Burnt Silver

by H A Titus

  "All I need to know is where Simon is, and how I can get ahold of him," Roe said. "That's all." She waited a beat. "For multiple reasons, but yes, the pathstones are one of them." Her lips pinched together, and she pulled the phone away from her ear. She glanced at me. "She hung up."

  I winced sympathetically. That had been happening a lot. "Because they don't want to work with Eliaster?"

  She nodded. "The curators blamed him for Emily's death. Said he had no business taking her with him to help with Iain's wild ideas."

  I started up the ladder, balancing the basket of books against my hip and clinging to the rungs with one hand. "So I take it most curators don't think the pathstones exist."

  She snorted. "The last couple of generations don't, anyway. Back when I was a girl, before World War Two, everyone believed in their existence. It was just that no one knew where they were hidden. I'd heard rumors, once, of a stone in Chicago, but had dismissed it. My mistake, as it turns out. I don't want to make the same one again."

  I stopped and dug a book from the basket, replacing it in an empty space. "Have you ever found one yourself, Roe?"

  "One," she said. "Plenty of rumors, but I've only ever had my hands on one."

  I stopped. "Oh yeah? Where's that one?"

  "Destroyed," she said grimly. "Back in the nineteen-twenties. A friend of mine, Owan Craig, was hired to track it down. He was cornered, much like you and Eliaster and Mar …" Her voice hitched.

  I glanced down at her.

  She suddenly looked her age, old and tired and defeated. Roe had lost a good portion of her family to this fight—not just Marc and his father, her son-in-law Blake, but others through the years. She'd dropped enough hints that I knew she'd been involved from the beginning, back nearly a hundred years ago when the search for the pathstones first began. Her daughter and granddaughters were the only ones of her family left.

  She cleared her throat. "Anyway. He was forced to destroy the pathstone. He barely escaped with his life, as did his curator partner."

  "Craig wasn't human?" I asked.

  "Half-fae." She smiled softly. "It made him a very good private eye."

  Dang, one of these days, I was gonna have to ask her more about that. A half-fae private investigator, working in the 1920s? That sounded awesome. I reached up, moved a mesh basket, and placed another book on the shelf. As I started to replace the basket, I paused. The mesh was made of metal.

  "Faraday cage," I said aloud.

  "What?" Roe asked.

  I turned quickly, then grabbed at the ladder as my sense of balance struggled to keep up with the movement. "A Faraday cage! I can make one to encase all the electronics, so we don't have to try to keep Eliaster away from them!"

  "And here I went to all this trouble to try and contain my glamour," Eliaster grumbled from the doorway.

  Eliaster shrugged out of his jacket. Underneath, he was wearing a black tank top, and his left arm was wrapped in a bandage.

  Roe turned, one eyebrow raised. "Focusing tattoos?"

  He nodded. "Angel knew a guy—turns out he's one of Opti's buddies. The ink they use is reactive to glamour somehow—I didn't get all of it." He started picking at the edge of the wrap. "Figured it couldn't hurt, anyway."

  Roe nodded. "I've heard of them, of course, but most fae nowadays don't bother with them. I'm curious to see if they help you."

  I climbed down the ladder as Eliaster unwrapped his arm. Blue ink started at his shoulder with a snarling griffin, a triquetra on the back of his arm above the elbow, an interwoven cross on his forearm, and a shield on his inner wrist. Another, smaller tattoo on his left ring finger caught my eyes, and I squinted. Hands, rendered in precise detail for such a tiny tattoo, wrapped around his finger, holding a heart pointing outward toward his fingertips, with a crown set above it. I recognized the symbol as a claddagh, symbolizing friendship, love, and loyalty.

  "How do you feel?" Roe asked.

  "Sore, but not bad." He stretched his arm a bit. "I'll get it all filled in with some knotwork in about a month."

  "Have you tried using your glamour yet?"

  He shook his head, rubbing at his arm. "Figured I'd give this a chance to heal first."

  Roe smiled. "Take your time."

  I grinned. "Hey, maybe if you can control glamour now, you can help me with a couple of experiments. I have a couple of ideas for keeping all the electronics safe. It might be a bit redundant now, but it wouldn't hurt. And I'd like to set up some security cameras around the rath, but again, I need to know how glamour would affect them specifically."

