by SM Reine
“No memory,” Leliel murmured, turning a piercing look on Marion. Invisible fingers probed her mind. She didn’t realize what was happening until it was over.
Leliel had invited herself to crawl inside Marion’s skull and search for the memories.
“Excuse me!” Marion said.
“Actually, we’ve come here for another reason,” Leliel said with a smile. In an instant, her tone went from remote to charming. “Yes, we hoped to find you here, daughter of Metaraon. We need someone to act as the speaker of the ethereal delegation at the summit, and we thought you’d serve that role well.”
Suzume set her goblet down a little too hard. “We do?”
“Our plea would be taken better from someone with as much prestige as Metaraon’s daughter,” Leliel said.
“Strange timing to make that offer, don’t you think?” Jibril asked, picking at a bowl of figs with distaste. He was disgusted by the lack of utensils and general hygiene at the sidhe dinner. “We’ve just learned that Ms. Garin is in the midst of some trouble.”
“All the better to offer our help, in exchange for her to help us.”
Konig leaned his chin on a fist. Excitement sparked in his eyes. “I like the sound of this. Go on.”
“The speaker for the ethereal delegation will sit down with the speakers for the other factions at the United Nations,” Leliel said. “If you joined us, then it would place you at the head of negotiations. You’re a fierce negotiator.”
“I am?” Marion asked, and then she coughed. “I mean, yes, I am.”
Leliel smiled pleasantly, as though she’d missed Marion’s faltering. “I’m currently planning to act as speaker, but I’m not very popular among the other factions. You would be able to get what we want. The angels have been unfairly confined to the Ethereal Levant—a region on Earth, not even an entire plane. We would be happier and safer in the Winter Court.”
Marion frowned. “Why are you unsafe in the Levant?”
“We’re constantly under infernal assault,” Suzume said with a snort. “Spoiled demons have all the Nether Worlds and still can’t leave us alone.”
“We spend so much time defending our walls against them that we don’t have time to focus on the other crises our race faces, such as repopulation,” Leliel said. “We would be safe in the Winter Court. We could thrive.”
“And what do I get if I act as your speaker?” Marion asked.
“Attention. Prestige. We’ll also assign bodyguards to protect you from attack,” Leliel said. That wasn’t much of a promise, since the bounty said she needed to be dead by the summit. It was less than two days away. They wouldn’t have to commit resources to her for long.
Then again, how difficult could it be to stand up for the angels’ cause at a couple of meetings?
Leliel twisted a delicate silver bracelet off her wrist. “This cuff has been enchanted for honesty. Each faction’s speaker has one like it. It’s a powerful thing, this artifact. It doesn’t merely prevent lying—it compels truth.”
“There’s a difference?” Marion asked.
“You should know,” Konig said. “You made them.”
Excitement thrilled through Marion as she looked at the bracelet with new eyes, trying to see the spells woven into the metal. “That’s my work?”
Leliel offered the bracelet to Marion. “Be our speaker. Help us get a home.”
Gods, but Marion wanted to take it.
“I’m the speaker for the Autumn Court, you know,” Konig said. “You made me one of those cuffs in gold.”
“That must look good against your skin,” Marion said.
“Of course it does.” He trailed his fingers atop her knuckles. “Imagine. Two factions in alliance.”
“Maybe something would get done for once,” Violet said with a chiming laugh. She stood and reached for her husband. “I want to dance. Dance with me, Rage.”
He rose from his seat, looking at Violet in a way that reminded Marion very much of Konig looking at her. Like she was the only thing in the world.
The leather trousers encasing Rage’s hips creaked as Violet guided him to the center of the courtyard. The tables were being pushed aside to clear room for dancing…as well as other things.
The orgy had begun while Marion was talking with the angels. The sidhe were stripping to allow their magic to emanate from their flesh in radiating lines of sensuality. They were kissing, bowing against fainting couches, allowing their legs and fingers to tangle together.
