Cruel Enchantment

by Bast, Anya

  She forced a smile. “And I’m so glad you did.”

  “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

  “I may be human, but in my heart, I’m Phaendir. I live to serve.”

  Gideon smiled and she fought the urge to vomit on her hiking boots.

  She looked away from him, up at the hazy warding. Gideon thought she was human and a human wouldn’t be able to see the warding, so she motioned to the wall. “It’s immense and so . . . strong.” She made sure she glanced at Gideon with a shy smile as she said the last. “It’s a beautiful thing, this place the Phaendir have created to keep us safe.” She used the reverent tone of the Worshipful Observer that Gideon believed she was.

  Gideon came to stand near her and clasped his thin, pale hands in front of him. “Labrai wills it so.” He paused. “As He wills your entry into Piefferburg and your eventual success. You’re a woman with a strong, stable character. You’re destined to do well.”

  She wanted to laugh. A strong, stable character. Right. Her characters were so layered even she had trouble parsing them. She was a fae HFF member currently undercover as a human Worshipful Observer who was soon going undercover as a member of the Faemous TV show crew in order to mine information for the Phaendir while actually working a mission for the HFF.

  Yeah. Not confusing at all.

  It was an event that would ironically blow all her covers, bringing her back to what she really was. A free fae.

  As if she wasn’t already bewildered enough.

  Danu and all the gods, why was she going into Piefferburg of her own free will? She swallowed hard. The Blacksmith was in there. She had nightmares about coming face-to-face with him often enough to warrant a prescription for Xanax.

  And hell, she was seeking him out. He was the only one who could help the HFF at this point. How crazy was that? He wanted to kill her . . . maybe. Probably.

  Maybe.

  It had been so long—over three hundred and sixty years—since the night she’d killed Aileen Arabella Edmé McIlvernock. She didn’t even know if Aeric had survived Watt syndrome, though she hoped he had. If he hadn’t survived, and if there was no other fae who could forge a charmed iron key, they were all doomed. She knew Aeric’s father also had the talent, but he’d been one of the first fae to come down with Watt syndrome. At the time she’d left Ireland, he’d been very ill and not expected to live.

  She wasn’t sure about his father, but she felt it in her blood that Aeric O’Malley had survived. She could feel him in there, within the boundaries of Piefferburg. Almost as if he was waiting for her. She shivered. That couldn’t be possible, of course; it was only her vivid imagination.

  And he wasn’t the only one who might be thirsting for her blood. Once upon a time, when she’d been the Summer Queen’s greatest weapon in the Seelie war against the Unseelie, she’d burned some bridges. Many, many bridges. There were those in the Black Tower who would love to cross the charred ruins of those very bridges . . . to strangle her.

  Danu, she hoped her glamour was strong enough to fool the Blacksmith. If the illusion slipped, if he found out who she really was, her life was as good as gone. If any of the Unseelie found out who she was . . .

  Or if the Summer Queen found out . . .

  Or Lars, the Summer Queen’s barely leashed pit bull . . .

  Emmaline shuddered. Once she was in Piefferburg, she would have to go to the Rose Tower and check in as part of the Faemous film crew. From there she’d have to find a way to get over to the Black Tower to find Aeric.

  She shivered. The Rose. She wished she didn’t have to step foot in it. At least she could avoid the Summer Queen, who likely thought the Faemous crew beneath her notice. There was no way she was voluntarily going anywhere near the woman who’d screwed up her life so much and, via Lars, planted nightmares in her subconscious that put the ones she had about the Blacksmith to shame.

  Gods, why was she doing this again? Oh, right, because she was the only one who could. Damn it.

  “Emily? Are you nervous?”

  She blinked and glanced at Gideon, pulling herself back from the muck of her thoughts. For a moment, she groped for something plausible to respond with. “Well, a little. I’ve heard the stories about the goblins.” Humans were terrified of goblins, though as a fae she didn’t swallow the boogeyman tales. There were other races that were much more terrifying and, honestly, their religion was quite nice. “I saw the bodies of the Phaendir you sent in after the book—”

  He waved his hand, not wanting to take that conversational road. He’d sent Phaendir into Piefferburg last year to retrieve the Book of Bindings and the men had returned gnawed upon. “You’ll be fine. You’re going to the Seelie Court, to the Rose Tower. They’re much more hospitable to humans than the Unseelie. No goblins there, only the tamer breed of hobgoblin and a few brownies. They’re servants, mostly.”

  She smiled. “I know I’ll be fine. You would never let me come to harm, would you, Brother Gideon?”

  He smiled at her and she suppressed another shudder. There was lust in his eyes—a thing no woman wanted directed at her by him. “Never.”

  “Anyway, like I said, I’m ready to sacrifice my life for the cause of the Phaendir.”

  Gideon took her hands in his. His skin was papery feeling, dry. On his wrists, she could feel the start of the scars that marked his arms, chest, and back. Brother Gideon flagellated himself every day in the name of Labrai, though Emmaline had long suspected he enjoyed the floggings with his wicked cat-o’-nine tails. “But I am not willing to sacrifice your life, Emily. Not for anything.” He blinked watery brown eyes.

  “Oh, Gideon,” she said in a practiced, slightly breathy voice. “Your piousness is already so attractive and to know you actually care about me as a person is so . . . moving.” She didn’t melt against him or bat her eyelashes, but she did stare adoringly into his eyes.

  “Shh, I understand. I only hope that one day—”

  “Brother Gideon? Emily?” It was Archdirector Maddoc’s voice coming from behind them.

