Burnt Silver

by H A Titus

  "Okayyy." Eliaster drew the word out. "Maybe it's some kind of residual effect from the dark magic Larae used to heal your wrist."

  I rubbed my thumb along the black scar. "After four months?"

  Eliaster shrugged. "Just let me know if it happens a third time."

  Three. Three was important—it was a holy number. The Trinity, the number of days Christ was in the tomb … history both fae and human, religious and secular, was full of the significance of the number three. The hair on the back of my neck prickled.

  "Wh-what does it mean if it happens three times?"

  "I've been taught ever since I was little that if you have the exact same dream three times, it's prophetic," Eliaster said. "Of course, I've had the same nightmares over and over, but they're not prophetic, so I don't really know what counts and what doesn't. But it's weird enough that I think you need to know."

  "Oh-kay, then." I sighed. The tightness in my chest eased a little. "Thanks."

  He nodded and started for the door. "Try to see if you can get some more sleep. Today might be a bit rough."

  I nodded and climbed back into bed as he shut the door behind him. My mind spun so much that I was afraid I'd never fall back to sleep, but before I fully realized what had happened, my eyes had closed and I felt myself drifting off.

  CHAPTER 11

  JOSH

  By the time I woke up, it was well past eleven. I got up, went to the bathroom, splashed some water on my face, scrubbed my wet fingers through my hair, and brushed my teeth. I had a sour taste in my mouth, with the tang of iron, and my tongue ached liked like I'd bitten it last night. I didn't remember biting my tongue, but I didn't remember much about the dream either. Glamour vines. I knew there'd been glamour vines again. And I'd freaked out. And punched Eliaster.

  I smirked. Okay, so given my frustrations with him lately, I honestly wasn't that sorry about that one.

  I went out into the living area of the guest suite. Eliaster was up already, with his arsenal spread out on the coffee table. His old, pink-cased mp3 player sat on the table beside his stuff, and I could see he had earbuds in.

  I cleared my throat.

  Eliaster looked up from cleaning a knife and popped out an earbud. "Hey." He tossed the knife back on the table and twisted the cleaning rag in his hands. "Sleep okay?"

  "Yeah, no more weird dreams. You?"

  He shrugged and stood. "I stayed up." He stood and grabbed his shoulder holster, sliding the knives back into place. "You ready to go save the city?" The smirk on his face told me he was being a smart aleck.

  "Sure," I said. "But I have a few more questions first."

  "Josh." Eliaster flopped back onto the couch and dramatically flung his arm over his eyes. "Do you ever get tired of asking questions?"

  I bristled. "Pardon me for just wanting to know what's going on here."

  I could practically hear the eye-roll in Eliaster's voice. "I was kidding."

  Oh, sure. Yeah. He could kid, but I was tired of the unpredictable fae crap. I leaned my hands against the back of the couch. "O'Breigh. I know Keelin said he's a highlord, presumably over Springfield."

  "And parts of Oklahoma and Arkansas. He's essentially my dad's boss."

  It made sense that Eliaster would be wary of pissing off his dad's boss, but his reaction had been more than that. I turned my mental image of his face at that moment over in my head, still trying to decide—anger, or fear? Fear, I thought, masked in anger. "Why does he freak you out so much?"

  "I was afraid you'd ask that."

  I dug my fingers into the back of the couch. "I need to understand what's going on."

  He sighed and dropped his arm from his face. "I get it. I do. And I'm sorry you're getting frustrated. This is—" He blew out a deep breath. "After my brother died, that whole mess, I … kinda went crazy."

  "How crazy?"

  "I tried to assassinate Llew." He paused. "I killed several of his goons. It got really bad. I was reckless. Stupid." He looked down at his feet, then pulled up one pant leg. Just above his ankle was a shiny burn scar in the shape of a hollow circle. There had once been something in the circle, some kind of rune or mark, but a jagged slash mark cut through the center of the circle, rendering the rune inside unreadable. "When Blodheyr sent a sluagh after me a few months ago, those were the two strikes he was referring to. My da was afraid that I'd get myself killed, so he did what's called a binding—it seals a fae to a place, and if they try to venture too far from that place, they get extremely ill. Da bound me to the rath. I couldn't even go to the Market without doubling over in pain."

