Seelie (The Falcon Grey Files Book 1)

by Sarah Luddington

  Three walls of my fabricated office were covered in crime scene photos which overlaid posters about the latest government scheme into preventing this or that tabloid panic. The fourth wall was clear plastic, so I could see my bees and they could see their boss. I switched on my computer and waited; while I waited I drifted.

  The memories I drifted into startled me and I backed off quickly. “That won’t help,” I muttered. I began to call up files and downloaded the new documents, printing them out to add to the mess on the wall. With everything updated quickly on the cloud I could have information from the crime scene in real time. Nothing supplanted seeing the place for real, I’d not have smelt what I needed to if I hadn’t gone there, but this new cloud worked well.

  I added to the gory patchwork covering my office walls and considered the implications of the crime. Someone wanted DC Dar dead. The only reason they wanted her dead was because of her friendship with me. They couldn’t come at me directly and Bethan was the only person I felt close to in this new world I occupied. I made notes and observations, as per my training, but I knew what was doing this – I just didn’t know how to stop it. Not here.

  By the time I looked up from the computer I saw darkness outside the windows and sighed heavily. The clock told me it was a quarter to five. I gathered my things together and left the office, the sky just turning from twilight to full dark. Snow spat down from clouds and people hurried through the weather, wanting to be warm. Christmas coloured the streets in jarring happiness; I should be driving but I needed to think and the walk to my apartment would clear my mind from the air-conditioned fog circulating in my blood. In an effort to avoid the saturating joy being foisted on me, I dived into the back streets.

  I walked on silent feet, my hands thrust deeply into my jeans and my shoulders hunched. The cold didn’t really affect me but I should not feel comfortable without my coat and I faked the chill to help blend with the crowds. Mind you, at six foot four and built like the standard image of a Viking, but with brutally short blonde hair, I didn’t blend very well. A whisper of something crept up my back and wriggled around the base of my skull, forcing me to full alert. I slowed.

  I drew in air, moving it through my nose and over my tongue slowly, tasting for the scent to confirm the prickle. I tasted traffic, people, rotting rubbish and nothing else. It meant my potential attacker lay downwind. He could track me by scent but I couldn’t track him. I continued to slow and turned left into a street containing a park. If we were going to fight I didn’t want innocent people involved. I reached the park and vaulted effortlessly over the six foot spiked fence, vanishing into the trees and shrubs bordering the small green area.

  The leaves covering the ground made walking quietly impossible for both me and my tracker. I heard him land lightly behind me and moved to draw him into the centre of the park.

  The lights of the city gave it a hollow orange glow and the snow looked black as it descended fitfully. I reached the centre of the park and turned.

  “Hello, Marcus,” I said to the thick black shadows surrounding the edge.

  One of the shadows peeled itself off from the rest and walked toward me. The orange light made his black skin shine and the long black braids down his back absorbed it.

  He didn’t speak, but I watched his hands flex. A tell. Marcus was stressed.

  I held out my hands in supplication. “We can talk. You don’t have to do this,” I said in measured tones.

  “Yes, Falcon, I do,” he said. He used my name and it sent a shiver down my spine, it always sounded like a caress.

  “Why? Why can’t we talk about it? Who is making you do this? We can stop them – together we can do anything, you know that,” I said. My pulse pounded in my throat.

  “No talking, Falcon,” he said and he moved.

  We were the same height but Marcus had always been heavier, more muscular and as he bowled into me it hurt. I relaxed and dropped back, my spine hitting something hard on the ground, then giving; great, a glass bottle no doubt. I pushed up with my legs and he rolled over me, off me. I flexed my back and landed on my feet, turning to face him in one movement.

  “I’m not going to hurt you, Marcus,” I said, panting slightly.

  “Tell me where the boy is and we can both go home,” he said. We watched each other carefully. His black eyes were wary and with good cause, I’d beaten him in more than one fight.

  “You know I can’t do that. You know I will never do that, not even for you,” I said quietly. “Is my father dead? Is that why you are here?”

