“Fae cannot tolerate London rain. Its polluted nature irritates their skin.” He glanced at her from beneath the thick fringe of his black lashes, and his golden eyes lit with amusement when he caught her rubbing at her damp cheek. “Tuck yourself farther back under the umbrella. We are almost there.”
A flush of annoyance rushed through Eliza. She did not like seeing proof of her fae blood. Her annoyance grew when Adam slid her a knowing look. “Elementals are born of fae blood, and they are some of the most brave and noble beings I’ve ever come across.”
Which was all fine and dandy, except she wasn’t an elemental. Evil ran through her veins without any of the benefits. Eliza pushed the thought away, not wanting to be a Sulky Sue.
Thankfully, they reached a rather decrepit doorway. A peeling sign that read The Daily Tattle hung woebegone overhead, the board swaying slightly in the rain. “The oracle is a reporter?” Eliza asked as Adam opened the door and ushered her, rather clumsily, inside.
He caught her surprised look and made a small noise of acknowledgment. “It makes perfect sense to me. After all, who else is in a better position to warn us of future woes than one who chronicles the stories of our present folly?”
“I don’t know,” Eliza muttered. “I pictured a gypsy woman leaning over her crystal ball.”
“What a pedestrian imagination you have, Eliza.”
His white teeth flashed in the dim light as she scowled, but then he turned his attention to their surroundings. A darkened and narrow stairwell stretched upward, and Adam muttered a ripe curse under his breath. She knew how badly he hated his weakness. Likely, he’d never been anything less than extremely fit his entire life. Until now. She’d seen that frustrated rage and fearful helplessness in the eyes of soldiers back home. Good men who’d lost limbs to grapeshot and cannon balls and now struggled to find some sense of their former selves.
Glancing down at her feet, she frowned. “Horrid shoes,” she said with bitterness. “I declare they’ve worn a hole clear through my foot.”
Adam leaned heavily against the crackled plaster wall, a faint sense of amusement lighting his austere features. “Got yourself a blister, did you?”
She gave an exaggerated grimace, as she went on in a blithe tone. “Only a small one. Go on without me, I’ll just rest here a moment.”
His expression grew softer. She knew perfectly well he was on to her. They both knew. But neither of them addressed the truth. Instead, he offered her his arm. “Lean on me,” he said in a soft rasp. “And we’ll climb the stairs together.”
And if, in truth, Adam ended up leaning into her, letting her shore him up as they limped up the stairs, it was nobody’s business but theirs. Nor did she take notice when he panted upon reaching the landing. Instead, she pulled out a kerchief.
“Here,” she said, wiping the sweat from his brow with brusque strokes. “You are filthy. I thought Mr. Brown gave you leave to use his bath.”
Tall as he was, she had to rise up on her toes to reach him, and his hand settled upon her waist to steady her. Eliza ignored the little kick his touch set off inside of her. Quietly, he watched her, his face bent towards her so she might clean him. But she felt the weight of his stare, the strange tenderness of it.
What on earth was she doing? He did not need fussing over and certainly not by her. She took a hasty step back, pocketing her kerchief.
“There.” She made her voice bright and cheerful. “All better.”
He watched her for a moment more, his expression solemn, then cleared his throat. “Come along then, mother hen.”
His fingertips found the small of her back as he led her into the inner press office, and she realized that, no matter what his mood or predicament, he acted the gallant knight first and foremost. And though the chain leached his strength, he moved with the grace of a warrior.
Cheaply dressed Adam might have been, yet as soon as they walked into the cramped newsroom, a man hurried over not with an intent to eject them from the premises but with clear deference. “May I help you, sir?”
“We are here to see Mr. Michaels.”
Mr. Sean Michaels, it turned out, was a cheerful Irishman of medium height with hair the precise shade of Christmas gingerbread. It curled around his ruddy face and highlighted the color of his brilliant blue eyes.
“Have a seat, then.” He hastily cleared stacks of yellowed papers from the bentwood chairs in his small, chaotic office. Towers of paper and books tottered higgledy-piggledy and threatened to come crashing down as Eliza and Adam took their seats in the little area cleared for them. “Here we are. We’ll have a spot of tea and a fine chat.”
