by Lyra Evans
“I think your feelings toward him may be skewing your perceptions of him,” Connor said. “After all, you haven’t noticed in all the years you’ve worked with him that he’s in love with you.”
Oliver pursed his lips. “Well, that remains to be seen. But still, even if Davin is responsible, how did he pull it off without anyone suspecting? And why?”
Connor licked his lips and leaned back in the chair. He was worn down, Oliver could tell. The fan of his white-blond hair across his forehead was limper than usual, his muscles stretching slowly, roughly, worked to a tension that wouldn’t give. Oliver felt the same, as though the tiredness was in his bones, not in his flesh. It settled there, baking in like pottery in a kiln. He’d be harder for it, less pliable.
“I don’t think Davin is the mastermind behind this whole thing,” Connor said. “If he was so badly jilted he wanted to frame the both of us for murder, why go to the trouble of murdering a leader of the Three Courts? Why not just kill some average person and pin it on us? It would certainly have drawn down less heat on the NCPD.” Connor cocked his head to the side, and as an afterthought, added, “plus the more logical course of action for him would be to frame me and turn you against me so he could swoop in a claim your heart.”
Oliver snorted into the water he was drinking, coughing through the liquid to find air. “I think someone’s already tried that route,” Oliver said ruefully. Connor gave a soft, sad chuckle. The memory of Sky was one that filled Oliver with anger, but the memory of his crimes only flooded Oli with grief. The three Werewolves Sky murdered in his mad attempt to ‘reclaim’ Oliver were no less dead for Oliver and Connor’s efforts to forget Sky and erase him from their history. Those three men still lost their lives; their loved ones still had to grieve. “In any case, Davin’s kind of retaliatory hatred seems more in line with a plot to murder me and pin it on you. Kill two birds with one stone, so-to-speak.” Oliver leaned back now too. “Not that he’d stand a chance against me.”
Connor nodded. “His life would be forfeit if he even threatened to trim your hair without your consent,” Connor said without hint of jest. “If he somehow managed to kill you, I’d tear apart the Three Courts until I hunted him down and flayed him.”
A chill ran down Oliver’s spine, but the emotion in Connor’s eyes was anything but cold. He gazed at Oliver with such intensity of feeling Oliver could only call it devotion, and that, too, was frightening. But the fear that sparked in his chest wasn’t the kind that urged him to run. Instead, it was the kind he felt at the top of a cliff overlooking the ocean, the patter of his heart at the beginning of a race, the bracing just before a sparring match or a duel. It was the kind of fear that urged, in a quiet, sparkling voice, go for it. Jump.
Oliver moved from his chair without thinking it, falling to his knees at Connor’s side and reaching up to his face. He pulled a pliant Connor closer, their lips only a hair’s breadth apart, when a green bird appeared by Oliver’s ear and snapped the delicate moment between them. Oliver dropped his hand, teeth grinding together, and shut his eyes. He made a vague gesture at the bird, feeling the frustration rolling off of Connor, and the bird delivered its message.
“Don’t know what happened exactly with Connor, but I’m assuming you’ve figured it all out with the appropriate amount of talking and sex. Possibly still ongoing. But you’ve really got to get back on topic now, because I’m racing back to NC now, and you’ve got to turn on the news. Seriously. There hasn’t been a news day this big since the Treaty. Go fucking turn on the news. Message me as soon as you’ve heard.”
Oliver shared the information with Connor, and they both bolted for the living area. Flicking on the television, they stood only feet away from it, watching intently as the story unfolded before their eyes. A coiled, slithering shadow began to unspool in Oliver’s stomach, swirling tentacles taking root in the base of his spine. The face on the screen was that of an older man, in his winter years, staring out at a crowd of reporters. His hair was close-cropped and carefully trimmed, silver-grey, smoothed to the side in a style that marked his contemporaries as from another century. His beard was the colour of his hair, and it was trimmed with just as much precision. Sharp planes and angled features spoke of aristocracy deep-seated in the blood, and the collar of thick golden crosses adorned with obsidian, jade, and rubies marked his office. The livery collar should have been enough, but to make matters clearer, he was standing at the entrance to the Royal Court building, flanked by Royal Security and several members of the Royal Council. The banner headline at the base of the screen told Oliver and Connor all they really needed to know.
