“My love! You’re okay!” he cried, shifting so he could lean over and see her face. “You’re awake! Are you okay?”
“I believe so,” Veruca said, rolling to her back so their eyes could more easily meet. “Though my memory is foggy at best. Where are we and why are we here?”
“Ehm, some safe house of Benedict’s. Or, of a friend of Benedict’s. Or maybe not friend, he wasn’t too clear on that part. We gathered you up after Belial scared the lungs out of the siren—the banshee, sorry, and then Donald and Ben hustled us here.”
“Where’s here, exactly?”
“Somewhere in Vancouver, downtown, actually. Seems a bit obvious, but it’s high up, so it’d at least take a lot of steps or a long elevator ride if someone wants to get to us.”
“And who do you think is getting to us, darling?”
“You’ve hit my knowledge wall, my love. I can’t answer any more questions.”
“Really? No more? What if I asked if you’d like to take your pants off?”
“Ah,” Finn said, squinting thoughtfully. “Perhaps I’ve misspoken. That I can answer, and shall if you’re up for asking.” He gave a little thrust of his hips, pressing himself against her. “I certainly am.”
Veruca laughed, pulling him in for a kiss and savoring the moment because she knew there would be no removal of pants any time soon. Life had gotten more complicated than sex and silliness, and too many things now needed to be sorted out for that level of casual comfort. Finn didn’t press the matter, smiling as she pulled away, caressing her face once, before jerking his head toward the bedroom door.
“Meet you out there?”
“You need a moment?”
“Just to stretch out a bit.”
“Don’t stretch it out too much, darling,” Veruca warned with a wink. “I’ll want to play with it later.”
Chapter Eighteen
The safe house, it turned out, was a very large, undoubtedly expensive loft, high enough up that Veruca could see much of the city just by glancing out the window. Below the open second story, Veruca could see Darcy curled up asleep on the couch, with Benedict sitting across from her, his phone in his hands. Donald was nowhere in sight, but Veruca could feel him off to the left, somewhere below the bedroom, probably fretting over her well-being.
“You’re awake,” Benedict said without looking up from his phone.
Veruca descended the stairs, leaned in to give Darcy a gentle inspection, and then nodded. “Yes. How long was I out?”
“Hours. Donald was ready to hire a team of surgeons from varying fields to show up and make sure you weren’t dying, but Darcy insisted you’d be fine after a rest. She’s been out since shortly after we got here, though it took some convincing for her to feel comfortable enough to even sit down. I took the liberty of turning your phone off lest someone try to track it.”
“Appreciated. Where is Donald?”
“Bathroom,” Benedict said, tucking his phone into his pocket and looking up to meet Veruca’s gaze. “You’re feeling better?”
“I am, yes. I appreciate you staying.”
“Of course. There’s the unpleasant matter of compensation for doing so, however. Rumor has it you’re good for it, so I didn’t hesitate. I’m hoping that wasn’t a mistake.”
“No, not at all,” Veruca said, though it had come to mind when she’d felt his presence. Her wealth came from her position as head of a company that owned, among other small businesses, a lucrative hotel chain, but that had all come to her through Belial. If she was no longer in his favor it wasn’t a safe bet to assume that her wealth and position would remain hers.
She had tucked away a large amount of money in Finn’s name recently, however, so if nothing else she could pay Benedict out of that. Belial’s reach was vast, though, and if he chose to extend it to those she cared about and all that they had, she couldn’t be certain even Finn’s secret stash would be safe. Deciding she could cross that bridge if she came to it, she took a seat next to Darcy, quietly considering everything that had changed over the course of a few hours.
Donald emerged from the bathroom, rubbing his hands together to dry them, his gaze on her immediately, worry naked across his strong face. “You’re all right?”
“As well as can be expected.”
“What happened? We found you unconscious, Finn and this one—Darcy,” Donald corrected, though it didn’t roll off the tongue, “carrying you, and your rather imposing boss just standing there. This one wouldn’t explain what had happened and Finn didn’t seem to know.”
