by Stacey Jay
“Okay. Sounds good. We should talk.”
“Yeah,” he says. “Maybe . . . You want me to come over later tonight instead?”
“Tonight? When?”
“Around nine?”
I dart a quick look over at Tucker, who’s not even making an effort to act like he’s not listening anymore. He lifts a brow, issuing a silent challenge. “That’s okay,” I say. “Tomorrow morning would probably be better.”
Tucker smiles and I scowl, hoping he realizes that Cane’s loss will not be his gain. I have enough on my plate tonight. And I’m exhausted. I need a nice, relaxing evening with no men in it.
“All right,” Cane says, concealing any hurt he might feel. “I’ll see you then.”
“See you.” I’m about to hang up when he says—
“I meant what I said, Lee-lee. I love you, and . . . I’m sorry.”
“Me, too,” I say, throat tightening. I’m not looking forward to telling Cane what I learned from Fernando. I have a feeling that confrontation is only going to make the motivation for his visit last night more upsetting. “See you in the morning. Knock at the back door, okay? If there’s a miracle and Deedee gets to come home with me tonight, I’ll put her in the front room.”
“I’m proud of you,” Cane says. “You’re going to be a great foster mom.”
I hear his hope for babies of our own in his voice, but refuse to take it too seriously. I’m not going to be taking anything seriously for the next several weeks. As soon as I get my cat and work things out with Dee, I’m prescribing myself a full month of laying low.
Even if the Big Man hadn’t demanded it, I need it. It will be good for me. And Deedee. And god knows Gimpy needs some downtime. I’m going to have to catproof the house. Maybe Deedee will help. Something like that seems like it would be right up her alley.
“See you in the morning.” I end the call, and am pulling up my first message when Tucker wanders over with a sigh.
“We should go,” he says. “We’ve got a few miles to walk and—”
“Let me check my messages. Two seconds.” I close my eyes, making a great show of listening hard as Jin-Sang’s voice whispers in my ear.
Really whispers. Why the hell is he whispering? He never whispers. Jin’s an all loud, all the time kind of guy.
“I don’t have much time,” he hisses, his accent thicker than I’ve ever heard it. “An armored car is waiting. I erased your warning. You’ll be having interviews soon, but when you are, say nothing about the new species. It is very important this big concern goes away. I’ll call when I can. Delete this message as soon as you are hearing it.”
Jin’s voice cuts off with a rattle. I scowl down at the phone as I hit delete and start the next message. Why is he so upset? And why does he want me to cover up the new species? Jin’s even more of a line-walker than Cane. He lives for regulations and protocol. There has to be something very wrong for him to advocate prevarication.
“What’s wrong?” Tucker asks. “Who was—”
“Nothing.” I’m not ready to discuss this with Tucker, not until I get more information from Jin. Hopefully he’ll be in touch before my interview so I can get the dirt.
I plug my ear as Deedee’s voice comes on the line. “It’s me. Gimpy’s sleeping. I’m goin’ back to Sweet Haven, but I’m comin’ to visit him tomorrow. I can. I take back my promise not to sneak out. It’s okay to break promises to people who don’t keep their promises.” She sighs a long, labored sigh, but she doesn’t sound as angry as she’s pretending to be. “Bye. Call me if you get this before lights-out.” I delete the message, secretly hoping we’ll be picking the Gimp up from the vet together.
The last message is from Dr. Hollis, saying she wants to keep Gimpy overnight for observation. She thinks he’ll be fine, but that we should talk about anti-depressants.
For a second I think she’s talking about medication for me, but then she starts extolling the benefits of Prozac for cats and I have to laugh.
“I’m serious, Red,” Tucker says. “We aren’t the only people trying to get out of here. We need to move before we—”
“I’m done.” I shove my phone back into my pocket. “Keep your panties on.”
“I don’t wear panties.”
“Boxers?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He loops a finger through my empty belt loop and tugs me closer. “Maybe we’ll have time for you to find out before supper.”
I cover his hand with mine. “I’m not going to sleep with you.”