HIGH WARLOCK FREDERICK CARMICHAEL ASSUMES THRONE AS HER HIGHNESS QUEEN NIMUEH DISAPPEARS INTO HIDING
“High Warlock, please, does the Council have any clues to Her Highness’s current whereabouts or when she might return?” a reporter asked.
“We do not,” he said, speaking with a gravelly timbre. “Rest assured, we are devoting every available resource to the location and safe return of the Queen.”
Another reporter shoved their hand up, a shining bubble floating in their palm. The recording spell was standard among the media of Nimueh’s Court.
“Is there any suggestion of foul play? Is it possible Queen Nimueh has been abducted?”
“At this time we are not ruling anything out,” the High Warlock said. “But we want to assure the people of the Court that everything is under control.”
“How might it be possible for someone to abduct the Queen? Is this related in any way to the murder of Alpha Logan from the Werewolf Court? Are the leaders of the Three Courts in danger? Is this terrorism?”
The High Warlock gestured with his hands for the reporters to quiet down, his expression that of an indulgent professor.
“All investigations are ongoing,” he said, “but I want to make clear that an attack of a respected, protected Three Courts official on this Court’s soil is being treated with the utmost seriousness. That kind of assault on our system of governance is extremely severe, and the suspected parties will be dealt with accordingly.” He looked directly out at the screen here, and his grey eyes pierced Oliver through. But the coldness of his eyes, his promise to take care of Oliver and Connor, didn’t inspire fear in Oliver. Instead, it strengthened his resolve. “The NCPD has been working tirelessly to track down these traitors, and we have made every resource available to them in their investigation. Werewolves of the fallen leader’s Court, however, have done little to assist us, resolving instead to descend into anarchy among themselves with no interim leader rising up to take the reigns.” He paused for emphasis, directing their attention back to himself, clearly. “Werewolves may be more interested in petty power struggles than the capture of dangerous and disloyal criminals, but I, as interim leader of this Court, am not. I will not allow this kind of criminality to stand. This court is one of law and order, of civility and decency. While Werewolves descend to barbaric traditions of violence and bloodshed, we are employing the most cutting-edge magical techniques to track down these vicious killers and bring them to justice.”
“High Warlock, yes, what does that mean for Detective Oliver Worth, decorated officer of NCPD’s Arcane Crimes Unit?” A reporter with dusty brown hair asked. “We were told earlier he is Connor Pierce’s suspected accomplice in the murder.”
The High Warlock again addressed the cameras, and Oliver, this time, stared right back at him. “Oliver Worth had betrayed his fellow officers, the fundamental integrity of the NCPD, and the very people of the Court he vowed to serve and protect. He is a traitor of the highest order, his decorated past aside, and he will be shown no mercy. He forsook the noble traditions and culture of his own Court in favour of the barbarism of the Werewolf Court. He is no citizen of this kingdom.”
Chapter 18
The evening encroached quickly on Maeve’s Court, the inky navy sky bleeding into the pale blues and pinks and purples. With the fading sun came cooler weather, the humidity no longer suf
focating, the temperature no longer lashing at the skin. Oliver and Connor walked in a measured gait down the street, acting as though they were merely tourists taking in the sights and searching for the right club to enjoy. The tiny stones they’d used earlier to dye their hair were back in place, Connor’s locks having returned to a deep purple, and Oliver’s mane now as gold as his eyes.
There were just as many people on the streets as there were earlier, too. The shops were only just beginning to shutter for the night, and the clubs and bars were already standing doors open, neon signs alight and beckoning. Spotlights and velvet ropes were set up outside the entrances to the more exclusive clubs, while others had employees stationed on the streets, calling to passers-by and offering coupons for entry.
