Burnt Silver

by H A Titus

  I glanced at the wolves. They sat or stood in silence, but every one of them was watching Aileen, muscles tense. Patricia gripped the edge of the table, eyes steady on Aileen, while Liam half-turned, scanning the woods outside the patio fence. Charles and James looked back and forth between the group and the surrounding area. It was like Eliaster had said earlier—no one would be stupid enough to try anything with the wolves around.

  "My dad's always been harsh, but it's gotten worse lately. He's becoming … cruel. And his treatment of my brothers has become worse." She started picking at the chipped black nail polish on one finger. "He relentlessly mocks Cori for refusing to show how much power he has, and Gren …well, Gren he pushes to the breaking point. It's not just that, though. He's crossed a line. He has information leading to a pathstone, and he's willing to sell it to the highest bidder. I won't be a part of bringing Fear Doiricht here and setting him on this world. Cori and I'd rather see the pathstone in your hands than in anyone else's."

  The air almost crackled with the tension in her voice. I rolled my shoulders, resisting the urge to shrink back a little.

  Eliaster sat back, ran his hand through his hair, and blew out a deep breath. Then he glanced up at Liam. "Okay. So, here's what we'll do. Josh and I will see what we can find about Henry Blair and your dad. If it pans out, great. We can talk further, maybe see what we can do to help your situation. But I'm not promising anything."

  "I wouldn't expect you to. Trust me, the only reason I'm here is because Cori and I have exhausted all our other options." Aileen scooted her chair back from the table and stood up. She stuck her hand out to Eliaster.

  He shook it, warily.

  She turned to me. As soon as our hands met, I felt a faint electrical buzz shoot up my arm. Like last time. I looked up, met Aileen's eyes, trying to hide my surprise.

  Nothing on her face indicated that she'd felt anything.

  She turned to the faoladh. "Thank you." The calm, sure way she said it told me she meant it.

  Liam frowned. "Don't thank me yet. I'll need to talk to the pack. We have decisions to make."

  "Still, there's hope. That's enough." Aileen nodded to the rest of the pack gathered around the table, grabbed her bag from her chair, and let herself out of the gate.

  We all stayed quiet until we heard a motor start up in the parking lot. A few seconds later, a battered Jeep rumbled past on the highway, Aileen at the wheel.

  Eliaster raised his eyebrows and looked over at Liam. "Well?"

  He held up his hands. "Like I told her, I have to talk to the pack. This isn't a decision I can make on my own."

  "C'mon, dude, give me something."

  Liam licked his lips and gazed in the direction the Jeep had gone.

  "I think she was sincere," Patricia said.

  "I'd agree with that assessment," James said, his voice clipped and precise. "And she seemed genuinely frightened for herself and her brother."

  "What's their dad's name?" Charles asked. "I feel like I should know."

  "If you weren't drunk, dumbass, you'd remember it," James told him. "Drake Airgead. That antiquities expert in New York." He looked up at us and explained, "When we first moved here from England, we stayed in New York for a couple of years."

  Charles shook his shoulders, almost like he was a dog shaking water off his fur. "Not a good place for faoladh."

  "No, I wouldn't imagine," I muttered, giving Eliaster a sideways glance. Antiquities expert? Sounded like a great cover for a relics dealer.

  Eliaster rubbed at his necklace, then abruptly stood up. "Thank you, for even considering this," he told Liam. "If we can get another pathstone …"

  Liam nodded and glanced at his pack members. "We have things to consider, for sure. I know what the old laws teach, but in this day and age, I have to take care of my pack. No promises."

  We said our goodbyes and headed around the building to the parking lot.

  I picked up my bike helmet and spun it in my hands, thinking over the conversation. "What do you think?" I asked Eliaster.

  He gnawed the corner of his lip for a second before answering. "We've either been given a huge blessing, or this is a really complex trap someone set up for us."

  "Occam's razor."

  He gave me a blank look.

  "The best solution is the one that is the simplest and makes the fewest assumptions. Which would be that she was telling the truth." Even as I said it, doubt tugged at me. I'd made a mistake last time I'd pushed for a decision—a mistake that had nearly gotten us both killed. Was I making another mistake with Aileen?

