Blood, Smoke and Mirrors

by Robyn Bachar

  “Cat, don’t be that way.” He sighed.

  “What way? Is it really so much to ask that just once I be worth sacrificing something for? My father wasn’t willing to give up his search for power to be with me and my mother. My mother wasn’t willing to give up on getting my father back and just take care of me. You weren’t willing to risk your position to keep my secret safe from the council. Just once, I’d like to be enough, you know?”

  “Cat.”

  “Just go. Please,” I said, leaving no room for argument in my tone.

  He left.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “I really think you should call him, Kitty.”

  It was the third time the faerie had offered that particular bit of advice in the last ten minutes. Pausing, I flexed my fingers as they hovered above my keyboard, and took a calming breath. Portia was just trying to help. Really. She had no idea that she was quickly driving me nutty bonkers.

  “I. Am not. Calling. Lex.”

  Oblivious to the annoyance in my tone, Portia continued flipping channels. On the surface, everything appeared normal. It was amazing to me how disturbingly normal my apartment felt when I returned home. After all I’d been through, I expected something to be different. I had changed, it should too. The only obvious developments that had occurred in my absence were a few days’ worth of dust, a full mailbox, and a ton of new email. Merri and Pippin wasted no time in settling back in once Portia brought them over, and the sounds of scampering feet chasing the ever-elusive catnip mouse echoed throughout the apartment. Though she didn’t need to, Portia lingered after her feline delivery. I had a feeling she didn’t want to go home. Tybalt’s death made Castle Silverleaf a somber place. The brisk, lively cheer had been drained out of it, leaving a chill melancholy in its wake.

  I wanted to go into work, but the café was temporarily closed. I filled the free time with surfing the Web for a new job. I couldn’t keep working at the café without Mac being there-even if I managed to keep my job, it would never be the same. Besides, it’d just be weird. The customers who saw me as a plain, simple waitress would have no idea that I was Titania, or what that meant. I was an outcast witch who had murdered, and worse, that murder had made me a kinslayer-somehow I doubted Dorian would’ve struggled with that title if he’d succeeded in killing me. I couldn’t stay here, expecting my old life to change to fit my new one. What would I do, hear people’s grievances after the café closed while I waited for the pan washer to finish one load and start another?

  “Maybe I should talk to Lex,” Portia offered.

  “Absolutely not. No one is talking to Lex.” Ever again, I added silently. Fool me once, shame on you…

  Rain lashed the windows as the summer storm voiced its opinion, and thoughts of the last rainy night I’d spent in my apartment kept buzzing around in the back of my mind. Pulling out my smokes, I lit a cigarette and sighed as I exhaled.

  “Well someone clearly needs to talk some sense into him-” Portia started, but was interrupted by a loud knock at the door. Frowning, the faerie zipped up from her perch on the couch and flew over to the door. Hovering in midair, she peered through the peephole out into the hallway. “Lord and Lady, what is he doing here?”

  “Who?” Smashing out my cigarette, I got to my feet. I sniffed the air for magic as I approached the door, but only caught the scent of cinnamon wafting off Portia. “Lemme see,” I ordered as I less than gently nudged her out of the way. I spotted a stranger on the other side of the door. A slender young man in a dark gray suit tapped his foot as he waited, glancing about the hallway. Short black hair stuck out in all directions in small spikes, and his eyes were hidden behind round sunglasses with smoked lenses. I sniffed the air again, expecting to catch a whiff of sorcerer, but still only smelled faerie. He looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place him.

  “Yes?” I called out.

  “Miss Baker?”

  “Don’t talk to him,” Portia demanded in a loud stage whisper.

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “Because he’s a shadowspawn.”

  “What’s a shadowspawn?” I’d never heard the term before, and it didn’t sound pleasant.

  “A faerie who has been outcast for doing acts of great evil.”

  Evil faeries, just what I needed. Well, at least he hadn’t called me Morrow. I’d had more than enough of that from Cecelia lately. “What do you want?” I asked him through the door.

  “May I come in?” he replied.