Bold as you please, Adam threw back his cloak and the blasted length of chains clattered around him. Michaels’s brows rose. “That’s quite a… spiffing outfit.”
Adam laughed, deep and full. “Eliza insisted I wear them. She finds the chains titillating.”
“Horrid man,” she whispered, barely resisting the urge to pinch him, even though part of her fought a smile.
Adam shrugged at Michaels. “They are merely part of a garden variety curse. Pay them no heed.”
“If you say.” Michaels caught a folder midslide and tossed it into a corner. “I’ll get us that tea.”
In the time Eliza had to give Adam a dubious look, the young man returned, carrying a plain, wooden tea tray, laden with a clunky crockery teapot and three mismatched earthenware teacups. “Were this a social visit,” Michaels said as he set the tray down, “I’d ask you to do the honors, Miss May. As we’ve a bit of work to do here, I’m afraid I must be pouring the tea. Milk or sugar?”
“Both,” Eliza and Adam said as one. They glanced at each other in mild surprise before Eliza turned her attention back to Michaels.
He went about serving them with surprisingly graceful movements. The aroma of good, strong, milk-in-first Irish tea filled the office and made Eliza aware of how very cold and weary she’d become. Gratefully, she accepted the hot mug and, not standing on upper-crust manners, wrapped her icy fingers around the heavy bowl of it.
“Drink it while it’s fresh and hot,” Michaels said as he sat himself behind his desk. The eerie greenish light of rain-soaked London shone through the rice paper shade covering his window and set his curls aglow.
Eliza took a bracing sip and sighed.
“A Yank who appreciates her tea,” Michaels said with a small smile. “Now that is something I like to see.”
“A Yank, yes,” Eliza answered after taking another sip. “But three-quarters Irish to boot.”
“Well” – Michaels’ eyes crinkled – “we won’t hold that one-quarter against you, now will we, lass?”
Adam set his cup down with more force than necessary. “As charming as discussions of ancestry are, I do believe we are here on other business.”
Michaels simply grinned, his ruddy cheeks plumping up like autumn apples. “There’s been talk, speculation that you disappeared because you fell in love. But, until now, I didn’t believe it.”
“Shouldn’t you know the actual truth,” Eliza couldn’t help but ask, “seeing as you are an oracle?” She didn’t want him running on about Adam being in love, at any rate. Nor did she care to have Adam correct his error. Their odd relationship was uncomfortable enough without others knowing about it.
Michaels glanced at her, his blue eyes mischievous. “Oracles aren’t omniscient, Miss May. We’ve limitations just as much as the next supernatural.” Not to be distracted, Michaels turned his attention back to Adam. “That’s it then? You’ve lost yourself in a woman?”
Adam relaxed into his chair and draped an arm along the back of Eliza’s, looking for all the world like a man at perfect ease, despite the reporter’s nosy questions. “As a matter of fact —”
“The GIM are growing weak,” Eliza cut in. “Do you know why?”
Michaels scratched beneath his chin. “Speculation is all I can give you on that.”
Some oracle.
“Illumi
nate us,” Adam drawled.
“Well…” Michaels looked Adam over. “Their power is tied to their sire, is it not?”
Which meant that as Adam grew weaker, so did they. Eliza wondered if Adam knew this all along, for he waved a lazy hand. “Speculation, to be sure.” But Eliza knew Adam well enough to see how much the weakening GIM upset him.
“We are here,” Eliza hurried on, wanting to smooth over the moment, “on account of me. I’m Mab’s granddaughter.”
Michaels lurched upright, his teasing manner falling away. “You’re serious?” His skin paled but his cheeks turned crimson.
“As the grave,” said Adam, his catlike eyes gleaming.
The young man ran a shaking hand through his curls, sending them into disarray.
“Tell me,” Eliza said in a softer tone, “about the fae.”
“What? You’re Mab’s granddaughter. I cannot possibly tell you anything you don’t know better.”
