Burnt Silver

by H A Titus

  I smirked, disguising the surprise that fluttered through me. Trust Josh to figure out an angle I hadn't anticipated.

  "How do you propose to do that?" Zeke said.

  Josh pulled the ring from his pocket.

  Simon's eyes widened. "What do you have there?"

  "Our ticket to get Henry to talk," Josh said.

  "Wait a second." Zeke spluttered. "You can't just walk in there and use a relic on him!"

  "He won't have to," I said. "If Josh's idea is correct, then we might be able to scare him into telling us what we want."

  "And if not?"

  "Using this would be preferable to other methods," Josh said.

  Zeke rolled his eyes. "Right. You think you're just gonna walk in there and freak out a fae."

  "Trust me, if I wasn't on Josh's side, a human who could resist glamour like this would freak me out too," I said.

  Simon adjusted his glasses. "Yes, I've been meaning to ask you about that…who are your parents? Grandparents? Is there a possibility that you're from a curator family? Did you see through glamour as a child? There are theories out there that young children can see through glamour, but that most grow out of it."

  Josh blinked, and I could see that he'd just hit information overload.

  "Later," I said, putting my hand on Simon's shoulder. "You two can get all nerdy with your theories … but later."

  Surprisingly, he didn't flinch away from my grip.

  "Of course, of course." Simon gestured to Josh. "Please. Let's see if your plan works."

  Josh rolled the ring in his hand and blew out a deep breath. The blue gem glittered in the yellow light of the overhead fluorescents. I looked away, tucking my clenched hands into my pockets. What if this didn't work?

  A chill crept over my neck. What if it did?

  Josh took another breath, closed his eyes, and slipped the ring over the third finger on his right hand. After a second he rocked back, staggering a little. His eyes flew open.

  I caught his arm. "You okay?"

  "Yeah, I—I'm fine." Josh straightened and shook his head, blinked a few times. "Okay. Let's talk to Henry."

  Simon unlocked the door and opened it for us.

  As we stepped inside the room, Henry raised his head. His eyes flicked warily from Josh to me, and then he smirked. "Oh, so the curators do still have a few pet fae at their beck and call. Interesting."

  I growled.

  "Yeah, now you get why being called a pet is annoying," Josh muttered to me. He faced Henry and held up a water bottle. "Thirsty?"

  "I suppose I won't get that unless I answer a few questions."

  "Nah, it's a freebie." Josh tossed it to him.

  The ring flickered in the corner of my eye. I ignored it, kept my eyes on Henry.

  He caught the water bottle clumsily and cracked open the lid, his eyes following Josh's hand as Josh sat down across the table from him. "Well, are we going to discuss this or not?"

  "There's no discussing anything," I said. "You're going to tell us who you sold relics to. We already found Shaughnessy and his little gang in Kansas City. So who else paid you to get relics for them?"

  "Oh, you found them too? Well done." Henry mockingly applauded. "Well done."

  I slammed my hands on the table, making the curator jump a little. "Do you not understand what you're doing? There's a reason using the relics was outlawed! Shaughnessy was using his ring to control people and run a slaving ring. How do you think that's going to affect the visibility of the sidhé? For all we know, there could be some human law agent out there slowly coming to grips with the fact that the fae exist because he's run across a crime committed with a relic!"

  "Funny that you're worried about that, what with your history and all," Henry snapped. "Real funny, Eliaster the curator-killer."

  It took me a split second to register what he said, and then I went cold. My hands curled into fists. I looked from Henry's hands to his neck and imagined wrapping my hands around it, squeezing my thumbs into his windpipe.

  Josh planted his hand on my chest and pushed me back. I startled and looked down. Not the hand with the ring.

  "Let me deal with this," he said, face serious.

  I nodded, not trusting myself to speak, and stepped back away from the table. As Josh pulled his phone from his pocket and set it to the side of the table, I focused on breathing. Tamping down the cold rage that had flooded me the instant Henry had said the words ‘curator-killer'. Is that how the other curators referred to me behind my back?

