A furrow creased the middle of her brow as she twisted around and stared at me. “God, freshie, you sound like a court sympathizer.”
“A what?”
She waved away my question and continued on. “Let me give you a word of advice—don’t get attached to the beasts and leeches. We’re on the top of the food chain for a reason.”
The disgusting slurs abolished any chance I had of making nice with her. Giving up, I twisted around to stare out the window instead, too furious to speak again.
Monica’s earlier text message had claimed the probability lines pointed to tonight being an ideal time for moving our charge to the next step, so I focused on that to pass the time. Sharon’s destiny pointed to a future of creating beauty with her music.
Not every charge grew up to be a doctor with the potential to cure cancer or a scientist who would discover intelligent life on some other planet. Artists like Sharon gave just as much to the world, touching people’s souls and hearts through paint or song. Those people were needed for the comfort they provided through entertainment.
Monica didn’t seem to understand that. She complained all the time about receiving a musician to look after. She’d have preferred someone who, in her eyes, was more important.
She passed her car keys off to the restaurant valet. Above us, perched on top of a street lamp, I noticed a big raven. Gabriel, possibly. From afar I wasn’t confident.
“Thanks to me, Sharon has this restaurant gig, but I think I can do better. So I’ve arranged for a music producer to drop by during her shift.”
More like she had her daddy pull some strings. I didn’t say anything, but considering I was the one who had gotten Sharon this job on top of helping her to pass her final exams, I was pretty sure Monica hadn’t done any actual work since.
“Music producer, check. Meaning we’re here to—”
“I have to make sure she does her best. Capiche?”
Capiche? Really? I snorted. Even the raven above us cocked his head and looked down. His brown eyes, lighter than the usual chocolate color I saw in birds, rolled as far as they would go in his head.
“Can’t you move out of sight, Fujimoto? You’re crowding us, and I don’t want bird crap on my dress.”
“Right,” the raven muttered before flying to a building instead, even though he’d been there first.
Sharon arrived when her mother dropped her off in front of the restaurant, clothed in a navy cocktail dress and matching shoes with kitten heels. No one would call her pretty until she smiled, and she never smiled until she was behind a piano. The rest of the time, she moved at a quick shuffle, afraid of the world and uncomfortable in her own skin.
Pitying Sharon for drawing the worst faerie godmother of the lot, I stepped forward to intercept her on the sidewalk. “That’s a really pretty dress.” She startled, stumbling, so I reached out and steadied her. “Sorry.”
“Oh, um, it’s okay. Surprised me a little.”
“Yeah, sorry, your dress caught my attention is all. Blue looks really good on you.”
A shy, uncertain smile lit Sharon’s face aglow with warmth and happiness. One compliment had changed her entire mood. “Thank you. Anyway, I should go or I’ll be late for work. Thanks.”
“Don’t let me keep you. Have a good night.”
Monica waited until Sharon was through the door before she grabbed my wrist and jerked me aside. “Listen up, newbie, I’m trying to be nice to you, but you need to keep your mouth shut. This is my final exam. Don’t screw this up for me.”
I glanced down at the hand on my arm while considering a “break bones first, ask questions later” approach to dealing with my mentor. Maybe there was an unspoken threat in my expression, because she released me in a hurry. “She looked nervous, so I complimented her dress.”
“Who told you it’s okay to talk to the charges?”
“Uh, no one told me it wasn’t okay to speak with the charges. It doesn’t say it in any of the guide books.”
“Forget what the guides say. We’re following my rules, and I run the show. Christ.” Monica fluffed her hair then checked her watch. “Time to go inside.”
Oblivious mortals walked up and down the sidewalk as Monica waved her hands to weave an advanced-level Rags-to-Riches glamour. Over the course of a few seconds, our clothing transformed from top to bottom, melting away my coat, hoodie, and then jeans in place of silky material. By the time the spell reached my feet, my winter socks had become black leggings, magic exchanging my snow boots for black heels. Contrasting my dull accessories and knee-length black dress, Monica resembled a model in Louboutin pumps. She held a Gucci purse in her hands and sparkled in a crimson blouse with a black pencil skirt.