“It’s a lot to explain, and a lot of it may not make sense to either of you. The short of it is that I’ve accomplished what Belial asked me to do, but things have gotten infinitely more complicated in the process.”
“That’s always the way,” Benedict said with a small smile. “What remains is where we go from here.”
“This place, this safe house is secure?” Veruca asked.
Benedict nodded. “It’s warded, bought under a pseudonym of someone you’d have no connection to. It’s meant to keep her off the radar of even the nastiest of fae, so it’s unlikely anyone would be able to track you here.”
“You weren’t followed?”
“You never can tell, but I’m reasonably good at my job so I doubt it.”
Veruca nodded, dropping her gaze to the plain gray rug stretched out over the hardwood floor. The loft was sparsely and impersonally furnished, looking as if someone had decorated it for efficiency rather than comfort. Had Benedict not mentioned gender, Veruca wouldn’t have even been able to guess if his friend were man or woman.
“Who else is hungry?” Finn asked from the top of the stairs, descending happily, the bounce in his step making everything seem fine for a moment, as if nothing in the world was out of place.
“I could eat,” Benedict said. “Might be best to order in if you’re worried someone’s after you.”
“Of that I’m not sure,” Veruca admitted, before looking to the banshee. “I need to ask her a few more questions about what happened. Food would be a good idea, though. I can’t remember the last time I ate.”
“Any preference?”
“Vegetarian,” Veruca said. Benedict didn’t argue or sigh, which Veruca took as evidence of his inherent flexibility rather than some preference for eschewing the corpses of once ensouled beings from his own diet.
“I know a few places. Have anything specific in mind?”
“I know what she likes,” Donald said, jerking his head to indicate Benedict should join him in the sprawling kitchen. The banshee stirred as Benedict got to his feet, and Veruca looked to Donald, giving him an appreciative smile.
Finn followed the boys, giving Donald a playful elbow to the ribs. “I bet you know exactly what my girl likes, don’t’cha, Donny?”
Veruca waited for Darcy to wake up enough to be aware, watching her passively as she sat up, rubbed her eyes, and considered Veruca as if she didn’t entirely trust her. Veruca smiled once Darcy seemed all yawned out and then gestured vaguely off to the side.
“Is something wrong?”
“You said you weren’t going to turn me over to him.”
“To Belial? Yes, I meant it.”
“Then why was he waiting for us?”
“Wait…” Veruca trailed off, the memory of what had happened rooting to the surface of her consciousness, making her go tense. “He was waiting.”
“Yes,” Darcy said, though she frowned, her suspicion turning to confusion. “You didn’t know he would be.”
“I had no idea. I remember stepping outside and then … he was there, but even that I don’t remember clearly. How did we get away?”
“I cried, which was much more effective than I expected it to be. I’ve never had the power of a siren before, so I was expecting something more along the lines of how it was in the body of a human or fae spawn. He was stunned for long enough that we escaped.”
“You cried?”
“Scream
ed, yelled. It wasn’t … weeping.”
“Right.” Veruca went quiet for a moment, still snagged on the situation that had left her unconscious at Belial’s feet. “You thought I’d called him?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Yet, you trusted my friends enough to leave with them?”
“I didn’t have much of a choice. And Finn—he seemed more confused than pleased to see Belial. When your men came over, they were worried for you and looked just as unsure about Belial’s presence as Finn, so I decided to take my chances. I don’t know this world, not well. I have the siren’s … impressions, her language, but I do not know how long I would make it on my own without drawing attention. It’s how Ankyati found me in the first place, the bodies I’d left.”
Veruca thought back on Belial’s mention of bodies, that she was to track them down and check to see their relation, if any, to the banshee. It seemed so long ago. “Well, I’m glad you decided to trust your instincts. If I can ask, what … does your cry do, exactly? Other than render Reapers unconscious in an instant.”