“Maybe not tonight.”
“Not any night. I’m swearing off men.”
“Is this like the time you swore off booze?” he asks with a grin. “How long did that last? A day?”
“A day and a half,” I grumble, shoving him away when he starts to laugh. I turn and start down the last stretch of the tunnel, a still chuckling Tucker on my heels.
Within a few moments, I have to stoop down, and not much later I’m crawling, wincing as rocks dig into my knees. This can’t be the main entrance. A person much larger that I am would have a hell of a time fitting through. Tucker’s on his belly by the time we reach the end, his broad shoulders scraping rock on both sides.
“You going to make it?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he grunts. “But hurry it up, will ya? I’m not a fan of tight places.”
“Learning so many fascinating things about you today, Mr. School Spirit.” I deliberately slow my pace. “I bet you were the cutest thing, in those tight little cheer shorts.”
“I’m serious, Red,” he says. “Move it!” He slaps my ass, but his awkward position ensures the smack is more symbolic than painful.
“Okay, okay.” I gingerly stick my head out into the world, ready to draw back inside should I spot a swarm of pixies or fairies or any recently liberated, venom-crazy felons wandering around looking for a crime to commit. But of course there’s nothing that reasonable waiting for me, only a quiet clearing with a peek of bayou visible through the cypress trees.
And my shiny red and black Harley propped up in a patch of grass.
I scramble out of the hole and up into the light, with Tucker close behind me. He shoves his shoulders free, but pauses when he gets an eyeful of the motorcycle. “Well, well,” he says, a sly smile creeping across his face. “Guess we won’t be walking after all.”
“How did he get it out here?” I keep my distance, leery for some reason.
“He has his ways.” Tucker pulls himself free and jumps to his feet, shaking his head and arms like a dog fresh out of water.
“But how did he know this is where we’d end up? There are at least two other ways out.”
“You ever heard that phrase about not lookin’ a gift horse in the mouth?” Tucker throws an arm around my shoulders and pulls me in for a celebratory bear hug. I can feel how glad he is to be out of the tunnels, and laugh in spite of the bad vibe I’m getting from the bike.
“Yeah. I’ve heard it.”
“Same applies to gift choppers.” He ruffles my hair before starting toward the Harley. “I’m driving. You can ride bitch.”
“You are obscenely politically incorrect.”
“One of the things you love about me, right?” He smiles as he straddles the seat in a way that’s both sexy as hell and silly at the same time.
“What about helmets? Don’t we—”
“We’ll be all right. I’ll dig a couple out of storage before we go riding again.”
“You’re assuming I’m going riding now. I don’t—”
“Trust me, Red. You’re going to love this. By the time we get back to your place, you’ll be begging me to take you out again.” He turns a dial and pulls a knob and fusses with enough switches to make me certain I’m never going to learn how to drive the stupid bike, before turning the key and jabbing the red starter button.
But instead of rumbling to life, the engine makes a high-pitched whining sound, and something under the gas pan rattles like a snake ready
to strike.
Run!” I shout, but Tucker’s already on the move. He shoves away from the bike and sprints toward me as the rattling becomes a roar and the bike goes up with an air-scalding blast.
His body slams into mine and we hit the ground hard enough to knock the wind out of me. I cough and flinch as pieces of flaming metal fly through the air and the heat of the explosion warms my feet. I try to roll over and run, but Tucker has me pinned.
“Get up,” I shout. “We have to—”
Something hits his back, sending a shudder through us both. There’s a sick-sounding thunk and his eyes close with a groan. He collapses on top of me, squeezing the wind out of my lungs a second time, leaving me breathless as the last pieces of the Harley fall to the ground.
And then the swamp is quiet, but for the cries of frightened birds and the hiss of the fire licking at what’s left of the Big Man’s present.
The Big Man. He has to be responsible for this. Tucker was wrong. I’m not safe. And neither is he. In fact . . .
“Tucker?” I ask, voice muted and strange in the ringing silence. I run my hands up his back, pulse slowing when I feel the gentle movement of his ribs as he draws breath.