  He snorted and pulled his helmet over his head. "You really think that works with fae?"

  "Probably not, but it's a nice dream."

  CHAPTER 19

  ELIASTER

  I stood outside the rickety house in the slums, staring up at the second-story balcony and mentally trying to prepare myself. I knew that Da had already sent men to take care of Blaise's body. Clean up the mess of blood. So why was this so hard? All I had to do was go in and search through the room to see if Blaise had hidden any information. Confirmation of Aileen Airgead's claims would be nice, though unlikely, but at this point I'd settle for anything that gave me clues on a reason for Blaise's murder.

  I sighed, caught myself absently running my hand through my hair, and forced myself to shove both hands in my jacket pockets. Dang it, I was picking up habits from Josh. I really needed to stop.

  If I was honest with myself, going to the trouble of digging through all of Blaise's stuff wasn't the issue. The issue was that I didn't like to be reminded of my failures.

  Blaise had never asked for my protection, but I felt like I should've given it anyway.

  My left arm itched, and I had to stop myself from scratching. It had only been a couple of days since I'd gotten the tattoos—didn't need to be scarring them up already.

  Movement flashed in the window. I jerked back, withdrawing into the shadow of the building I stood next to, and watched. The window was filthy, but I could make out the vague, blurry shape of a person. Then the shape disappeared. I listened for the sound of squealing hinges, or the shaking of the rickety stairs. Nothing except the far-off rush of sewer water.

  I darted across the street and paused at the foot of the stairs, listening. I caught a very soft whisper. And now that I could see the door, I realized it wasn't closed all the way.

  Moving slowly and carefully, so as not to shake the entire platform, I eased up the stairs and peered through the open door.

  A fae, his long black hair pulled into a ponytail, stood in front of Blaise's bookcase, rifling through a book. As he finished, he tossed it to the side on the floor, swearing under his breath in Gaelic, and grabbed another one.

  I should leave. I should absolutely leave. But …

  Another book thudded to the floor.

  No. I had to find out who this was. How much they knew about Blaise.

  I drew my knife. Took a deep breath. Slammed the door open. The fae inside jumped, spun around, backing up against the bookcase. He went for the knife at his belt.

  I was faster, angling my knife at the fae's chest. "Hands where I can see them."

  The fae complied. I studied him. He was perhaps a few years younger than me, hovering somewhere around his early twenties. There was something familiar about him in his eyes and chin, a look that reminded me of someone.

  I stepped all the way into the room and pushed the door closed with my foot. "Who—"

  The floor creaked behind me. I half-spun in time to duck under a knife strike. Two of them! I swore under my breath as I backed up toward the kitchenette area. Should've checked by the foot of the bed—I'd known that area was covered by the door, but I'd been stupid.

  The two strange fae stood shoulder to shoulder, both now with knives drawn. The newcomer's hair was buzzed into a crewcut, but other than that, he looked identical to the first one. Great. Twins. Awesome. This wasn't going to be as easy as I'd thought.

&nb
sp; "Who are you?" I asked.

  Crewcut looked over at Ponytail and grinned. "You know who we have here, brother?"

  Ponytail flipped his knife in his fingers, catching it by the blade. "Eliaster Tyrone," he said in a mocking, sing-song voice. "Looks like uncle Llew was right. Blaise was a traitor working for the Seelie."

  Uncle Llew? My lips curled even as my shoulders tensed at the name. "Related to Larae and Llew? Figures."

  Crewcut pointed a knife at me. "Have you not learned respect for our family after what we did to yours?"

  Rage spiked in my chest. "Crows eat you all."

  Ponytail swore and lunged forward. I caught the knife strike on my own blade and shoved his knife to the side, kicked his legs out from under him. Crewcut was right behind him, knife aiming for my gut, too close for me to counter. I used my left hand to catch the Unseelie's forearm and stopped, staring in surprise.

  The tattoos on my arm were glowing bright blue.

  What the…

  Too late. A fist flew toward my face. I threw my arm in front of my eyes. The blow knocked me against the wall. I twisted. My blade caught, slicing along Crewcut's rib. Got lucky. Can't expect it to last.

