The Elementals Collection
Page 65
She reached into her bag for the Sai Alec had handed her on T’Kaeri. On impulse, she’d taken it with her, tossing it in her pack along with her gear. It wasn’t until today she realized there had been a reason.
The trident was one of a matched pair. The weapons were made of the strongest charm-infused Han Dynasty steel, and she’d always cast a covetous eye on them, wishing she could play with them.
Now the single trident would serve another purpose—with the right spell, she could track its stolen mate. It was another lead to the thief who killed Jordan.
The spell will still work, even if the Sai is covered in fae blood, she reminded herself as she pushed the door open.
Serin stopped short, taken aback at the vision behind the door. Loki was on the floor, his back to the couch. He was bleeding all over his cocoa skin—her skin.
Serin rushed to his side, crouching down to pull the bloody rags away from his stomach.
“Shit. What happened to you? And why did you take my form?” she added with a snap when she saw the wound wasn’t fatal. At least, she hoped it wasn’t.
“I needed to look like you, so your super would let me in.” Loki’s voice was weak. He was sweating, panting, as she probed his wound.
“Why do you have a bullet in you?” she asked, mystified.
“Cause I got shot,” he cried as she pulled the skin to examine the wound.
Serin closed her eyes, putting her hand over the hole in his side.
“Please tell me you know some healing spells.”
Her forehead puckered. “I do, but they’re not going to help with a bullet inside you. We have to take it out first.”
She considered calling Gia. Though she has some skill, her sister’s healing ability was better than hers. The fae shuddered and he paled, grimacing.
No, there wasn’t time. Loki was going to have make do with her skills.
“Brace yourself,” she warned him. “This is going to hurt.”
Serin parted her lips, calling on the Mother, twisting the aether with words. The long middle tip of the Sai burst into flames.
Loki started, then winced, holding his side as the movement jostled the wound. “How did you do that? You’re a water talent.”
Serin twisted her lips, examining the wound to plot her next step. “The older I get, the easier it is to borrow from my sisters. Now, hold still.”
She blew out the flame, flipping the weapon over so the now-sterile tip was just over the bullet hole.
Loki held up his hands. “Wait, wait.” He panted. “I—I don’t suppose you have any fae painkillers around?”
“Do those exist?” There were plenty of drugs in the fae world, but all the ones she knew were hallucinogens and pleasure enhancers.
“Some booze then?”
She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think my sisters keep spirits around.”
“What about Logan, the Air Elemental? She’s young and down for whatever. And her mate goes everywhere with her. He’s one of those crazy Colorado wolves. If they’ve been here, there must be something. Check the closet, please.”
Serin measured the amount of blood soaking his sweater. His pulse was growing weaker.
“I’m sorry, but we don’t have time.” She patted his hand. “Brace yourself.”
“Wait.” Loki reached behind him, fishing out a flask. Wiggling his fingers, he opened it one-handed and took a big swig.
“Absinthe,” he panted before tensing. Exhaling loudly, he nodded. “Okay, I’m ready.”
Shaking her head, Serin probed the wound with the tip of the Sai. She worked the bullet loose as Loki squirmed and swore.
Tossing it aside, she put her bare hands over the hole and began to chant. After several minutes, the flesh began to show signs of knitting together. She stopped, pulling back before his mouth and other orifices began to close too.
Relieved, she stood and helped him up. “Are you going to tell me how you got this now?”
Loki limped, settling on the couch with her help. “I thought I had a new line on Puck. He was supposed to be at Dyonisia tonight. I wanted to find him for you.”
“Loki,” she scolded. “I told you to stay out of it once that first body dropped. Puck doesn’t want to be found. He is going to extreme lengths to make sure he can’t be traced, not through you. I thought that was clear.”
“I wasn’t going to confront him, I swear. I was just going to check out the club. But I didn’t even make it to Dyonisia. I was hit down the block.”
Serin pulled a warm throw from an adjoining chair, then dropped it over Loki. “The spell is working. Rest now. You’re going to need it.”
She moved past him to the bedroom, digging in her drawers until she found a strap that accommodated both the Sai and a short blade.
“You’re going to Dyonisia without me, aren’t you?” he called after her.
Serin returned, strapping on the harness. “I am. Stay here. Heal. And please drop that glamour now. It’s creeping me out.”
“Oh. Right.” Loki sighed, a shimmer passing over him. The other Serin disappeared, leaving the male greaser in her place.
Yawning, he snuffled under the wool throw.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” he whispered, his voice slurring slightly with exhaustion. “You’re never going to believe who saved me…”
10
Serin tightened her grip around the goblin’s neck, shifting her hold a bit so he could breathe and talk.
“Why are you doing this?” Kerrick wheezed, kicking his legs in the air.
They were in the back storeroom of Dionysia, the noise of their confrontation disguised by the driving beat of the latest bl0b track. “I’m your friend! Haven’t I been useful to you?”
“Once or twice in the past, you’ve provided some assistance,” she acknowledged with equanimity.
Serin wasn’t even out of breath, despite the fact the frequently flirtatious goblin outweighed her by at least two stone of muscle.
