My cell phone rang. I plucked it from the holster and flipped it open. “Hello?”
“Simone, it’s Reiner. I’m bringing the damaged post to you. I thought I might throw a stone at two pigeons while I was there.”
I puzzled over the odd sentence. Oh. I couldn’t stop the chuckle. “You mean kill two birds with one stone?”
“Ah. Yes.” He paused. “I have the design for the queen’s gift, the one I hope you can help me complete.”
Even though seeing Reiner again ranked between stepping on a rusty nail and licking an electric fence, I had to admit that I was curious about this project. I don’t know why he thought I could help. Guess I was gonna find out.
“What do you think?” asked Reiner.
We’d been studying his carefully sketched plans for the last ten minutes. The object, at least on paper, was twelve inches high with a base six inches wide. Angled on the left was the statue of a robed figure holding a gnarled wooden staff; on her right side was a big black wolf. Suspended above them was a crystal orb. Reiner explained the statue was the Moon Goddess and her lover, Tark. The orb was a stylized moon. I glanced at him. “You want the woman to raise her staff and when she does, the orb will glow blue?”
He nodded. “I based the design on some of the ancient icons, which are still on display in the temple. There used to be many temples, just like there used to be many lycans and Roma. Now, there is only one temple—and not so many of us.”
I knew that the lycanthropes were a dying race. At least, they had been until Patsy and Gabriel’s union gave them hope. Of course, the loup de sang drank blood like vampires—and not all lycans appreciated that, er, quirk.
“You know, when we lived in our little village, I served my princes. I was their loyal bodyguard, their friend. I was also their best tracker.” He smiled softly. “Better, even, than Damian.” His tone was reminiscent, and underneath it, something I’d could only describe as yearning. “Do you know the story, Simone?”
“What story?”
“Sixty years ago, in the mountains of the Schwarzwald—the Black Forest—Roma and lycans lived together peacefully. Damian had married and was soon to be a father. After years of watching our women mourn and our children die, we had hope.”
He snapped his fingers and the sound echoed in the stillness. “Then it was gone. Destroyed by the Ancient vampire Koschei and his Wraiths. Those who survived went elsewhere. Even the princes exiled themselves.” Reiner ’s despair was so thick it coated every word. He traced the lines on the paper. “Their father was the last royal alpha of pure blood. Their mother was an American. She was the daughter of a royal and a commoner. In the very early days of our kind, such a match would’ve never been allowed. The royals are different genetically.”
I nodded. I knew that because the Consortium had explained it at the same time they’d explained why they’d been unable to replicate the cure for the Taint. Right now, the only way to rid a vampire of the disease was to transfuse him with royal lycan blood. As far as I knew, only two vampires had received the treatment: Lorcan and Faustus.
“Is it true that werewolves were once guardians of vampires?”
“Lycanthropes have been around much longer than vampires. It is true that some vampires glamoured lycans as guards much the same way they glamoured humans as drones. Of course, the Consortium does not condone either practice. Patrick and Lorcan befriended us. They helped us when no one else would. And that is why Damian, Drake, and Darrius offer their skills and their loyalty.”
“What about you?” I asked. The question startled both of us. I usually wasn’t so nosy, especially not about someone I wasn’t sure I liked.
“I joined the Consortium because I appreciated its vision, its goals. But I cannot help but think my people were meant for some larger purpose—and that we have lost our way. We are direct descendents from the Moon Goddess. Her blood runs in all our veins.” He rolled up the paper and wrapped a rubber band around it. “I do not know why She allows our children to die or why She has blessed Gabriel and his vampire bride with fertility.”
I knew right then he’d lost a child. The catch in his voice and the sorrow in his eyes told me so. Maybe when his village was attacked, or maybe just in the course of trying to raise a lycanthrope baby. . . . Who knew?
I never thought I’d ever feel anything but disgust for Reiner. I didn’t want to admit that the man was capable of feeling as wounded as me. For a long time, I thought I had the market cornered on pain. After I’d escaped Jacob, I’d beaten my soul bloody with the spiked stick of regret. It was hard to let go of my guilt. Then I learned not so much to let go, but to bury it. What I’d done was still there, shiny and sharp just below the surface. Waiting for me to dig, waiting for me to cut myself and bleed out.
