“Rachel,” I said, my own eyes watering with tears. Despite the event having taken place nearly five decades ago, I could tell she still held a lot of pain from that incident. She waved a hand back at me, trying to downplay her emotions.
“It doesn't matter how Samael came to be,” she whispered. “He's a good person and I love him so much.” She sat back on the edge of the bed and avoided looking at me. I wiped angrily at the wet spots on my face. It wasn't my pain to carry; the least I could do was be strong for her. “Samael was put under a spell by his father the same day that the Gray Queen was banished from the Other Place.” Both Amadan and Rachel's eyes had begun to glaze over with the telling of what was obviously a painful story for them both.
“Gadrael has never been happy with his lot in life,” Rachel spat bitterly. “Though the rest of us always seemed to manage just fine. After the punishment the previous Gray Queen gave him for … ” She paused. I made a murmur for her to continue. I got the gist of what she was trying to say. “He became even more dark and disgruntled.” She laughed, but it wasn't a happy sound: it was full of old anger. “You've been to the Other Place, George. You know how dark and horrible it is already. So his descent was quite the feat. Anyway, when the reigning queen was murdered and her daughter, Liadain, took the throne with,” she nodded her head at the Fool. “With Amadan as her steward, I offered my baby boy as her Consort.” Obviously, the look I was giving her let her know what I thought about arranged marriages for children.
“It's different there than it is here, George. It was the best I could ever have done for him, and you know what? The two of them loved each other more than any two beings have ever loved one another before. They were,” she held her hands out, palms up, while she struggled to come up with some way to describe the intense emotion Liadain and Samael must have felt for each other. “They were perfect together.”
“What happened?” I asked as I felt a tiny prickle at the edge of my consciousness. It was the voice again, trying to speak to me. I pushed it back and tried to concentrate on Rachel's story. She was freely giving me information that I had suspected I was going to have to beg Amadan on my hands and knees for, literally.
“Gadrael happened.” Rachel spat on the dirty motel carpet. “He's an eater of souls, George. He eats souls.” Her eyes had begun to water again, but she pushed through the emotion, determined to continue her story. “Liadain was twenty-six, Samael was twenty-four. Young even in your society but infants still in ours. Gadrael, he … ” She turned to Amadan and this time, I let my anger go. This story was hard for her. I could see that. And even though our relationship was over, I still cared for her.
“Gadrael is a rare mix of two obscure species of fae, the agnoble and the black annis, and has access to powers that no being should rightfully hold. We had discovered that he was responsible for the murder of the Gray Queen and when we brought him to court for his execution, a grievous, grievous mistake on my part … ” Amadan's face was twisting with fury as his voice took on the frenzied tone I'd heard him use only a few times before. It made him sound absolutely insane, and I admit, I was just a tad bit frightened.
“He surprised us all by unleashing the power of our deceased queen upon us. It was enough to destroy nearly our entire court. It took me years to heal from that assault but … ” His eyes were practically rolling at this point and there was the faintest hint of magic in the room, it tasted like petunias and moth eaten sweaters, an odd mix but a potent one if the static electricity in my hair had any say in the matter. “But it was not enough to destroy our beatific Queen of Gray or her Consort. Samael was put into a sleep of ages, and we hadn't the faintest idea of how to wake him. Our queen,” Amadan ground his square teeth together for a moment. “Was banished from the Other Place, presumably Above, and had only enough magic left after defending herself to leave us with subtle hints about her return.”
“And,” Rachel said, eyes shining. “You're … ” She paused again and forced a smile. “You're the first Gray to appear since she was banished. She told us no Gray would appear until she did.” I looked between Amadan, who had managed to get himself under control and now looked fairly bored with the situation, and Rachel, who was beaming at me, unshed tears clinging to the edges of her round eyes.
“I'm glad, really, for both of you. But what does that have to do with me?” Rachel's smile only intensified.