  “Why?”

  “I believe we have something important to discuss.” Pulling his hands out from behind his back, he held an object up so I could see it: a black felt fedora, slightly sweat-stained around the brim.

  I unlocked the door.

  “Kitty!” Portia gasped in shock. I couldn’t blame her, I was vaguely surprised by my stupidity as well, but I had to know why the stranger had Mac’s hat.

  The shadowspawn faerie breezed past me into the living room, twirling the fedora in his hands. I eyed him warily-he was certainly no cousin of mine, but I had no idea what clan he belonged to. Though he smelled strongly of faerie, leaving no doubt as to what he was, he seemed faded somehow. Less vibrant.

  “Ah, I see you are a smoker. May I?”

  “No,” Portia answered, hands on her hips.

  “Sure, go ahead,” I said. “So, who are you?”

  Setting the hat on my coffee table, he reached into his jacket and withdrew a black and silver cigarette case. “You may call me Faust. I am here on behalf of my employer, who wishes to extend an invitation to you to meet with him.” Selecting a slender black cigarette, he placed it between his lips and the end spontaneously ignited with a tiny pop of magic.

  “Who’s your employer?” With a name like Faust, I was pretty sure he wasn’t working for the good guys. Faust exhaled a stream of smoke that was bright green, and I blinked at it in surprise.

  “Zachary Harrison. I believe you’ve met.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Portia said archly. “His entire family was exiled from Faerie, no wonder they’ve taken up with monsters.”

  “Your family’s history is not as pure as the driven snow as you would have others believe, Silverleaf. You should be careful who you insult.”

  “How dare you!” she snapped. The temperature in the living room dropped, as though I’d suddenly come into the possession of an industrial-grade air conditioner.

  “Hey, cut it out, both of you. Now I remember, you were in the Underhill’s great hall. You sponsored Dorian, didn’t you?”

  “I did, yes.”

  “Guess you backed the wrong horse.”

  “It would appear so,” Faust said, smiling thinly.

  “So what does Harrison want?”

  “To meet with you, nothing more. He promises you safe passage to and from the meeting, and that you will not be harmed at any time.”

  “A vampire’s word has no weight, they have no honor,” Portia hissed.

  Ignoring her, I eyed Faust. “Uh-huh. And why would I want to meet with him?”

  “Because he is in possession of something you hold dear, and if you don’t meet with him, the consequences will be…unfortunate.”

  Suspicious, I glanced at the hat on the table. “He has something of Mac’s?”

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  “A manner of speaking?” I repeated, raising an eyebrow.

  “Come now, Miss Baker. It was my understanding that you are a clever girl.” Picking up the hat, he handed it to me. The fabric was wet from the rain. Cigar smoke and the dry papery smell of librarian clung to the fedora, but there was something else as well, a sharp, coppery tang. I turned the hat over in my hands and noticed that my fingers were stained with blood. Startled, I gasped.

  “But…how?” It couldn’t be Mac’s blood, not this fresh, after all this time. This was a trick, had to be. I handed the hat to Portia to get her opinion, and her deep blue eyes widened in surprise the moment she touched it. From her ex
pression alone I knew-Mac was alive. Alive, and bleeding.

  “They never found the body, did they?” Faust asked, and I shook my head. “There is a car waiting outside for you.”

  “Give me a few minutes to grab my stuff.”

  The faerie vanished, leaving only a cloud of green cigarette smoke in his wake.

  “You are not going with him,” Portia ordered.

  “But Mac-”

  “We can find Mac and rescue him.”

  “Before they can hurt him? Or kill him? What if they’re holding him somewhere you can’t go?”

  “Well…then…”

  “Then I’m going. And you can rescue me later.”

  Surely it was a trap of some sort, but I wasn’t willing to risk it. If Mac was alive I couldn’t abandon him. Rushing around my apartment, I threw on as many charms and talismans as I could manage, filled my pockets and my purse, hugged my cousin goodbye and then headed out into the night.