  My stomach flipped. So that was why the mention of a binding had scared him. I waited, but that was all he said. "Okay," I said quietly. "I get why you wouldn't like to talk about it. But this is the type of stuff I need to know, Eliaster."

  He leaned back, almost pressing himself into the cushions of the couch. "This pulls up a lot of really painful memories for me."

  I raised an eyebrow.

  "But I suppose I owe you some kind of explanation." Eliaster gestured to the chair beside the couch. "You might want to sit."

  I nodded and slid between the chair and the couch, flopping down into the seat.

  Eliaster sat forward and bowed his head, closing his eyes. After a moment, he sighed. "Okay, so—when Banshee and I worked together, we ran into this trafficking ring one time. Remember the slaves you saw in the Market, the first time you were in the Underworld? That kind of thing is more common than you'd think. Goblins and Unseelie steal humans and sell them to other sidhé for sport, for sex, for work. That case Banshee and I worked—it was bad. It still makes me sick to think about. This whole thing reminds me too much of then. I've been trying to rein it in, but …" He paused, then said softly, "Banshee wasn't a good influence for me back then. Let's just say that my more murderous tendencies tend to show up when she's there to encourage them. She hates the courts and she hates other sidhé, and it's just not a good mix. Of course, it was right after my brother and Emily died, but I have no desire to walk that path again."

  The way he said her name … that caught me. "The curator?"

  He nodded. "Emily was my … we were engaged." His voice caught.

  My stomach squeezed again. I blinked, too surprised to react any more. Eliaster had been engaged?

  "Not many people knew about it, otherwise I never would've been given the assignment of protecting her." He rubbed his hands together. "Back, umm, in the eighteen-hundreds and early nineteen-hundreds, fae and curators worked together a lot. That's when archeology kind of exploded and people were finding a lot of fae relics, so the curators were busy. And fae warriors were often assigned as bodyguards, of a sort, since curators were never really more than scholarly types." His lips quirked up in a brief smile. "That hadn't really been a thing since World War Two, but a few years ago, my da and a few others thought maybe it was time to try to resurrect the partnership. I was chosen because of my da's influence, and Emily was chosen because her family used to be close friends with my family."

  I drew in a quick breath, willing my stomach to settle. "What … what happened?"

  Eliaster swallowed and looked down at the floor. "Well, my older brother Iain worked for Highlord O'Breigh, and somehow or another he ran into Llew and Larae and became convinced the Lucht Leanuna were a rising threat. Iain was obsessed with the pathstones and started trying to hunt them down. He thought he'd found one, and he pulled me and Emily into it because he thought the curators needed to know. Somehow Llew found out, and next thing I knew, my brother and my girlfriend were dead." His eyes flickered bright green, and his mouth pressed into a firm line. "Still not sure why I survived and they didn't. I was the fighter. If I'd done my job, they would be the ones continuing the search today, not me."

  I rubbed the back of my neck. Even though his face was like stone, the raw grief in his voice—made worse, I knew, by how recent Marc's loss had been—made me feel like I was intruding.

  "I—I'm sorry,
Eliaster."

  He shrugged, nodded.

  My arms prickled, and I turned away, rubbing at them. So much more about Eliaster made sense now—his drive to find the pathstones. His insistence on protecting me, even when I didn't think I needed it. I stood and walked back into my bedroom, grabbing my stuff from the bed and bathroom.

  When I returned, Eliaster stood, re-sheathing his weapons and buckling them on. He turned around. His expression was still hard, but I could see the traces of tears glimmering in his eyes.

  "Do you understand now?" he asked.

  I stepped up in front of him and held out my hand. "Yeah, I get it. Let's go save the city, huh?"

  His stony expression cracked just enough for a smirk. He gripped my wrist in a tight warrior's handshake. "If we have to."

  CHAPTER 12

  ELIASTER

  I … had not planned for that to happen.

  As Josh headed down the stairs, I stopped in the doorway of our guest suite and pulled in a deep, silent breath. The tightness in my chest eased just enough for me to straighten my shoulders. I blinked and wiped at my eyes with the heels of my hands.

  Stupid. Crying in front of people.

