by Shyla Colt
“Says the woman in lingerie.”
I trail my finger down his collar. “I’m just giving you something pretty to look at.”
“Oh, is that what you’re doing?” he teases.
I wink and tug his shirt from his slacks. There’s something sexy as hell about seeing this well-groomed man ruffled. I begin to unbutton his shirt one button at a time, never breaking eye contact. Looking away is a habit I’ve struggled to break myself of. Equals don’t avoid direct gazes. I smooth my hands up his chiseled abs to his sculpted pecs. The muscles jump beneath my palms. I roll erect nipples between my thumbs and forefingers, occasionally tugging lightly. He groans.
“Are you testing my breaking point?” he queries. His accent is thicker.
“That would insinuate I wanted you to hold back.” I toss the shirt to the floor and undo his belt. The trust he shows me as he allows me to undress him is indescribable. I hold out my hand and lead him to the bathroom.
“Will you join me?” He nods toward the bathtub.
“Not today.” He steps into the tub, and I’m grateful I can honor him in this way. Growing up the youngest, he was left the dirty bathwater everyone else had used. Freshwater and being bathed by servants was for the extremely wealthy. At one point, bathing in his country was illegal altogether because they linked it to other pagan religions. His past has given him an unusual appreciation for the act of bathing.
I dip the black, Egyptian cotton washcloth in the sandalwood-scented water and lather it with similar handmade soap. I trace circles on his back, and he leans forward, allowing me more access. His eyelids drift shut, and his body relaxes.
I cleanse him with slow, careful motions, pouring my love and appreciation into every caress. Seeing a being this powerful place himself in a vulnerable state is exhilarating. I kiss his crown and lean back on my heels. “Lay back and let me wash your hair.” I massage his scalp with my fingernails and smirk at the rumble that forms in his chest.
When the water is cooling, he steps from the tub onto the thick mat. I pat him dry and help into a thick, black robe. Once he’s seated on the bed, I pour us both a glass of berry sangria. Snuggled beside him, I wait as he enjoys the sweet, crisp, cool drink.
“Just the way I like it. Thank you, dove. You’ve outdone yourself this time.”
“How am I doing on relaxing you?” I trail my fingertips down his arm.
“Exceptionally well.” I bite the inside of my cheek. “You’re laying it on thick tonight. I’m starting to worry.”
I toy with the stem of my glass, rolling it between my fingers. “We had a visitor at the shop today. Sebile.”
He sits up straight. Instantly alert. “What did she want?”
I shrug. “To see me, be nosey, and test Mémé’s mental health mostly. There’s some strange activity happening in the hall of mirrors.”
His jaw tenses. “And this would concern you why?”
“She wants me to monitor the portals and see if I can sense anything.”
“And you told her what?”
“That I couldn’t travel to Fae lands alone.”
He nods his head. “Good girl. How did she respond?”
“Basically, that she wouldn’t expect me to and that I could bring whoever I’d like.” I widen my eyes and mimic her fake innocent act.
“And you’re actually thinking of going?” Cristobal asks.
“I don’t see how I could avoid it. For one, we can’t let her think we fear her, and for two, provided she’s telling the truth, we need to know about anything trying to pierce the veil and enter this dimension.”
“I understand this. My concern is why she feels it must be you. It could be a trap.”
“Perhaps, but I think it’s a two for one deal. Solve the problem and see the new leader in action. The Esçhetes are the ones who brokered a deal with the Fae originally. You know this. I can’t pick and choose which roles I place. It’s all or nothing.”
He growls. “What do you expect me to say, Louella?”
“That you’re coming with me and we’ll make sure everyone is safe.”
“Was there ever any doubt?”
“No. We need to pick a good team of vampires and witches. I’ve never been to the Fae lands, and this is our first showing.”
He takes my glass and places it on the nightstand beside his own. “Tomorrow is enough time to worry.” He rolls me onto my back. “Tonight our focus is going to be elsewhere.”
