wasn’t afraid to use ’em. “What did he say?”

  “That you’re a good cop and a good man. You did what you had to do and everybody should just leave you the hell alone.”

  Wow, for his father that was actually pretty mild. Unless, of course, his mom was doing a little editing. “Mom?” Nick made it a question.

  “Well,” she admitted, “maybe he used stronger language. But that was the gist of it.”

  That’s my old man. Nick shook his head, chuckling with wry amusement. His family might drive him crazy, but he loved and trusted them: trusted them to be annoying as hell and occasionally embarrassing, granted. But trusted nonetheless.

  “Nick? Did we lose connection?”

  “Sorry, Mom. What did you say?”

  “Juan’s wife called. Maria says he’s awake and talking, asking for you. The doctors say he’ll pull through,” Nick’s mother added, with warmth in her voice. “She wants you to please come by the hospital as soon as you can.”

  Nick’s knees almost gave out from relief and he nearly fell into a chair. “Oh, thank God.” A load of tension he’d been doing his best to ignore was suddenly gone and he felt giddy. Juan was going to make it. “I’ll head over to the hospital as soon as I can.”

  “Good.” There was a long pause. Nick knew what she was going to say, but waited for her to work herself up to getting the words out. “When you see David again, tell him we love him.”

  Nick pretended not to hear his father’s growl in the background.

  “I’ll tell him, Ma.”

  They hung up after that and Nick went into the bedroom to change clothes. He smiled as he stripped off Brianna’s sweats. He liked her a lot, she was sexy, smart, and surprisingly enough, sweet. She had a sense of humor and a sense of honor. In fact, she was pretty much the full package, everything he found attractive in a woman. He knew that pursuing her was probably a bad idea—oh, hell, no probably about it. The feds thought the woman was a killer, and that was the least of her problems—talk about your family issues! But it didn’t matter. In his own mind he was now convinced that the feds were wrong. Given the chance, he’d prove it. Once he did …

  “Think positive,” Nick told his reflection in the mirror above the dresser. “Things are looking up.” They really were. Juan was going to make it. His statement would probably clear the decks with IAB. Then Nick would just have to go through the mandatory counseling sessions and he’d be back to work.

  Assuming he cleared the counseling. Probably best if he didn’t mention anything about fairies and venom-spewing bat monsters. The shrink might look poorly on that sort of thing.

  Chuckling at his own joke, he pulled open the top drawer and grabbed some cash from his emergency stash. There wasn’t a lot there. He’d be hurting for money if he wound up on unpaid leave for a while. And, oh, hell, he didn’t even have his credit cards. Damn it anyway. Replacing the contents of his wallet was going to be a real pain in the ass.

  * * *

  The cab dropped Nick off at the front entrance to the hospital. A quick stop at the front desk let him know that Juan was not only awake, he’d been moved out of ICU and into a regular room. It was such great news that Nick was grinning like a loon when he stepped out of the elevator and almost ran into Martin Brown from IAB looking like someone had made him eat live worms for breakfast. As usual, his suit was the same unremarkable gray as his eyes. His hair was a sandy shade somewhere between blond and brown. Nick would have bet money Brown had chosen a red tie because he’d read somewhere that red was a “power” color. Brown was all about the power.

  Nick knew there were good guys in IAB. They wanted to keep everyone on the force honest. Nick could live with that—it was an admirable goal, in fact. But Brown wasn’t one of those men. Nope, he was an ass, pure and simple. Most everyone called him “Brownnose” behind his back. Some even did it to his face. He’d earned the nickname.

  Currently the bane of Nick’s existence, Brown had made it clear that he hoped to find something wrong with the shooting. Since Nick hadn’t done anything wrong, he shouldn’t have anything to worry about—as long as Brown didn’t screw with the evidence.

  Nick gave the other man a wide, if not entirely sincere, smile. “There’s not a thing wrong now that Juan’s getting better. I guess you’ve taken his statement?”