  Of course I hadn’t thought to bring an umbrella in my hurry to leave, so I wandered out into the downpour unprotected. I don’t mind a good storm, and as a water sign I usually enjoy them, but I started to look like a candidate for a wet T-shirt contest in short order. With my head tilted down to keep the brunt of the drops off my glasses, I concentrated on running to the waiting car. As I soon realized, car was really an understatement, because it was in fact a white stretch limo. The driver opened the door for me and I ducked inside.

  The interior was leather, the cabin was spacious, and I thought I spotted a bar off to my left. Good, I could use a strong drink. Faust popped into the seat next to me, and I noticed there was a woman sitting across from us. She was pale, bright like a ghost in the night, and hair so blonde it had to come out of a bottle hung straight down her back.

  The all-white outfit made me realize who she was: Lovely Laura Barrenheart. White was her trademark-it made her stand out among the other vamps who preferred black, black, and more black in their wardrobes. I blinked at her, wondering what the hell she wanted. Maybe to complain about how I’d killed her pet, but surely my father hadn’t meant that much to her. Laura was a council member-she probably couldn’t take a step without tripping over one of her toadies.

  My shields snapped in place around me. “Well, if it isn’t the Wicked Bitch of the Southwest Side. What the fuck do you want?” I asked. Faust made a noise that sounded almost as though he’d swallowed a bug, and then started coughing. Laura’s gaze darkened, which was quite a feat considering her eyes were the palest gray I’d ever seen, so much so they were almost colorless.

  “Watch your language, Miss Morrow,” she warned. Those pale gray eyes looked me up and down, appearing extremely disappointed by what they saw. “You do not look much like your father.”

  I studied her in return-she was beautiful, in a Nordic ice-princess sort of way. After getting a better look at her light lashes and eyebrows I had to grudgingly admit that her platinum blonde hair was natural, and not bleached. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone naturally have hair that shade, and it made me hate her just a little bit more. What I wouldn’t have given in high school for hair that color, instead of the boring brown I’d been cursed with.

  “You killed my servant. By our law, that makes you indebted to me.”

  “Yeah? Well, you killed my mother. I say that makes us even,” I countered. Laura shifted in her seat, her thin lips pressed into a firm line. “Not even going to deny that one, are you? Did the council send his body back to you, sword and all?”

  Laura growled low, and Faust cleared his throat. “Perhaps it’s best not to antagonize her, Miss Baker.”

  “I doubt she’s gonna shed any tears for old Dorian. Laura’s gone through more men than a botoxed Hollywood cougar on a bender.”

  Apparently Laura wasn’t used to being mocked, or she had a very short temper, because she lunged across the seats in a blur of motion and attempted to attack me. Her well-manicured claws bounced harmlessly off my shields, and I smiled sweetly. “Gee, blondes really are that dumb.”

  “That’s enough, from both of you.” Faust tsked, sounding weary as Laura was thrown back into her seat by an invisible force.

  “Sure, whatever you say,” I said.

  “She was guaranteed safe passage,” he scolded the vampire.

  “Zachary promised her that, not me. I will not be ordered around by him.”

  “This brings dishonor to you both, councilwoman,” Faust said pointedly.

  “That whelp killed my Dorian, I don’t care what she thinks.”

  Her Dorian, huh? Nice.

  Deciding I’d had enough excitement for now, I sat back in silence and watched the passing scenery through the tinted windows. The route was familiar enough despite the fact that I don’t drive when I travel downtown-I don’t own a car, and the train’s faster anyway. Plus there’s the fact that I don’t go downtown very often, which is really just a crime. Chicago’s got everything: museums, fine dining, great theater, sports, shopping, and so on. I just don’t take the time to fit any of it into my routine, and I made a mental note to rectify that mistake should I manage to live through this meeting.

  The limo carefully navigated the rainy streets, and Faust interrupted the quiet. “Well, this is where I leave you. Lady Laura, I do suggest you try to keep your temper in check. Good evening to you both.”