  Eliaster rolled his eyes. "Nerd."

  "Gatlho'," I said.

  "What the heck is that supposed to be? A cat puking up a hairball?"

  "No. It's Klingon for thanks."

  Eliaster blinked at me. "Klingon," he said, in a flat tone.

  "Yeah. I recently started learning it."

  "Because?"

  "Because I needed something fun to do that was a break from all this crazy. Seriously, I used to learn fantasy languages in high school as a hobby, figured I might as well go all out and learn Klingon too." A thought struck me, and I grinned. Time to mess with him for a bit. "And it wouldn't hurt to have a few words for a code, you know."

  Eliaster crossed his arms. "Fae are good with languages."

  "But are they good with fantasy languages? Like, for instance, Sindarin Elvish?"

  "Isn't that supposed to be based on Welsh? And the other one …"

  "Quenyan."

  He rolled his eyes. "Is based off Germanic and Latin. Off the top of my head I can count at least five fae who know all of those."

  We were interrupted by a chiming tone coming from the side table. Roe rushed back to answer it, motioning for us to take our bantering out of the room.

  I laughed softly as I followed Eliaster out of the library.

  He jerked his thumb at the gym door. "Haven't done any sparring for a bit. Up to it?"

  "Sure. So, Klingon for a code language. Sounds great."

  "I'm not learning Klingon."

  I started for the gym. "I'll get you a printout tomorrow."

  "Josh! I'm not joining your nerd club and learning Klingon! I won't do it!" Eliaster shouted after me.

  After the last few days, bantering with him felt good.

  I rolled out a couple of gym mats as Eliaster sat at the edge of the room, pulling off his shoes and socks. "Swords?" I asked.

  "Knives today, I think." He gave a deliberate glance at my side. He started wrapping up his arm again. "Still not carrying your sword."

  I shook my head. "Hasn't really been a reason. It's kind of clunky for sneaking around." And I liked the distance that my gun provided me with. Not that I would tell him that. I opened the box of equipment and found the sparring knives, then tossed a sheathed one to Eliaster and chose another for myself.

  When I turned around, he was already standing on the mat in a ready stance, the knife nowhere in sight. I stepped within arm's reach, keeping an eye on his right hand, which was partially hidden by his body, and settled into a crouch, my left hand up near my chin ready to protect my face, and my right hand extended, blade ready.

  Eliaster lunged forward, raising his right arm in a quick sweeping motion. I spotted the knife, held in a reverse grip.

  The blade at my throat…anger and fear freezing Eliaster's face into a snarl… A jolt of fear shot through me.

  I stumbled off the mat and landed on my butt, barely aware that I'd dropped the knife. My hands trembled.

  Eliaster stopped his charge and waited, bouncing his weapon in one hand. "You okay?"

  I shook my head, held up a hand. "Sorry. Sorry, I just …"

  His jaw clenched. "Flashback?"

  I nodded.

  He looked down at the knife in his hand and shook his head. "I'm the one who should be apologizing, Josh. I didn't think." He tossed the two knives into the equipment box and flopped down beside me, elbows on his knees.

  I rubbed my fa
ce in my hands, trying to push away the memories. "Does it ever get better?" My voice was hoarse. "The flashbacks, the new fears … does it get better or do you just learn to deal with it?"

  Eliaster was quiet. I looked over at him. He was staring straight ahead at the other end of the gym, a faint blue color swirling through the outer edges of his irises.

  He swallowed, lowering his gaze, and started picking at his thumbnail. "Eventually. It took me a while to get over my fear of blades too. In a way, it was a good thing my da had that binding put on me. I was angry, but one glimpse of a blade and I froze up. I would've gotten myself killed if I'd try to go after the Lucht then. It took me six months to even be able to pick up a knife."

  Cormac had been the one to bind him to the rath. I felt sick. No wonder they were still working on repairing the rifts the Lucht had caused in their relationship. But I didn't blame Cormac. After losing one son and having another traumatized like that, it was no wonder he'd had Eliaster bound.