“I know nothing.” Eliza clutched the edge of his desk. “I didn’t even know my true kin until a few months ago. Adam seems to think you are the best person to tell me, so… please?”
“Of course, of course.” He poured himself another steaming cup of tea, then took a gulp of the hot brew, his eyes watering. With a deep breath, he sat back. “Here’s the thing, Miss May. Fae, demons, lycans, elementals, angels, gods, goddesses, they’re all interconnected with mankind. It’s a bit like the chicken and the egg. Did humans create the myths or did the myths come before the humans?”
“You mean no one knows?” Eliza found that hard to believe.
“Aye, well, according to the angels, who are the oldest beings anyone knows of, the humans, with their powerful imaginations, gave birth to all but God. But that in itself is dicey because what you’d think of as God is the collective power of human consciousness.”
Michaels steepled his fingers and pressed the tips to his lips. “Theology aside, we do know that fae, in particular, did grow out of myth. No other being is as closely linked to human thoughts. And, to be quite frank, this brasses the fae off something fierce. They hate that humans have so much control over them.”
When Eliza frowned in confusion, he leaned in close, his voice becoming emphatic. “You’ve no notion how powerful human belief can be. Nor how much it effects the Others. That is why being seen and acknowledged means so much to them. They have power because we gave it to them.
“Over their existence, the fae have had many incantations, distinctions made by humans wishing to expand and explain the myth. They’ve been the Seelie Court and the Unseelie Court, Trooping Fairies, Solitary Faires, Light fae, Dark fae, Tots, household fae. Mab, your grandmother, holds great power simply because she’s so well known in the human world. Every time someone orates Mercutio’s speech about Mab or some poetically inclined sod recites Shelley’s Queen Mab, she gains strength.”
“I don’t understand,” Eliza said. “These beings are real. They’re stronger than humans, capable of killing them, yet you say humans created them and feed their powers.”
“Yes. Human thoughts and beliefs took on a consciousness and corporeal bodies. They are entirely their own creatures now. But they still feed off of the power of human belief. This is why so many supernaturals want to expose themselves to human society. They are of the opinion that humans, once realizing the truth, will give them a surge of power because their belief will be absolute.”
“Well, won’t it?”
“No,” said Adam, his deep voice so resonant it seemed to tickle her skin. “Because there is the power of disbelief as well. Humans have a great capacity for disbelief. We’ll tell ourselves that what we see isn’t real. Now more than ever, when science and reason hold greater sway than myth and faith. To come out into the open would be catastrophic. Humans would either explain the Others away, fight them to the death, or shut down mentally. Likely a little of all. The result will be the weakening and needless deaths of countless supernaturals.”
Eliza grew up in the aftermath of a great war. She knew quite well the toll it took on a society. “And Mab wants exposure?”
Adam turned his attention on Michaels. “Mab knows the power humans have over her kind. Thus she both fears and hates them. However, she’s cunning enough to know that she’s better off feeding the myth of herself than destroying it. What she wants is power over supernaturals, not humans.”
“Aye.” Michaels sat back. “But the trick is finding something stronger than immortality.”
A dark smile curved Adam’s lips. “Don’t you know what that is?”
Eliza didn’t but she rather thought they both did, given the way Michaels smiled too.
“Pray, end my suspense,” she clipped out.
Michaels answered first. “Death. That which is already dead cannot be defeated.”
Adam crossed one leg over the other. “As I am certain this information will be circulated all through London’s underworld soon enough, here are the facts. For the past six months, Mab has tortured me, first for the fun of it, but recently to discover the location of the Golden Horn an Bás, which I supposedly took hundreds of years ago while pillaging Ireland.” Adam waved an idle hand. “Rot, all of it. But if Mab wants it, then so do I.”
“So then, you want to find its true location before Mab can?” Michaels shook his head. “You know finding lost items is beyond my talents.”
Adam regarded him for a quiet moment, then spoke, his voice low and serious. “Sean, I am asking this as a friend.”
Michaels’s ruddy skin flushed. He glanced at Eliza. “He saved my life once, you know.”