“I’m sorry.” I meant the words, though I fought the urge to lay a consoling hand on his shoulder. We might both have painful pasts, but that didn’t mean I trusted him. “Y’all have suffered so much, Reiner.”
“You have no idea.” His gaze flicked to mine. “Or maybe you do.”
Chapter 6
“I see the shadows in your eyes, Simone. You think your smile can hide them, but no, nothing can ever hide that pain—not from someone who understands it.”
“Let’s not pretend we understand anything about each other,” I said. “You’ve got your woes, and I’ve got mine.”
“We are not so different.”
“Yeah,” I said softly. “We are.”
Reiner inclined his head, an acknowledgment or a denial—I didn’t know which.
“You will help me make the statue work?” he asked.
I wasn’t sure agreeing to spend any more time in his presence was a wise thing to do. But I liked his idea, and I knew I could figure out how to get that staff to rise—clockwork parts, maybe—and that moon to glow blue. “A week isn’t a lot of time. The festival’s on Saturday.”
“I have the parts already crafted. It is only a matter of putting them together and getting them to work.”
“Okay,” I said. “Come by on Monday around eleven p.m. and we’ll get started.”
Reiner grinned. “I look forward to working with you, Simone.”
I wish I could’ve said the same about him. Instead, I just stuck my hands into my pockets and gave him my best Pollyanna smile. He looked at me an instant longer than necessary; then he left the garage, whistling.
I felt the tension drain from my shoulders. It was probably stupid to work with a man who caused such contentious feelings. I couldn’t point to one single thing he’d actually done to make me not like him. It’s just that my instincts were a-buzzin’ again—and I intended to proceed with caution.
I looked at the cracked post sitting on my worktable. I really wanted to get started on it, especially since half the night was already gone. I wasn’t sure Darlene still expected me, and if she was, too bad. I got out my cell phone, dialed the Consortium’s headquarters, and asked for the plumber on call.
“That’s Dunmore,” said Arin. He was a nice older lycan who knew just about everything and had it all organized, color-coded, and filed. “He just moved into town a couple weeks ago all the way from England. He’s a lycan.”
“As long as he can fix water leaks, I don’t care if he’s the pope.”
Arin laughed, said good-bye, and transferred me. The phone rang a couple of times, and then a brash English voice offered, “Dunmore’s the name, plumbin’s the game.”
“I’m Simone. I run the garage on Main Street.”
“I know you. You need me to come round and fix your pipes, love?”
“Uh, no. But Darlene Clark sure does. Did she call you?”
“No. Give me the address. I’ll go on over and see what I can do.”
I told him how to get to Darlene’s house, and then hit END. One problem solved; a million to go.
I leaned over the table and patted the shiny black pole. “It’s just you and me, buddy. And it’s time for the autopsy.”
&nbs
p; I traced the jagged burn. I had no idea what had caused the damage. It was as if it had been zapped. Lightning? That made no sense. Magic. I knew the Family Ruadan had some ability to create orbs and other objects from fairy magic. But I’d never seen anyone, not even an Ancient, just . . . kapow something. I peered down the broken top. The light I’d seen on my first examination was still there, but much fainter. So was the buzzing noise.
I didn’t want to split it open or cut it in half. It might be possible to save the internal electronics, either to build another Invisi-shield pole or some other kind of electro-whatsit. I couldn’t stick my hand down all the way to the bottom and pry out whatever was lodged there.
Crap.
I grabbed a mini flashlight (I had several) and pointed it down into the post. The tiny glow and its buzzing stopped. I turned off the light—and they returned. Weird. As much as I didn’t want to mess up the delicate internal electronics, I was itching to know what the hell was going on.
Usually, I’d get out my plasma cutter, but Velthur had taught me a trick or three. I could use my Family power to create a water “laser” that was faster and more accurate (and okay, more fun). I kept a bucket of water near the worktable, and in no time I’d created a thin ribbon of water that sliced the post like a hot knife through a cold stick of butter (Mmm . . . butter . . . on fresh baked bread with a dollop of jam).
