“Oh, no!” the leader protested. “No, no, boss. Nothin’ like that, I swear!”
“Please don’t use no more words on us!” one of the other men pleaded, his piggy yellow eyes growing wide with alarm. “Please don’t!”
“I don’t need words of power to deal with the likes of you.” O’Shea took another step forward and the three small men skittered backwards like frightened cockroaches when someone turns on the kitchen light.
“Please no, my lord Spell-singer! Please,” begged the leader and began to cry, breaking out into loud, squealing sobs that sounded like a pig being killed. Behind him, his two cohorts started to squeal as well.
Cass wondered what the word “Spell-singer” meant. Was it some kind of a title? But she didn’t have time to wonder for long. O’Shea was looking at the squealing men like they were the lowest form of life, which for all Cass knew, they might be in the Realm of the Fae.
“If I had more time I’d give you something to cry for,” he said. “Go back to your barrows and never let me catch you soul-napping again. Do you understand?”
“Oh yes! Yes, boss! We’ll turn over a new leaf terectly!” All three of them bowed and scraped, the leader going so far as to kiss the pale pink marble in front of O’Shea’s highly polished black shoes.
The elf looked down at him, disgust written plainly across his dark face
“Very well, I release you,” he said.
Once more, Cass felt a rush of some kind of power leave him and the three men who had been trying to drag her into the alley abruptly turned on their heels and ran away as fast as their short stumpy legs could carry them.
Six
“Well, you certainly have a talent for trouble.” O’Shea seemed to shrink back to his normal size, which was still quite large, after the three small men that had tried to abduct Cass ran off.
The crowd around Rory and the wounded phooka horse had dissipated, Cass saw, and the normal ebb and flow of pedestrians had resumed. But people still stepped around her and O’Shea as though they were standing inside an invisible bubble.
“While you were playing games, your sister had been forming a most imprudent alliance,” he continued, frowning at her.
“Playing games? Are you serious?” Cass said furiously, or rather whispered because her voice had still not returned. “Those men asked me if I was human and—”
“And what did you say?” O’Shea asked sternly.
“I said yes, of course. What was I supposed to say? And what’s wrong with my voice?” Cass put a hand to her throat and glared up at the big elf.
“You should have told them you were part fairy and they might not have been so eager to take you. Only pure humans can be turned into changelings,” O’Shea said, frowning.
“Changelings?” Cass whispered.
“Humans whose souls have been taken for use in the Realm. Sometimes their bodies are returned to the human world and sometimes they’re simply discarded.” He shrugged as though it was no big deal. “Most are taken as babies but soul-nappers like those trows don’t care about age. If they see an opportunity, they take it.”
“That’s horrible,” she tried to say, but her voice still came out as a hoarse whisper. “My throat,” she said again, looking up at O’Shea.
“One of the trows that tried to take you probably cast a voice-loss charm on you.” He was taking off the immaculate pinstriped navy suit jacket he wore as he spoke. “Don’t worry—it should wear off in time. Here.” He held out the jacket to her and Cass looked at it in confusion.
“Why would I want your jacket?” she asked in an indignant whisper.
“I have no time to argue with you. Take it and put it on,” he said, frowning at her. “You can’t enter the court exposed as you are.”
“Exposed?” Cass looked down at herself and realized that the leader of the little men O’Shea had called ‘trows’ had ripped her nightshirt completely open, right down the middle. The ragged ends of the white T-shirt fabric hung on either side of her, framing her bare breasts and the sexy red lace panties she had on.
Since she mainly wore black jeans and T-shirts, fancy underwear was Cass’s one clothing indulgence. But she had no intention of showing her panties or anything else to an arrogant prick like O’Shea.
She snatched the tattered remains of her nightshirt closed, aware that her nipples were hard from being exposed to the cool outside air. Her cheeks were burning with embarrassment. How could she have not noticed that she was practically naked?