  I couldn't let Tadhg or Keelin or any of these other goons see me like this. They'd think I was weak. More than ever, I needed to be strong. Bad enough that I could barely pull on enough glamour to make my arms flicker with flames yesterday, while Keelin's whole form had erupted with fire. He knew I couldn't use glamour. So I needed to show him that I was still a force to be reckoned with.

  When we got downstairs, Tadhg was the only one in the living room, flicking through the pages of a newspaper. He glanced up, nodded, and pointed to the table, where half-full platters of everything from fruit to scrambled eggs to grilled slices of ham awaited.

  "Anything interesting happen overnight?" I asked him.

  "No."

  I paused and searched his face. Tadhg held my gaze for a few seconds, looking bored, then went back to his newspaper. I found it hard to believe that no one besides me had heard Josh's screams during his nightmare. But if Tadhg had heard anything, he didn't let on.

  Not that it mattered. Everyone who had been through battle had nightmares once in a while, all but the most psychopathic. My mind flashed to Banshee. My gut knotted. I blinked the mental image away.

  The problem was how Josh would be treated. Even if Tadhg had the same nightmares every single night, he would still say Josh was weak, stupid. Human.

  Josh grabbed a plate and started loading it with food. "Where's Keelin?"

  "Busy." Tadhg flicked a page of the newspaper.

  Josh glanced at me. I shrugged. Wasn't like we could do anything until Tadhg started talking or Keelin showed up.

  While Josh finished getting food, I wandered around the living room, looking at various art pieces on the walls. While the prints were nice, they were familiar. Generic. Pieces you could buy at any department or home goods store in the country.

  I turned back to the table, got myself a plate of food, and settled on one of the tall chairs at the kitchen bar. Josh sat, picking at his food as he scrolled through news sites on his phone.

  I nudged his elbow. "This place is a safe house, not where Keelin lives."

  "Oh yeah? How can you tell?"

  "There's nothing personal on the walls. No family photos, no heirlooms, nothing. The place looks like it could be straight from a department store."

  "So Keelin's probably not going to show up."

  "I doubt it."

  "Where do you think Banshee is?"

  A muscle in my neck twitched. "As long as she stays far away from me, I don't particularly care."

  Josh started to say something, but I heard movement behind us and turned around. One of the security guards from last night stepped into the living room and cleared his throat.

  "Ready to go?" Tadhg asked, slapping his newspaper down on the counter.

  "Sure, why not." I stood up.

  "Can we at least get an idea of the plan for today?" Josh asked.

  "In the car," Tadhg answered.

  As we headed to the front hallway, Banshee appeared from one of the side rooms, spinning a keyring on one finger. She shot me a grin. "Ready to come ransack an apartment?"

  I stopped. "What, now?"

  She glanced at Tadhg, who shrugged, then back at me. "No. I'm going to go watch to make sure Shaughnessy leaves, then I'll come get you, and we'll play cat burglar while your human distracts our little relic-running friend."

  "I can't believe no one has searched his apartment before."

  Banshee shrugged one shoulder. "We're the experts here, apparently. That's why I was called in."

  I snorted. "We're in a world of trouble if they think you and I are experts." I turned to Tadhg. "I'm staying with you."

  "No, you're not," Tadhg said evenly. "You're going with Banshee. We don't need you on this part of the job, and it makes sense to go through the apartment while we know for sure that Shaughnessy is busy."

  Josh cleared his throat. "It'd be nice if the distraction in question got a say."

  Banshee and Tadhg looked at him in surprise. I held back a laugh.

  Josh glanced at me and punched my arm. "I got this. You don't need to babysit me."

  "I don't like it," I grumbled.

  "Yes, yes, I know. Mother hen, blah blah blah." He rolled his eyes, then grinned. "Trust me. I got this."

  Trusting him wasn't the issue. Trusting Tadhg and Keelin was.

  Tadhg stepped inside the security office and came back with a tactical headset. "You'll be wearing this, so it's not like you'll be going in without backup. You don't have to engage him at all, just see if you can spot anything that might be a relic." He paused and frowned. "If I understand right, you can see through glamour?"

  I tensed. Now where had he heard that?

  Josh nodded.

  "Any and all glamour?"

  Josh hesitated, just slightly, then nodded again.

  I frowned. What was he hiding? I glanced around at the other fae, but it seemed like I was the only one who had noticed Josh hesitate.