“Why don’t we just go in through the Twilight and watch?”
“Because it’s dinner,” she replied. “Might as well enjoy a good meal while I work.” She adjusted her cleavage and strode inside as if she had a reservation.
She didn’t, but one touch of the host’s wrist and a little magic changed that. He seated us at a window table where we could watch Sharon. She’d already slid in front of the piano, her expression joyous as her agile fingers flew up and down the ivory keys. Her voice swept a chill down my spine, the words and melody reminiscent of a lounge singer in a 1920’s club.
Man, that girl could sing.
“Keep your order under twenty bucks.”
“Right. Soup for me then.” I ordered a fifteen-dollar bowl of lobster bisque and a water when the waiter came around. Limited savings and a modest allowance from my parents meant I would not order on my own dime.
Twenty didn’t go very far in a place like this, and apparently that budget was only for me, because Monica ordered steak, lobster, and wine. When the waiter asked to see her I.D., she wiggled her fingers and he walked away.
We couldn’t use magic to steal from mortals or hurt them, but we were totally allowed to use mischief to skip a line or pull off a little underage drinking.
I glanced outside to see Gabriel observing through the window. He’d perched on a car hood. His feathers had all fluffed up, and he stood on one foot with the other claw drawn against his downy stomach to conserve heat. He looked so cold I could have carved Monica’s heart out with a spoon.
Was I any better than her for letting it happen?
The moment I rose from my seat, the big producer finally arrived. He entered wearing shades, looking like a wealthy poser in an all-black suit without a tie. I settled again and watched the restaurant staff rush to fulfill his needs. They placed him at a private table for two near the piano.
Had he requested that? I wanted to ask Monica how much he knew about Sharon already, but she wasn’t likely to give me any information.
While my mentor focused on her fine dining, I studied the room. Sharon was between songs and taking a water break. A waiter refilled her glass and leaned in closer to whisper.
Change exploded through the girl’s aura like fireworks, sending a network of dark tendrils swirling through the burnished, golden-bronze we had coaxed out of her during the semester. When Sharon started a new song, her fingers faltered over the keys. None of the other diners seemed to notice, but her aura flared up again in a panic of ugly, muddy brown colors.
Since Monica was oblivious to anything that didn’t directly benefit her, I cleared my throat and gave a nod toward her charge.
“What? She’s doing fine,” Monica assured me. Her phone chirped twice, prompting her to pick it up.
“No, she isn’t. She’s full of anxiety now, and the rhythm is off. She’s going to choke in front of this guy,” I hissed across the table. Butting heads with an older fae hadn’t been part of the plan, but the alternative—letting Sharon fail—was no longer acceptable.
Monica’s irritable flick of the wrist created a calming breeze, like a fog of magical happy-juice and sedatives drifting in the air around Sharon. Then she returned to her text message. “What the hell does he mean he’s busy tonight?”
“Monica—”
“Can’t you see I’m doing something?” she snapped.
“But—”
“I am busy. They can wait.”
Fine. Whatever. But I wasn’t going to let poor Sharon get screwed over because the cosmic lotto gave her a selfish bitch for a godmother.
Monica didn’t react to my excuse about leaving the table to use the restroom. Once inside a stall, I let the shadows envelope and carry me to the metaphysical realm accessible to only fae and specific supernatural creatures. The Twilight.
I parted the curtain between the two realms, and then a few steps took me across the busy restaurant floor. The world beyond the windows shone in shades of purple, pink, and orange, a perpetual state of dusk no matter the hour in the mortal realm.
In the Twilight, Sharon’s spirit shone brighter than a jewel and her memories flickered across her form. I watched for a moment, picking up the information I needed to help her.
Placing both hands on her shoulders, I infused all the warmth and support she deserved from her real godmother. “You can do this,” I whispered in Sharon’s ear. “Think of your peaceful place, the sunny room where your grandfather taught you to play. Let the warm sunlight glow against your skin, smell the scent of his vanilla tobacco, and just play the way you did for him.”