Her body had been in flight or fight mode when the trows were trying to take her, Cass reasoned. The adrenaline pumping through her system had kept her from noticing anything but the menacing mouth of the dark alley.
She looked towards it now but the sense of menace was gone and it was just a shadowy place between two tall buildings. Could she have been imagining the thing made of blackness that she had felt in the dark place?
“Here, we don’t have time for you to daydream.” O’Shea broke into her train of thought by draping the large navy-blue jacket over her shoulders. “Try to keep yourself together, Cassandra.”
His words were rough but his actions were gentle as he leaned down to button the front of it closed. She noticed that the jacket smelled like the blue smoke he had appeared in back in the living room of Nana’s house—like leather and some kind of dark, masculine spice. And there was something sharp in the inside pocket that pricked against her left breast. She adjusted the jacket impatiently until the pricking stopped.
Cass knew she should be grateful to her rescuer but the embarrassment of having just flashed their court-appointed elf with her bare breasts and lacy red panties made her feel more defensive than thankful.
“I don’t recall giving you permission to use my first name,” she said indignantly, and realized that her voice was finally beginning to come back a little. “If I’m one of your clients you can damn well call me ‘Miss Swann.’”
One corner of O’Shea’s stern but sensual mouth went up in obvious amusement.
“You act like a child so I’ll treat you like one, Cassandra,” he said, deliberately baiting her.
Cass felt her teeth grind together. What was it about this big elf that got on her nerves so much?
“All right then, since we’re on a first name basis, you won’t mind if I call you…what the hell was your first name again?” she demanded.
“Jacobin,” he said, taking her arm and beginning to lead her back to where Nana and her sisters were standing.
“Too long,” Cassandra decided. She still sounded terribly hoarse, but at least she could speak loud enough to be understood—barely. “How about if I just call you Jake?”
O’Shea frowned.
“That isn’t my name,” he pointed out stiffly. “I don’t appreciate being called something incorrect. Names have power here in the Realm.”
That’s right, Cass thought. The power to annoy you, apparently.
Aloud she said, “Well, that’s tough, Jake, because your other moniker is too much of a mouthful. You can feel free to call me Cass, though, if it’ll make you feel better.”
“It does not.” O’Shea gave her a threatening frown which Cass returned with a glare of her own. He might have saved her from the trows, but that didn’t give Jake O’Shea the right to talk down to her and treat her like a little girl who had been naughty. After all, it wasn’t like she had asked to be dragged away and almost kidnapped.
He held her eyes for a moment and then shook his head.
“Come on. We don’t have time to walk so we’ll have to take a flyer.”
“Take a what?” Cass asked but he was already moving ahead to where Nana and Phil and Rory stood waiting in a huddle on the sidewalk.
The large black horse, now fully healed, was standing quietly beside Rory with its chin resting on her shoulder. She had one hand on its neck and was stroking it protectively as though she could keep the huge animal safe just by touching it. When she and O’Shea got t
o the small group, he stopped in front of Rory, frowning.
“That’s enough,” he said and Cass realized he was talking to the black phooka horse, not her little sister. “You’ll get your pound of flesh later,” he told the horse, frowning. “I’m sure you’ll see to that. But as long as these women are under my protection you shall not have her. Now go.”
The black horse reared suddenly, with a thundering neigh that sounded almost human. It shook its mane and pawed the air wildly. Rory cried out and reached up as though to calm it. But the horse came down away from her, its mirrored black hooves striking sparks from the marble sidewalk. It took off in a gallop down the busy street, dodging between startled pedestrians who jumped to either side to make way for it.
“No! No!” Rory cried and started after it. Nana and Phil held her back.
“It’s for the best, Aurora, dear,” Nana murmured. “No good ever came of associating with phookas.”
“And besides, we have to get to court.” Phil glanced anxiously at her watch. “If we don’t hurry we’re going to be late.”