He covers my mouth with his and all my protests die as my brain fogs. He slides his hand up my thigh, and suddenly strategy is the last thing on my mind.
***
“What have you done to warrant longer lessons?” Marcellus asks as he peers over his teacup. He’s always present. Be it hand-to-hand combat, politics, or manners, he’s there adding his comments and opinions.
“Why does it have to be my fault?” I keep my voice even and my hand steady as I add two pink sugar cubes to my cup. The staff outdoes themselves with their attention to detail, and in some ways, I think all of the courts have their childlike quirks. The appearance of pink is all Ruby. The fiery Scot has no problem making up for all the things she never had as one of thirteen children born to loving but poor parents.
“Thank God you’re rude enough to ask. I’ve been wondering the same thing myself,” Luz says with a laugh.
“There was something tense in the way Cristobal informed us your timetable needed to be upped. Your manners are impeccable. It’s your ability to hide your true feelings he’s worried about. So, I have to wonder, what’s coming up that you need to be prepared for?”
I keep my eyes glued to the cup as I stir my tea.
“It’s not your fault really. You live your life tuned into your surroundings. Witches are grounded in nature and those around them. You’re a strong, genuine woman who knows herself and trusts her instincts. Subterfuge has never been a part of who you needed to be. One-hundred percent Louella Esçhete as it were. You don’t mute your shine for anyone. The good, the bad, the flaws and quirks. This way of life is a huge part of why you are so very dazzling to look at. We’re drawn to your zest for life and sincerity. But we need you to learn how to emulate us. That means stepping into the land of the non-living. We weigh and measure everything we do by possible consequences. Our race is calculating, and hard-wired to ensure our survival. We play the long game because eternity is both the goal and a yawning blackness if mishandled. So, you have to cast aside your concept or human mortality. Move past your preconceived expiration date, because as it stands, you’re going to surpass it.”
His words are a pile driver to my consciousness. I’m bonded to Cristobal. There’s no telling what my aging process is going to look like. Struck dumb, I can only attempt to process the reality I’d yet to get around to thinking about.
“I don’t think she’s had time to think about all of this yet,” Percival says.
“It’s past time she started. In order to be the lady of the court and our queen, you have to become one of us. Get in touch with the new side of yourself. The court is also yours to command, call and depend on. Lean on us. Use our connection to your advantage. The power we have is in our loyalty and numbers.”
“This connection is meant to be used between us all.”
I flinch. The sound of his voice in my head is foreign.
“Keeping this form of conversation solely to speak to Cristobal does nothing to improve the way the court functions. You have to stop holding back.”
I want to bite his head off. I don’t because his logic is sound.
“You want to ease up there, brother?” Luz asks, jumping to my defense with a deep scowl.
Touched, I place my hand over hers. “No, le chat, he’s right. We’re running out of time, and I need to let go of everything holding me back … no, holding us back. I want to be an asset to the co
urt, not a hindrance. People are watching our every move and waiting for failure. That can never happen.”
“That’s what I want to hear.” Marcellus tips his head and I can’t help but enjoy his approval. It’s hard earned and rare. We didn’t see eye to eye in the past, and since joining the ranks, he’s been the one pushing me the hardest. I know he has the court’s best interest at heart, and regardless of if I like him or not, I respect him for that.
“It’s not she who’s upped the timetables. It appears our unique situation is garnering more interest than we anticipated.” Cristobal’s voice is unmistakable. It’s rare that he communicates with all of us this way. He does his best to respect privacy, but I imagine I’m the only one who feels uncomfortable with this type of communication. There are some things only time can shift into an everyday occurrence. “It’s okay to explain things to them, love,” Cristobal whispers in my head.
“The Queen of the Unseelie Court came to visit at my family’s shop.” I relay the story to them.
“That’s disturbing,” Percival says after I’m finished.