She had no interest in joining, but part of her brain watched with detached interest. Analyzing the way that they interacted. The collision of bodies sparked into magic that had cables reaching far beyond the Middle Worlds. Their minds were brilliant fireworks among the seamy night.
Soft fingers touched Marion’s jaw. “What are you thinking?” Konig asked.
She forced herself to focus on him, but it didn’t help all that much. He was as much a nexus for magic as the rest of the court who were sliding into sexual satisfaction. The sight of his coppery skin and symmetrical features tugged at some deep place within Marion.
“Nothing important.” She finished her goblet of wine. She thought that she had drunk it down to the dregs, but her goblet was brimming, and she drank it all down. Spicy warmth settled into her marrow.
“We need the Winter Court.” It was Leliel speaking now. Her bright eyes were intense on Marion’s, and it was very much like looking into a mirror though their bodies were superficially dissimilar. “The angels need a refuge.”
Marion’s mouth moved, alcohol slurring her words. “I understand. I’ll help.”
And Konig said, “Of course you will. Dance with me, princess.”
He took her hand, whirling her away from the table.
Marion didn’t feel it when she stepped down from the raised dais onto the floor. Sidhe writhed, dancing with their graceful arms raised, heads thrown back in ecstasy. They touched each other. Kissed each other.
And she joined them. She touched and kissed Konig, her boyfriend, her prince.
The invading angels watched. They judged her.
Marion absorbed this knowledge with pride. They wanted her to be their speaker—a representative of all other angels, though she was only half-blood, as much gaean as ethereal.
It didn’t matter if they judged her as long as they acknowledged her power.
13
It was late afternoon in Ransom Falls, and Nurse Charity Ballard was looking for an excuse to avoid working on an avalanche of paperwork, as usual. Charity brightened when a priest approached her station. Talking to an exorcist was the perfect diversion from bureaucracy. “What’s the verdict, Father?”
“That patient isn’t dealing with demonic possession.” Witold Rolfe flipped his necktie over his shoulder before bending over the forms that she handed him. “I can’t tell you more than that. My best guess is that you should order more Retrolycathol, though.”
“Thank you, Father. I’ve already made the order, but the OPA says they’re running low on supplies. I don’t know if or when we’ll get another shipment.”
He signed off on the waiver. “Then my second-best guess is that you should get in touch with the sanctuary and tell them they'll have another shifter in six moons.” The Office of Preternatural Affairs pin on his lapel caught the light, glinting in her eyes almost mockingly.
“I guess so.” Charity wasn’t looking forward to the additional paperwork required to refer patients to the sanctuary. She already had far too much.
Father Rolfe handed the completed waiver to her and checked his watch. “Hmm. Not really enough time for me to get down to Lake Wildwood at this point.”
“More patients to evaluate for demonic possession?”
“More than I’ve ever seen in one year this week alone,” Father Rolfe said.
Charity clutched the waiver. “That must be a bad sign.”
“Agents of chaos aren’t great at keeping regular schedules. I bet after this, I’ll se
e no demonic possessions for a month.” He leaned an elbow on the counter in front of the nurse’s station, tracing the fake marble lines printed across the plywood. “Are you off shift soon?”
She blinked, surprised. “No, I’m pulling double shifts right now. We’re understaffed.” That was unlikely to change any time soon, since both Luke and Oliver had vanished. “Why? Do you need help with something?”
Father Rolfe chuckled. “Not exactly. I thought you might be able to show me somewhere good to get dinner in a terrible little town like this one.”
Oh. He’s hitting on me.
Charity surveyed Father Rolfe with fresh eyes. He was one of the younger priests who worked for the OPA, ordained as part of their program to expand the reach of exorcists nationwide. At another time, she might have found the brush of dark-blond hair over his round face appealing, especially since she found chubby guys sexy. But Charity liked Ransom Falls even more, so his insults were deeply unattractive in a way that his cleft chin was not.
In any case, Charity would never date a man who worked for the Office of Preternatural Affairs.