“Samael has woken up. Apparently, the return of his lover was what it took to rouse him and he's here. Above. He's looking for her. He sent a spirit form of himself to find her since he could not cross the Veil by himself without a faery doctor.” Rachel paused, bit her lip sheepishly. “Luckily, Scatach has a new pet she's been training and he had enough power in him to facilitate the crossing though he seems a little worse for wear … ” She looked up at me.
Hear her words and come to me. Sweetness, come to me.
The voice was back. Even a riveting mythology of Faerie wasn't enough to push it away. But now, I was starting to have a sneaking suspicion of who it was.
“Does Samael, perhaps, have skinless dogs?” Rachel stood up and grasped my forearms with her tiny hands.
“Oh Gods, George.” She shot Amadan a nasty look. “You've seen him then?” I nodded grudgingly. Rachel clapped her hands together; I could tell that she was absolutely ecstatic. “What did he say?” I felt a blush crawl up my spine, using my vertebrae as a ladder of shame, until it reached my neck and bled onto my cheeks.
“I sort of … threw a bottle of Jack Daniel's at him and lit it on fire.” Rachel stared at me for a moment like she thought I was trying to make some sort of ill placed joke. “Really. I'm sorry. He was … stalking me, I guess. How was I supposed to know it was him?” Rachel turned, and I could feel the heat of her glare even though it was directed solely at Amadan.
“Well, they don't call him the Fool for nothing. He should have warned you Samael would be looking for you.”
I am here in the flesh now, my sweet. Come to me.
“Why me?” Rachel released my arms and began to pace, one hand brushing back the straight fringe of bangs covering the short span of pale flesh between her perfect eyebrows and her scalp.
“You're the first of the Gray.” That was always the answer nowadays from these people. They acted like it was a perfectly logical explanation for everything though it did nothing for me.
“Why isn't he looking for his Queen?” I asked them, directing the question at both of the fae in the room. I probably should have shared with them the knowledge that I could hear Samael, or at least I presumed it was Samael, in my head. But I didn't. They were withholding information from me, I could tell, and three could play at that game.
Rachel paused in her pacing to face me.
“He needs you to show him the way, George.” I rubbed my hands over my face. I hadn't signed up for this. I hadn't signed up for zombie; I hadn't signed up for Gray Faerie; I sure as hell hadn't signed up for gumshoe.
“Why?” I asked, feeling so incredibly tired all of a sudden. I had to deal with the Coalition, the loss of my house, and now weird, political Faery shit. My plate was so full, I could've passed for a rhinoceros at the Hometown Buffet. “I get that my soul will go to the Gray Court when I die. As troubling as that's been on my psyche, I've accepted it. But now you want me to get involved in all of this? Why?”
Rachel pulled me into her arms. It was a surprising gesture considering the current state of our relationship, but I let her hold me and brush the hair back from my face.
“I know you never wanted this, George. I never wanted this for you. But now, it's too late. You're the first of the Gray. There are those that would kill you in a heartbeat if they knew who you were. To protect yourself, you must help us.” I sighed. She was right. I knew it was true. So did the voice in my head.
Finally, sweetness, it whispered as it faded away slowly. We shall see each other soon.
“I'll help you as much as I can, George. If you need something, j
ust ask. If it's in my power to give it, I'll be more than happy to.” I let her hold me for several minutes, noticing belatedly that Amadan had disappeared again.
“Thank you, Rachel or Dearbhail … ” I trailed off.
“Rachel is perfect, George. Just call me Rachel.” We both sighed contentedly. We might not have had another chance at a romantic relationship, but I could tell we were going to be friends.
“I'm glad to see that last night meant so much to you, George.” I shoved Rachel back, slamming my own body into the useless, black and white T.V. and crushing the foil wrapped rabbit ears. As if things couldn't get any worse, there he stood, at the most inopportune moment of the entire conversation.
Corey.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
FENEVÉR
“Fae are not terribly prolific creatures. Not merely because they rely on the souls of humans to animate their young, but also because the magic that is so essential to their very existence makes it difficult for their bodies to reproduce. In addition, it is almost impossible for two fae of different species to produce children. Therefore, unlike in many cultures, children of mixed heritage or fenevér in the language of the faeries, are celebrated and seen as a good luck omen to their families.”
