Hunt: An Urban Faery Tale (The Faery Chronicles Book 1)

by Leslie Claire Walker

  The King angled left and stopped in front of an extra-wide tree. “Here we are.”

  “Where’s here?” Kevin asked.

  “Home.” The King traced a finger on the bark, in the shape of a door.

  “Yours,” Kevin said.

  The King ignored him. He spoke a word Kevin couldn’t have repeated to save his life, and touched the door he’d traced with a spark of power.

  A yawning maw opened in the trunk. Pitch black, with no indication as to where it led. Kevin’s guess? Straight to hell.

  “To your doom, gentlemen?” The King gestured for them to go ahead.

  Which Kevin had no intention of doing. “Monarchs first.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  KEVIN FOLLOWED THE KING through the door in the tree. He might as well have jumped into an elevator shaft.

  There was no floor, nothing to catch him. His stomach flipped and dipped and ended up somewhere in the vicinity of his throat. He waited to fall. But it didn’t happen.

  Muffled footfalls echoed up ahead. The King’s, as far as he could tell. So he did the only thing he could think to do—follow them.

  He took a step forward into nothingness. And another. As the sounds in front of him began to fade, he picked up his pace so he wouldn’t lose the King. Behind him, his father did the same thing.

  Things began to take shape in the darkness: an arched doorway, this one made out of wood, too, but carved along the edges with spiraling snakes. A dog stood guard beneath the arch. Only it was too big to be a dog, and it had gray fur and huge paws, and the cold intelligence in its eyes? Definitely not domesticated. A wolf. It watched him as he passed.

  Torches lined the walls of a corridor, their light faint at first but stronger the further he went. Ground formed under his feet, packed earth swept clean and strewn with herbs that gave up sweet fragrance when he walked on them.

  The hall opened out into a room full of wood furnishings carved by the same guy who’d done the snake door, though he hadn’t stuck only with serpents in here.

  Huge, deep chairs waited by a fireplace, where logs cheerfully burned and washed the place in warmth that seeped in through Kevin’s clothes and into his sore, stiff muscles. There was a rug on the floor that looked thick enough to sleep on, and a heap of pillows to help with that.

  A chess set had been laid with a small wooden table and chairs, by a window with a view of a garden. Bummer that he’d never learned how to play.

  His dad limped in, carrying the little girl piggyback style, her arms wrapped around his neck with a decent grip. She’d started to come around.

  The King was nowhere to be seen—until he walked around the corner from what Kevin could tell was a washroom, a blanket in his hands, which he unfolded before he stepped to where Franklin stood.

  “It’s all right to let go,” he said to the child.

  The girl took the King at his word. He wrapped her warmly and sat her on his hip.

  “Rest yourselves for a bit,” the King said. “Then we’ll conclude our business.”

  Business? Nice word. “You mean the trade you’re brokering. Me for him.” Kevin hooked his thumb toward his father.

  The King inclined his head and left them. In his place, the wolf took up watch at the threshold. Kevin realized the room had no door. That meant no privacy—as if such a thing existed in this place.

  He glanced at his dad, who hadn’t moved an inch. “Looks like it’s just us.”

  His father stared at him. “He told me you were coming for me. He didn’t say you’d made a deal with him.”

  “That’s because I didn’t. Unless you count kidnapping you and holding it over my head as making a deal.”

  “Thank God.” Franklin blew out a breath. “Don’t do it, if he gives you the chance. He’s tricky. You can’t trust him. Oh, he talks a good game, and he’ll keep his word—to the fucking letter. Woe to you if you think you can read between the lines. Because it’s only the lines that matter. You understand?”

  “Thanks for the tip.” He couldn’t help but feel a little surprised, seeing as he hadn’t expected any help from his father. On the other hand…. “How do you know about that, Dad?”

  “Because I agreed to help him with you if it meant you would be able to go back home, safe. I agreed to stay here if he let you go.”

  Kevin rubbed his ears. “You what?”

  “The King is more than I can handle, more than you can handle. I thought it would be best to cooperate, to bargain if I could for your welfare. I thought if I did that, he’d leave you alone. That’s where I messed up.”

  “No,” Kevin said. “You did that when you figured you’d trade yourself for me.”

  “I did it for you,” Franklin said. “My concern is for you, Kevin.”

  “Now it is.” Kevin folded his arms across his chest. “You haven’t been all that concerned for the last year.”

  “That’s not true, Kev.” Franklin came over to stand in front of him. “I just miss your mother.”

  Because of that, he’d delved into things he shouldn’t have. He’d ended up entangled with shady magical types, in over his head. When they’d tried to help him, he hadn’t believed them. He stole something precious and dangerous and look where it’d taken him.

  Because of that, Kevin had his life ruined. He had to risk everything he had left to pull his father out of this unholy mess, and maybe he’d end up dead or stuck in Faery for a year or forever.

  “I miss her, too, Dad.”

  “You see why I had to do what I did?”

  Kevin shook his head. “She died.”

  His father put his hands on Kevin’s shoulders, unmoving even though it made Kevin flinch. “I know. I was stupid to think the Faeries took her.”

