“That's it?” I scoffed. “You consider that a betrayal?” I shook my head. “No, I don't buy that. Besides,” I gestured at the corpses littering the floor. “There didn't seem to be much real danger here, Samael. You don't even look worried to see me standing here.”
“He could still show up at any moment, Georgette, sweetness.” I didn't ask who he was. I was smart enough to figure that part out of my own. I glanced out the window again and with a wave of relief, saw Corey's truck circling back around the block. I raced to the open window and waved him down.
I turned back towards Samael with a glare.
“I'm going to go home now, don't follow me,” I said as I started down the blood soaked steps. “I'll find a way to contact you when I'm ready.” Samael trailed close behind me, his breathing heavy. I could practically feel the sadness in the air. He wanted me to like him. Was desperate for me to love him.
It was only on my second round through the pub that I noticed the pair of humans slumped in the corner. They were wearing white robes, now soaked with scarlet, with a tiny logo on the right side of each of their chests. I made my way over to them slowly, acknowledging Corey with a glance as he stepped into the room, face scrunched with disgust at the smell. And maybe even a little at me.
If I'd had a living heart, it would have been pounding. I had a sinking feeling in my gut. There was something that I had begun to suspect but had yet to put to words. Not yet.
I bent down and leaned towards the bodies, nervous but ready to confirm my own fears.
“The Coalition of the Righteous Living.” I read the gold swirls carefully, checking and rechecking to make sure that my panicked mind wasn't imagining something that wasn't there. “Fuck.” Corey came up behind me and cleared his throat. I had expected him to scream, yell, throw something.
The Coalition was run by the fae. And a necromancer. Great. But Corey didn't seem to care about that. His eyes were focused on me and they were full of sadness and just a little bit of shock.
“What?” I snapped at him, wondering what the hell was more important than this. Nothing. There was nothing except … “Oh my god, Corey.” I stood up and reached out towards him, but he took a stumbling step away from me, fear and revulsion clear in his face. It hurt but I let it go. I just needed to know.
“Rachel is dead, George. I'm sorry,” he said as my eyes widened, and I felt my knees go wobbly. “I tried to take her to the hospital, but when I stopped at a light, I checked on her and she wasn't breathing. I'm sorry, George.” My eyes filled with tears, and I found myself collapsing to the dirty floor. No one stepped forward to comfort me though when I looked up, Amadan was back and shaking his head at Samael. The two of them shared a look of disappointment before Samael refocused on me. He looked sad but not an I-just-lost-my-mother kind of sad, just a the-girl-I-like-is-crying kind of sad. But it was more than I could say for Corey. He just looked annoyed at the whole of the situation.
I stood up and stumbled to the door and out into the early morning sunlight, the three men trailing behind me, silent as ghosts. They waited until I was leaning against the car, panting with grief, before any of them spoke.
“I'm sorry to see my mother go,” Samael said slowly as if he were picking his words carefully, trying not to upset me. “But she was a liability if not a threat. She should have just given us this information, not asked us to come here. She put as all at risk, including herself.” I whirled back around to face him, taking a few angry steps forward.
“If this is your attempt to make me feel better,” I growled at him. “Then you just shut the fuck up because you're not helping. And where,” I said, suddenly realizing an oversight on my part. “Are your fucking hellhounds?” Samael exchanged a glance with Amadan.
“We sent them after my grandfather,” Samael whispered, hand trembling with the effort of not touching me. “Out the back door.” I scowled and shook my head. I was angry and confused and overwhelmed. I barely knew what to do next. “Please, Georgette,” Samael whispered. “Come to me, I will make you forget.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head and taking a step away from Samael. “I don't want anything to do with you. I don't want to be your lover; I don't want to be your Queen; I just want my life back. The life I had before I got murdered by some psychopathic faerie. Once the Coalition is out of my life, I'm done. Got it? I'm fucking finished with you!” I didn't wait for a response, just turned around and grabbed Corey by the arm. My earlier promise to myself to break up with him was forgotten in that moment. Corey would help me, no matter what. He loved me, didn't hit me, and was good in bed. That was all that really mattered, right? Real love didn't exist. Corey was as good as I'd ever get and that was fine by me.