The bitter, burning smell of alcohol was thick on the air, mixed with a cloud of perfumes and colognes and the inescapable salty tang of the ocean. Tropical flowers, green, leafy plants, and the kind of warmth you can taste on your tongue were all the trademarks of the entertainment district in Maeve’s Court.
Again, several groups stalled Oli and Connor in their progress, offering dances and drinks to either or both of them. Some strangers were already swaying slightly, clearly soaked in drink and sunlight, and from them Oliver and Connor received much more direct offers.
Disinclined to bed drunken strangers down pseudo-private alleys, Oliver and Connor excused themselves as best they could without drawing more attention. This was made particularly difficult when people refused to take no for an answer. The more belligerent they got, the more quietly intimidating Oliver and Connor had to become. But the implication of a threat from them was a dangerous exit strategy to use. If any one of these bar or club patrons felt too frightened, too intimidated, they might take a closer look at Oliver and Connor. They might recognize them. They might feel compelled to tell someone about that.
“I’ve never felt more like a piece of meat before a ravenous pack,” Connor said under his breath, pressing close to Oliver’s back to avoid touching anyone else when the sidewalks became too crowded.
“Was a time I would have basked in this,” Oliver said, and he felt Connor grow cold behind him. With a quick thought, Oliver added, “of course, that was when I was still lying to myself about being happy.” And Connor eased behind him, his heat a comfort against Oliver’s back, even in the sweltering night of Maeve’s Court.
Connor pressed a soft kiss to Oliver’s neck as they paused to let a car pass by. A shiver travelled the length of Oliver’s spine, and he angled his head back, wishing they could be tourists here, just out to enjoy each other’s company and let off steam.
A Fae with green hair and a flat, boxy face pushed past them, knocking Oliver’s shoulder as he went and forcing Connor to stumble backward.
“Hey! Watch it!” Oliver called out, reaching to steady Connor, though Connor didn’t need it. He was already rearranging his shirt and pants when Oliver offered his hand. Connor’s eyes followed the green-haired Fae as he ran through the crowd and disappeared around a corner.
“Probably just some kid late for a meet-up,” Connor said. “It’s just rudeness, nothing more.”
Oliver frowned. Connor was right, of course, but Oliver couldn’t quite let it go. It was one too many things. However innocent this green-haired Fae was, there had been too many obstacles, too many people standing between Connor and himself lately. It seemed as though every time they turned around, more and more information was coming out that made them doubt everything and push aside their feelings for one another in order to address feelings on some other topic. Oliver wanted it to be like it was—hot and urgent and burning like coals in a sauna. He wanted the endlessness of their connection and the undeniable draw. But it wasn’t so undeniable at the moment.
Oliver sighed and nodded onward, turning down the next street and leading them into an area of Maeve’s Court that was very different from the last. Where the entertainment district was lively and full of light and sound, the financial district was a barren wasteland home to only the poorest and most disenfranchised, sleeping on awkwardly sloped benches meant to deter nightly campers. Beyond that, buildings rose up like marble columns and glass vases, sparkling in the low light and silent as a library.
The streets were cleaner and clearer than anywhere else in the city, the ground tiled with similar marble to the buildings’ fronts. In the distance, there was a massive fountain with deities and magical creatures stood erect in the centre of a roundabout. The effect was turned off, but the water still spewed out a hesitant dribble that trickled pleasantly in the soft wind.
“We’re meeting Lucia just beyond there,” Oliver said, pointing to the building next to the fountain. It was a gigantic black monstrosity among the lights and colours of the entertainment district. Rising up from the ground like oil from a spring, Oliver led Connor over to it to look around. There were no marks, no indication this building was in any way magical at all, but as they settled against the sidewall, backs to the black stone layer, Oliver felt something moving behind his shoulder blades.
Oliver jumped away from the wall, Connor stepping aside in alarm, and they both turned to study the wall moving behind them. The black marble of the building was polished to a reflective shine, and it took Oliver a moment to realize he wasn’t staring at his own reflection. Instead, the stone behind the both of them pressed outward from the others by a tiny fraction, and the surface of it reflected the image of Lucia’s smiling face.