“Without the siren’s voice, it shakes loose the soul, making it easy to pluck. It’s why I was brought to earth again. With the siren’s voice … well, it seemed to do the same, but on an entirely…” Words seem to escape her again, but Veruca patiently let Darcy get her bearings each time it happened. “More impressive level. I expected Belial to be hurt or stunned, maybe thrown off, but he was completely human for a moment. The recovery seemed to … to put him out.” She frowned, further bewildered. “I don’t know if that’s the correct term.”
“I know what you mean, I think. And me? Was my soul … dislodged?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Why wasn’t Finn affected?”
“He had yet to step out of Fairy.”
“So the only way to avoid your scream is to be outside its range?”
“I can target it, but it’s not exact.”
“Ear plugs don’t help?” Veruca asked, mostly joking. Darcy seemed to consider the option, taking her time with the suggestion before shaking her head.
“No, I don’t believe so. There is a way to protect oneself.” Holding Veruca’s eye, she went quiet for what felt like ages. Unbothered by eye contact in the way that so many humans seemed to be, Veruca merely sat, waiting for Darcy to continue. “If you are true to your word, if you mean to keep me safe, I can offer it to you.”
“Yes, I am and I do. If what you say is true—”
“You still doubt me?” Darcy asked, looking more offended than Veruca would have assumed was warranted. They hadn’t known each other long, hadn’t bonded or forged a close connection. Darcy herself had expressed distrust for Veruca just moments earlier. Yet, she seemed flabbergasted that Veruca would have doubts about how she’d described her history with Belial.
Veruca was quiet, choosing her words correctly, trying to figure the best way to explain to the banshee that it wasn’t as simple as belief versus disbelief. She had a lifetime of experience with Belial that made her want to trust him, that made it hard for her to see him as anything other than a father figure who had moved heaven and earth to give her an extraordinary life. It wasn’t that she believed the banshee had reason to lie or that she doubted the past had happened as she’d detailed it, but that Veruca’s emotional ties to Belial were strong.
It was going to take time for her view of him to adjust to what she’d learned.
“Your experience with him is ancient—fresh to you, but far behind my lifetime. It’s hard to reconcile the past to what I know. But,” she assured Darcy, seeing her tense, “I don’t have any intention of giving you over to him. Regardless of what’s changed, you are your own person—well. Perhaps that’s the wrong term, as you’ve effectively stolen the body of another living creature, but to force you to give yourself over to Belial would be wrong. I won’t do it. I’m not even entirely comfortable with you having the siren’s body.”
“I do regret the necessity of taking her form. I’d like to find another way, but for now I think it’s best to keep things as they are.”
“I agree. Later, though, when things have calmed down, we’ll have another talk about how you move through this world.”
“You are not a bad person,” Darcy said, reaching out and setting her hand gently on Veruca’s knee. “I expected you to be, mainly because of the association. Ankyati did not give me much to go on, though she promised she would have the sway to give me a forum, that at the very least she could force you to listen as I made my case.”
“What would you have done if I wasn’t trustworthy?”
“Fled, spent my time on the run. Ankyati was not about to offer further protection, and I would not have asked it. Fairies are fickle and can only be trusted as long as it benefits them.”
“So I’ve gathered.”
“You, though. I see your soul is pure enough to rely on. The sooner you are protected from my voice, the better.”
“Then what?” Veruca asked. Darcy was quiet for a long while, the two of them held captive by an uncertain future.
“Perhaps we will know better after we eat,” she said. Veruca smiled and nodded, looking over to find Finn still ribbing Donald and Benedict silently enjoying the show.
****
The meal had been quiet, pleasant, but distinctly tinged with the air of what was going on in the background. Everyone knew they weren’t gathered for reminiscence or a friendly dinner punctuated by talk of world events and recent movies.