“True enough,” O’Shea said grimly, looking up at the sky. He was still holding Cass’s arm and it didn’t appear that he was going to let it go anytime soon.
Cass tried to step away from him but he only gave her a dark look and continued scanning the skies. The left inside pocket of his jacket was pricking her again and she shrugged her shoulders, trying to stop the sensation. Her movement shifted the focus of attention from the still sobbing Rory to herself.
“Oh, my dear!” Nana came forward and put a plump hand to her cheek. “Whatever happened to you?”
“Yeah, what happened to your shirt?” Phil eyed the large navy jacket Cass was still wearing which was so big on her the tattered remains of her nightshirt were clearly evident at the neck line.
“I’m fine,” Cass assured them in her still whispery voice.
“Your throat!” Nana was getting more upset by the minute. She was eyeing the red marks around the back of Cass’s neck where her nightshirt had nearly cut into the flesh. “Did someone hurt you while we were all busy up here?”
“Cass, what happened?” Phil stroked her hair anxiously.
Cass stepped back as far as O’Shea’s grip on her arm would allow, away from their patting hands.
“I’m fine, really,” she said hoarsely.
“Cassandra had a run in with some trows,” their court-appointed elf said briefly, still looking skyward.
Cass glared at him.
“Yes, and Jake here came to my rescue like the big brave elf he is,” she snapped.
“Trows? Oh, my dear!” Nana gasped.
Rory wiped her eyes and sniffled. “What…what are trows? Is that like a troll?”
“No, but they’re related. Trows are mountain fae most often associated with—” Phil began, but at that moment O’Shea pursed his lips and let loose with an ear-splitting whistle.
“Ouch!” Cass complained, clapping her free hand to her head. “Warn somebody when you’re going to do that!”
He glanced at her briefly. “My apologies, Cassandra.”
She opened her mouth to reply when one of the huge winged couch-cars suddenly settled in front of them on the pink marble sidewalk, its feathers fluttering. It had plush red velvet cushions with a scrolled back and its arching, feathery wings were dove gray. Aside from the wings, it looked like it belonged in a Victorian sitting room.
“Come on, girls.” Nana settled herself primly at one end of the couch as though she’d been riding flying sofas all her life and Phil and Rory plopped down beside her. Jake started to pull Cass towards the couch as well but she balked.
“Wait a minute—you expect us to ride on that?” she protested. “There’s no hand rail or safety bar or anything!”
“We have no time for this.” O’Shea started to pull her towards the couch but Cass dug in her heels.
“I mean it! That doesn’t look safe.” She remembered the scary feeling of tilting over the rough wooden edge of her friend’s tree house when she was seven and tried to swallow the lump of terror that had suddenly lodged in her throat.
No way am I getting on that thing and letting it take me up in the air. Huh-uh—just watching the damn things fly scares the shit out of me.
But she wasn’t about to tell an arrogant bastard like Jake O’Shea that the thought of sitting on those slippery velvet cushions and being whirled into the air by the winged couch made her stomach feel like it was full of lumpy cottage cheese. She had more pride than that.
“Cassandra, we have to—” O’Shea broke off, apparently seeing the expression on her face for the first time. Taking her shoulders in both of his hands, he leaned down to look in her eyes. “Cassandra,” he said quietly. “I know it looks frightening but as long as you’re with me, you don’t need to fear anything in the Realm. I’m more than your legal counsel—I’m your protector and defender. If I let anything happen to you, I wouldn’t be doing my job. And I always do my job. All right?”
“I’m not afraid.” Cass lied, lifting her chin. “I just…don’t like heights much,” she admitted, not meeting his pale green eyes.
“I won’t let anything happen to you.” O’Shea’s deep voice was quiet but utterly sincere.
Cass felt a tremor run through her. She wanted to say something defiant and cutting, but all she could think of was being hundreds of feet in the air on a crazy piece of flying furniture.
“Fine,” she said at last, “but I’m not looking down.”
