Dark Enchantment

by Anya Bast

  “Ronan and Niall don’t have anything like that?”

  He shook his head. “Lucky them.”

  “Speaking of psychic phenomenon.” She pulled her sleeves over her hands and looked into her lap. “How do you intend to access these supposed memories I have? It’s not like I have a direct line into the heads of my ancestors. They’re long dead, after all, and it’s not like I ever met them.”

  “Ah, but you share their DNA. You have a latent psychic connection that threads from you, to your mother, to your grandmother, to your great-grandmother, and so on down the line.”

  “Through the maternal line?” She didn’t feel any sort of connection to her maternal line, psychic or otherwise. Grief twisted in her stomach, making her go cold.

  “Of course. Humans don’t believe such things are possible.” He snorted. “Humans would like everything magickal to disappear from this earth, leaving everything black-and-white and totally simple. But nothing is simple. The memories we need are there in your mind. We just have to find a way to get you to access them. The problem is you lack faith.”

  “Excuse me? You don’t even know me.”

  “I know enough to see you’re going to fight it because you don’t believe it. You don’t believe in magick and that’s an extra block we’ll have to plow through.”

  “Magick, in case you’ve forgotten, is what bound me to you and brought me here. I kind of have to believe in it, right? I’d be crazy if I didn’t.”

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “The very fact I need to explain what I mean makes my point for me.”

  She made a cutting motion with her hand. “Fine, Mr. Vague, forget it. You’re right. Stop now because you’re giving me a headache.”

  He only smiled at her. That knowing smirk made her want to storm out of the room. God, she couldn’t remember the last time anyone had riled her up as much as this man. She drew a careful breath and let it out. She had a feeling she’d be doing a lot of deep breathing and counting to ten while this guy was around. “Why did the witch curse you?”

  His annoying smile faded and a muscle in his jaw twitched. He walked out of the kitchen. “We have work to do.”

  Hmmm.

  After a moment, she got up and followed him. “What kind of work?”

  “The kind where you change your clothes and hit the road with me. Today is the day we attempt to get you past your bigotry.”

  “I really wish people would stop calling me a bigot.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m a tolerant and open-minded person. My father would kill me if he knew I listened to the HFF’s rhetoric and actually agreed with it sometimes.” She shifted. “It’s just I’ve had these . . .” she trailed off, pressing her lips together, not willing to share her nightmares with him.

  “Had what?”

  She bit her lower lip and shook her head. “Never mind, just please stop calling me a bigot. I don’t think all fae are bad.”

  “Just some of us.”

  She shot him a look to kill. “You have to admit some of you are dangerous.”

  “So are some humans.”

  “Point taken, yet most humans who are dangerous don’t have teeth sharper than knives.”

  “No. They have actual knives, or guns, or legislation that imprisons entire races of innocent people.”

  “Look, Kieran—”

  “Go get ready. Take a shower, change your clothes, brush your teeth. Do whatever it is you do to get ready for the day.” He half turned toward her, his dark hair falling across his forehead.

  God, why did he have to be so pretty? She even thought he was good-looking when he was saying ugly things about her. This was so not fair.

  “And then?”

  “I’m going to give you a tour of Piefferburg.” He smirked. “All the parts you didn’t see yesterday, anyway.”

  Yes, she remembered the ravine quite well. And the stupid sprigat or whatever it was. She put a hand on her hip. “And my job? I’m supposed to be there right now, you know.”

  “Yancy and Tate can spare you for a little while. This is more important.”

  She sputtered for a moment, but he didn’t stick around to hear her response. He closed his bedroom door.

  “What’s important to you is not necessarily what’s important to me!” she yelled at the closed door and then stomped into the room where she should have slept the night before.

  EIGHT

  AFTER she’d taken care of her morning toilette, she decided what she’d wear. Emmaline, who was very nice for a fae, had lent her a wide selection of clothing since they were about the same size. All of it was pretty, but none of it was Charlotte’s style. Bright colors and flattering, body-hugging cuts were not the kind of clothes she felt comfortable in. Her father had always encouraged conservative clothing and dark colors when she’d been growing up, and it was a habit she’d taken to.