  Marcus didn’t answer, he just rushed me again. I didn’t understand why, we could fight with fists, feet, weapons, why was he choosing to wrestle me to the ground? This time he lifted me clean off my feet, I wrapped my legs around his torso and my arms around his back, then forced my centre of gravity through his and backward all at once. The weight change unbalanced him and we toppled again to the ground. I flicked him over and this time rolled with him, landing on top of his chest. He tried to punch me at last but he was slow and the punch went wild. He breathed too hard, as if I’d actually hurt him, and he sweated. This small tussle shouldn’t have hurt him or even stressed him.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “Shut up, Falcon,” he snarled. “Shut up and end this.”

  “End what?” I asked, utterly mystified.

  He cried out, a sound of utter desolation and so pain wracked I shuddered. He bucked up with his hips, I slipped, lost my balance and rolled away from him.

  “Love, what’s wrong?” I called out, turning but remaining low to the ground, crouched and ready to spring.

  Before he could answer the sound of wild dogs and chattering hyenas reverberated around the small square of Victorian terraces that surrounded the park.

  “Dvergar?” I whispered in shock. “You brought Dvergar to take me down?”

  Marcus blinked heavily. “I had no idea,” he confessed and I saw the truth of his words. Marcus had never lied to me and he couldn’t start now. “Fal, they must have tracked me to find you. They could never have done it on their own. You’ve covered yourself in humanity too well, far too well. You must run.”

  “Run? From the Dvergar? Are you nuts?” I asked him. I rose and turned toward the sound, which approached rapidly. “I will never run from that pack of wild dogs.”

  “Please, Highness, you don’t understand,” he said.

  I glanced at him, shocked once more. “Highness? Since when did you use my title?” I asked.

  “So much has changed,” he begged. I saw fear in his green eyes, real fear. Nothing scared Marcus. He had taught me more about enduring fear and pain than anyone else.

  The metal surrounding the park screamed in protest as a rabble of undesirable men and women in dirty hoodies, tracksuit trousers and trainers lumbered into the park. A pack of wild dogs but no true dog would run with these Underlings, the undesirable of our kind. The foot soldiers of those who wanted a dirty job finished without finesse. They lived as they appeared, in filth and squalor. In my day job I came across packs sometimes, killing and raping humankind; those jobs never went to trial. I’d pick a dark night and go hunting myself. The Dvergar were the ones closest to the worst kind of people, and they blended effortlessly, unlike many of our kindred.

  My body flexed and my half form shimmered into view. The baying of the Dvergar grew in strength, thinking me cornered. Fools. Marcus would never stand against me, I didn’t even have to look.

  They rushed forward and I flew toward them. My clawed hands slashed and the razor talons tore through matted stinking fur, scales and deep into guts and throats. Marcus called our traditional battle cry and I knew he joined me in the joy of true battle. Knowing he held my back, I dived into and through the centre of the horde. Snapping limbs, biting faces, throwing bodies into trees, only to hear the trunks crack on impact. When the Dvergar began to die, their bodies melting back to the world which spawned them, I turned to check on my comrade. He fought and he
fought well but he remained in his full mortal form.

  He’d never survive if he didn’t change, at least halfway to his true self. What the hell was wrong with him? I rushed back to his side and began tearing enemies limb from limb, the Dvergar always relying on numbers to destroy their enemies rather than skill or brains.

  I heard a loud retort and froze. A gun? Who had a gun? We didn’t carry guns; for the lesser among our kind, the volatile elements of firearms distorted our minds. I’d learned to cope with the strange pain guns gave us and worked well with them because of my eyesight, but Dvergar shouldn’t be able to control a gun.

  Marcus clutched his chest and fell.

  “No!” I screamed, the pitch high and a call of deep anguish. The pigeons in half of London took flight in response to the predatory call. A few crows and city-bred falcons rose to join their voices to mine.

  The last of the Dvergar died in a blood storm of rage and I approached Marcus. He lay in a dark pool of his own making, the snow white on his black skin and clothes.