“Understatement, brother,” Renee remarks, walking into the kitchen to join us at the massive wooden table. The furniture is formal, but our gatherings rarely are.
“There are few beings who play the games as well or better than vampires, but Fae are even older and shrewder than we are. If she truly needs your help, we’ll be fine. If this is all concocted as a means to test you, the court needs to be airtight and solid, along with the witches you choose to bring,” Marcellus states with a frown.
“I know,” I say.
Marcellus shakes his head. “You’re far too young to remember what the Fae did to humans when they were able to move about unchecked. The things done in sport could make one of your serial killers look like a saint. In their realm, we’ll be bound by their rules. Percival, get together with Miles, and pull every book we have about the night court and Sebile herself.” Marcellus narrows his color-changing eyes. “You and I have work to do. Your face is a mirror. It can’t remain that way. Your mental shields are strong. But they need to be stronger.” He turns his head. “Luz. Go tell Ruby and Ada we’re leaving.” Marcellus stands.
“W-where are we going?” I inquire softly.
“Onto the streets where we all learned. Cristobal taught us, but the bond you share is powerful. It regulates without either of you having to think. This is why he’s left your training to us. He won’t always be there, and he needs to know you’ll maintain your skills.”
“We also need to bond,” Ruby interjects, appearing beside me with Ada.
“Ruby and Ada have two of the most resistant minds I’ve seen. No one is getting into their noggins unless they want them to. They can teach you things even I can’t.”
“Coming from you, that’s high praise,” I say.
“Oh, we’ve had centuries to wear him down and make him see the truth of things,” Ruby says.
Ada snickers. “He’s practically civilized now, but it wasn’t always so.”
The words shock me.
Marcellus sniffs. “We all had our growing pains. It takes time and hard work to operate a unit when we’re all quite different. What you have to learn in less than a year took us a hell of a lot longer to get right. I don’t dislike you, Lou. I’m looking out for the family, which includes you. You have to be better. Because, in everyone else’s mind, you’re the weakest link.”
“What do I need to do?” I ask, sufficiently shaken.
“Today we hunt, and you’ll be prey. Don’t let us confuse or overwhelm you.”
“Three against one isn’t odds I like,” I admit.
“One of us will always be with you. The other two will attack at random, but never together,” Marcellus assures me as we climb into the back of Ada’s black Audi.
“The best defense is offense. We’re going to work on recognizing when a skilled person is trying to influence you mentally.”
“Like now. Look down,” Ada instructs softly.
I glance down to see my fingers are tapping the window against my own will. I jerk my hand away from the glass and meet her gaze in the mirror. “How long have I been doing that?” I whisper.
“Less than a minute,” Ada replies.
My hand trembles. “I didn’t feel a thing.”
“It’s a trick, a gentle nudge that makes the person believe the idea has come from them. It’s a slithering snake in your mind, carefully weaving its way through your consciousness. In order to sense them, you need to know your own mind. How it’s ordered. The natural way your thoughts form. Once you understand this, it can no longer be used against you.”
“What my sister is not telling you is she was a gypsy in her human life. This means her powers of persuasion were already high. Our vampirism heightens the best and worst traits, so she’s basically a freak of nature.”
“Jealous,” Ada coos.
“Yes, you wench.”
“Sisters,” Marcellus mutters.
The absolute normalcy of the moment makes me laugh.
“I think we broke her. Bossman is going to be pissed,” Ruby whispers.
“You’re all just so …”
“Powerful?” Marcellus guesses.
“Stunning?” Ruby adds.
“Normal,” I blurt.
The hisses that follow make me laugh harder. I wipe away the tears and focus inward. I breathe in and out slowly, as I allow myself to fall into a meditative trance. I imagine my brain is an apothecary. Each topic has a shelf. Each spice family is matched together. The wards on my shop alert me when someone tries to enter against my will or tamper with my products. I hold up my hands and cast the words, watching as my magic becomes visible. The brilliant green streaks form a neon perimeter before they disappear.