  The faerie vanished, leaving me alone with Lovely Laura. Heavy silence hung in the air until the limo finally pulled into the parking garage beneath the building. The Harrison building is one of the larger structures downtown, a brand-spanking-new high-rise office building. A gleaming, sleek structure, it was only one of the many Zachary Harrison was reported to own-it wasn’t on the scale of the Sears Tower or the Hancock, but still very impressive.

  The parking garage was empty, and our footsteps echoed loudly as we walked toward the shiny silver doors of an elevator. As I glanced around I noticed that the place was pristine, clean like no other parking structure I’d ever seen, and the air was surprisingly fresh. When we reached the elevator Laura stepped inside with me, and I tried to stand as far away from her as I could. With the amazing speed of modern technology the elevator whooshed up, whizzing past floor after floor and making my ears pop.

  The doors opened on the very top floor-the penthouse of course. Stepping through the doors, I entered a large, open room. Sparse decoration was scattered throughout the area, a Spartan black and chrome design that communicated the modern ideal of “I’m so wealthy I can afford to waste all this space in a city this crowded.” Everything around me shone with a high polish, and I felt very small and dirty as I tracked rain and mud on the black marble floor.

  Zachary Harrison was seated at his desk, another boring, bland piece of furniture I wouldn’t have bought for my apartment no matter how cheaply it was on sale. Maybe I was showing my bourgeois roots, but if I had enough money to buy my own island I’d want some bling in my décor. Since I’d seen Harrison before I was somewhat prepared for the experience. The man really was gorgeous-if you ignored the fact that he was a walking corpse, but the non-magical world had no knowledge of that. The media loved him, the paparazzi followed him around everywhere he went, he’d been voted world’s sexiest bachelor or something like that by some magazine three or four times. Harrison was rich, handsome, famous, intelligent, always impeccably groomed and dressed, and he would be young and beautiful forever.

  The vampire was too enthralled with his computer to bother to look up as I entered the room, and I was too irritated to wait for him to pay attention to me. Laura sauntered over to one of the enormous windows and stood looking out over the city, ignoring both me and Harrison. I headed over to his desk and plopped into a chair across from him.

  “If this is the famed Harrison hospitality I’ve heard of, forgive me if I don’t pick one of your hotels for my next vacation.”

  Harrison’s fingers paused above his keyboard as he glanced up at me. “Were you mistreated?”

  “Your g
irlfriend tried to rip out my throat, but it’s okay, her claws bounced right off my shields. Oh, sorry about the floor.” I waved my good hand at the trail of wet footsteps behind me. “You can put it on Laura’s bill.”

  Anger flashed across his face, quick and terrible, and the scent of new smoke rose around us like a stinging cloud. “Please accept my sincere apology for her behavior, Miss Morrow.”

  “Don’t apologize to that brat,” Laura demanded.

  “Don’t call me a brat, you skanky whore,” I countered.

  Laura charged at me but, moving in a blur, Harrison zipped around the desk and intercepted her. Scooping her up, he flipped her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and carried her to the elevator. She kicked and screamed the entire way, shouting obscenities that even I would be hard-pressed to match. Harrison deposited her in the elevator, and her screeching was cut off once the doors closed, leaving the room in blessed silence.

  It gave me a moment of pause-Harrison had just dealt with a member of the vampire council as though she were a cranky toddler on her way to a time-out. I tried to picture someone treating Cecelia of the Silver Crescent that way, and my brain almost bruised itself trying to conjure up that image.

  “I didn’t send her, I knew she wouldn’t behave,” he explained as he returned to his desk. “I didn’t find out that she’d invited herself along for the ride until after the limo had left.” Pausing, he stood in front of me and leaned back against the front of the desk.

  “Uh-huh. Where’s Mac?”

  “He’s in good hands. You’ll see him shortly, after our discussion.”

  My heart leapt at the idea that Mac was alive-at least I hoped he was alive. I was gonna be real annoyed if they’d made him a vampire. “What discussion? If you’re asking me to call off my cousins, lemme just say right now you’re wasting your time.”

  “I would like the opportunity to speak with your family. However, I invited you here to discuss the possibility of a business arrangement between us.”