  "Look, I get it, okay?" Josh said to Henry. "It's not easy being part of the Underworld. Look at me—I'm human. I get treated like dirt. But sometimes even fae have a rough time of it." He leaned his elbows on the table. "So, we can make a deal, right? Just a little give and take. Maybe we can make it worth your while too."

  "What is this, good cop/bad cop?"

  "Ehh, more like bad cop/snarky cop, but I'll let you decide which one is worse."

  I snorted.

  Josh pulled the stone disk from his pocket and starting playing with it like it was a fidget toy—spinning it, turning it over and over. The ring on his finger glittered, and bits of white-gold flame flickered off the stone disk. It was almost mesmerizing.

  I looked away.

  Henry's eyes widened, and he leaned back in his chair. He replaced his glasses. "So much for taking the moral high ground there, curator."

  "You saw what happened to me in your apartment," Josh said quietly. "I've seen this ring in action before, and while it didn't affect me, I'm pretty certain it would put you through the wringer. So let me explain how this is going to work—you're going to tell us what you know about your employer. Or I'll compel you to tell us."

  "Skipping the torture and straight to the compulsion," Henry muttered. He stared at his water bottle for a long moment, then sighed, removed his glasses, and rubbed them with the tail of his shirt. "Look, let's just get down to the point. I don't want you using that thing on me. I don't have many options, but I do have one big bargaining chip." He pulled at a chain around his neck and revealed a silver pendant from underneath his shirt. The pendant itself shimmered like an oil slick as he removed the chain from around his neck and passed it across the table.

  Josh studied it for a moment, then picked it up by the chain and held it out to me.

  I pulled my sleeve over my hand and accepted the necklace. As I held it, I could feel a faint vibration in the jewelry. I rubbed the smooth, round pendant between my fingers and looked up at Henry. "And this does what?"

  "That's a way into my employer's house."

  I grunted. "If your employer is who I think he is, then we already have an in."

  Henry stared at me as he slipped his glasses back into place. "If you already know who my employer is, why are you talking to me?"

  "People ask for second opinions all the time."

  Henry nodded and folded his hands on the table. "My employer is an Unseelie by the name of Drake Airgead. As far as I know, he is not affiliated with any specific Unseelie lords, although he seems to think he is one. That pendant gives you access to his house—"

  I snorted again. "Yeah, like I said, we already have access. You're gonna have to do better than that."

  Henry leaned forward. The lenses of his glasses flared as he tilted his head up to glare at me. "Let me finish. It gives you access to all of his house. He's paranoid—he has wards over wards within wards. You won't be able to sneak in, not unless you have some pretty powerful glamour, and I'm guessing you probably don't, even if you"—he gestured to Josh—"have a bunch of tricks up your sleeve. And if you do indeed have an 'in,' it's probably what essentially counts as a visitor's pass. It will get you in the door on the day of his choosing, but no more. That pendant will allow you access to anywhere you want to go."

  Josh tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair. "So how much of your soul did you have to sell to get something like this?"

  Henry grinned. "The nice thing about fae is th
at if you make yourself invaluable enough, they'll reward you handsomely. Remember that—it's the only way guys like you and me survive in this world. The rest of the curators will figure that out soon enough."

  I paced back and forth behind Josh, half-listening as he tried to get more information from Henry. I felt … useless. Usually people were looking at me like I was the greatest threat in the room, but Henry's eyes never left Josh.

  It was weird.

  Part of it was that I was used to being the one questioning people. And even though he seemed to be pretty good at it, I had to wonder just how much of it was actually Josh, and how much of it was the ring.

  I shook the thought. Josh wasn't actually using the stupid thing. There hadn't been a flicker of glamour from it.

  Something buzzed in the room, and Josh and Henry stopped talking and glanced at me. I rolled my eyes as I fished the phone from my pocket. Angel. What was Angel doing calling me now? I put it up to my ear. "Yeah?"

  "You're not gonna like this."

  "I rarely like anything urgent enough for you to call me about. Spill it."

  Angel grunted. "There's been another death. And I heard … things … scratching around my place last night."

  A chill brushed the back of my neck. I turned, rapped on the doorframe and waited until Simon pulled it open and I could step outside to answer Angel. "Things? What kind of things?"