  Brown’s face reddened until it was almost the same shade as his tie. “Yes. I wanted to get to him before you had a chance to coach him.”

  Like he would; or needed to. Bastard. Nick’s smile showed lots of teeth, but it wasn’t friendly, and it didn’t fool the other man for an instant.

  “And?”

  “He backs up your story.”

  Oh, Brown hated that. Nick could tell. This time his smile was more sincere. “Which means?”

  “There are still some loose ends to tie up, and you’ll have to be cleared by the company shrink. But it looks as if you’ll be back to work by the end of the week.”

  “Thanks, Brown.” Nick almost meant it.

  “You’re welcome.” Brown didn’t. Turning on his heel, he shoved past Nick to jam a furious finger against the button to the elevator. Nick watched until the elevator doors closed and Brown was out of sight, then headed down the hall to visit his partner.

  Juan looked like hell. Normally a warm brown, his skin had the grayish-green hue that Nick had previously only seen in the dying. But Juan’s smile when his partner came through the door lit up that small, grim room.

  “Nick. ’Bout time you got here. Out chasing skirts again?” Juan’s voice was a breathy wheeze, barely audible over the hiss of the machine pumping oxygen through the tubes in his nose. He was propped up by pillows and the head of the bed had been adjusted so he could sit up. He was hooked to a lot of machinery, which took up most of the space around the bed, leaving just enough room for a hard metal and plastic visitor’s chair. Maria was sitting there. Someone—probably Maria—had taped brightly colored children’s drawings to the windows. They were the room’s only bright spot.

  “Something like that.” Nick grinned.

  Maria rose to greet him. Her embrace nearly cracked his already-sore ribs and Nick felt the wetness of tears against his chest. “Thank you.” The words were a fierce whisper, pitched so her husband wouldn’t hear. “Thank you.” She’d said it before—said it every time she’d seen him since Juan had been shot.

  “Easy, Maria. Don’t hurt the man. I’m going to be fine,” Juan teased.

  “Of course you are,” Nick said heartily. “And when you get out of here, you owe me a beer.”

  Maria gave a choking laugh and released him, moving back to her seat. “Better than that, I think. You’ll have to come over to the house. We’ll fix steaks on the grill.”

  “I’ll hold you to that.”

  “Good.” She took her husband’s hand, careful of the IV tubes attached to his arm. “You just missed Martin Brown.”

  Juan scowled.

  “I ran into him in the hall,” Nick said. “It looks as if IAB’s going to clear me.”

  “They should!” Maria answered fiercely. “You didn’t do anything wrong!”

  “The politicos won’t like it,” Juan said. “I’ve seen the way the news has been playing.” He grinned. “I also got to see your dad on News 4. That was a treat.”

  Nick laughed. “Let me guess, they had to bleep half of it out?”

  “Not half,” Juan said.

  “More like three fourths.” Maria grinned.


  Nick had only been in the room a couple of minutes, but he could see Juan was tiring. It was time to go. “I can’t stay. Gotta check in at the office, make sure no one’s stolen my stapler. I’ll be back tomorrow.” Nick worked his way carefully through the maze of cables to stand next to the bed on the side opposite Maria. He held out his fist.

  “I’ll be here.” Juan bumped Nick’s knuckles weakly. By the time Nick reached the door, his friend was already drifting off to sleep.

  Maria followed Nick out into the hall. “You shouldn’t worry. He does that. It’s the drugs. But he’s getting stronger all the time.” Her voice cracked, and Nick pulled her into a hug. She was trying so hard to be strong, but she was exhausted and still looked terribly frightened. This was the worst nightmare of every cop’s wife.

  “How are you holding up? Have you gotten any sleep at all? Who’s taking care of the kids?”

  “I’m fine. I’ve slept a little. I didn’t want to leave until they were sure…” Her voice caught, then she got control of herself. “Once they said he’d be okay and moved him out of ICU, I was able to rest. Relatives are taking care of the little ones.”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  “You already did it.”