  A loud, tinny rendition of some classic rock song blared out from the side of the room. Eliaster started, and his head whipped around to stare at his jacket. He swore under his breath and dove across the room, yanking a new phone from his pocket and fumbling to answer.

  "Liam. Yeah, what's up?" He pressed one hand to his opposite ear, as if struggling to hear. Then he went very still. "You're sure? I mean, I don't know … what do you think?" A longer pause. "Okay. We'll be there in a bit." He picked up his jacket and shrugged into it, glancing over at me. "Get ready to go."

  "Who was that?"

  "Liam Conor. He's the owner of the Black Dog, a pub outside of town that caters almost exclusively to faoladh."

  "Why're we …"

  Eliaster smirked. "Quick rundown. Liam's pack is one of the few that exist in peace with the fae. He and my da have made agreements. One of those is that Da lets them be pretty much self-governing as long as they follow the old laws of the faoladh—vows to protect widows, orphans, the old, the young, those who come to them seeking sanctuary. He just had a girl show up asking for sanctuary and to speak with you and me."

  My heart jerked in my chest. "Aileen?"

  "What are the odds it would be anyone else?" He gave me a quick look. "I know it sounds weird, but if anyone tried to trap us while Liam was around, they wouldn't last five seconds. We're not close, but I know for a certainty that the vows Liam and his pack have taken will protect us."

  I blew out a deep breath. The nice thing about Eliaster's paranoia was that when he placed this much trust in someone, I knew it wasn't on a whim. "Okay. Let's go meet some werewolves."

  CHAPTER 18

  JOSH

  We pulled into the graveled parking lot of the pub shortly after midday. As expected, the place didn't seem to be very busy at this time. Three cars and a motorcycle were the only vehicles in the parking lot, besides our own. I pulled off my helmet and studied the building's exterior.

  The Black Dog looked like one of those log-cabin-wannabes you see in the Ozarks. A front porch held a few rocking chairs and a swing—all in surprisingly good shape. An unlit neon sign depicting a pointy-eared dog with his nose in the air was perched on the porch's roof.

  At the sound of our bikes, the front door of the building swung open and a tall, bushy-bearded guy stepped out onto the porch. He looked in his late twenties, maybe early thirties, with a bit of a belly, held in check by the plaid shirt he'd tucked into his jeans.

  "Garrett, hey." Eliaster swung off his bike. "Liam here?"

  Garrett jerked his thumb at the side of the building. "Around back. Who's this?" He nodded to me. The movement ducked his face into the porch's shadow, and for a split second I saw a flash of yellow in his eyes.

  Despite myself, I took a step back.

  Garrett grinned. "You must be the newbie."

  "Be nice," Eliaster said. "And hey, is the bar open yet?"

  "That obvious?" I muttered.

  Garrett scratched his bushy brown beard. "Not technically, but I don't think Liam would mind if I brought you something. Still like the Irish honey whiskey?"

  "That's like asking if the sun still rises in the east."

  "Let me guess, beer for you?" Garrett asked me.

  Normally, I wouldn't. But I had a feeling that I was going to need something to get me through the upcoming conversation. "Cider, if you have it."

  He nodded and went back inside as Eliaster and I started around the side of the building. An open patio sat behind the building, ringed with grayed wooden fencing and paved with dark red bricks. The colored lights strung overhead looked a bit sad in the bright sunlight. Only one table sat in the middle of the patio—the others had been packed off to the side against the fencing—and the five people sitting around it turned as we came into view.

  One of the guys—early thirties, surfer wannabe with shaggy, highlighted blond hair, a sleeveless shirt, and baggy jeans—stood up and waved us over. "Eliaster. Long time no see, man."

  Eliaster shook hands and gestured to me. "Josh, meet Liam Conor, alpha of the pack."

  I gripped his extended hand. His handshake didn't seem overly strong, which kind of surprised me.

  Liam motioned around the table, starting with the dark-skinned, curvy girl he'd been sitting beside. "Patricia, my girlfriend."

  She winked.

  "And these two are the twins, Charles and James. They're my betas."

  Charles was a little stockier than his brother, but they both had the same jawline, the same dark brown hair. James was the more formal of the two, wearing a nice pair of slacks and a button-down shirt with a vest and tie, and I saw a blazer folded over the back of his chair. Charles wore a Guinness T-shirt and jeans with holes in the knees.