  "Something with claws."

  Now that I was listening for it, I could tell that Angel was trying really, really hard not to let his voice wobble. I swore under my breath. More redcaps. "Shoulda realized that there wouldn't be just one. Who died?"

  "Maira."

  The fortune-teller.

  I clenched my fingers tight around my phone. I walked to the corner of the basement and leaned against the wall, fighting the urge to slam my phone against the wall.

  "Eliaster?" Angel sounded very far away.

  "I'll head home as soon as I can," I said. I put the phone in my pocket and opened the door to the interrogation room. "Josh. A word?"

  Josh came out of the room and closed the door behind him. "What?"

  "Maira is dead, and Angel says it looks like a redcap," I said in a low voice.

  Josh paled and slumped against the door. He pushed his glasses onto his forehead and pinched the bridge of his nose. A glint of color snapped in one of his eyes.

  My gut knotted. I took a step back from Josh. Had I just imagined that … had that been a glamour spark?

  Josh didn't notice. "Do you think everything he said in there was enough? If we go after Drake, with this evidence and the evidence that Aileen and Danos gave us, will it be enough to keep Highlord O'Breigh off our backs?"

  At the moment, Highlord O'Breigh was the least of my concerns. I studied Josh. He was still slumped against the door, looking pale and worn. Part of that, I guessed, could be the fluorescent lights overhead.

  I took a deep breath. Maybe I just imagined it. "I think we'd be stupid not to. We'll walk in with our eyes wide, but yeah … I think we have enough to be able to defend ourselves if O'Breigh throws a fit."

  Josh nodded and stood upright. Then he wobbled. Before I could grab his arm, Josh half-fell against the wall and slid down to crouch on his haunches. I knelt beside him. Josh's gaze swung upward. I gasped.

  Josh's brown eyes had an amber glow to them, weirdly bright under the fluorescent lights. "Eliaster—" He grasped my arm. "I don't—I don't feel so good …"

  My pulse sped up. "Take the ring off." I tried to keep my voice steady even as panic gripped my heart in iron fingers. Heat flared along my arm, along my focus tattoos.

  "Oh, yeah, I'd forgotten I even had it on." Josh reached down and tugged on the silver circling his finger. For a split second, it looked like the ring caught on his knuckle, but then it slid smoothly off. The pale glow died from his eyes, and Josh looked around, blinking. He swayed and planted his hand on the ground, barely keeping himself upright. He swore under his breath.

  I tightened my grip on his arms. "You're all right," I whispered. "It's okay."

  "What was that?" Simon hissed.

  Cac. I'd had forgotten the curator was in the room. I turned and looked up at him. "We've had a rough few days, Simon, it's just—"

  The shorter man stepped toward us, jaw clenched. He jabbed a finger at my face. "You're playing with fire. Again. This kind of thing is what got Emily killed."

  I flinched.

  "More fae arrogance," Zeke muttered from behind him.

  Heat flared in my chest, and I flipped the younger curator off.

  Zeke's face reddened.

  "I'm fine, seriously." Josh got up, rubbing his arm. Red stained the edge of the bandage peeking from beneath his jacket sleeve. "Eliaster's right, we've had a rough few days, I'm probably just overtired."

  "Josh." Simon's voice was even. "Humans cannot control glamour. I don't know what you did, or what he"—he glared at me—"has convinced you of. But you're just endangering yourself."

  Josh crossed his arms and stuck his chin out. "I'm fine."

  I glanced between the two of them, unwilling to get into the middle of their stare down. I'd just make it worse, at this point.

  Simon looked away first. He sighed and massaged his forehead. "You know … Fine. Fine. At least we got answers without any violence."

  Okay, that was unnecessary. I rolled my eyes.

  "So we're good then." Josh pushed his way past the two curators and jogged up the steps. I started to follow him.

  "Wait, wait, wait," Simon said. "So what do you suggest we do with Henry for now?"

  I shrugged. "He's a curator. He's your problem."

  Josh was waiting on the porch, swinging my car keys around one finger.