“Our court will rise again,” Samael hissed from behind me with a slight affirmative murmur from Amadan. “And you will rise with it, Liadain.” He stopped as I separated from Corey and began to climb back into the truck. “I will never presume to tell you how to live your life or what to do except in this one thing, sweetness. I will never stop loving you and your heart will always belong to me and mine to you. Remember that.”
I slammed the door in his face and hopefully in the face of Faerie and all the crap that went with it.
I don't want anything to do with this, I told myself, glancing over the backseat at Rachel before deciding I needed to be with her, one last time. I climbed into the back and took her cold body in my arms, rocking back and forth with silent tears. If I believe that, truly believe that, then it will all go away.
But I knew, deep down in my heart, that it wouldn't. Faerie was inside of me. I could feel it now, stronger than ever, pulsing in my gut like a living thing, and then I heard Samael's voice in my head again.
Come to me when you're ready sweetness. I'll be waiting.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
GHOUL
“One of the minor undead, slow and stupid, ghouls are best left for tedious grunt work. They cannot be trusted and their only loyalty lies in filling their stomachs. Trust that any ghoul left with any corpse will dine first and accept consequences later. If you are looking for a minion that can be trained and controlled, avoid these denizens of the dark. They tend to act as more of a hindrance and less of a help.”
The police in Eula were less than useless when it came to Rachel's murder. Not that they would ever find a suspect. But the fact that I had showed up, freshly glamoured, and covered in her blood did nothing to cause them to suspect me. Nothing. It wasn't that I wanted to be a suspect in a murder case because I sure as hell didn't want to add that to my plate, but I felt that they were undermining her death. It was like I was the only person in the world that cared about Rachel. And she had been sweet and beautiful and loving. She deserved more than this. More than a hasty funeral and some lazy police work.
“Let it go, George,” Corey growled at my heels as I stormed up the stairs. Despite the danger that the Coalition could show up at any moment, Corey had made the decision to retrieve the Charlie's Angels from the motel and bring them back to the house. He said that now that we were expecting them and knew who they really were, that we could prepare for it. I didn't believe him.
Samael meanwhile had chosen to set up camp in our front yard. He had literally set up a huge tent, black and white striped like some sort of fucking circus, round and gay and cheerful. I spit at it every time I walked by. And he refused to leave me alone. It had been twenty-four hours since Rachel's death, and I hadn't had a moment of peace.
Sweetness, I beg of you. Come to me. I only wish to speak with you. His voice was like a snake, burrowing into the depths of my mind, smooth and slick. I rubbed at my temples as I flung open my bedroom door and slammed it quickly behind me, before Corey could come in. I flicked the lock quickly and nearly grinned with maniacal glee when he turned the handle and found himself locked out. Of his own room. It would drive Corey into a rage.
And that's what I wanted. I wanted him to suffer. I wanted everyone around me to suffer as much as
I was suffering. I had called my mom and sister and told them that I was sick, practically dying, but I refused to tell them which hospital. Suffer. Corey wanted to talk to me about the Gray, about Samael, about everything. I ignored him, hadn't spoken to him since the police station. Suffer. Charlotte had called; she had heard about Rachel's death and was sorry. I told her to fuck off, that she was probably glad Rachel was dead because, despite her actions and words to the contrary, she never liked me dating girls. Suffer.
I grabbed my laptop and Rachel's cellphone off of my desk and stuffed them into an overnight bag. I threw the notebook with all of Rachel's funeral plans in it along with them as well as some pajamas, some extra glamours and a change of clothes. The funeral was in three days and it was going to be nice. No, not nice, perfect. And I wanted her to know that. I wanted to see her and tell her that.
Sweetness, we have more important things with which to fill our time. Rachel is in Faerie now. We cannot help her. And as we now know, so is Gadrael. You cannot go there. Do not let those thoughts fill your head, my love.