  “He would’ve done the same for me.”

  She nodded, unable to speak. For a couple of minutes Nick just held her. When she pulled back, he let go. “If there’s any change, call me.”

  “I will.”

  It hit him as he was climbing into the elevator that she couldn’t call his cell phone—at least not until he replaced it, and he probably wasn’t going to be home much. Shit. He needed to get a new cell phone soonest, and get his truck out of hock, report his credit cards missing, and replace his driver’s license … it gave him a headache just thinking about it all.

  He stepped out of the elevator, and saw Tom Reynolds coming into the lobby from the front doors.

  Tom was a senior homicide detective. He’d been on the force long enough to have seen everything at least twice and it showed. He might only be fifty-something, but he looked older, his thinning hair was gray and his wrinkles had wrinkles. His suits were worn, and didn’t fit all that well. But he was a good cop, and a nice enough guy. Nick didn’t know him well, but he liked him, and he’d never heard anybody on the force say anything bad about him.

  “Antonelli—figured I’d find you here.”

  “You’re looking for me?”

  “Yeah. I hate to be the bearer of bad news.” Reynolds gave a big sigh. “It’s your brother. I need to talk to him about a case. I’ve been trying to reach both him and the other woman who works at Helena’s, but they seem to have fallen off the map. The shop’s been closed, too, which is weird. Any chance you could help me get in touch with him?”

  Shit. Reynolds wanted to talk to David? “You want to tell me what this is about?” Nick hadn’t meant there to be a growl in his voice, but there was, and Reynolds heard it.

  “We just want to talk to him, Nick.”

  “Why?”

  Reynolds sighed again. “Look, I’m trusting you here.” He spoke softly and quickly, with just a hint of nervousness. “This morning I got called to a crime scene that matched some open serial killer cases. We don’t suspect your brother, but we think he may have some information that could help. We need to talk to him. It’d be nice if he came in on his own.”

  Oh, fuck. This was so bad. Nick’s stomach roiled and his head started pounding in time with his pulse. Think Antonelli. If it’s a fresh scene, it couldn’t have been either David or Brianna, they were with you. But I can’t exactly say where we were.

  He had a flash of inspiration. The FBI was interested in Brianna, interested enough that they’d asked him for an in, and had arranged for his uncle’s gym to be closed for “remodeling.” That meant they were watching her. There’d be lots and lots of pictures of him, his brother, and Brianna taking stuff out to the Dumpster, moving around in the apartment. Maybe audio, too. God he hoped not. Just the thought was pretty damned disturbing all things considered. What would the feds make of the doxie raid? And what had they all talked about when they got back?

  “Nick?”

  “Reynolds, if it was a fresh scene, David won’t have any information. We were both at Helena’s with his boss. I stopped on the street to help him with a painting they were carrying, and wound up getting drafted into helping them clean out their storage area. The feds are probably watching the place—they’ll have lots of pictures of us hauling stuff out to the Dumpster.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Absolutely. Give the Fibbies a call, ask for an agent name of…” Nick had to search his mind for the name. “Jesse Tennyson.”

  “We’re still going to need to talk to your brother. The vics were friends of his. Neighbors saw your brother and his boss in and out of there quite a few times, and there was one of her checks at the scene.”

  “You want me to bring him in?”

  “Yeah, and sooner is better than later.”

  “I’ll see what I can do. I’m stuck without a vehicle or phone right now. My truck got towed and I think my phone is in it.”

  “You want me to give you a ride to impound?”

  “You mind?”

  “Nah, no problem.” Reynolds jingled his keys as he led Nick through the lobby and out into the late-afternoon sunshine. “You realize that the feds are going to be pissed at you for hanging out with the Hai woman. They’re going to want to ask you all kinds of questions.”

  Of course they were.

  33

  The good news—Nick’s phone actually was in his truck.