  “She died,” he said again. “I didn’t. I was still there, every day.”

  “I’m sorry,” his father said.

  Kevin could see he really was. “So your solution is to just stay here and rot and send me back to deal with everything on my own.”

  “That’s not what I wanted, son.”

  Kevin shrugged and backed up, away from his dad’s pleading hands. “Whatever you wanted, it’s still what you dealt with the King.”

  “You can leave me here if you have to,” Franklin said. “You’re young. You have your whole life ahead of you.”

  His father was no spring chicken, but he wasn’t ancient either. “You didn’t die when Mom did. Your life didn’t end that night.”

  “It felt that way.”

  Kevin met his father’s gaze. There was no mistaking the grief in his eyes. “Does it still?”

  “I don’t know, son.”

  Kevin sighed. “Well, if you don’t know, then maybe there’s some room for hope.”

  His dad mulled that over. He seemed to believe it, at least a little.

  “Both of us are going to walk out of here,” Kevin said. “I need you to be with me on that.”

  “I’ll try,” his father said.

  That would have to be good enough. That, and what his dad had said about the lines being all that mattered.

  Kevin guided his dad over to the chairs by the fire. As soon as Franklin sat down and closed his eyes, his breathing slowed and sleep took him.

  Kevin waited until he felt sure his moving wouldn’t wake him, then strode to the threshold and addressed the wolf. “I need to talk to my Faery friend. The girl. You know who I mean. Can you take me to her?”

  The wolf didn’t budge. From which Kevin inferred the answer was no.

  “Can you bring her to me?”

  At that, the animal got up off its haunches and padded off. The door appeared unguarded, but Kevin had no doubt if he tried to leave he’d be stopped before he could blink.

  He looked back at his father in the chair. The other seat beckoned, and heaven knew he was so tired. But he couldn’t rest until he saw Simone. He washed up and waited as patiently as he could, which was not at all.

  He had no way of knowing w
hether she’d help him still. He just knew that with no humanity left in her, she wouldn’t be the same.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  IT TOOK A WHILE, but the wolf returned with Simone.

  Kevin could tell immediately that she was not the girl he’d known. She dressed different, for one thing—instead of her shredded Goth rocker chick dress, she wore ivory and silver. And her hair had gone uniformly purple, no red. Third, her eyes held no warmth when she looked at him. He might as well have been an alien.

  It made him sad to wonder if he’d need to keep up his guard with her. He was prepared to do it, but he’d rather try a different tack first—the one where he showed her the respect you showed friends.

  “How are you, Simone?”

  “I’m dealing,” she said, surprising him. With the way she looked, he’d expected stilted English. “It’s not what I’m used to, being here all the time.”

  No kidding. “I didn’t even have the chance to miss you.”

  “I said you’d probably see me again, Kevin.”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t think it’d be this soon.” He pulled out one of the small chairs by the chess table and offered it to her. When she declined, he flipped and straddled it. “The King told me if I wanted to know the rules here, I should ask you.”

  “And I should tell you that it’s harder to be on your side now.” She sighed. “My allegiances aren’t divided like they used to be between Faeries and humans. I just don’t have it in me.”

  He raised a brow. “And that makes you dress funny?”

  She glanced down at her clothes and grimaced. “I have to dress as befits the court.”

  “Screw the court.”

  “I can’t say that like you can, Kevin.” But she grinned. “It worked, didn’t it?”

  “All of it so far except this.” He pulled the busted mirror from his pocket and held it out for her to see.

  “That’s all right,” she said.

  “I thought it was the thing I’d use to kick the King’s ass. Remember?”

  “I mean it doesn’t need to be whole, Kevin. In fact, it’s probably better that it’s not.”

  Weird. “How exactly am I supposed to use it? You never told me that.”

  “I don’t know how,” she said. “I just felt like you ought to take it. Intuition.”

  His fate rested with her gut feeling? “That’s all?”

  “Yep.” She marched over and grabbed the other chair, mirroring the way he sat. “If we’re gonna sit here and jaw, I might as well take you up on that seat. You have questions? Ask away.”

  “The rules,” he said.

  She rested her chin on the chair back. “Too many to count. You couldn’t hope to memorize even half of them in a year, much less a day.”

  “The King said I’m his guest. Does that narrow it down?”

  “Not so much,” she said. “Just be polite while you’re in the presence of the court. Say exactly what you mean. And listen to exactly what the King says, every word.”

  “That’s what my dad said.”

  “Your dad knows the sitch.”

  Good going, Dad. “Anything else?”

  “You have a couple of hours before the sun sort of sets―well, it never really does, but after a certain time we pretend it’s night. The King will probably send for you then, so you can talk over dinner. The big stuff will happen after that. Be ready.”

  “For what?” he asked.

  She sighed. “I can’t give you clues, Kev.”

  Not because she didn’t have them. “Part of your new undivided allegiances?”

  “Sorry,” she said, not sounding it in the slightest. “I should also tell you that when I leave here I’m going to have to report everything we talked about and everything I saw while I was here.”

  “What is he, Simone, the FBI?”

  “He’s my King.”

  So he was the FBI and the emperor. “Thanks for being honest with me.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Take it back.”