Monica remained distracted by her phone, so I took advantage of the situation and whispered more kind words to her charge. I told Sharon she was witty and brave, so very smart, the joy of her family, and that she’d honored her deceased grandfather. I brushed aside a worry blemish staining her aura, like wiping rust from polished chrome.
Sharon’s spine straightened, and determination washed through her, sweeping aside the unease until only tranquility remained. With her grandfather on her mind—he’d died recently, only a few months ago—she forgot about the producer. She poured her soul into the music instead, and when her lips parted, the depth of each note resonated through the room.
The producer snapped his attention away from his date and stared.
Grinning, I melted back into the shadows and crossed the Veil to return to the mortal realm, emerging in the bathroom stall.
Despite the exhaustion of lingering in the Twilight for so long to encourage Sharon, an undeniable sense of accomplishment rushed through me, better than basking in warm sunlight on a spring afternoon. Pride too. Not in myself, but for the girl at the piano. She became a different woman then, radiating confidence.
Job done, I hung out by the producer’s table to eavesdrop. He looked enthralled, and I overheard him muttering something to his companion about finding the next Alicia Keys or Lady Gaga.
I returned to my seat as Monica stuffed her phone away. “See? Nothing to worry over. I told you she’d be fine.”
Honestly, I deserved a medal for not punching her.
The diners rewarded the song’s conclusion with a grand applause, clapping until Sharon rose from the bench and bowed. She excused herself afterward for a break, and the producer followed her.
“All done eating? We can go now.”
I wasn’t, but I didn’t want to stick around any longer. Monica “graciously” covered the bill.
On our way out, behind Monica’s back, I nudged Mr. Gordon with my magic, whispering for him to keep an eye out for his employee. Not to let anyone bully her into signing anything without a lawyer.
With that handled, I stepped outside and tapped Monica on the shoulder. “Can I have my clothes back please?”
“Fine whatever. You don’t have the boobs for that dress anyway.” When she waggled her fingers my way, my jeans, hoodie, and heavy coat returned in place of the dress. At least I was warm again.
“I do too have the boobs for it!” I finally snapped back at her. Just because I didn’t have a huge pair of tits like her didn’t mean I couldn’t fill out a dress. With a push-up bra, but that was beside the point.
The flutter of feathers preceded Gabriel appearing at her right side. As the evening dwindled and a mindless crowd of passersby drifted down the salted sidewalks, no one noticed a bird landing and taking the shape of a man.
His gaze lowered to my chest before flicking to Monica. “We need to go,” he said without preamble. “Something’s here.”
Ugh. He’d heard the tail end of our conversation.
Monica scoffed. “Are all you corvid folk so dramatic? Relax, it’s just how Chicago is. There’s all sorts of bad vibes around here and part of the history.”
“I don’t know, Monica, it’s his job to filter out stuff like that. I think we should listen to him.”
The older fae sighed and flagged down the valet who had taken her car. Except he was busy with another customer and we’d have to wait a couple minutes. I tried not to rub my arms or pace.
“We need to go,” Gabriel repeated. His head tilted up and his eyes focused on the darkening sky. A small hint of golden sun shone over a horizon interrupted by Chicago skyscrapers. In a minute or two, that’d be gone.
Without waiting, Gabriel grabbed Monica and me by our arms and forced us down the sidewalk like he was conducting a police escort.
Monica swatted him, to no effect. His grip remained iron around her bicep. “What the hell? Let go of me.”
“No,” Gabriel said with an edge to his voice. “There’s clouds rolling in, and the air smells like death. You know what the fuck that means, right?”
My mentor paled. For the first time since we arrived, something other than snobbiness and conceit colored Monica’s emotions. Like rinsing the paint from a canvas, she turned so white I was petrified without knowing why. “Nosferatu,” she whispered.
Fae were like a drug to the feral vampires, our blood liquid happiness and joy, cocaine made into a vital nutrient with the same addictive qualities. A nosferatu who had a sip of even a half-fae could become beautiful again for a short time.
