To the Grave
Page 8
He didn’t remind me that the deal was his choice. I could get along with a man that knew when to shut up.
We piled into a waiting limo. It was nice of Michael to give the rest of us broke suckers a ride home. After two funerals in as many weeks, my bank accounts were going to be screaming at me. Whatever Michael wanted from me, he was going to pay dearly for it, if I had the capability to do it.
We rode in silence, Sam as far away from Michael and me as he could get. Angel looked completely undisturbed sitting next to the fairy. That was interesting. Maybe it was my magic, or maybe the fact he couldn’t hear well. Something to think about regardless. Fairies were notorious at double crosses and betrayal. Every deal and agreement had to be brokered expertly. I didn’t trust him, and I doubt he trusted me. Working relationships had been forged on less.
“What is it you want me to do for you?” I asked, tired of waiting, the tension in the car filling up so I couldn’t breathe.
He eyed Sam and Angel but then looked at me as if I were the only person in the car. When he leaned in to drop his tone, I was not comforted. “My people are missing,” he said.
I tilted my head to look at him closer. “Which people is that?”
“The fae. They are all missing, gone, vanished off the face of the Earth. I’m the only one left.”
“Could they have been murdered by...”
He shook his head vehemently. “You think a pack of little white witches could take down dozens of fae.”
Dozens. That turned my insides to a strange liquid. As far as I knew, there weren’t that many left. Apparently, I was misinformed. “When was the last time you saw someone like you?”
“A year ago.”
Pretty cold trail. Awesome.
“A year is a long time to be missing a bunch of people.”
“We are solitary creatures, and I more than most. I rarely see my kind unless there is some sort of emergency.”
I did not want to think about what could be considered an emergency to his people. It was a long shot, but I asked, “Did you try calling them, on the phone, or email?”
He narrowed his eyes. “I’m old, not decrepit. Of course I tried contacting them through conventional methods. At least the ones I’m in regular contact with.
Okay, so, to recap. The super population in the area had been decimated by a bunch of radicalized witches. And now the entire fae population seemed to be missing for maybe a year.
“Do you have anything else to go on? Any leads, thoughts on where they could be? Anything?”
He shook his head and sank back into the seat to look out the window. “I’m at a loss. Why else would I seek one such as you for help.”
“Aw, and here I thought you were interested in me for my dazzling wit and amazing...typing skills.”
That earned a glare, but without his glamour, it fell short. We made it to the house, and going inside felt strange. It was just Sam, Angel, and me there now. No witches to yell at when I felt the need. Maybe we should keep it that way.
I went into the living room and plopped on the couch, feeling better than I’d ever felt after a death. Michael sat next to me and watched me expectantly, not even glancing around my rack shamble living room. I was sure he’d be used to finer accommodations and furnishings. His lack of disdain made me like him...just a little bit.
I turned to Sam and Angel.
“Step one. Get my damn magic back.”
THE END
If you like books in the UF and paranormal genres check out my book, Soulless. Click the link below.
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About the Author
Monica Corwin is a New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author. She is an outspoken writer attempting to make romance accessible to everyone, no matter their preferences. As a Northern Ohioian, Monica enjoys snow drifts, three seasons of weather, and a dislike of Michigan football. Monica owns more books about King Arthur than should be strictly necessary. Also typewriters...lots and lots of typewriters.
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