Under a Winter Sky

by Jeffe Kennedy

  I stared at the women. With my grave sight, I saw trails of energy, the whispers of deaths, and the auras of anything living. These women were afraid, but not evil. They were worried.

  The older woman grabbed the fallen gun and ordered, “Walk.”

  For a moment, I thought I’d been wrong, but she pointed the barrel at the man who had shot at me. “You. Get up.”

  Her daughter smiled. “Would you mind helping us, Ms. Crowe?”

  Eli and I exchanged a look. We were in accord, as usual. He bowed his head at them, and then scooped the unconscious man up.

  In a strange group, we walked toward the exit.

  As we were putting the unconscious attacker in the trunk of the Cadillac the women had arrived in, the sun rose, tinting the sky as if it were a watercolor painting.

  I paused, wincing. Sunlight wasn’t my friend. I wasn’t a draugr—luckily, because sunlight trapped young draugr—but my genetics meant daylight made my head throb if I was out in too much of it. I slid on the dark sunglasses I carried for emergencies.

  “It was nice to see Daddy,” the younger woman said quietly to her mother. “I wish it had been closer to Christmas, but still . . . it was nice.”

  The widow motioned for the other prisoner to get into the trunk. Once he did, Eli slammed the trunk, and the widow squeezed her daughter’s hand. “It was.”

  The daughter handed Eli the keys. She was shaken by the shooting, and I was bleeding from the shattering stone. Neither of us was in great shape to drive. However, it wasn’t great for Eli to be trapped in a hulking steel machine. Faeries and steel weren’t a good mix.

  “I’ll drive my car,” he said, popping the trunk and grabbing a clean shirt. Working with me meant carrying an assortment of practical goods—clean clothes, duct tape, a sword, zip ties, and first aid supplies.

  I tried not to sigh that he was now dressed fully again. Don’t get me wrong. I respect him, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t prone to lustful gazes in his direction. If he minded, I’d stop.

  He walked to the passenger door and opened it. “Come on, my peach pie.”

  The widow drove her Caddy away as I slid into the luxurious little convertible that had been fae-modified for Eli.

  “Are you well enough to do this?” Eli asked as he steered us into the morning light.

  “One human.” I kept my eyes closed behind my sunglasses, grateful for the extra dark tint of his windows. I rarely needed sleep for most of my life, but lately I was always ready for a nap. Not yet, though.

  I assured Eli, “I’m fine to deal with this.”

  So we set out to retrieve the young hostage. We didn’t discuss my near constant exhaustion. We didn’t talk about the fear that my near-death event had left lingering issues for my health. We would have to, but . . . not now.

  We arrived at a townhouse, and I flowed to where the captor held a smallish boy. Flowing wasn’t a thing I typically did around regular folk, but there were exceptions.

  The boy was duct taped to a chair by his ankles.

  The captor, another man about the age of the two in the trunk, was laughing at something on the television. If not for the gun in his lap and the duct tape on the boy’s ankles, the whole thing wouldn’t seem peculiar.

  When the man saw us, he scrambled for his gun.

  So, I punched the captor and broke the wrist of his gun-holding arm.

  Eli freed the boy, who ran to his family as soon as they came into the house.

  The whole thing took less time than brewing coffee.

  “Best not to mention Ms. Crowe’s speed,” Eli said to the women as we were leaving.

  The younger one nodded, but she was mostly caught up in holding her son.

  The widow looked at me.

  “Not all witches are wicked, dear.” She patted my cheek, opened her handbag and pulled out a stack of folded bills. “For your time.”

  “The raising was already paid,” I protested.

  “I took it from them,” she said proudly. She shook it at me insistently. “Might as well go to you. Here.”

  Eli accepted a portion of the money on my behalf. He understood when it was an insult not to and when to refuse because the client couldn’t afford my fees.

  Honestly, I felt guilty getting paid sometimes. Shouldn’t I work for my city? Shouldn’t I help people? Shouldn’t good come of these skills?

  But good intentions didn’t buy groceries or pay for my medical supplies. That’s as much what Eli handled as having my back when bullets or unwelcome dead things started to pop up.