Gabriel continued to talk as he led us along. “Look, we don’t have time to wait on your car. We can get to mine. Stay close to me.” He’d changed from a sullen onlooker to authoritative bodyguard.
“Okay. Um, let’s go then.” Monica pulled from his grasp and sped up, her BMW forgotten. Gabriel’s strong fingers squeezed my upper arm in reassurance along the way.
The closest I’d ever come to a nosferatu was that starving vamp back home, and he hadn’t turned completely. I didn’t want to imagine what a fully dark vampire looked like.
Monica hyperventilated, breaths coming in short gasps. “W-w-we won’t make it. They’re gonna kill us.”
Gabriel’s body tensed, a coiled spring ready to snap. “They’re not going to kill you. Not while I’m here. Calm down, and do exactly what I tell you.”
With tears streaming down her face, she whimpered and nodded like a meek kitten.
A few clueless humans lingered, though some had enough perception to determine something was “wrong.” The mortals able to sense the shift in the air walked faster. They shuffled with their heads down, clutched their purses tighter, and found excuses to leave the street. Traffic thinned, rush hour long over and the one-way street silent.
Heavy curls of white mist rolled in like something out of a horror movie. We weren’t far from Lake Michigan, but the unnatural weight of it chilled me. Goose bumps tingled across my arms and the back of my neck.
Something hard and heavy rammed into my side like a freight train, knocking me right out of Gabriel’s grip and down to the ground. Rough asphalt scraped against my palms, and Monica took off like a bat outta hell.
Yellowing teeth gnashed inches from my face. The stench of carrion washed over me, raw meat and rancid blood. Shrieking, I reached instinctively for my magic, and a burst of solar light flashed point-blank in my attacker’s pale face.
The vamp’s agonized shriek nearly popped my eardrums before she split apart into a swarm of bats and retreated.
Ignoring the pain, I jumped back up to my feet and turned to face my attacker, both arms up in the guard position Gabriel had
taught me. The vampire reformed several feet away.
Nosferatu were terrifying. Their once good looks had warped, like a horrifying veneer over what should have been something sexy. A few strands of scraggly blonde hair clung to her skull, and pale, bloodless lips pulled back from discolored teeth in a snarl.
“Skylar, catch!” Gabriel called. They had him surrounded, three other vamps who probably knew he was the true threat.
He fumbled something from his jacket and threw it toward me. Silver metal glinted in the yellow glow of the streetlamp as it flew through the air. I reached up, stretched my hands for it, and closed my fingers around warm metal.
He had given me a crucifix.
Dad had taken me to church a few times as a kid, but it was never a forced issue in my house. I had enough faith to believe something powerful was out there—something undefined and unclaimable. It seemed to be enough, at least, making my attacker shrink back with a hiss.
Around us, the streets had thinned, but they weren’t empty. Cars waiting to cross the intersection stalled, and a few people stared at us blankly from the sidewalk, but no one lifted a hand to help.
Bystander Syndrome was a natural consequence of magical use. When journalists and news stations reported horrible accidents where a grand number of people numbly stood by in observance, usually some form of arcane activity was involved.
Step by step, I backed my way toward Gabriel, keeping the crucifix between me and the female nosferatu. One of the three surrounding my sentinel turned toward me and charged, forcing me to turn and drive him off. The female whipped past me, taking a chunk of my hair with her.
“Pretty, pretty faerie. Give me some of your blood. Just a taste. Just one taste is enough. It won’t hurt.”
When she charged the next time, I twisted and thrust the crucifix out against her arm. Her skin sizzled and popped where the metal touched.
“I’m going to try something.” It was all the warning I gave Gabriel before summoning my magic in a sparkling corona of light around my fist.
All the colors of the rainbow shimmered and swirled up from my palm, expanding in a glowing nimbus. Larger than my go-to solar stun, the magic exploded outward in a blinding flash. I pushed back at the unnatural shadows and the fog, pouring all my energy and focus into the spell.
The Hidden Court: The Paranormal University Files: Skylar, Year 1 Page 15