He’s not dead. My arms tighten around him. Thank god.
Trembling with relief, I continue my exploration, tracing his spine up to his neck, pushing aside his tangled hair until I touch something hot and wet at the base of his skull. I apply gentle pressure. Within a few moments, my fingers are sticky and slick. He’s bleeding. A lot. But head injuries do that. It’s probably not as bad as it feels.
“He’s going to be fine,” I say, then repeat, “you’re going to be fine,” in case he can hear me.
We just have to get back to town and everything will be okay. I’ll get Tucker patched up and then . . . then . . .
Then what? I come out here and hunt the Big Man down? Kill him before he can kill me? Even though he’s invisible and powerful and has a small army of people doing his bidding? It’s impossible. He’ll find me first and he’ll finish the job he started and—
“Is it her?” The question is distant, hushed, but I hear it. I freeze, fingers going slack in Tucker’s bloody hair.
“It is. It’s the ginger woman,” says a second voice, more guttural than the first. It’s coming from the other side of the clearing, not far from what’s left of the Harley.
“Is it dead?” asks the first.
“Not yet. Soon. We wait.”
“We finish it,” the first voice replies with a screech I’m guessing is the monster’s version of laughter.
Fairies. Fucking fairies. And I’m all out of magic. I might be able to shove Tucker off of me and make a run for it, but I’d never make it back to town before the Fey caught up with me and I can’t leave him here unconscious and maybe bleeding to death. There’s no way out. This is it. If they’re willing to die to kill me, then I’m dead. The end.
I feel a sob rising in my throat but swallow it down.
I had a life before I started catching magic. And in that life I managed to get into more than my fair share of trouble. But I almost always got out of it, and I didn’t use magic. I used my brain. And I still have that. Mostly.
I also have an idea.
“I’m not dead!” I make sure I’m loud enough for the bastards on the other side of the clearing to hear me. “If you try to finish me off, you’ll only be killing yourselves.”
“Gentry,” the first voice says, sounding a touch frantic. “Gentry!”
“That’s right,” I say, hoping I won’t have to prove myself. “But I don’t want to hurt you. I want to help. I know your leader was killed.”
There’s some mumbling from the fairies and I think I hear a few new voices I haven’t before, but no immediate response.
“I talked to Grandpa today, and—” Tucker moans and twitches, nudging his face closer to my neck. He’s still unconscious, but he’s present enough to be bothered by someone screaming in his ear. I decide to take that as a positive sign and continue in a softer voice. “He was worried about what’s going to happen if the invisible people are allowed to stay in the swamp. He was right to worry. One of them killed him today.”
More mumbling, more agitated this time, and finally the gravelly voice asks, “Who killed the leader of the Slake?”
“Who do you think?” I ask. “The Big Man thinks he’s untouchable, but he’s not. I know his weakness. And I want him out. I think you want the same thing.”
A whisper and hiss later a soft whumping sound stirs the air above me. An ancient Fey woman appears over Tucker’s shoulder, beating fragile-looking pink wings. Her face is creased with wrinkles and her breasts droop like shriveled apricots over a softly rounded belly, but I can tell she isn’t as old as grandpa. Not quite.
“What is his weakness?” she asks, confirming she’s the owner of the huskier voice.
“Me. He doesn’t like Gentry women. He’s scared of what we can do.”
She considers me for a moment, a hard smile on her tiny face. “So are we. Perhaps he and we are the ones who want the same thing.”
Smart. This one. “He also wants you in a cage. Like the pixies. You know he had them, and he’s hunting them again. As soon as they’re back under wraps, you’re next.” It’s a bluff, but it’s a good one. I can see the fear the words inspire in her flat eyes. The fairies I’ve seen in containment units at Keesler are pale, feral shadows of their free brethren with a life span of six to eight months, a year at best. Captivity doesn’t agree with many creatures, but it truly doesn’t agree with the Fey.
“And what do you want?”