By the time we park and slip onto the crowded streets, I’m more aware of my surroundings in myself.
“I’ve actually got some shopping to do,” Marcellus says.
Intrigued, I follow beside him, as the girls disappear into the crowd. Their ability to blend into their surroundings is frightening. They’re built to hunt. My eyes drink in the shops we pass and the people. Sangria is a town I don’t frequent often. Primarily for vampires, though humans mingle unsuspectingly as well. To them, it’s an eccentric town for those who don’t fit into the mainstream. Fondly referred to as the Austin of Louisiana, it’s a best-kept secret. The energy here is different.
We slip down an alley and pause at a rusted door. Marcellus raps twice, and a tiny rectangle slides open. The piercing gray eyes are arctic cold.
Marcellus nods. The rectangle is closed, and the door opens, hinges creaking in protest. It takes an effort to make my feet work so I can follow him into the dimly lit space. The walls are black, and the blue lighting does little to brighten the space. Vampires of all shapes and sizes line the front bar. Like a predator with the scent of prey, they turn to study me.
Head high, I follow Marcellus, keeping the barriers around my mind locked down tight. We weave our way through the crowd, and down a hallway through a door that says staff only. The shop is unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. Plastic bags full of blood are lined up in glass cases, hanging on racks in refrigerators with glass doors, and actually bottled in cans and glasses.
My jaw drops.
“Welcome to the Blood Shop, My Lady. It’s where we come to stock up on all of our favorites,” Marcellus says. The title is meant a warning. All eyes are on me, and I need to act accordingly.
“It’s amazing.” I nod to the proprietor behind the counter dressed smartly in an expensive suit.
“You honor us with your visit, Lady. I’m Monroe, the owner and sommelier of this establishment. I make sure we have the freshest, tastiest, and free-range options.”
I nod my head. “Is he telling me this is all farmed from willing donors?”
I ask Marcellus.
“That’s exactly what he’s saying. Well done.”
“We’ve come to pick up our order, Monroe,” Marcellus says.
“I’ll get it from the back. Is there anything I can get for you, Lady?”
“You’re too kind, Monroe. I’ll take whatever you think will suit me best.”
I feel eyes focus on me.
“Hmm, do you prefer sweet or savory?”
“Sweet. I’m a fan of floral and fruity flavors, as well as savory and sweet, like rich chocolates.”
Monroe nods. “I will add a special sample for you.”
“Tell me I didn’t just screw that up.”
“You did well. Saying no would’ve been an insult. No one is sure how to treat you, so their default will be to treat you as they would a vampire in your position.”
“Noted.”
I feel the urge to tap my feet. I peer around cautiously, resisting the urge to obey the random desire, and tighten my mental barriers.
“Round one, point, Lou.”
Monroe returns with a large paper bag with handles, and we leave to continue on our shopping journey. I see Sangria through new eyes. Those who belong to an insider. I wince as my head throbs in protest.
“You okay?”
“Yeah. Headache.”
“We’re done for the day, girls. Meet us at the car.” Marcellus steers me back the way we came. It’s silent until we reach the car and climb inside.
“You did well for a beginner,” Ada says as she and Ruby settle in the back.
“It didn’t feel that way when I found myself randomly tapping my foot, twirling my hair, or humming. How the hell are we going to get me where I need to be?” I rub my temples as I slouch down in the front seat.
“A lot more practice and headaches,” Marcellus replies.
“Dude. Do you live to give bad news, or does it just come naturally to you?”
Marcellus chuckles. “It’s a specialty of mine.”
Chapter Six
I hitch the gray backpack higher and turn toward the skeptical group of young people gathered around me in various stages of sleep depravity. Aimee, Vit, and Felicite are here upon my request. Our flashlights carve hollows out of the darkness. The sky above us is a shade of blue somewhere between purple and indigo in the pre-dawn light. Trees rise up on either side of us.