She wasn’t going anywhere as long as she was dragging Ollie Machado’s spellbook around with her, either.
Charity eyed the duffel bag under her desk. It was the result of ransacking Ollie Machado's house—every occult item she'd been able to find in his house, including a spellbook. She hadn’t even known the guy was a witch.
Now she was carrying stuff stolen from a coworker’s house around, too paranoid to let it out of her sight until Luke retrieved it.
Father Rolfe leaned forward, as if to see what had Charity’s attention. She nudged the duffel bag under the desk with her toe. “I won’t be able to take you out, Father. I have too much work.”
“Raincheck,” he said.
Not a chance. “We’ll see. Drive safely.”
“G’night, Nurse Ballard.” He donned his trilby and headed down the hall, glancing one more time at the nurses station. Specifically, at the bottom of it, on the other side of which was the duffel bag. It was like he could feel the magic in there.
Father Rolfe, like many exorcists who worked for the OPA, was probably a magic user. Charity wasn’t. All the stuff she’d grabbed from Ollie’s house felt like paperweights to her. Creepy paperweights, though. Like made of animal bones and stuff.
Charity stifled a yawn. It was only six o’clock at night, but she’d been working since three in the morning, and she wasn’t going home until nine. She needed coffee, and there was already a pot waiting in the break room. She took her glasses off, stuffed them into the collar of her scrubs, and poured a big cup for herself.
By the time she returned to the nurses station, someone else was standing there.
Oliver Machado was on the other side of the counter.
Her heart skittered in her chest. “Ollie.” Charity swallowed hard. “Hey! Where have you been?”
“Around.” There were bags under his eyes even though he wasn’t the one who’d been working double shifts to make up for the disappearances of his coworkers.
“You missed two of your scheduled shifts. I’ve been worried about you.” When she walked up to the counter, she casually kicked the duffel bag further under her chair. It didn’t budge. There was nowhere left to go.
“I had an issue with Luke,” Oliver said. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard from him lately?”
She nearly choked on her coffee. “Nope. I haven’t.” It wasn’t a lie. She’d only heard from that friend of his, Brianna.
“Hmm.” Oliver was looking at her a little too hard. Charity occupied herself by scooping some papers together, stuffing them onto her clipboard. He must have been able to hear her heart, it was pounding so hard.
She’d stolen his stuff. He was going to know. And Ollie had always weirded her out. It was nice having a big, intimidating guy like him around for the difficult patients, or the preternatural ones, but she tried to avoid being alone with him at the best of times.
Alone with him while hiding a bag of his stolen belongings was not the best of times.
“Grab your coat, Charity,” Oliver said. “We’re going for a drive.”
She laughed nervously, sliding the thick-framed glasses up the bridge of her nose again. “I can’t go anywhere. I’m dealing with far too much at the hospital right now.”
He leaned on the counter. The posture was casual, but his tone was not. “You won’t be able to deal with one gods-damned thing at the hospital if you’re dead. I said we’re going for a drive.”
“Oh my gods,” she said.
He did know.
“Come on,” Oliver said, and his tone left no room for refusal.
Her whole body shook as she retrieved her jacket from the break room. She thought momentarily about running, but he was right behind her—holding the duffel bag.
He shoved it into her arms. “Let’s go, Charity. We’re going to see Dr. Flynn.”
* * *
There were multiple advantages to running across the informant in Port Angeles. The first, of course, was the information possessed by the servant who identified herself as Nori. The second was her ability to leap through ley lines, dragging Luke and his pickup to Ransom Falls without breaking a sweat. A twelve-hour drive was reduced to the twelve minutes it took to traverse the space between the ley line juncture to Mercy Hospital.
He parked outside the back of the hospital. He kept an eye on the surrounding trees as the sun drooped toward the horizon, watching for the telltale distortion of a sidhe’s presence.
“Marion isn’t popular among the court,” explained Nori, sitting beside Luke on the pickup’s rear bumper. “Nobody trusts her, and it’s not just because she’s an angel. She’s disrespectful to the king and queen and everyone else she meets.”