I ignored Samael as much as I possibly could, refusing to nibble at the informational bait he was throwing my way. What did I care that Gadrael was in Faerie? Fuck Faerie. I didn't care. If I had to go there when I died, so be it. But right now, I was here and there was nothing anyone could do about that if I didn't let them.
I took out my own cell and dialed Char's number. Despite my having made her sob less than three hours ago, she answered on the first ring with a frantic, “Oh Georgette, I'm sorry. How are you doing?” I put up a shield against my own, overwhelming guilt and tried to relax some of the venom from my voice. I could reserve that for Corey or Samael. They wouldn't cry and down a bottle of white wine if I directed it at them.
“I'm coming over,” I said slowly, trying to sound calm, reasonable. “Since you can't make it to Rachel's funeral on Sunday,” I had to pause and take a deep breath. The bitterness and hate and uselessness I felt was creeping back into my voice. I pushed it down. Char couldn't help it. Her grandfather was terminally ill and the doctors thought he might go at any minute. Her piss ant boss had only given her Sunday and Monday off to go and see him. She had no choice. “I was wondering if you could help me with the plans.” I could practically feel the sympathy rolling off of her and it made me smile. Just a little bit, but it was there.
“Of course, George,” she said softly. “Do you want me to come and pick you up?” I nodded, remembered she couldn't see me and told her yes. I wasn't ready to drive. Driving required thought. I had little of that to devote to anything but Rachel and death and the Coalition. I wanted them gone. This was their fault and they needed to answer for it.
“You're going to pay,” I whispered, squeezing my phone until I heard the plastic casing crack. “And I'm going to make sure you suffer.”
“Who the fuck is this?” I snapped, jamming the phone under Char's nose. She pushed the book she was reading aside and took it from me. The contact information said “Sweetie” and that was it. There were three phone numbers and an email address listed but no last name, and I seriously doubted Sweetie was really this person's first name.
“Maybe her … ” Char looked up at my angry, puffy red face. “Friend?” she ventured, rolling over with a sigh as I growled and snatched the phone back.
We were sitting on Char's perfect pink bed with the flowery quilt and the matching pillows, her reading and me trying to go through Rachel's contacts, so I knew who to invite to the funeral. There were more than I had first suspected. And more information than I wanted to know.
“You don't think she was … ” I swallowed, tried to ignore the little push at the back of my mind that said Samael was listening. “Seeing someone?” I finished, knowing I sounded like a bitch. Knowing that I was being one.
“Well,” Char said, trying to soothe me with the glass of wine she'd fetched from the nightstand. I took it and swigged the whole thing before handing it back to her. “It's certainly possible, George. It's not like the two of you were seeing each other. You hadn't been for along time.” I scowled and pushed the dial button on the phone before I could stop myself. If this girl really was someone that Rachel referred to as “Sweetie,” then she was someone that she'd want at the funeral, whether I liked it or not. And this wasn't about me. It was about her. For her.
“Hello, honey, Rachel? Oh my god,” the voice sobbed. “Rachel? I knew it wasn't true. Rachel is that you?” I took a deep breath and tried to think past the grief in that voice. Grief that was twin to my own.
“No,” I said slowly only to be rewarded with a wailing sob. “This is George, Rachel's friend. I was just calling to invite you to the funeral on Sunday.” The sob cut off abruptly and there was nothing but silence. I held the phone away from my ear for a minute to see if we'd been disconnected. We hadn't. “Hello?” I ventured again.
“You didn't think calling me on her phone might stir up some emotions, you fucking bitch from hell,” the woman on the other end of the line snarled at me between hiccups and sniffles. I stared at Char who was making a throat slitting motion with her fingers. I ignored her.
“Excuse me?” I said, still incredibly startled by the hostility in the woman's voice.