“I want him and everyone creating weapons with Fey venom out of here. For good. The only way to do that is for us to work together. You help me, and I’ll help you. You leave the people of Donaldsonville alone and in exchange, I’ll leave you to your breeding and mosquito killing and . . . whatever else you’re up to.”
She scrunches her nose, baring the top layer of her fangs. “We had a truce before. And now, if you are to be believed, that man has killed our leader. Why should we trust another human?”
“Because I can kill you with a thought,” I say, willing myself to believe it. That I’m capable of doing it. That I have the magic to make her evaporate. Right here. Right now. “I will kill you and the fairies over there and keep killing and killing until every one of you is dead. Then I’ll gather your eggs and use them to make really stinky mayonnaise that I’ll eat on a turkey sandwich when the Fey are extinct.”
“You’ll kill yourself.”
“I don’t care.”
She flutters closer, until her feet touch down on Tucker’s filthy wife-beater. Her wings still and sag, wilting around her hunched shoulders. When she crouches down to bring her wee nose closer to mine, her knees tremble. “Our leader is dead. We will not easily choose another. But . . .”
“But?” I whisper.
“When we do, I will present your offer.”
I take a breath. “Until then we have a truce? You won’t come after me or my friends?”
“I lack the power to make that promise,” she says. “I can give you safe escort to the gates tonight. That is all.”
Shit. That’s not good enough. I need to know Deedee’s safe, and how am I supposed to get Tucker back to town? He’s too heavy. I’ll never be able to carry him with my muscles and when I can’t carry him with my mind, the fairies will know I’m full of shit. Shit!
“All right,” I say, sounding remarkably calm.
“But if you harm me or my flight, we’ll tear you apart.” She leans even closer, until I can see my pale, frightened face reflected in her bug eyes. I don’t look tough. I look like a little girl who’s seen the monster under her bed. “I don’t care, either.”
I nod. Swallow.
“Come.”
I nod again. And poke Tucker in the stomach. Once, twice, three times. He moans and shifts his legs, but doesn’t wake up. I poke him again. More moaning. Less shifti
ng. I start to sweat. All over. All at once. “One second,” I tell the fairy. “Let me see if I can wake him up. He could have a spinal cord injury. I don’t want to move him with magic unless I have to.”
She flutters into the air. “I’ll go convince my flight not to eat your heart.”
“Thanks,” I say dryly.
I swear the old lady smiles before she flies away.
“Bunch of smart-ass, blood-sucking, flying vamp—”
“Blood,” Tucker interrupts, his lips moving sluggishly at my neck.
He can hear me! “Tucker!” I hiss into his ear. “Wake up! You have to wake up.”
“Mmm.”
“There are fairies here. They are going to kill us if you don’t get up.”
“Mmmm.” It’s a longer sound, but vaguer. I can feel his spirit pulling away, sinking back into an oblivion he might never crawl back out of unless I do something.
“Tucker, listen to me. I have a proposition for you,” I whisper, letting my lips kiss his skin with the words. I shift beneath him, rolling my hips as I move my hands around to the small of his back. A part of me feels ridiculous for thinking this might work—the man has a head injury and no amount of sexing or promise of sexing is going to help my cause.
But the other part of me knows Tucker better than that.
“If you get up and walk, I’ll take you home, and do sick, wonderful things to your body. All. Night. Long.” My hands slide down to his ass, and his breath comes faster. “First we’ll take a shower. I’ll wash your back . . . You’ll wash . . . whatever parts of me you think are dirty.” His lips part and his eyelashes flutter. “And you know what we’ll do after that?”
“Mmm?” His moan has a question mark at the end. I’m sure of it.
“Then, we’ll dry off, and you’ll show me you know what to do with that ego of yours. And I’ll show you how good redheads are in bed.” More eyelash fluttering and a sliver of blue peeks through before his lids slide closed. “And then we’ll do it again. And again, until you come so hard you forget your own name. Sound good, Jamie?”
“Tucker.” He blinks in slow motion, and his lips twitch at the sides. “Call me . . . Tucker.”