Luke had a hard time imagining sweet Marion, who had walked Elena Eiderman into death, being that kind of polarizing figure. “But she’s dating the prince.”
“Her unpopularity appeals to ErlKonig. You know how rebellious teenagers are, and a prince is no different. With a teenager in line for the throne, you end up with a boy who wants to rebel against the entirety of his people. It pleases him to defy us.”
“How would you know that?” Luke asked. “Are you close to Konig?”
“Close, as in physical proximity. He doesn’t pay much attention to his servants.” Nori wrung the hem of her shirt in both hands. “Marion does. She pays attention to everyone. She noticed me listening in on private conversations.”
“Did she punish you for eavesdropping?” That sort of behavior didn’t suit the Marion that Luke knew, but the Marion that Luke knew was also a woman who had only existed for a couple of days.
“The opposite. She recognized what I was, and she wanted me to report everything I heard to her.”
Luke studied her. “What are you? A spy?”
“Among other things.” She pulled a plastic case out of her back pocket. He didn’t understand what it was until she screwed the top off and he saw the clear fluid inside. Then she tipped her head back, removed purple contacts, and dropped them into the case. When she blinked at him again with watery eyes, he realized that her eyes were a pale, shocking shade of blue.
“You’re an angel,” he said. “An angel acting as a servant in the Autumn Court.”
“I’m Gray. I was fathered by Azazel before he got murdered in the New Eden Massacre. I never knew him, but I took a pilgrimage to the Ethereal Levant once I turned thirteen, and the angels accepted me.”
“They decided to use you to spy on the sidhe.”
“No, no. I’m just a delegate. The king and queen know what I am. We only keep it secret so that it doesn’t freak out the rest of the court. But Marion—she saw me, and she instantly knew that I was like her.” Nori smiled weakly. “In fact, we’re first cousins. When Marion asked me to report to her on the court’s secret meetings…it was an easy decision.”
“So you are a spy,” Luke said. “Just a spy for Marion
.”
“It casts me in a bad light,” Nori admitted.
“You could say that.” The sidhe were old-fashioned in their punitive ways. The Middle Worlds existed outside the mortal justice system. He’d heard that pissing off sidhe royalty could get favored limbs chopped off—or worse. Nori was talking treason.
Luke searched Nori’s pixie-like features for any sign of relation to Marion and found none. They were cousins only because all pureblooded, first generation angels had been born from Eve. Marion and Nori’s superficial similarities began and ended with the fact they were blue-eyed females.
“Anyway, Marion wanted to know what the king and queen have been doing, so I told her that they’re planning war. I’ve cleaned the insides of their private quarters. I’ve seen their maps, their coded letters. They’re rallying an army.”
That didn’t sound like the court that Luke had visited any more than this coercive Marion sounded like the woman he knew. Myrkheimr hadn’t looked like a castle preparing for war.
“I knew I had to tell Marion about the maps once I saw them.” Nori only seemed to be getting more nervous as the conversation continued. She kept glancing over her shoulder, up at the clouds, out at the trees that lined either side of the road. “I asked her to meet with me at Original Sin so we could discuss it, but our meeting somehow leaked and assassins set a trap. A werewolf and a demon.”
Now Nori had his attention. “They’re the ones who took her memory?”
She shook her head. “Marion dispatched them and told me to run. I shouldn’t have run—but I did. Before I got out of earshot, I heard her talking to someone other than the assassins. She said, ‘Mon dieu. Qu’est-ce que toi, tu fais ici?’” If the blue eyes hadn’t convinced Luke of Nori’s angel blood, the smooth transition between languages would have. Angels were masters of language. “Essentially, it means ‘My God, what are you doing here?’ The tone is sort of rude or incredulous.”
Whoever had jumped in on the assassins trying to trap Marion was someone that she’d known. Someone she was, presumably, very familiar with.