  “Marcus,” I called his name, lifting him into my arms. His eyes opened and the deep forest green shone. The only thing he couldn’t change, even in his other forms, was the colour of his eyes. I loved it and the way it marked him as special, even among our kind.

  He smiled, his teeth so white. “Falcon,” he whispered my name and his love swept through me. I sobbed.

  “I’ll give you the Breath of Life,” I told him, stroking his soft skin.

  “No, Fal, don’t. Let me go. Please let me go,” he begged.

  “But you’ve come back to me, love. You’re here. Whatever, whoever is giving you orders – we can sort it out. I can sever the ties. I swear I can help you. Don’t leave me,” I begged. I kissed his full lips, which were wet with his blood.

  “You don’t understand, Fal. It won’t be enough. It will never be enough. I’m sorry,” he said and he shimmered in my arms. Rather than my lover, I held a skinless body. No hair, no flesh, no eyelids or lips. No ears.

  “What? Who?” I had never seen such horror.

  Marcus’ eyes rolled. “She took my pelt, Fal. She has my pelt. The glamour covers the damage, but I can’t maintain it alone. I’m dying, have been for years. Let me go, Falcon.” The words were slurred because he had no lips.

  My hot tears hit his naked form and it made him writhe in pain, a small sound of protest deep in his throat forcing me to stop my selfish grief.

  “She is not as strong as I am,” I said. I knew exactly who’d done this and why. So much was revealed to me in that moment my head pounded with the speed of the connections made.

  “Fal,” he called in desperation.

  “We’ll get your pelt back and I’ll sustain you,” I told him. I raised his ruined mouth toward mine and I placed my lips against his teeth, though he tried to push me away. “Love holds no bounds. I love you and I give my life for yours,” I said. The incantation hit him and I felt my breath whisper out of me and into him. Marcus inhaled deeply – more of me rushed out – literally the essence of me flew into his body.

  Power. We all have it, the simple stuff of electrodes between the atoms inside matter – at least I think that’s how it worked. But for us – for the Seelie – it worked differently. That stuff which made our solid matter held the elemental force of the universe in a different way, we could mould it, hold it, gather it and share it. We could manipulate the very elements of life and blend it into things we needed. We were the old gods, the ancient nightmares, the light and dark of dreams, the magic beans and the gingerbread house. We were the headless horseman and the corpse candle; the Will o’ the Wisp and Wild Hunt. We were all of it – Bacchus, Dionysus, chaos and madness. We were the love of the wild in all mortal souls. I forced the power I could summon into Marcus and knew it wasn’t enough.

  When he’d taken all the Breath of Life he could manage I watched the wound in his chest close. I lifted him to my throat, pulled the neck of my dark sweater down and gave him an order. “Feed, Marcus.”

  Hunger dominated him. I felt it because my life filled him, moved him – animated him. Sharp pain made me catch my breath. I felt his lips against my skin and his hungry swallowing of my blood. I cradled him gently to my chest as he fed and I let him take it all.

  He stopped when he felt my arms losing their control over his weight.

  “Falcon?” he asked. Concern in his voice brought me joy.

  “I’m fine,” I lied. “I told you I was stronger than my sister.”

  “Not stronger, just dafter. You’ve given me too much,” he chided gently.

  “You are my life, Marcus. Whatever I give, I give to myself,” I said, swaying slightly when he moved from my arms to stand and then to lift me to my feet.

  “Romantic fool,” he said, but I heard his love and his deep sorrow. The ties between us were bright and hard for the moment. It wouldn’t last. The life I gave him would become his own very quickly and we would be separate once more. Then it would start to fade and I’d need to offer more of myself to sustain his life. He’d protest, he’d fight but he’d surrender. Far better to be under my control than my sister’s. Besides, we had a unique relationship even among our kind.

  He held me upright and we began to walk out of the park, his blood returning to the raw fundamentals of life, to leave the grass unmarked. I climbed over the gate to the park, a great deal less elegantly than when I’d vaulted in, and we walked arm in arm down the quiet street.