  I lunged forward. Ducked under another of his wild swings. As I raised my hand, I could see blue flames wreathing my fist. I punched Crewcut in the stomach. He gasped and doubled over. I managed to grab his wrist and held tight as I swung him around. Crewcut slammed into the wall. And I eyed Ponytail, who was just pushing himself up off the floor.

  My ribs throbbed. I pressed my elbow against my side, trying to keep the pained reaction off my face. I couldn't let these two know I was hurt—they'd come after me like raving Wild Hunt. "Just stay there. And get your uncle to actually teach you how to fight before you come after me again."

  I backed to the door, tightening my grip on my knife.

  Crewcut smirked as he straightened from leaning against the wall. "Oh, don't worry, Tyrone. We'll be sure to tell Uncle Llew you dropped by."

  "I think he's got a new knife he'd like to test out on your skin," Ponytail agreed. "All nice and shiny and sharp."

  My skin prickled. I swung the door open.

  "You're right, Dubh. Better leave him whole."

  I dashed down the stairs and away from the building. I kept running until I reached the outskirts of the Market, where the population of the streets slowly increased. I ducked down an abandoned side street and leaned against one of the wooden buildings, trying to calm my hammering pulse.

  Llew's nephews were nearly as psychopathic as he was.

  What had they wanted at Blaise's house? What had they been looking for? I pressed my hands over my face. A flicker of blue flame caught the corner of my vision. I dropped my hands, then pushed up the left sleeve of my jacket.

  The tattoos had stopped glowing, but faint blue tongues of flaming glamour still curled around my fingers. I turned my hand over, watching the glamour dance like sparks. It felt like an iron band squeezed my chest. How was I doing that? Was I doing that? It didn't exactly feel any different than normal. I stretched my hand out and concentrated, trying to imagine a flame dancing above my palm. For a few seconds, the glamour coalesced, and the flickering shape of fire began to spiral into existence. My heart, stuttered, and I gasped. I was controlling glamour. For the first time in my life—

  It disappeared.

  I growled and lowered my hand. Maybe I just need time.

  "New ink, huh?"

  I started and looked up. Banshee stood at the alleyway entrance, leaning against the side of the buildings, arms and ankles crossed.

  "What do you want?" I asked.

  She took a few steps forward. "Let me see." Before I could pull away, she grabbed my wrist. The feather-light touch of her fingers trailed along my forearm, tracing the bright blue ink of the shield symbol, raising the hair on the back of my neck.

  She paused, then tapped the Claddagh symbol on my ring finger. "Really? Engaged? Don't you think it's time to let her go?"

  I yanked my arm free, the warmth in my chest dying instantly. "We're not having this discussion again."

  "Touchy."

  "Last time we talked about this, you tried to glamour me into sleeping with you," I snapped. "So yeah, maybe I am a bit touchy."

  Her eyes flashed. "All I was trying to do was help, Eli."

  I put my hands up between us. "Not that nickname. Not from you."

  She half-closed her eyes, studying me for a moment. "Very well. How's Josh holding up?"

  I frowned. I should leave, but …

  I couldn't stop myself. She had information that I needed. "Why do you care?"

  "I'm trying to figure out why you do. The Eliaster I knew four years ago wouldn't have picked up a stray human."

  "See, that, right there? You think you know me, but you don't. You never did."

  Banshee shrugged one shoulder.

  She's just trying to get me off balance and use me. As usual. I turned and started walking. Unsurprisingly, she followed like a cat pretending it wanted to be touched. But all she wanted was to dig her claws in.

  I slowed my pace a little, let her catch up to me. "So tell me something. Who're you really working for?"

  She raised an eyebrow. "How did you know?"

  I smirked. "That'd be telling, wouldn't it? Now c'mon, spill."

  She smirked back. "That'd be telling, wouldn't it? You'll have to use a better persuasion method." She gently bit on her lower lip and blinked slowly up at me.

  I stared at her lips for a second longer than I should've. One corner of her mouth curved into a triumphant smile.