  She fingered a light green spring dress that had a small sweater to match, and then let it fall to the bed. Instead she chose the most comfortable outfit she could piece together from the offerings, a pair of faded jeans and a lightweight black v-neck top—the only dark clothing option she had. Emmaline had provided her still-in-the-package panties, socks, and a bra, and had also left her with a few pairs of shoes that almost fit her. She chose a pair of black ankle-length boots.

  She wondered if that spinnett or spriglet, or whatever that being had been, now counted her soaked suitcase and glasses among his “treasures.” Good thing her eyesight wasn’t so bad she needed her glasses to function.

  If she was going to be a prisoner here for a while, she supposed she needed to buy new things. The thought of going bra and panty shopping with Kieran didn’t make her feel warm and fuzzy, however. Maybe she could get Emmaline to take her. Kieran could pay for it; it was the least he could do.

  When she went back into the living room, Kieran was lounging on the couch with his head back and eyes closed. He wore a tight dark blue jersey shirt and a pair of jeans . . . that he made look really good. She allowed herself to drink in the picture during the few moments it took for him to realize she was there and open his eyes. A girl could admire, couldn’t she? She was human, after all. Even if the man she was admiring wasn’t.

  She twisted her hair up on top of her head and began to knot it there, wishing she hadn’t lost her hair clip in the muck the night before.

  “Leave it down.”

  She stopped midmotion and stared at him. “Why?” She always put it up because she couldn’t stand the long tendrils brushing against her cheeks when it was down. She’d cut it short, but her mother had loved her long hair and had spent hours fussing with it when she’d been a child. It was one of the few good memories she had of her mom.

  “You have beautiful hair. Don’t hide it.”

  She blinked. “I do?”

  “You do.”

  She twisted it up anyway. “I just want it to stay out of my face.”

  He shrugged and stood. “Ready?”

  She scowled. “No.”

  “Great. Let’s go.”

  “Listen—”

  But he was already walking out the front door.

  She followed him out of the Black Tower and fell into step beside him on the street outside. It was a nice day in mid-spring and the streets of this section of town were packed with people.

  All kinds of “people.”

  Kieran nodded as they passed a very tall, thin woman with green-tinted skin . . . who had gills. “A bean-fionn. They don’t leave the Narrows much.”

  She tried not to stare as the woman continued on down the street. “We’re not going back to Goblin Town, are we?”

  “The apprehension in your voice makes me think we should, but, no, Goblin Town was not in my plans for the day.” He paused. “It must be so boring living in a place where everyone appears humanoid.”

  She frowned. “I never really thought about it before. Anyway, you should remember
what it’s like. You did it once upon a time, didn’t you? When the fae were all incognito and underground? How old are you anyway?”

  “I’m five hundred and three.”

  She almost missed a step.

  He stopped beside a big silver and black motorcycle in a small parking lot near the base of the tower. Unstrapping a helmet from the back, he tossed it to her. “Better put that on.” Then he swung his leg over the bike and sat down, looking at her expectantly.

  “We’re riding that?”

  He nodded. “I’m a very good driver, don’t worry.”

  A little thrill of anticipation went through her. She’d never ridden on a motorcycle before. God, her father would have a heart attack if he knew she was even thinking about it. She dropped the helmet to her side. “I can’t ride on that.”

  “Sure you can.”

  “No, I can’t.”

  “Does everything have to be a big battle with you?”

  “Apparently. Look, those things aren’t safe.”

  His eyes went dark. “Life is not safe. Put the helmet on.”

  His tone seemed to allow no further disagreement, nor did the look on his face. Fine, she’d protested and been vetoed. She had been kidnapped, after all. Her father couldn’t blame her for being coerced by her abductor. She hesitated a moment longer, then gave in.