  After we walked out and shoved the third prisoner in the trunk of the Cadillac, Mrs. Cormier said, “I’ll call the police to retrieve them. Do you mind waiting?”

  “I will wait,” Eli agreed, not lying by saying we “didn’t mind” because of course we minded. I was leaning on the car for support, and Eli was worrying over my injury. If he had his way, he’d have me at his home, resting and cared for, but I was lousy at that.

  It was on the long list of reasons I couldn’t marry him. Some girls dreamed of a faery tale romance, a prince, pretty dresses. I dreamed of kicking ass. I’d be a lousy faery tale queen.

  But I still had feelings for a faery prince—and no, I was not labeling them.

  So rather head than home, I leaned on the side of the Cadillac, partly because it was that or sway in exhaustion. “I’ll stay with you.”

  Once the widow went inside, Eli walked away and grabbed a first aid kit from his car. I swear he bought them in bulk lately. “Let me see your throat.”

  “I’m fine.” Dried blood made me look a little garish, but I could feel that it wasn’t oozing much now.

  Eli opened the kit, tore open a pouch of sani-wipes, and stared at me.

  “Just tired. Sunlight.” I gestured at the bright ball of pain in the sky. Midwinter might be coming, but the sun was still too bright for my comfort.

  “Geneviève . . .” He held up a wipe. “May I?”

  I sighed and took off my jacket. “It’s not necessary.”

  “I disagree.” He used sani-wipes to wipe away my blood as I leaned on the Cadillac, ignoring the looks we were getting from pedestrians. Maybe it was that he was cleaning up my blood, or that he was fae—or maybe it was that there were people yelling from the trunk.

  Either way, I wasn’t going to look away from Eli. I couldn’t.

  Obviously, I knew it should not be arousing to have him clean a cut in my neck from grave shards because someone was firing bullets at me, but . . . having his hands on me at all made my heart speed.

  “Would you like to take the car and leave?” Eli was closer than he needed to be, hips close enough that it would be easier to pull him closer than push him away.

  “And go where?”

  He brushed my hair back, checking for more injuries. The result was that I could feel his breath on my neck. “Drive to my home and draw a bath or shower. I’ll stay here and . . .”

  “Tempting,” I admitted with a laugh.

  He had both a marble rainfall shower and the largest tub I’d ever seen. It came complete with a small waterfall. I admitted, “I’ve had fantasies about that waterfall.”

  “As have I.”

  I pressed myself against him, kissed his throat, and asked, “Ready to call off the engagement?”

  He kissed me, hand tangled in my hair, holding me as if I would run.

  I’d sell my own soul for an eternity of Eli’s kisses if I believed in such bargains, but I wouldn’t destroy him. Being with me wasn’t what was best for him.

  When he pulled back from our kiss, he stated, “Geneviève . . .”

  I kissed him softly. I could say more with my touch than with words. I paused and whispered, “You can have my body or this engagement. Not both.”

  He sighed, but he stepped back. “You are impossible, Geneviève Crowe.”

  I caught his hand. “It doesn’t have to be impossible. We’re safely out of Elphame now. We could just end the enga—”
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  “I am fae, love. I don’t lie. I don’t break my word.” He squeezed my hand gently. “I gave you my promise to wed. In front of my king and family. I cannot end this engagement.”

  We stood in silence for several moments. Then he held out his keys, and I took them.

  “Meet me at my place. Maybe we can spar,” I offered.

  Eli pulled me in closer, kissed both of my cheeks, and said, “I will accept any excuse to get sweaty with you.”

  “Same.” I hated that this was where we were, but I wasn’t able to change who or what I was. Neither was Eli. He had a future that I wanted no part of, and I felt a duty to my city and friends. We had no future option that would suit both of us. I’d be here, beheading draugr and trying not to become more of a monster, and he would return to his homeland. There was no good compromise.

  ~ 2 ~

  After the weirdness of handling the Cormier situation, life resumed normalcy. I was still unnaturally tired, still engaged, and still not getting any loving.

  What passed for normalcy in my life was overrated.