  I swore and turned away. "Why are you here, Banshee?"

  She bumped her shoulder against me, and at the same time, I felt a small weight drop into the pocket of my jacket. "You need evidence to prove to the curators and to Highlord O'Breigh that you acted for a reason, right?"

  "We have the book. The hard drive."

  "Hmm, yes. But I think you'll find this helpful." She winked and spun on her heel, walking away.

  I waited until she was out of sight before pulling my sleeve over my fingers and using it to drag out whatever she'd dropped into my pocket.

  The blue gem of Shaughnessy's ring glimmered up at me.

  I swore again and looked around, but Banshee had disappeared.

  CHAPTER 20

  JOSH

  The screwdriver gouged into my thumb. I yelped and shook out my hand.

  From the other side of the room, Roe chuckled. "Need help?"

  I shook my head and laid the screwdriver aside. "I'm fine. Just slipped, that's all. I think it's getting too late for me to be handling sharp objects."

  Roe laughed.

  I laid the screwdriver aside and picked up the metal mesh cage, flipping it over. It wasn't the prettiest-looking thing in the world, but it would—I hoped—provide at least some protection from glamour.

  "Hey, Lukas!" I shouted.

  The security guard poked his head through the open door and sighed when he saw what I was holding. "Again?"

  "Sorry," I offered.

  He muttered under his breath as he walked into the room. Lukas had better control over his glamour than Eliaster did, but he could still get technology to go haywire if he touched it and concentrated. I picked up the wireless internet modem on my desk and settled it into the homemade Faraday cage, locking the hinged door into place, then put it down on the desk and scooted my chair back.

  Lukas put his hand on the top of the cage and closed his eyes, concentrating. As he did so, a swirl of purple mist began to materialize between his fingers, drifting off his skin in lazy spirals. I studied the way the glamour moved, the way it almost seemed to sparkle in the room's dim light.

  In the last couple of days, as I'd walked back and forth through the underworld to aboveground, I'd tested a few theories. Even without the bracelet anywhere near me, I could still see past glamour ghosts. I'd already known that was possible from my time hanging out with my half-fae fr
iend, Marc, but I'd wanted to have a baseline. Carrying the bracelet with me or leaving it behind didn't allow me to see a fae actively using glamour. But as long as the bracelet was on my wrist, I could see the colored, glowing mists that signaled glamour.

  I glanced at the lights on the modem. Last time I'd tried this, with a copper-alloy mesh, the lights had gone crazy, then suddenly died. It hadn't harmed the modem permanently, which was why I'd asked Lukas for help. If Eliaster had done this, the modem would probably be a smoldering mass of plastic.

  But this time, I'd tried a silver-plated mesh. And the modem lights seemed to be steady. I picked up my phone and checked for available signals, finally finding one that was weak, but usable.

  "Yes!" I pumped my fist in the air. "Thanks, Lukas."

  He grunted. "Glad I could help."

  As he left, I put the Faraday cage aside. I'd have to buy more silver-plated mesh, but it was nice to finally have a workable option for the rath's technology systems. I picked up a book I'd set facedown on the side of the desk and started reading the research chapters Roe had assigned me. It was all in Gaelic, which made the going a bit slow.

  Pathstones must at least be used in sets of three to open a path between earth and the Otherworld of Tir Ni-all, but they can be used in greater numbers—six, or even nine—to open greater pathways. Of course, larger pathways lead to greater danger. A single pathway is dangerous enough, but when you force two or three pathways to converge…

  "Hey, Roe?" I said.

  She looked up from the red leather-bound book Eliaster had given her a few days ago. "Yes?"

  "I'm at the section talking about using multiple sets of pathstones to open bigger pathways. But, I'm confused—I thought a pathway was just basically a portal. Just, like zap, step through, and you're in one world or another."

  She smiled. "Have you ever known sidhé to do anything that simply?"

  "No, I guess not," I grumbled, and set the book back down. "So do you think that the Lucht Leanuna are trying to gather more than one set?"

  She shivered. "I hope not. Besides, I'm quite certain that there was only ever one set in existence after the pathways were sealed shut."