“You fucking heard me,” she hissed. “And don't you dare play fucking innocent with me. This is Sandy. Sandy Perkins. Rachel's lover. Don't you dare pretend you don't know who I am, you fucking murderer.” And then she hung up. I sat frozen, eyes open wide to keep the tears from falling as I looked back at Char.
“What'd she say?” my friend whispered, putting a reassuring hand on my knee. I closed the phone and placed it between my legs noticing, as some people do in their grief, the most ridiculous thing. The phone Rachel had dropped by the faerie ring had been identical to this one. But I'd never given it back.
“She must've gotten a new one,” I said to myself as I stared blankly at it.
“What?” Char asked, adjusting herself to a sitting position. “What are you talking about? What did she say?” I looked up at her, my tears finally swelling to a size that my eyelids couldn't hold them back any longer. They plummeted down the sides of my face in wet, salty streaks.
“She said she'll be there,” I whispered back.
Planning a funeral is hell. It's like breaking down the life of the person you care about into little, stupid, meaningless parts. I had to choose flowers, casket, venue, burial gown, all the while checking back with the funeral home to make sure Rachel's glamour held, even in death. They didn't think much of it. The family that ran the place was sweet and they just thought I was crazy. I let them think it because each and every time I begged them to let me take another look at her body, I felt crazy. I almost wished that I was. It would have made dealing with things a whole lot easier.
I must have said something aloud because Amadan, who had been trailing after me since I left for Char's, took that moment to respond.
“I wouldn't necessarily say that was true,” he whispered in my ear as I climbed into Char's red, muscle car. Char had let me drop her off at work, so I could take her Charger out to deal with my errands. I wasn't ready to go home yet. Not even for a moment to get my own car. I just couldn't face Corey or Samael. I didn't want to.
“Are you fucking mind reader, too?” I snapped at him as I backed out of the parking lot. “And keep your fucking head down,” I snarled at the unglamoured fae as the youngest daughter of the Esperanza Family Funeral Home popped out the front door to wave at me. I tried to smile back, but my lips refused to move, so I pretended not to see her as I pulled out in front of an angry driver in a blue Lexus and gunned the engine, running a red light and a stop sign all within thirty seconds.
“You should drive more carefully,” Amadan said slowly. “We wouldn't want anything happening to our Queen.” I glanced over at him, face drawn and sad. He didn't look crazy at all in that moment, just depressed. He had loved her. Maybe not as much as I had, maybe more. I didn't know, but looking at his eyes, dark
and stormy and full of heartache, I knew it was true.
“I can't stand this,” I told him as I pulled into the abandoned parking lot of an old Circuit City, white brick building dirty and stained with graffiti, out of business sign glaring at us from the front windows. “How do you fucking stand this?” I asked, tears starting again. “How?” Amadan put a hand on either side of my face and looked me in the eyes.
“I just try to forget,” he whispered, leaning close, lips brushing my trembling ones.
“But how?” I sobbed, voice breaking down with hysterics. “But how?”
Do not do this, Samael raged. Sweetness, please, I beg of you! He was frantic and angry and jealous and I didn't care.
Suffer, I thought as Amadan responded, voice rough with heat.
“By distracting myself with other things.” We let our mouths meet, tongues twisting around each other as we tried to pretend that we didn't care. That by touching each other's bodies, that we could forget our friend. Our lover.
My love, Samael sobbed and it was the first time I had ever heard him cry. I am yours, please. Come to me, my love. Come to me for this. Let me hold you!
Suffer.
I climbed over onto Amadan's lap, reaching down to adjust my skirt and underwear, to make things easier. Amadan was already naked.
Sweetness, Samael cried as I forced my aching body to accept every inch of what Amadan had to offer. My sweetness.
“Suffer,” I said aloud as Amadan and I moved together and began kissing greedily. My hands found his hair and pulled, rough and angry. We moaned together, thrusting and grinding and sweating until we had emptied ourselves of as much sadness and pain and grief as the sex would let us.
Gray and Graves: A Dark Fae Menage Urban Fantasy (The Three Courts of Faerie Book 1) Page 18