“You don’t have to,” he assured her. “Now, come. We’re very late and Judge Greenvine is not at all forgiving of tardiness.”
He led her to the flying couch. Settling himself near the middle, he pulled Cass down beside him. He was still holding her upper arm but for once, Cass was glad. Anything that made her feel anchored was good as far as she was concerned.
She took a death-grip on the arm of the couch to her right, took a deep breath, and closed her eyes.
Seven
The couch trembled like a live thing and took off with a lurch. Cass bit back a scream and dug her fingers into its plush red velvet as they left the ground behind. She could feel the huge wings flapping on either side of the sofa and despite her determination not to look down, her eyes flew open.
They were already more than thirty feet in the air and gaining altitude rapidly. Her stomach gave an uneasy tilt to the right as the couch did the same. Already the strange cars and stranger people were looking smaller and smaller and the pink marble sidewalk was narrowing to the width of a ribbon below them.
Cass had flown in planes before but this was completely different. For one thing, in a plane, you were safely enclosed and you couldn’t feel the wind rushing in your face. And for another, you couldn’t fall out of a plane if you just happened to lean a little bit in the wrong direction. She looked across to her left and saw that Nana, Rory, and Phil were sitting complacently and actually enjoying the ride.
Nana was pointing out landmarks below them which reminded Cass that their grandmother had actually grown up in the Realm of the Fae. She would probably be living here still if she hadn’t met their grandfather who was human and run away with him in the middle of the night.
The couch was flying with a smooth up and down motion but Cass couldn’t help wincing when she saw that they were apparently headed directly toward a large lavender glass skyscraper. No one else seemed concerned, least of all Jake, so she bit her tongue as the side of the building got closer and closer.
What if it’s some kind of crazy suicide couch that wants to take us with it when it goes? she couldn’t help thinking nervously. If it doesn’t change course soon we’re going to end up like bugs smeared on a windshield!
She clenched the red velvet upholstery harder, willing the couch to navigate around the building instead of straight at it.
Shit! Move you stupid piece of flying crap! Move, move, move!
The building came closer and closer until Cass cou
ld actually see into one of the wide windows in its lavender side. She saw several fae executives all dressed in expensive suits sitting around a large oval table. At one end sat a full-blooded fairy with silver hair and wings and a bored expression on his face—probably the CEO. He glanced up at the couch and its passengers and then back down at the pile of paperwork in front of him, apparently unimpressed.
I bet he’ll perk up in a minute when we crash through the freaking window and I wind up in his lap. If this crazy flying couch doesn’t dump us to our deaths instead.
The window was so close she could see the color of the fairy CEO’s eyes (they were a vivid orange) and Cass braced herself for collision. But at the last minute the couch veered wildly to the right, throwing her against its upholstered arm, and narrowly missing the corner of the building.
Suddenly, Cass felt herself sliding. Her bare legs had no traction against the slippery velvet and as she watched, one of her slippers, the Bert of the Bert and Ernie pair, slipped off her foot and fell what looked like hundreds of feet to the ground below.
Shit! Shit! Shit! She scrabbled at the arm of the couch wildly, cursing under her breath but she could feel her butt sliding toward the end of the cushions and over the side.
It was the tree house all over again only this time she wouldn’t just escape with getting the breath knocked out of her and a skinned knee.
Never thought falling off a couch would kill me, Cass thought dismally, and then O’Shea’s big hand was hauling her back onto the red velvet cushion she had been about to slip off of.
“Here,” he said roughly, pulling her close against his side and wrapping one strong arm around her shoulders. “Determined to cause trouble, aren’t you?”
Cass wanted to say something snide or protest that she hadn’t exactly wanted to plunge to her death from a flying sofa but her tongue was frozen to the roof of her mouth. She pressed her face against the side of his chest, feeling stupid and girly but completely unable to help herself.
Be Careful What You Wish For Page 5