The post dropped into two pieces. I propped the bottom half up and peered into it. The light at the base was easier to see and the buzzing easier to hear. I couldn’t quite figure out what was flickering. It wasn’t the electronics. They glowed blue, and this light was goldish.
Then I noticed a thin red string stuck on the far side. I plucked it from where it had snagged and followed the material down. My forefinger pressed something pointy.
“Ow!” I yanked my hand out, and up came the string. The tiny cut on my finger healed instantly. My attention returned to the thread. Dangling at its end was a big, black thorn. I looked at it in amazement. “What the hell are you?”
“Pixie trap,” said a tiny voice. “Thank Brigid you figured it out. And I thought humans were dumb.”
I looked down. The gold light was perched on the edge of the work table. I could just make out a hu manoid shape—and only because I had vamp vision. To human eyes, it probably looked like sunshine glinting off a spinning coin. “Um . . . hello?”
“Now, don’t go makin’ me change me mind about humans.” The voice was so small, I couldn’t determine if it was male or female. The light rose from the table and hovered in front of my nose. “You saved me life,” it announced, “and so I am yours until I can return the favor in kind.”
“What?”
It sighed. “I’m sidhe, okay? And you saved me. I’m bound to you until I save your life. That’s how it works.”
“How what works?”
“The baking of delicious cakes and fruit pies,” said the fairy in disgust. “Magic, you idiot. And here I thought bein’ beholden to a human wouldn’t be so bad—not like the giant. Always steppin’ on me, and once the bastard accidentally swallowed me. We’re immortal, for the love of Brigid! I don’t die just because I have to sit for a day or two inside a giant’s gullet. Only one way out, y’know. They don’t have pixie therapy. I have to live with the trauma of being shit out the pimply ass of—”
“I get it,” I interrupted. “So, are you sidhe or a pixie?”
“Same difference. Sidhe aren’t just one kind. There’s lots. Is this where we live?” It buzzed around, then returned to hover by my nose again. “By all the saints! You love dirt like the giant loved his brick cake. Tsk, tsk. I may be bound to you, but I refuse to live in squalor. Even the giant made me a nice nest, with lots of shiny things, and brought me honey every day. You do have honey, don’t you?”
I wanted to ask Do you ever shut up? But instead I mumbled, “You got a name?”
“Spriggan.”
Knowing its name wasn’t helpful in determining gender, but really, did it matter? I had no intention of keeping it around. First, it was annoying. Second, it was giving me a headache. And third, it was annoying.
“Okay, Spriggan. You’re free. I hereby relinquish you of all obligations to me. Go on. Shoo.”
“I don’t do shoo.” It rose about an inch, directly in my line of sight. I crossed my eyes trying to stay focused on it. “You are never to shoo me again. Magic can’t be bossed around. You can’t change the rules. What would the world be like if there weren’t rules?”
“Free of pixies?” I ventured.
“A comedian, are you? Gah! I should’ve never rescued the giant. If’n I hadn’t rescued him, then I’d still have my nest and my shinies and my honey.”
“And the possibility of another ride on the Colon Express.”
I heard the tiny indrawn breath of indignation. “Goin’ to be a sassy one, I see. Tell you what. You go on and get into life-threatening danger and I’ll rescue you. Then we’ll be free of each other.”
“Is that really the only way to get rid of you?”
“O’ course not. I just keep secret all the easy ways to end my bleedin’ curse.” He (er, she?) sighed. “I’m a pixie. Part of bein’ a pixie is repayin’ a kindness. It’s not a choice, mind you. It’s just the way it works. I’ve accepted it, and so should you. Now, where are you going to build my nest?”
“On a rocket ship to the moon,” I said. I waved it away. “Just go flit around somewhere else so I can think.”
“You can think?” it said. Then it spun away, giggling. I bet the giant had eaten the damned thing on purpose.