Finn tried to keep the mood light, asking Donald and Benedict about easy topics like favorite foods and favorite places traveled, but as things started to wrap up it was clear the tension was bleeding back in.
“You’re a mercenary?” Darcy asked Benedict, her big eyes watching him curiously.
He nodded, unbothered by the term or any negative connotations it may have held. “Essentially.”
“A dangerous job for a human.”
“Maybe he’s got a little fae in him,” Donald said, though Finn could hear the joke in it.
“No,” both Veruca and Darcy said in unison. Finn’s brows went up, his curiosity getting the better of him.
“You read souls?” he asked.
Darcy shook her head but seemed to reconsider. “Read isn’t correct. I feel them. It’s similar to a Reaper’s power, but less absolute. I know a soul, the impression of it. I … experience it. I cannot control souls, nor can I read names or ages, though. I can shake them loose, but without further intervention, they will just resettle where they belong.”
“Further intervention?” Donald asked, gathering up the plates and empty cups.
“That’s a topic best left for later,” Veruca said, turning in her seat to better see Darcy. “You said you would find us protection from your voice.”
“Yes, though it’s no easy task. It requires a witch, a blacksmith, and iron.”
“Iron?” Benedict asked, a note of suspicion in his voice. “Are you the exception to the rule?”
“Quite the contrary. Banshees react strongest to iron, possibly because our power is purer than many fae. It’s that reactivity that creates the protection. Have you access to a witch?” she asked, turning back to Veruca.
“I don’t believe so, but I’m sure our friend could find us one.”
“I know a few. It depends on what you need, though. The more powerful they are, the less reliable they can be.”
“That is not an issue for a Reaper,” Darcy said dismissively. “It’s the blacksmith I’m more concerned about.”
“I didn’t think they were still a thing, blacksmiths,” Finn said, visions of dirty, thatched-roof huts with pools of boiling metal tended by grizzled, bearded Scotsmen dancing through his head. He wondered briefly if Veruca would let him get something specially made just for the fun of it, though what he’d get eluded him. Swords seemed too aggressive, but he doubted medieval-style cuffs would enhance any bedroom play in a good way. He’d have to see what the bearded Sc
otsman offered, at the very least. “Do people need much metal crafted these days? Aren’t there machines for all that?”
“It’s more than horseshoes and swords, you know,” Donald said, making Finn feel silly for not considering that horseshoes were metal and probably pretty common. He liked horses, though he hadn’t had much occasion to get up close and personal with their hooves. “I’m sure I could get the numbers of a few. I know there’s one in Ballard.”
“Ballard?” Darcy asked.
“It’s a neighborhood near where I live.”
“On earth? Here, the human plane?”
“Yeah,” Donald said, though he didn’t sound certain.
“It will be a fae blacksmith. Humans couldn’t craft what I need.”
“That remains to be a bit harder,” Veruca said. “Not only because it seems unlikely that fae would work with iron.”
“They do, of course. How do you think we make weapons to fight each other?”
“It’s not just people who like to kill each other,” Benedict said, smirking. “Should I be on the hunt for a Blacksmith, then?”
“You mistake my words,” Darcy said quietly. “I know of a blacksmith and can bring us to Fairy in this form. It’s payment that will be the issue.”
“How so?”
Darcy was quiet, thoughtful, focused on a spot on the carpet for a long time before she looked up to meet Veruca’s eye. “Answers will come to me as we go.”
“I don’t really like to leave things to the last minute,” Veruca said, shaking her head. “What sorts of payment does a blacksmith take? What should I be prepared to offer?”
“You’re assuming I have experience with this,” Darcy said, her gaze flicking to Donald for a moment. Veruca looked to him too, frowning. Following the crowd, Finn glanced over too, but saw nothing of interest past Donald’s sexy face.
“So you don’t know what we’ll need to bring to Fairy? You don’t know what we’ll need to offer?”
“They like sheep, I know that much.”
Veruca went quiet, taken aback.
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