  Once her helmet was secure, she threw her leg over and sat down behind him on the now gently purring machine. Her chest and stomach made immediate contact with his very warm, very muscular, very nice back. The same back she remembered exploring with her hands during the dream while he’d been over her . . . inside her. His hot mouth sealed to hers. . . . She drew a deep breath and looked for somewhere to hang on that didn’t involve touching him any further.

  Oh, this was so not a good idea.

  He gunned the engine and took off from the parking space. She yelped and grabbed on to him, her hands finding each other around the tree trunk of his chest. So much for not touching him; she was plastered to him now.

  He rode down the streets around the Black Tower, which seemed high-end in an Unseelie kind of way. Expensive-looking stores and automobiles. Nicely dressed fae, though most of them were nightmarish.

  Then he rode down the street to the opposite end of Piefferburg Square, where the gleaming rose quartz tower of the Seelie Court ascended into the heavens. This was a high-end part of town, too, but there were far fewer of the scary-looking fae here. Most of the people walking the streets in this area were humanoid—Seelie Tuatha Dé, she guessed. The nonhumanoid seemed to be of the small, adorable, and nonthreatening variety. They had to be what were called trooping fae, all the fae who didn’t fit into either court. These troop, as they were called, must be the kind that gravitated toward white magick.

  She instantly decided she liked the Rose Tower better.

  They passed through the area around the Rose Tower and into a poorer part of town. Eventually they hit the part of Piefferburg that she recognized as the burbs. He guided the cycle into what must have passed for a fae subdivision and traveled down a series of streets. All the lawns had tall hedges, shielding them from view of their close neighbors. Like the suburbs she’d seen yesterday, the houses were not uniform, instead all different shapes and sizes with various levels and number of windows. He pulled the cycle up outside a small rounded brown home with a grass-covered roof.

  “We’re visiting smurfs?” she asked after he cut the engine.

  He cast a dark look at her over his shoulder. “We’re visiting friends of mine, friends from way back.”

  Way back for Kieran probably meant centuries.

  She got off the cycle a little regretfully and took off the helmet. She’d really enjoyed the freedom of the bike, even though her hair was mussed. Casting a look back at the cycle, she followed him up a small stone pathway lined with vibrant violet flowers that she didn’t know the name of. They passed through the yard gate that was buttressed with more of the tall, thick privacy hedge that the suburban fae seemed to favor.

  A small, short, brown-skinned man met them at the door. His wizened face was deeply wrinkled. He wore a pair of dark green trousers with suspenders over a plaid shirt. Charlotte couldn’t tell how old he was since the ages of the fae could be deceptive. He gave her an easy, welcoming smile, even though she was a stranger. “Did you finally convince a woman not to run away from you, Kieran?”

  Kieran glanced at her. “She’s trying to run away, Eian, I just won’t let her.”

  Eian laughed, obviously not aware of the truth of the statement.

  “Eian, please meet Charlotte. Charlotte, Eian. Charlotte is human.”

  Eian grinned. “I’d gathered. She looks a little pale. Am I the first brownie you’ve ever met, dear?”

  “Yes,” she managed to answer. Never in her life had she thought she’d ever meet a real, live brownie. Even though she’d known they really existed, they’d seemed like the stuff of faery tales. Which, of course, they were.

  “Well, come on in.” Eian motioned them into the house. “I just brewed some good brown beer. Lillian is not having a very good day, but I think visitors might just make her feel better.” Eian winked at her. “Especially a human, of all things. It’s been a long time since we’ve seen one of those in the flesh.”

  While Eian bustled off into the kitchen, she tried not to gawp at the brownie’s home. It was a snug place filled with blooming flowers and plants. The house was circular and the kitchen and living room were open, separated by a mahogany dining bar. Windows were abundant, showing off a neatly manicured yard that burst with green growing things. Everything was brownie-sized—the chairs and tables were small, the kitchen counters low—and comfortable looking. Human children–sized.

  Eian returned with two big mugs of beer.