“Then why?” he asked, the pitch of his voice a hairsbreadth from a wail.
“Because I don’t have time for your—I’m-fae-so-I-can’t-answer-a-direct-question bullshit,” she said, her jaw tight. “I want to know why Loki was almost gunned down in the street outside. Nothing happens around here that you don’t know about.”
“But why the strong-arm tactics?” He coughed, tapping her hand. “I mean, I expect this from Diana—maybe Logan when she’s on her period—but you’re Water. You’re the reasonable one.”
“Period jokes? Really?” She shook him again. “Tell me another one and you’ll see how reasonable I can be.”
Serin may have been known for following the rules of engagement in their world, but that didn’t make it safe to cross her. She adjusted her grip around Kerrick’s neck, tightening it enough for his glamour to flicker. The overly groomed millennial with the perfect Van Dyke beard blinked out, revealing a pale green goblin with thin gold lips and bright pink hair.
“I wasn’t joking about you!” he protested, his expression wounded.
Serin was unmoved. “And yet, as a woman, I’m still offended. Funny how that works…” She let him drop to the ground, leaning in close before smiling.
Kerrick’s eyes widened as she let the ocean’s cold blue shine through her eyes.
“Okay, okay, but I really don’t know anything about the gun fight. Our kind doesn’t deal in human weapons!”
“Then tell me what you do know. You’ve been the caretaker of Dionysia for decades. You know who is fucking who, and which of your clients came into money, all the normal gossip that runs in an institution like this. But you also hear the little whispers about those toying with the black—the ones who flirt with the edge and the ones who jump right off it with their eyes open.”
Drawing her head back, she stared down at the goblin, her face a perfectly carved mask.
Kendrick winced. “I don’t know anything about the gun attack. That’s the truth—I swear on the covenant.”
Serin put him down and loosened her grip. “It’s why I’ve always liked you. But one of your people is putting profit over people. He goes by Puck and he traffics in stolen goods—artifacts that shouldn’t be out in the world. One human is already dead. Loki came close to being the first fae to die. The person responsible is someone who drinks the drafts you pour and revels with the crowd you tend.”
She crossed her arms. “It’s true that talking to me is frowned upon by your regent, but Puck is the one violating the queen’s chief edict regarding Elementals—he’s making us get involved. We both know that is the last thing she would want.”
The barkeep stepped back, rolling his shoulders as the glamour swept back over him. The human millennial returned, his eyes cast down. “I still don’t know anything about the guns, but I might’ve heard something about someone new making money off objects of powers. However, it was just a rumor. Dionysia isn’t the place for people to market those wares. My clientele doesn’t have the scratch for the high-ticket stuff.”
“Who’d you hear the rumor from?”
“An old dryad named Saz. Mind you, I don’t think he’s involved. Saz is an old barfly. He spends most of the week hugging the bar bench, nursing the same pint for hours on end. He was just repeating something he heard…and only because he’s been searching for Eldertree stools for his place for a long time.”
“All I want is a lead. Saz has nothing to fear if he’s not involved.” She bit her lip before sucking in a breath. “Thank you…and sorry for the rough handling.”
“I get worse from the Dunkers when they’ve had one too many.” Kerrick put his hand in his pockets, then kicked the floor. “Can I ask you something?”
She leaned against the shelf. “Depends on what it is.”
“Is the other rumor I heard true? Is your mate dead?”
The Supernatural world was smaller than she thought, but Serin was struck by her lack of emotion. There wasn’t a telltale shaft of pain, no tightening of her stomach. Just the coldness in her extremities that had been her constant companion since Jordan disappeared.
“Yes,” she said hoarsely.
“Oh. Sorry.” Kerrick rubbed the back of his head. “Hey, when this is all over—weeks or months—come back and I’ll break out a bottle of Barda Rum. I’ve been saving for a couple of centuries. It should be coming into its own now.”
Serin pushed her hair behind her ear. At least the goblin didn’t hold a grudge, but if he’d already heard the news of her mate, it would explain his willingness to forgive and forget.
“We’ll see. Are you expecting Saz tonight?”
Kerrick gestured for her to follow him to the door. That heavy bass of yet another bl0b song was making it vibrate. “If he’s not, he’ll be in tomorrow or the next day. He never stays away long.”
He swung the door open, letting in an explosion of sound. It was a bit like being hit with a rogue wave. Every part of her body reacted as if struck, until it adjusted grudgingly like someone did after leaping into the ocean.
At least it adjusted up to a point. Her bones rattled, and she shot Kerrick a pointed glance.
“It’s the new album,” he shouted over the noise. He pointed to the pub’s makeshift dance floor. An assortment of lower fae were slamming against each other to the beat. “Folks are celebrating. It’s not often one of ours makes the top of the human charts.”
Serin sighed and turned, narrowly missing being mowed down by a squat barrel-chested brownie. She corrected his course with a well-meaning shove and circled the floor, about to make her way to one of the darkened booths in the back to wait for her mark. She stopped dead when she saw Agent Romero.
He was standing at the bar talking to the relief bartender, a grizzled female centaur glamoured into the form of a voluptuous blonde.