  "So you might actually see something one of us missed," Tadhg said. His hand tightened briefly on the headset before handing it over to Josh. He turned to me. "Once Josh confirms that Shaughnessy's at the club, you and Banshee will go search his apartment. See if he has anything stashed there."

  I gnawed the inside of my lip before responding, "Got it."

  "Make sure you look for electronic stuff too," Josh said to me. "Most fae forgot about electronics, but maybe Shaughnessy would be one of the atypical ones. Take his laptop, if he has one, his tablet—he may have a separate hard drive stashed somewhere too."

  I rolled my eyes and smirked. "Okay, nerd."

  "Well. If that's settled," Tadhg said sarcastically, "let's get moving."

  CHAPTER 13

  JOSH

  Shaughnessy's club, The Blue Fire, was located downtown between a crumbling brick building and a renovated, vintage shop. We pulled into a parking lot catty-corner to the club. As Tadhg retrieved his headset from the console between the front seats, I studied the club's exterior. Bright blue neon lighting ran around the edges of the sleek, smooth building, outlining the club's name and shape of a flame. A worker was moving a set of velvet-covered ropes and metal stands out front.

  I glanced at the clock. Nearly two in the afternoon. I looked over my shoulder. Eliaster was sprawled in the seat behind me, arms crossed over his chest, head tilted back on the headrest. On one hand, it made sense that he was asleep—he felt relatively safe around Tadhg, and he'd been up since I'd had my nightmare at six. But his irritation at being forced into this mission made me think he'd be making sarcastic remarks and snarling at anyone who got close.

  A Jeep gunned its engine as it pulled into place beside us. I glanced over, startled, and saw the platinum-haired fae girl at the wheel, grinning at us. Rings on her fingers twinkled in the sunlight as she waved.

  I
heard a half-sigh, half-growl from the backseat and snorted.

  "Your girlfriend's here," Tadhg said.

  "She's not—" Eliaster started.

  Tadhg held up a hand, tilting his head. A faint crackle told me someone was talking over his headset. He looked over his shoulder at Eliaster and nodded. "Better get moving. Shaughnessy's just gone inside."

  Eliaster shoved open his door and climbed out.

  Tadhg leaned over until he was nose to nose with me. "No tricks. If you're not back within an hour, I'm coming in to look for you. If you run, I will personally track you down."

  "Dude, I get it, okay?" I reached down to unbuckle my seatbelt.

  Tadhg grabbed my wrist, pinning it against the seat. "And I'm holding you responsible for him."

  I glared back at him. "I'm not his babysitter."

  "I don't think you get it. My lord's honor is at stake here. If you screw this up—"

  I twisted free. "Don't worry about it. We'll do what we have to do." I got out of the car with my backpack.

  "What was that about?" Eliaster muttered.

  I told him.

  He barked a laugh. "Idiot."

  Banshee rolled down her window and winked at us. "Hey, boys." Her voice was light, cheerful. "Whatcha say, Eliaster? Ready to toss an apartment like old times?"

  Eliaster rounded the Jeep and got in, and they pulled away. I glanced across the street at the club, took a deep breath, and set my shoulders. This would be easy. All I had to do was get in, confirm Shaughnessy was there, and get out. Easy-peasy.

  As I crossed the street, I shoved one of the headset earbuds into place. Hopefully anyone watching would just think I was listening to music. I dug out the fake resume I'd knocked together while we'd been waiting to leave, and straightened the collar of my button-down.

  The employee setting out the metal stands looked up as I approached. "Still closed, dude."

  I held up the resume. "Just applying for a job, man."

  He nodded and gestured for me to go inside.

  I pushed open the door. The place looked bare, almost sparse, with bright fluorescent lights shining down on a glossy dance floor in the middle of the room. It smelled like alcohol, chemical cleaners, and the stale, lingering scent of perfume. The outer rim of the room was raised with a black metal railing around it. Steps led down to the dance floor, and tables and chairs were scattered around. On my right sat the bar, brightly lit, and to my left, there was a staircase that disappeared into the black metal loft. Colored lights and other visual-effect equipment hung from the underside of the loft over the dance floor. I could easily imagine how impressive it looked with dim lights and music pumping through the speakers.