  "Think they'll be okay, dealing with him?" he asked.

  I snatched the keys away. "They'll figure it out. It's time the curators stop sitting around on their butts and actually do something useful." I paused, scanning Josh's face. He still looked a little haggard, but at least his eyes were no longer glowing.

  Just one more thing we've gotta figure out.

  # # #

  When we got back to Springfield, I woke up Josh—who had uncharacteristically fallen asleep almost as soon as we'd pulled onto the highway—and then we made our way to the market of the Springfield Underworld. Just inside the gate, I heard a familiar voice.

  "Eliaster!" Angel trotted toward me. "We've been waiting for you. Your da's even here."

  My stomach sank. Crap. It had to be really bad if my da had even come to look at the crime scene. I followed Angel through the twisting streets of the Market, my muscles winding tighter with each step I took. Maira's tent had been at the far northern edge, past the street to Opti's smithy.

  Maira's tent was draped in opulent silks of purple and orange and green, gold embroidery twinkling in the light of the thousands of tiny fairy lights she'd strung through the translucent fabric. A curtain of beads hung in the doorway. My nose wrinkled at the scent that wafted from the doorway—hippy incense mixed with iron and viscera.

  Josh made a weird, half-gagging noise behind me. I turned. Josh stood frozen a few paces away in the middle of the road, eyes flicking back and forth over the tent in front of them.

  "Josh?"

  No answer. But I could see his breathing quicken. He curled his arms in as if protecting his torso from a blow, shoulders hunching forward.

  A spike of fear shot through my chest, and I reached out, grabbing Josh by the arm. As soon as I touched him, he jumped and his eyes focused on me, startled.

  "Wh-what?" He gasped, sounding oddly short of breath. "What happened?"

  "You just froze, dude."

  Josh blinked and shook his head. He was still slightly hunched forward, breathing hard as if he'd just finished sprinting from the parking garage aboveground. "I don't …" His eyes widened, and he clamped a hand over his mouth. "Holy crow, that smell."

  Angel grunted and I winced.

  "Sorry," Josh muttered
through his fingers.

  "You sure you'll be okay?" I asked.

  "Mother hen," Josh grumbled.

  With good reason, I wanted to say. Instead I smiled briefly, then turned and followed Angel into the tent. The glass beads of the curtain chinked together, grazing against my arm as I brushed past.

  The inside of the tent looked much like the outside—draped in colorful swathes of translucent silks backed by fairy lights. The burnt-out stubs of several candles dripped tall piles of wax on a scarred wooden table in the middle of the tent, and wooden shelves at the back held little bags of carved bones, dice, and other fortune-telling paraphernalia.

  Da stood on the other side of the table in a loose half-circle with three other fae. Two of them I recognized as other council members. Lukas was surprisingly absent. The other fae, a councilwoman—Lily—looked pale and drawn, the dark makeup around her eyes standing out starkly.

  Da looked up sharply as we entered and gave us a nod. "Glad you're here." His tone added the word finally.

  A tiny stab of irritation rose in my chest. Da had been more lenient in the last few months, but there was still that old resentment that threatened to rear its head at any time. I tried to shrug it off, to realize that Da was probably feeling much as I did at the moment—angry with himself, helpless.

  Maira lay huddled on the ground behind her table, a pool of crimson soaked into the knockoff Persian rug under her. Someone had thankfully closed her eyes.

  Josh made another gagging sound.

  He stared at the table, his eyes wide with shock. He looked over at me, face pale, and shook his head. "I—I can't … I'll wait outside."

  Angel snorted. "What's the matter, Overworlder? Can't hack it?"

  Josh just glared at him as he left.

  "Hey, lay off. He can hack plenty of things, including your security, and at the moment I'm inclined to let him," I growled.

  Angel glared at me.

  "Are you done?" Cormac demanded.

  The sharp tone made me straighten my shoulders. "Yes, sir." Under pressure. He's under pressure. I'm under pressure. Don't say something you'll regret.

  Cormac nodded to the woman. "Please repeat your story to my son."

  "Your friend," the young woman said, looking up at me. "The human. He's the one who got her killed."