“Are you GIM?”
“Never got that far. He stopped a killer’s knife before it slid into my gut.”
Adam shrugged. “There are times when I liked to roam as a normal man. And murder has never set well with me.”
Michaels laughed. “Right then. I’m still beholden to you, and I’ll do what I can. Finish your tea, the both of you, and we’ll see what we can see.”
They did as told, and Michaels collected their cups. Peering into Adam’s cup, he studied the dregs. “You’ll not be liking this, old man.”
“That surprises me very little.” Adam leaned forward. “Out with it.”
“You’ve no future.”
“What?” Eliza burst out.
“His future is naught but a muddle. I cannot see anything more than a vague sense of him possessing the horn. But… even that appears wrong and off.” Michaels took Eliza’s cup. “Let’s see yours.”
Instantly, his pleasant face smoothed out. He glanced between Adam and Eliza, his expression wary. “I’ll need to be speaking to Miss May alone.”
“Absolutely not,” Adam spit out, his chains rattling as his hands clenched.
“Why?” Eliza asked just as quickly.
Adam growled at her, but she gave him a quelling look.
Michaels ran a hand through his ruddy hair. “If I tell you both, it might alter the course, and believe me, friend,” he said to Adam, “you do not want that to happen.”
Abruptly, Adam stood, his jaw bunched, his teeth bared. “If you seek to play me false —”
“It’s no trick, Adam.” Michaels appeared tired just then. “I swear it on my mam’s grave.”
They stared at each other for an endless moment, and then Adam nodded abruptly. He turned and pinned Eliza with a look. “That goes for you as well, Miss May. Try to cross me and —”
“It would behoove you not to threaten me, dearest. Such behavior does not prompt accord.”
Oh, but she could see him swallowing down a snide retort. “How kind of you to remind me, sweets,” he ground out. With a last warning look all around, Adam moved to go, but then stopped and bent close to her. His hot breath fanned her skin, drawing up little prickles of sensation. She thought he might threaten her, or complain further, but he did nothing of the sort. His soft lips pressed gently to the hollow below her ear.
With that, he was gone in an irate clatter of
chains and general male huffing.
Eliza found Michaels grinning.
“Oh, do have a laugh at my expense, Mr. Michaels. When I’ll be the one forced to live with his temper.”
At that, Michaels cleared his throat. “Right.” He scootched closer, holding her teacup. “Here’s the thing. I see Adam in possession of the horn, but only you, Miss May, appear to be able to use it.”
“Odd.” She peered into the cup, seeing nothing more than a jumbled mess of wet tea leaves.
“Yes,” Michaels agreed. “Odder still, you’ll only know how to use the horn when you let Adam into your heart.”
Eliza reared back at this. “Is this some trick?” Her heart pounded. Eliza didn’t hold it past Adam to use this oracle for something so low. She knew how ruthless he could be, damn his golden eyes.
“A trick,” Michaels parroted.
“Yes, a way to get me to… accept him,” she hissed.
Michaels laughed shortly. “I do not know what goes on between you two, but I assure you that it is no trick on my part.”
“But why do I need him to use the horn?”
“I do not know. An oracle can state what might occur if one follows a certain path, but not why one must behave as one ought.”
“Rather irritating that,” Eliza groused.
His blue eyes took on a soft light. “I’ve heard as much. And you’re wise to keep your trust close at heart, Miss May. Lies make our world go round.”
“Then why,” she said, “should I trust you?”
“So don’t, then.” Michaels set the cup onto his desk and slouched back in his chair as though he hadn’t a care. “But I’d advise that you not tell Adam of my reading. Because there is one truth on which I think we can agree. If that demon wants to claim you, he’ll do anything in his power to achieve it.”
Sin had turned hiding into an art form. Which saved his sorry hide more than once. Of course, all the household had taken to hiding when Eliza had flown the coop with Adam. Mab’s once-fine house now lay in chaotic shambles, torn apart by the mistress’s own hands. With the temper of a recalcitrant child, she’d lashed out, screaming her displeasure.
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