  The work part, at least, was a welcome lull. This was an annual tradition. I tended to think of it as the pre-holiday calm. By January, it would be hectic. Mid-Winter was always when I had the most downtime, but during the end of year holiday people would start deciding death was overrated and hunting down draugr for a shot at eternal life on Earth instead of natural deaths. I wasn’t sure if it was depression, greed, or sentimental holiday moods.

  Mine was an odd job, but I didn’t ever want to give it up. I wasn’t immune to draugr venom, but I was stronger than humans and could flow as fast as the draugr could. I had advantages, and I felt duty-bound to make use of them.

  Tonight, I was enjoying a night out with my closest friends. Draugr weren’t all trapped by sunlight, but the newly-infected, bite-first-think-never ones were. I tended to think that was a good excuse to stay in the bar until dawn’s light.

  “Yule? Chanukah? Christmas?” Sera was holding up pictures of formal dresses. “Did you discuss it? Which are you celebrating in Elphame? I know Mama Lauren has usually had dibs on Chanukah. Do we call one? Or do we wait on Eli?”

  Jesse and Christy said nothing. They exchange a look that spoke volumes. No one expected my first holiday season as the future queen of Elphame to go smoothly.

  Running away to Elphame as if I could be fae wasn’t an option for more reasons than just my issues with Eli—which was why I was livid when I received a beautiful handwritten summons to celebrate “the holiday” with the king of the faeries. Eli’s uncle seemed to think there was one holiday. As a Jewish witch with Christian friends, I could guarantee that there were at least three of them on my social schedule.

  The four of us were enjoying a night off at Eli’s bar, the oddly named Bill’s Tavern. No one called Bill had ever owned or been employed here, but whenever I asked “who is Bill,” Eli simply laughed.

  Fae humor confused me sometimes.

  I still had my weapons, but that was like saying I still had on trousers. It would be weird and uncomfortable to go out for the night without them. One sword, two guns, and a dagger if I needed to draw my blood. It might seem odd, but my blood was my best weapon. One loyal army of the dead trumped most conventional weapons.

  Christy, whose job was mostly pool-hustling—often here—wasn’t working tonight either. She and Jesse were sort of hand holding, but not being all couple-y in an obnoxious way. Sera was scheduling our lives. It was her thing. One of them, at least. She was why we were out tonight, too. She was our glue.

  “I have received a summons from the king,” I said.

  “You’ll need another dress,” Sera said, as if dresses were the priority not the fact that some old dude had summoned me like I was his subject.

  “That’s what you got out of this?” I met Sera’s gaze.

  “Maybe we should get a couple of them.”

  “Or not,” Jesse muttered.

  “She cannot go before the king of Elphame in jeans.” Sera gave us all a look, one that meant she was debating smacking one of us upside our heads. “Which holiday did he invite you for?”

  “The holiday, as if there is only one.” I was starting a list of grievances against the faery king—starting with the fact that he insisted on referring to me as “death” or “death maiden” and rolling right up to the moment. Honestly, the only thing I liked about him was his nephew, Eli.

  Sera sighed.

  In a game of chess, she’d be the king—maybe the queen. It varied. Christy was a bishop, influential and strong. She was impervious to Sera’s quelling look and spoke her mind. Jesse was the Rook, the castle. He was home. Steady in whatever way we needed. And I was either a knight or a pawn, depending on the moment. I’d like to be a knight, but lately I felt like I was being played.

  I just couldn’t decide whether the player was someone I knew already or not.

  I looked up and met Eli’s gaze. If you asked him, he’d claim that he wasn’t on the chess board at all. I had trouble believing that a faery prince was so innocent—and Eli was the faery prince, as a matter of fact. He failed to share that tidbit with me at first. Right up to the point where he’d spirited me away to his homeland to save my life, I thought he was just a guy: a very hot, infuriating, loyal, fae guy. So, maybe I was still pissy over the whole my friend is an exiled faery prince thing.

  Now that we were accidentally engaged because of it, I was starting to think that he was the hand in the sky. Was Eli the chess player toying with my life? Had he always planned to trap me?