Oliver blinked several times, but the reflected Lucia just shook her head in the stone and pointed to their left. Oliver glanced at Connor, who took a moment to take in their surroundings and check for anyone following them. Finding no one suspicious, they turned, casually as they could after jumping away from a stationary wall, and walked around to the back of the building.
The black building was flanked by two glass buildings likely investment firms, and behind it stood a massive white marble structure with ornate rooftop detailing. Oliver studied the swoops and curves of the roof of the white building and realized it was the Maeve’s Court Treasury they were standing behind.
“What now?” Connor asked, sniffing subtly at the air. His ears twitched slightly, and Oliver smiled to himself.
“There must be some kind of doorway or something,” Oliver said, casting ideas out like fishing line. He studied the buildings around them. The two glass buildings were stationed comfortably apart from the black building and the Treasury. There was space enough between them to pass a car, or a truck picking up refuse or something similar. Behind the glass buildings were standard green dumpsters and blue recycling bins, with enough room to manoeuvre in order to pick them up. The black building, however, stood so close to the Treasury there was barely room for a single person to pass between them.
Oliver pressed his cheek to the white marble of the Treasury building in order to peer at a better angle down the space between it and the black building. The alley was more of a crevice, spanning the length of the building, but in the centre of the crevice was a span of darkness too great to be normal.
“I think we should see what’s back there,” Oliver said, and Connor cast him a look as though he’d lost his mind. “I think there’s a passage.”
Connor stared, deadpanned. “And if there isn’t, we get to be the lucky fugitives killed by starving to death behind finance buildings,” Connor said. “At least they can’t arrest us this way.”
Oliver rolled his eyes and pressed his back to the Treasury building, sliding sideways between the two structures. Connor watched him go, his expression inscrutable.
“What are you waiting for?” Oliver called in a whisper.
“I’m waiting to see if you get stuck,” Connor said. “There’s no need for both of us to test this theory.”
“Connor,” Oliver said, and damn the Wolf, he laughed.
“Fine, but I’m somewhat larger than you,” he said, his words suddenly forced as he scraped along behind Oliver. “If I get caught in here, y
ou’re the one responsible for getting me out alive.”
“You know,” Oliver said, inching along. The marble was cold but rough between the buildings, and the lack of space made all movement feel unnatural and uncomfortable. “You shouldn’t be offering to make deals in Maeve’s Court. It’s a dangerous habit.”
“Very funny,” Connor said, through what sounded like gritted teeth.
Oliver pressed along, the dust and grime accumulated around the backs of the buildings settling on his skin. As they grew closer to the dark space, Oliver’s heartbeat quickened, and with every passing second, he hoped he hadn’t been wrong.
But as he slipped a foot past the edge of the darkest space, he felt a rush of air that didn’t make sense. Testing the ground there with his foot, he found it solid but wet. So he shuffled forward slightly. The ground didn’t seem to give way at all, though the wetness increased, soaking through his pant leg, but his foot and part of his leg were now completely gone from his vision. With a deep breath, Oliver held up his hand and poked gently at the darkness. His fingers passed through the black unharmed, but as they crossed over the line between darkened alley and pure darkness, his fingers vanished. He pulled his hand back quickly, his fingers coming with it.
“I think this is a portal of some kind,” Oliver said. “There’s something beyond the blackness. I feel fresher air.”
“Take my hand,” Connor said, and Oliver quirked an eyebrow, realizing too late that he couldn’t turn his head to look at Connor.
“Why?” he asked instead.
“So that you don’t disappear forever into the ether,” Connor said. “Or if this portal sucks you in, at least it’ll suck me in too.”
Oliver hadn’t considered that possibility, and now that it had entered his mind, it wouldn’t leave. Heart racing now, Oliver groped blindly behind him for Connor’s hand and grasped it tight when their fingers connected.