  "And finally, our guest of honor. Aileen Airgead."

  She stared up at us almost defiantly, head slightly tilted to the side. I blinked a couple of times as purple glamour ghosted away from her hair, revealing again the coarse white locks on one side of her head. Today she was wearing black tights under frayed jean shorts, sneakers, and a vest over a black band T-shirt.

  "You gonna sit, or you plan on acting like a couple of stumps this whole time?" she asked.

  "Glad to finally meet you too," Eliaster replied. He hooked his foot around a chair leg, pulled it out, and flopped into it.

  As I followed suit, I could feel Aileen's eyes on me.

  "Rough time in Kansas City?" she asked, pointing to the bruises on my face.

  I unconsciously raised my hand to my head, and saw her eyes dart, back and forth, from my face to the bracelet and back. She smiled. A chill brushed my spine. I crossed my arms over my chest, hiding the bracelet, and leaned back in my chair. "A bit. Shaughnessy didn't go down easily."

  "But you got him."

  "Of course we did."

  A smile flashed across her face so quickly that I wondered if I'd imagined it. "Well done."

  "Okay, okay, get a room you two," Charles drawled in some kind of British accent.

  Heat rose to my cheeks and ears. Aileen shot him a deadly glare, and her grip around her beer bottle tightened.

  Liam reached out and lightly swatted the back of Charles's head. "Behave. These are our guests, not members of the pack." His voice carried a low growl.

  Charles hunched away from him, looking sullen at the reprimand.

  Eliaster picked up his drink. "Seriously, though, thank you for your information. It was invaluable."

  I raised an eyebrow. Had he noticed her interest in my bracelet and guessed why I'd put it back on?

  "Laying the flattery on a bit thick, don't you think?" Her warm brown eyes twinkled as she took a drink of her beer.

  He shrugged. "Think what you want. But if you have more where that came from, I'm interested. I'd also like to know why you came here, of all places."

  At that moment, the door popped open, and Gerald emerged, carrying our drinks. He set the bottle of cider in front of me and the whiskey glass in front of Eliaster. Aileen waited until he'd gone back
inside before she finally spoke.

  "Josh asked me where a safe place to meet would be." She gestured at the werewolves seated across the table from her. "This is as safe as I could think of."

  "You need sanctuary," Eliaster stated.

  She hunched her shoulders. "Yeah."

  "Why?" I asked.

  Eliaster glanced over at me and nodded in approval.

  Aileen tapped on the table for a minute, her eyes darting between Eliaster and me. Then she leaned forward, hands clasped in front of her. "I want out. My father …" Her voice trailed off, and her throat bobbed. "Cori and I both want out. Our dad has never treated us well, but lately …" She shook her head. "We're done. We want out."

  "And you can't just leave?" Eliaster asked, raising an eyebrow.

  "You've figured out who my dad is at this point, and what he's doing, right?"

  "We already knew Drake Airgead was an Unseelie living in New York and making his living, supposedly, selling antiques," I said. "But he's been working with a curator and selling relics, hasn't he?"

  She nodded.

  "And if you want out, why come to us?" Eliaster leaned forward, mirroring her. "Why couldn't you go to the highlord in your area?"

  Aileen's amber eyes never moved from his. She clenched her jaw, then pulled the neckline of her shirt to the side, exposing her collarbone. The dark tattoo of a raven stained her freckled skin. "Because of my father, I'm considered Unseelie. You think any Seelie highlord would listen to anything I had to say? He only sees this." She smoothed the sleeve back into place. "Is that all you see, Eliaster Tyrone? A lying, cheating, backstabbing Unseelie?"

  Eliaster raised his chin. "I prefer to judge by character rather than court."

  Aileen glanced over at me.

  Her intense gaze pierced into me, and my breath caught in my throat. Eliaster had asked me if her sincerity last time we'd spoken face-to-face had been an act. If her glamour had charmed me. This time, I knew. This wasn't glamour. Maybe her acting was just that good. But … she seemed sincere. She maintained eye contact with each of us and kept her posture open.