Black streets, black houses, black trees, everything was fucking black. I guessed it made sense considering it was three in the goddamn morning, but that didn't mean I had to like living in the middle of fucking nowhere. Our house was thirty minutes from the heart of Eula and over an hour from the shit bag motel I'd just had the screaming fight of my life in.
At least I had Rachel's cell number. She had informed me, ignoring the bits of spittle flying onto her cheeks, that she had, once again, managed to escape the Unseelie Court with the help of her son and would be staying Above for as long as she was able. I had so many things I still wanted to talk to her about, but Corey hadn't really been in the mood to let us stand there and have a peaceful conversation.
Amadan had remained blissfully absent though I could have used his help to vouch that nothing untoward had been going on. On the bright side, one of the two fae had put a spell of silence on the room and not a one of the undead Charlie's Angels had heard a single word of the conversation.
Corey hadn't believed that we'd just been talking, though, and even now, in the silence of the moving car, he wouldn't speak to me. I didn't care. Frankly, as soon as he cured me or I found someone else that could (I made a mental note to ask Rachel), I would be breaking up with him. But he didn't need to know that yet. I'd abased myself; I'd begged, pleaded, sobbed. He seemed like he was going to forgive me but only after making me 'suffer' with his silence for a while longer.
“Don't screw this up, George,” he barked at me as we pulled onto the grassy shoulder, lights off, about a mile north of our house. I ignored his comment and got out of the car. We were dressed head to toe in black: canvas slacks, Kevlar vests, boots, leather gloves, ski caps and we were even toting the guns that Elizabeth and I had stolen from M.E.T. If anyone was still at the house, they would either overlook us in the dark or presume we were with them. At least, that was the plan.
Corey had gotten our clothing as well as some very interesting and peculiar information from a contact of his. A fire mage, apparently, though it was the first I'd ever heard the man's name let alone knew that 'fire mage' was a legitimate profession. He had told Corey that not only had he not heard anything about it on any source of news but also that when he'd driven by the place, as Corey'd asked, that there was nobody there. Not one van, not one car, no spells of any kind. Nothing. It was like the Coalition had never been there.
As hard to believe as I found that information, Corey insisted we act on it. Even if the Coalition was just leaving our house alone as bait to get us to come back, he thought we should at least try to get some supplies. My only issue with that argument was that the cost of failure was death by religious fanatic. Corey had ignored me, and I'd really, really grown attached to eating salad over human flesh and wearing tank tops instead of full length gowns. So I went with it.
As the fire mage, Jake or John or something like that, had said, the house was quiet. We crawled through the shrubbery that bordered our property and covered the old, brick retaining wall, and I was pleased to note that I was being at least twice as quiet as Corey.
When we reached the front gate, he stood and peered around the corner. Still, nothing.
The two of us took off at a crouching run across the gravel drive. It was the largest bit of open space that we would have to cross and the most dangerous. Our goal was the central fountain.
Those thirty seconds of crunching across gravel seemed like eons to my beating heart. And when a rogue owl decided to hoot from its perch on one of the oak trees behind me, I swear I almost had a panic attack. We crawled into the dry bed together while Corey continued to scope the area. I was more concerned with catching my breath and waiting for the sound of shouting and the whizzing of bullets, but nothing happened.
“I can't even believe this shit,” Corey whispered in awe, apparently forgetting about his vow of silence to me.
“They could be crouching inside, hiding behind the front pillars, just waiting for us to walk into their trap,” I snapped quietly. My near panic attack had made me feel twice as irritable as before. He ignored me and took off at a run for the front door. Not wanting to be left behind, I followed suit.
The front door was shut but unharmed. Apparently, the M.E.T. member in charge of breaking into this part of the house hadn't felt the need for the over dramatic boot smashing that ours had. It was unlocked and opened without a creak. Hurray for Corey's well-oiled hinges. The man probably went through thirty gallons of WD-40 every week.