  But based on the way my life had gone of late, he was far from the only one moving pieces. His uncle, the king I might have to wear a dress to meet again, and the dead lady I thought might be an ancestor or mine . . . and some unknown figure who hired a human to murder me a few months ago. The shooting at Cormier’s raising was weird, too. The police had no answers, and all three of the men were suddenly dead. Too many people were trying to play with my life, and I was fed up.

  I couldn’t do anything about that murder-attempts thing, but I could handle the holidays. I was still me: half-witch, half-draugr. I wasn’t a fae princess, no matter what the King of Elphame thought, and I wasn’t pleased to be summoned as if his laws applied to me.

  “Which holiday do you want us to celebrate?” I asked my friends. “Cocktails. Friends. Maybe we can do a formal meal. You want dresses, Sera? Fuck it. We do dresses.”

  Jesse and Christy both looked at me like I’d suggested we knock over a bank or gnaw on a witch’s house.

  “Gen, you can’t just ignore the king,” Jesse said. “You’re engaged to—”

  “Not on purpose! For an honorary brother, you’re awfully calm. Eli is trying to marry me. Besmirch me.” My voice was loud enough that several people looked our way.

  “You like besmirching,” Jesse said. Then he met my gaze and added, “And you’re obviously not besmirched yet because you’re surlier than usual lately.”

  I shot a glare at Eli. It took effort to glare at him, though. Logic meant I was still angry that he wouldn’t free me from our engagement, but logic was a weak defense against him. I wanted Eli the way witches crave nature, the way the starving crave food.

  And I was in definite need of being besmirched, preferably by Eli. Repeatedly. I’d been ready to ignore the risk to our friendship, tired of resisting our chemistry, over all of the very sound reasons not to lock the doors and get gloriously naked with Eli.

  But then someone tried to kill me.

  And Eli had to save me.

  And in the mess that followed we ended up accidentally betrothed—which meant no sex for me. Fae rules of love and matrimony meant that if I banged him while we experienced true love, we were de facto married.

  “Both holidays,” I said, louder than necessary. “We’ll celebrate twice. Fuck him.”

  “Oh, I do wish you would,” Sera muttered.

  Christy snorted.

  Sera squeezed my hand fondly.
“Eli is not without his charms. You’re engaged—and please don’t take this wrong, sweetie—but you need to burn up some sheets or something. You’re on edge.”

  “Understatement,” Jesse said with a shrug.

  When I made a crude gesture at my friends, Sera held up her hands. “Fine. Eli is hotter than Satan’s knickers are in the summer, and Geneviève is as tense as a kitten in a room of rocking chairs and Rottweilers.” She took a long drink of her bourbon, and then she added, “The point, Gen, is that you like him, and he obviously loves you. Why not give it a go?”

  Sera pursed her lips at me when I tried to interrupt.

  “And he was willing to do whatever it took to keep you safe,” she continued. “For the fae, that’s a lot. So, go to dinner with the king, and try to be a little kinder to Eli. His greatest crime—as far as I can see—is that he wants you.”

  My temper fizzled. She was right. Hell, they all were. I wanted to give in to Eli, but he needed to have a child. That child had to be carried by his wife, or his line of the fae would wither. He—literally—carried his ancestral memory in his blood. A child of the blood was required to pass on the living memory of his family.

  He had to have a kid.

  And I would never ever be a mother. Some people just weren’t meant to be parents, and that should be okay. Freedom of choice ought to mean freedom to choose not to breed.

  Eli, however, had to have a kid. There wasn’t really a compromise there.

  It wasn’t even that fae law was unreasonable. There were exemption options for infertility or if a person was gay or lesbian—or if they had a sibling who was able to pass on the family memories. Elphame Law addressed most concerns. There were even Temple partners who were magical enough to have multiple children. That enabled the exceptional cases—gay, lesbian, or second children—to pass on their genes.

  Eli was neither gay nor a second son.

  I’d be asking Eli to sacrifice his ancestors if he was with me. I wouldn’t do that to anyone I liked even a little, much less someone I trusted and respected as I did with him.

  “It’s complicated,” I said quietly.