  She accepted hers with hesitation. She never drank alcohol. Never.

  “Oh! I have a cheese that would go wonderfully with that!” Eian hurried back into the kitchen.

  Charlotte stared at the beer mug in her hand. “Um.”

  Kieran elbowed her and whispered. “Don’t ever refuse the hospitality of a brownie, it’s an unforgivable insult.”

  Darn it. There wasn’t anything not to adore about the little brownie and she had no wish to offend him. And the mug was not brownie-sized, unfortunately. It was very much humansized—large human-sized. Motorcycle riding and beer all in one day. What would her father say?

  Eian returned with a plate of cubed cheese and a huge smile on his face. “Lillian is still sleeping, but I’m sure she’ll wake up soon. Why don’t we sit a little while in the living room?”

  She looked doubtfully at the small chairs, sure she’d break one if she tried to sit. Following Kieran’s example, she sat on the floor around the coffee table. She admired the piece of mahogany furniture, running her finger along the carved edge.

  “I made the table myself.” Eian set the delicious-looking cheese near them and sank into a chair with a sigh, his own brownie-sized mug in hand. “My family have been furniture makers for eons.”

  “It’s absolutely gorgeous.”

  “Thank you. Don’t do it now, though, I’m too old. And my children . . .” He trailed off. “Well, it looks like the tradition will die with me.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  Eian smacked his lips together and nodded. “It is what it is.”

  A silence fell over the room. It was like a living thing, the weight of the unsaid. She looked between Kieran and Eian, not sure what had just happened.

  Then Kieran raised his mug. “To Lillian.”

  A soft expression overcame the brownie’s face and he raised his mug. “To my dear Lillian.”

  Okay, when in Rome. Not knowing who Lillian was or why they were toasting her, she nodded solemnly and lifted her mug. “Lillian.”

  The men took a deep drink. She looked down at the dark liquid, and when she couldn’t stall any longer, raised the mug to her lips. The cool beer filled her mouth and slipped d
own her throat. It was like nothing she’d ever tasted before. Full, flavorful, nutty, just the slightest bit bitter.

  She loved it.

  Before she drained the mug down to its dregs, she forced herself to stop and set it back on the table. Kieran was watching her with a bemused expression on his face. Gee, she was glad she could provide entertainment. Giving him a cool look, she focused her attention on Eian. “Your beer is delicious.”

  “I’m so glad you’re enjoying it. Watch out, though, it packs a bigger wallop than human beer.”

  She could already tell. A curious, yet very nice warmth had begun to spread through her body.

  He pointed at the plate in front of her. “Have some cheese.”

  She plucked a cube of cheese and popped it into her mouth. Creamy and wonderful, it seemed to have three times the flavor of any cheese she’d ever eaten. “Oh, that’s good. Why is it that everything here seems to taste better than it does out there?”

  Kieran took a piece of cheese. “Because you’re essentially in faerie, Charlotte. All food in here tastes like ambrosia to a human tongue.” He popped the cube into his mouth. As he chewed, he waggled his brows at her. “Other things seem more pleasurable, too.”

  She gave him a slow blink and a cold look.

  Eian laughed. “Don’t mind Kieran, dear. He’s always been wicked. Since this is your first time to Piefferburg, do you have any questions you’d like to ask?”

  “Thank you.” She pointedly turned her attention to Eian. “What I don’t understand is how all the fae stayed hidden from humans for so long. I understand that you used glamour, but it’s still hard to believe.”

  “Actually,” said Kieran. “That’s an old wives’ tale. Glamour is a skill only some of the fae possess. The fae that looked nonhumanoid were forced to hide from humans, usually deep in the woods in small communities or literally underground. Back then it was easier. Even if the Fae Wars, Watt Syndrome, and the attack of the Phaendir had never occurred, the fae would have eventually been outed to the human world because of the advances in technology and the decline of the wild places. Essentially, the fae’s habitat would have been destroyed, they would have been forced to move toward the city, and they would have been caught on video.”