  “You know where I live?” I asked.

  He snorted. “Of course I know where you live. I’ve been watching you for weeks. How many women are you screwing right now by the way – I lost count.”

  I laughed. “I’m not screwing any women, as well you know if you’ve been watching me that long.”

  He didn’t say anything for a long time, until – “You look lonely. I watch you staring at the night sky.” His deep baritone rumbled through me.

  “Of course I’m lonely, I’ve been without you,” I said.

  Another long pause. “I can’t stay, Falcon. Leo... She has such power and my pelt...”

  “I told you we would get that back and I meant it.”

  “You should have let me die. I have to report to her. I cannot lie. You know that.”

  “But if she doesn’t ask you the right questions you can omit the truth,” I said.

  He bowed his head. “Yes, perhaps.”

  We neared my home and he released me. “You should go in alone.”

  “Marcus, no, come with me. I can cook for us... We can... We can...”

  “Make love?” he asked bitterly. “Falcon, so much has changed. I cannot tell you how much.” He raised his head and listened to something. “I have to go. I have to leave or the truth will become too complex to try to spin.” The bitterness in his voice cut me deeply.

  “I can keep you safe,” I declared. I grabbed his shoulders, so strong and solid under my hands now I’d given him the strength and power necessary for the glamour to form his mortal body.

  “No, Falcon, you can’t.” His green eyes were filled with sorrow. His fingertips touched my lips for a moment but the air around him shimmered, bright lights built swiftly from the ground, swirling around his body and he was gone. The lights leaving with him, the fissure between our worlds closed, invisible to anyone but the person folding space.

  I sagged, weakness and loss rippling through me, leaving me feeling sick and faint. I needed steak, eggs, milk and more steak, the protein able to replace at least some of the energy I’d given to Marcus. I stumbled over the road and headed through the industrial doors of my warehouse apartment. It wasn’t until I started to cook – or rather warming the meat up for convention’s sake – I realised I’d not been told why Marcus was here and why I had Slasher victims who smelt like DC Dar.

  “Great,” I muttered. “Some bloody police officer you are. Cock first, brains later as always.”

  CHAPTE R THREE

  My kitchen stood at one end of
the long, wide space. The extractor fan would take the scent of cooking meat away. I took the frying pan and put it down on the richly coloured wooden table, the grain complex and deep. The windows of the industrial unit were high and I couldn’t see out of them but they let in a great deal of light for the vast space. While I ate I stared at the wall, decorated with huge mural of the Wild Hunt. I focused on one figure in particular, his long tabby coloured hair flowing out behind him. The chewing became automatic. My mind focused on Marcus. For one beautiful moment I’d thought I had him back. His body lying in my arms, holding him, staring into those bright eyes but no – he still believed more in the Seelie Court than in me.

  Would he be able to keep me hidden from my sister? Should I move? I didn’t really want to and that wouldn’t help stop the monster from killing. The thing doing these terrible crimes didn’t have a mind of its own as such. You gave it a scent and it hunted until it had the perfect match or died in the process. I sighed. I couldn’t go anywhere. Leo knew where I was, trying to hide at this point was pointless. I just had to stop her without anyone else dying. Not easy.

  I wondered what would happen to Marcus now he’d returned to his mistress. That thought caused me to feel sick once more. Were they lovers? The thought of Marcus trying to make love to a woman made me grimace. He wouldn’t be able to screw her but he could be her victim.

  When I finished eating I hauled myself to the shower, washed and examined the vast array of bruises I’d collected without noticing. I dressed the wound on my neck and fell into bed. I slept and I dreamed.

  Fevered images chased themselves around inside my head. Leo – her statuesque body always in silhouette, form and colour leached out. Marcus, dark shades of black against the vivid backgrounds only found in my world. Chains, ropes, whips, begging voices and screams, my sister’s haunting laugh...

  I roused enough to orientate myself in my safe London apartment before plunging once more into a maelstrom of images. This time though the dream drew on memories, not on waking fears.