  The bad news—his grandmother Sophie was at Helena’s when he went to pick up David and she was standing toe-to-toe with a Chinese woman, both of them in a fine fury and in full view of the display window.

  He pulled the truck into the loading zone and jumped out, hurrying into the shop in hopes of stopping what looked to be becoming a fight.

  “You will not be tampering with my grandson’s mind.”

  “You dare speak to me thus?” The last s was a bit sibilant, and the other woman, too, began to glow. The temperature in the room dropped abruptly so that Nick could see his breath misting in the air.

  “Enough!” The word cracked like a whip through the room. Brianna strode down the steps, her black hair pulled back in a ponytail. She wore a tattered housecoat, but she stood so straight and with such an air of power that it could have been a royal robe. And while Nick could see the faint tracks of tears on her face, there was no hesitation to her command and no question that it would be obeyed.

  “Ard Reigh Brianna.” The Asian woman inclined her head marginally, but did not take her eyes off Nick’s grandmother, who had dropped into a deep and graceful curtsy—without taking her eyes off her opponent.

  “Explain yourselves.”

  Sophie spoke first. “Mei wishes to alter my grandson’s memories, erasing everything he learned of Faerie. If she does this neither you, nor David, will have a credible alibi when the police arrive—which they will. More to the point, it will render impossible things that must happen. And, because of his nature and the strength of his will, Nick will fight the magic used on him until it eventually destroys his mind.”

  “Nobody’s messed with my mind and nobody is going to,” Nick said firmly. “And I’ve already talked to a homicide detective named Reynolds—told him the truth, that David and Brianna were both here with me last night.”

  “A homicide detective?” Brianna turned to Nick. “Who died?”

  Before Nick could answer, his grandmother spoke. “Valjeta has been murdering humans and stealing their magic. She killed the painter and his lover last night.”

  Nick winced.

  “Ed and George are dead?” David’s voice was breathy and much higher pitched than usual when he said it. “But we … we just saw them.”

  “I know. So do the police. They want to ask you some questions. I told them I’d bring you d
own to the station to talk to them.”

  “Do I need a lawyer?” David sounded scared, and his eyes were very shiny, as if he were fighting tears.

  “Yes,” Brianna and Sophie chorused.

  “It wouldn’t hurt,” Nick admitted. “I have a guy on retainer from the shooting. It doesn’t look like I’ll need his services. Maybe we can have him work with you instead. I’ll have him meet us at the station. But we’ve got to go.”

  “But I don’t know anything? I can’t believe they’re dead. Are you sure it was them?”

  Nick didn’t answer. Reynolds hadn’t told him the names of the victims, just that David and Brianna knew them.

  “It’s them,” Sophie said firmly. “I saw it. That’s why I came here, to warn you, and to keep her”—she glared at Mei—“from making things worse than they already are.”

  Mei let out a hiss of displeasure.

  “Enough!” Brianna snarled. “Whatever the problem is between the two of you, now is not the time. David, you’d better go with your brother and give your statement.” She turned to Nick. “Do I need to go, too?”

  “Reynolds didn’t ask for you. He said he’d been trying to reach David, and the other woman that works for you—”

  “Maxine,” she furnished.

  “And couldn’t get either of them, so he came looking for me, to see if I knew where my brother was.”

  “Why would they want Maxine?” David asked. “She doesn’t even know Ed and George.”

  “Because they suspect me,” Brianna answered.

  “But…” David turned to look at Nick, who wasn’t able to deny it.

  “I think,” Sophie said seriously, “that someone has gone to a lot of trouble to bring Brianna’s name to the attention of the authorities and keep it there.”

  “Valjeta?” Kenneth stood behind Brianna on the staircase. Nick hadn’t seen him arrive.

  “It would stand to reason,” Mei said. “Not only would it cover her own tracks, it could cause no end of problems for Brianna—and should she be convicted, this state has the death penalty, so that she would be forced to flee to Faerie—where she faces a death sentence as an exile, or stay here and risk execution.”