  “What?”

  “The insult.”

  She’d always been honest with him. Rude had said Faeries couldn’t lie. He’d hadn’t known it was a point of pride.

  “I apologize,” he said.

  Her face softened, but not by much. And she stood up. “I have to go after all, Kevin.”

  “Because of what I said?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t like talking to you. You remind me of who I was before I cast the spell.”

  Suddenly he wished she could lie her ass off. “You were my friend, Simone.”

  “Not anymore, Kevin. Not like it was.”

  He rose to see her to the door. “Will you be at dinner tonight?”

  “Yes,” she said, falling in behind him. “But don’t count on me.”

  He got that, loud and clear.

  “And Kevin?”

  He turned to see she’d fisted her hands in her dress. “Yeah?”

  “Don’t forget to bring the mirror.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  A FAERY KEVIN DIDN’T RECOGNIZE brought him and his dad proper dinner clothes: finely tooled boots to replace sneakers, white shirts with hooks and ties instead of buttons, butter-soft leather pants instead of jeans.

  The pants had pockets. His broken mirror fit in, no problems. If only he could say the same about his nerves.

  He wore them on his crisply pressed sleeve while he stared out the window at what passed for sundown―the western horizon washed in orange and gold for a minute. Some kind of magic. Then the twilight returned full-throttle.

  Every passing moment reminded him to be aware of the time, and of how small he was compared to the King and all those rules he couldn’t possibly memorize, and that he still didn’t have a clue how he was going to pull this thing off.

  That last one worried him the most.

  The same Faery who’d butlered their clothes showed up to escort them to the table. They passed no one in the corridor except the wolf, which filled Kevin with relief—and more anxiety. He settled on the latter when they stepped out of the hall and into a cacophonous room peopled with colorfully dressed Faeries who’d been expecting them.

  Voices hushed. Hands animated with conversation stilled.

  The King sat not at the head of the long, rectangular table, but at its center. All the seats were occupied except the two on his right. He outshone everyone else at the table but one, the woman on his left.

  She gazed at Kevin with eyes full of stars. Her blue-black hair cascaded in luscious waves down to the middle of her back, contrasted against skin so fair as to be nearly translucent. Her mouth, wine-red and intoxicating just to look at. She wore a dress of the same red, with a neckline so low it ought to have been illegal. She favored him with a smile, showing him razor teeth.

  He remembered what Amy had said about her costume, but even without those details he’d have known the woman as the Faery Queen. And that it was she, not the King, who presided over the table and the court.

  The King rose and gestured toward Kevin. “Our guests of honor.”

  Kevin hadn’t thought it possible for the hall to become any quieter.

  Collectively, the Faeries took their measure. He got the impression the jury was still out on him. His father, they dismissed outright. No matter how he felt about his dad—a lot of ways—the man wasn’t worthless. He had a heart, and he had good intentions. His dad’s face and neck reddened, not all from embarrassment. The Faeries’ attitude pissed him off.

  The King motioned for him and his dad to take their seats beside him, but then didn’t say two words as servants laid out platters of food.

  Kevin thought he’d read somewhere that you shouldn’t eat or drink anything in Faery. Supposedly, it intoxicated you beyond your ability to handle. But Simone had said to be polite, and one of the worst things you could do at a dinner held in your honor? Not eat. Or eat before the host takes the first bite. On the other hand, Simone had said flat-out that she couldn’t
be on his side.

  He could go crazy trying to figure out what to do. Or he could make a decision. His stomach had an opinion, it turned out. It’d been forever since he’d eaten. So he took his cues from his father. He lit into something that could have been turkey, though he couldn’t be sure, and heaps of butter-steamed potatoes and turnips and yams. He put down two slices of bread still steaming from the oven, and berries with cream, and a glass of cider.

  He caught the King watching him with obvious amusement. “What’s so funny?” he asked.

  “You’re eating as though it’s your last meal.”

  “Not by a long shot.”

  “We’ll see,” the King said. “Are you ready to bargain?”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.” He hoped.

  The King leaned back in his seat, giving Kevin a better view of the length of the table. He saw his two favorite rat-bastard cops yukking it up with each other a few seats away. And he saw Simone down at the end, lips tight, elbows on the table, fingers steepled in front of her.

  Conversation ceased, and silverware was tabled. All eyes turned to Kevin.

  “We’re going to do this here?” he asked.

  “We are,” the King said. “This negotiation isn’t only for me, Kevin. It involves the future of my people. It’s only fitting that it be done in their presence.”

  Also, good strategy for the King to put him on the spot, to rattle him. It worked.

  “Fine,” he said.

  “Since you are my guest, you’re welcome to begin. Tell me what it is you want.”

  Kevin would rather have heard the King’s opening salvo, but courtesy called. He started where his dad had left off. “I want you to let my father and me go back to our world and leave us in peace.”

  “But your father has already committed to stay here.”

  “Only if you let me go,” Kevin said. “You don’t have me to begin with. I’m not your prisoner here. You don’t have that power over me. That makes your agreement with him invalid.”

  The King’s lips curved. Not a good sign. “How is that a better life for either of you?”