How the hell had he gotten in here? The wards kept everyone but fae out. No shifters, no witches, and no vampires could come inside without an invitation. Elementals were the exception to fae wards, but only because the fae hadn’t figured out how to keep them out yet.
Kerrick followed her line of sight, spotting the human seconds after she did. His mouth dropped open. “Is that what I think it is?” He grabbed her arm, hissing the question in her ear.
Serin shook off his hand. “It would appear so.”
She gestured for him to follow her to the edge of the room, out of the detective’s line of sight. “What happened? Have you given the task of warding the bar to a subordinate?”
“No! I always do it myself—I have since I took over the bar three centuries ago. There’s no way in hell a human got past them.”
She craned her neck to see the agent. He appeared to be enjoying his beer. “Well, apparently this one did.”
When she turned back, Kerrick was watching her with suspicion. “Do you know him?”
“I do. He’s a particularly persistent member of the human law enforcement. He’s been popping up lately.”
“A human cop? That’s even worse.” Kerrick was beside himself. “We need to get him out of here before he sees past Cincy’s glamour. She’s not that good at holding it for more than an hour or two. In fact, most of the patrons can’t do any better. It’s why they come here, so they don’t have to.”
Serin shook her head, still marveling that Romero had made it past the wards. “He really must have hunter blood in him.”
“Really?” Kerrick slumped in relief. “Then that’s settled. We can just contact the Court. One of the trappers will pick him up. He’ll be conscripted into the Great Hunt, problem solved.”
Serin scowled. “Don’t even think about it. This guy’s profile is too high. A top human cop can’t just disappear without a shitstorm of scrutiny.”
Not to mention the fact humans conscripted into the Great Hunt were essentially slaves. Elementals didn’t interfere with the practice because most of the human predators started out by hunting their own kind. Agent Romero wasn’t in that class.
The goblin scoffed. “Humans disappear all the time. The queen can have a changeling fashioned to replace him. No one will ever know the difference.”
“The hell she will,” Serin said. “Forget about it. We’re not siccing fae bounty hunters on him. Loki’s alive because of Romero.”
Kerrick didn’t care. “Lucky Loki, but the human has to go before anyone notices him. There are mountain trolls in here! You know how suspicious those bastards are. If they even get a whiff of him, they’ll tear him apart.”
Ugh. As much as she enjoyed teasing him, Serin didn’t want to go to bat for this particular human. She was still annoyed at being dragged in for questioning.
“I’ll take care of this,” she said from behind gritted teeth.
Romero clapped a hand over his eyes, tears streaming.
“Sorry. Can I have a napkin or something?” he asked the gorgeous Playboy bunny behind the bar. “I don’t know what’s wrong with my eyes. Must be the smoke in here.”
The blonde gave him a stiff smile and handed him the folded square of paper, dropping it on the bar in front of him to avoid touching him. Wiping his eyes, he turned around, wondering what her problem was. He was in plainclothes, and no one had ever made him as law enforcement in a bar.
Also, Daniel ordinarily did pretty well with female bartenders. He’d gone home with more than one in his day, but this girl was acting like he had the plague.
He sipped the beer she’d handed him moments before. Blinking, he glanced down at it in surprise.
At least the beer was good. It was nutty and had a hint of honey without being sweet. It must have been a new microbrew. He squinted at the vaguely Celtic design on the label, committing the name to
memory so he could find it again before turning his attention back to the shifting crowd.
A cleared space in the center of the room served as a dance floor. There were more men than women in the melee, all dancing—if it could be called that. The raucous crowd behind him threw themselves around like they were being electrocuted. The beat they were moving to wasn’t half bad. It was one of those heavy drum and bass tracks popular on the radio recently.
A massive figure broke away from the crowd, crashing into a barstool a few away from his. The ugly son of a bitch picked himself up with a gap-toothed grin, then went stumbling right back into the mix.
One thing was for damn sure. Daniel wasn’t going to be a regular here, no matter how good the beer was.
“Is it always this…active?” he asked, swiveling toward the bartender. It was a Wednesday, for Pete’s sake.
The woman shrugged, her head down.
Strike two. He was definitely off his game.
A particularly deep thrum in the soundtrack made his eardrum vibrate, and he winced.
Damn, he was getting old. A couple of years ago, he would have felt right at home in a place like this. It was strangely familiar, though he couldn’t say why.
The decor was a weird mix of post-apocalyptic industrial and old-world pub. He polished off his beer and decided to order another when he saw his chatty blonde barkeep straighten suddenly. Her eyes flicked past his shoulder, widening as her whole body tensed.
Blinking fast to clear the continued stinging in his eyes, Romero spun around, his hand instinctively moving to the hidden holster under his jacket.
Despite the violence of the dance moves displayed on the floor, there wasn’t a threat coming up behind him, nor was another behemoth about to barrel into him. It was the woman in the white bikini, only this time, she was dressed from head to toe in black leather.
She looked amazing. As usual, his brain short-circuited, and he stared open-mouthed at her like an idiot. He searched for something to say. If you value your life…don’t make a Catwoman joke.