I probably should’ve called Damian or Doc Michaels to let them know sabotage wasn’t the cause of the pole’s malfunction. Instead, I dialed Zerina.
Zerina was a foul-mouthed, badass fairy, or sidhe, who had tried to open her own sort of beauty shop. She didn’t get much business because she followed her own creative muse when it came to hairstyles. If you saw someone walking around wearing a scarf over their head, then they’d probably gotten a Zee do.
She was not the vampire kind of sidhe. Maybe she would know more about my little problem—like how to make it disappear.
She picked up on the first ring. “Bloody hell! What do you want?”
“Hello to you, too.” Was the natural disposition of fairies to be cranky and insulting? “I need your help.”
“I agree. You need a makeover, and fast. You still wearin’ those overalls and trucker’s caps?” Her British accent was thick with censure.
I refused to be judged by a woman who looked like a magician’s drunken assistant on her normal days. “I don’t want a makeover. I want you to get rid of a pixie.”
“I’m not a pest removal service.” She paused. “Did you say pixie? Here, in Broken Heart?”
“No, in France, because I thought, What the hell? I like the Eiffel Tower and croissants and French accents. Of course it’s in Broken Heart!”
“No need to get your knickers in a knot,” she muttered, although she sounded more bemused than irritated. “It said it was a pixie, then?”
“Yeah. Well, it also said it was a sidhe.”
“Blimey. I’ll be right there.”
“Look, I just wanted advice—”
The phone went dead. Argh! I snapped the cell phone shut. My skin prickled, and out of the corner of my eye I saw a spurt of pink sparkles. I spun around and watched Zerina pop into view. She looked like she was in her early twenties, with a neon pink haircut, pageboy style. Her eyes were pink, too. Today, she wore a neon pink bustier, black miniskirt, and zip pered black calf boots with pink skulls on the sides.
“What’s its name?” Her gaze was glued to the twirling and zipping and flickering gold dot.
“Spriggan.”
She looked at me and grinned. “They’re all called spriggan. It’s what the Celts named the little buggers. Gold means it’s a male. Females are silver.” She glanced at me. “I haven’t seen a pixie for almost a hundred years. Used to be
you couldn’t walk through a field without kicking up a cloud of ’em. They like nature. Really good at makin’ things grow. Sorta like bees on steroids. Only they use their magic.”
Aw, man. I didn’t want a Pixie 101 class. Still, I found my curiosity peaked. “He said pixies were immortal. If they can’t die, then what happened to all of them?”
“All sidhe are immortal,” said Zerina. “Nobody knows why the pixies vanished. They just did. Why did this one pop up here? And why now?”
I didn’t know the answers to either of those questions, and wasn’t sure they mattered, anyway. I’d seen so much weird shit in Broken Heart in the last year that it was really hard to surprise me. After watching a dragon swoop out of the sky and destroy a Mercedes, pixies weren’t all that impressive.
I showed Zerina the red string with its dangling black thorn.
She frowned. “Where did you find that?”
“Inside one of the Invisi-shield posts. Spriggan was stuck inside, at the very bottom. He said it was a pixie trap.”
“Part of one.” She looked up. “Oy! Get your sparkly ass down here.” She took the string and dangled it in front of Spriggan. The little blur darted backward. “How’d you get to Broken Heart?” demanded Zerina. “And do tell, oh ye of tiny brain, how’d you get trapped?”
The gold dot zoomed to Zerina. “You can’t just boss me around, you know. I’m not bound to you, only her—the one who saved me. And even then, I’m not required to put up with bad behavior. I refuse!” He paused, presumably to take a breath for another verbal berating, and then he cried, “Brigid save me! The outcast!”
Chapter 7
Spriggan zipped to me. Outrage bristled from him; his gold light blinked furiously. “Remove her from my presence immediately.”
Zerina and I weren’t exactly pals, but right now, I liked her better than Spriggan. “Everyone’s welcome here,” I said. “What’s your problem?”
“She is an abomination!”
“Well, in this town she’s in charge of the beauty shop, and if you don’t pipe down, I’ll let her do your hair.”
Over My Dead Body Page 5