We crept into the silent house, which unsurprisingly had absolutely no creaking floorboards, and started our search in the living room.
There are moments in life where you think, “Gee, I should have seen that one coming.”
This was not one of them.
Neither of us, I think, saw him at first. It was because he was content to wait, sprawled as he was over the back of the muscular hound, its red eyes glinting back a stray shaft of moonlight. It was what gave him away. That and the glint of his silver jewelry. All three hundred pieces of it.
“What the fuck is that?” I yelped, grabbing Corey around his upper arm as I leapt back in surprise.
It was the first time I had ever heard his voice and I'll tell you one thing and one thing only: I will never, ever forget the sound of it.
“Sweetness,” he oozed, no poured, his sexuality over me with that one word. If his voice inside my head had made my thighs moist, his voice outside of it caused a monsoon. “I've been waiting for you.” He rose, all fluid, liquid grace, loose joints, smooth gait. I was mesmerized. Never in my life had I seen anything so beautiful.
Heat, passion, mouths, hands, cock, friction.
“Samael,” I moaned in a throaty voice that shocked even me and infuriated Corey.
“Who the fuck is this?”
Samael was blissfully, beautifully naked. Jewelry glinted from both eyebrows; silver glimmered on either side of his lip with delicate chains connecting one of them to his right ear. His belly button was pierced and my eyes hungrily followed the length of that chain to the tip of his cock. Long and curved, the circumcised tip gleamed with several round studs and yet another chain connected one of those to his balls. They were pierced through the center with a large ring, and I noticed his inner thighs were a dark canvas of sweeping tribal tattoos.
His skin glowed a color that fell somewhere between lavender and chestnut though my eyes felt as if they'd never before taken in that shade. He brightened and darkened as he walked between shafts of moonlight and black towards me with a slow, easy confidence that belied the rapacity in his pale eyes. He gazed down at me from his shadowed face, nearly a foot higher than mine, with eyes like two amethysts sparking with intense hunger.
He paused about two feet from me, but
it was close enough that I could feel his magic wrapping around my limbs like a lover's caress. There was no doubt in my mind that this was the same man that I had seen at Char's. However, I was guessing that that man had been the 'spirit form' Rachel had been talking about because there was no way that I could have thrown a bottle of alcohol at the real thing. The only thing I wanted to throw at Samael was myself.
His magic was like an invasion of the best kind. It was soothing and cool and smelt like roses and freshly brewed oolong tea over ice, sprig of mint and all. I found myself leaning towards his gaze, aching to run my fingers through his short black – no, violet – hair.
It will feel like silk and your fingertips will drink in the texture before sliding down the smooth muscles of his neck before dipping below his –
“What's the matter, sweetness?” he purred in that smooth, velvety voice of his. “Don't you recognize me?”
I think the strength of my desire for him had something to do with the strength of my reaction since it was completely unjustified and perfectly unreasonable.
I screamed.
Several of the hellhounds he'd been draped across when we came in scattered. Most of them stood up and came straight for me, and just when I expected them to leap up and maul me, they were rubbing themselves along my calves. Most of them were making little yipping noises in the backs of their throats like puppies. I froze in place, unsure of what to do with them. Corey had the gun trained on the one nearest him but had yet to pull the trigger which was good because I suddenly felt a spurt of unwarranted affection for the wiggling, pulsing bodies of the lithesome creatures.
“Don't,” I said, finding a tiny well of strength deep within myself to keep talking. “They're not going to hurt me.” Samael's full, luscious lips gleamed in the pool of blue half-light he was standing in and pulled back to reveal the straightest, whitest set of teeth I'd ever seen complete with a pair of slightly sharpened canines. They were positioned in his mouth like Lynna's but reminded me less of a vampire and more of a cat.
Gray and Graves: A Dark Fae Menage Urban Fantasy (The Three Courts of Faerie Book 1) Page 15