  Gideon gritted his teeth for a moment. His face—just for a heartbeat—made the transformation from medium to monster. Veins stood out in his forehead and neck. His skin went pale and his eyes bulged. He dropped her hands and moved away from her, his natural, unassuming visage back in place in a matter of seconds. Just the glimpse of Gideon’s true self was enough to leave Emmaline shaky, a reaction that luckily worked for this particular situation.

  The tension in the air between Gideon and Maddoc ratcheted upward. Power struggles within the structure of the group seemed to permeate all their interactions. Then, of course, there was the carefully orchestrated charade she’d been performing for Gideon to make things worse—making Gideon believe she was sleeping with his archenemy.

  As undercover HFF, it was her job to throw wrenches into the best of the Phaendir’s machines and she was good at her job.

  “Are you ready?” asked Brother Maddoc with a warm smile. Brother Maddoc was annoyingly likable, considering he was Phaendir. With him, you got what you saw on the surface. Trouble was, he hated the fae. Not as much as Gideon hated the fae, but enough to want to keep them imprisoned forever.

  Her smile flickered. “No.”

  Maddoc laughed and pulled her against him for a hug. “Don’t worry, you’re all set up. They’re expecting you at the Rose Tower as the newest addition to the Faemous crew. Just go in like you’re a real anchor and start snooping around for information about the bosca fadbh. I don’t think I need to impress upon you how important a job this is, Emily.”

  Except it wasn’t her real job.

  She knew all about the bosca fadbh, and what she needed concerning the valuable puzzle box would be found nowhere near the Seelie Court. The fae already had one piece of the box. The second piece, the one the HFF was trying to get, was halfway around the world, off the coast of Atlit, Israel. It just sucked that the only man capable of helping the HFF get that piece was stuck in Piefferburg.<
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  She laid her head on Maddoc’s shoulder, an action that made Gideon shuffle his feet and cough as he tried to conceal his irritation and jealousy. “I won’t let you down, Brother Maddoc.”

  “I know.” He smiled and kissed her temple. “Now go. They’re ready to let you in.”

  She turned toward the heavy wrought-iron gates that separated Piefferburg and most of the world’s fae from the fragile human world. The huge doors opened with a groan and all the heavy protocol that went with the admission of individuals began. On this side of the gate things were monitored by the Phaendir. On the other side of the gate, all deliveries or people passing through were carefully inspected by the fae and all arrivals reported to both towers.

  Of course neither side trusted the other. The fae exerted what little control they had by checking to make sure no Phaendir entered—some had tried; all had been brutally killed. The Phaendir, of course, would not allow any fae to leave. Humans could come and go at their own peril. Not many did. Only the very brave and the very stupid dared cross into the land of the fae.

  Or the very desperate. That would be her.

  Glancing back at Gideon and Maddoc and shooting them a look of uncertainty she didn’t have to feign, she stepped past the gates.

  Surely the Blacksmith wouldn’t recognize her under her powerful glamour. Surely she would be safe from his wrath. If she could fool all of the Phaendir, she could fool one fae. Even if somehow he did recognize her, hundreds of years had passed since that unfortunate day and her errand was of monumental importance to his people.

  Surely this would turn out all right.

  TWO

  THE scents of lavender and chamomile immediately enveloped her as the heavy gates behind her clanked shut. She held up her hands as two red caps approached her. They didn’t carry guns, but they didn’t need to. Built like two bald linebackers on steroids, they could snap her in two with minimal effort. Their heads were dyed a bright red, a constant reminder that they needed to kill periodically to survive. In Piefferburg they did that in a controlled setting, in games that echoed the days of gladiators.

  She was pretty sure she never wanted to attend.

  “My name is Emily Millhouse,” she said. “I’m here as an addition to the Faemous film crew in the Rose Tower.”

  She couldn’t exactly say, “Hey, y’all, my name is Emmaline Siobhan Keara Gallagher and I’m a three-hundred-and-eighty-year-old pure-blood Seelie Tuatha Dé with abilities in glamour so powerful that I can easily make you think I’m human. Oh, by the way, I’m on your side.”

  No, as far as these fae were concerned, she was going with the first of her covers. No sense in alarming twitchy magickal trigger fingers. She needed to make sure she could get back out of Piefferburg. The thought of being trapped here forever was enough to bring a touch of bile to the back of her throat.

  “Show your identity card,” ordered the one on her left with a heavy Scottish accent.

  Slowly, she pulled her pack from her shoulder and fished out her wallet from the front pouch. The red cap on her right took her pack and rifled through it, then he patted her down. Once they’d inspected her false I.D., they gave all her things back to her.

  As she arranged her wallet, one of the red-skulled power twins spoke. “From this point on, you’re on your own. Humans who enter Piefferburg take their safety into their own hands. Do you understand? Human law doesn’t apply in here.”

  She pulled her pack over her shoulders and nodded. “I understand.”

  “You sure you don’t want a car? It’s a long walk to the city.”

  “No, I told them I’d rather walk.”

  His lips drew back in a smile to reveal pointed teeth. It jarred her a little. Clearly she’d been with humans for too long. “Good luck.” He pointed down the dirt road that would lead her into the city. “Stay on the path until you hit Piefferburg City.”

  Follow the Yellow Brick Road. Man, she hoped there weren’t any flying monkeys.

  She nodded, hitched her pack higher on her shoulders, and took off. Time to get this show started. Her boots crunched on the dirt as she made her way in. It would be a good few miles, according to the map she’d looked at, before she reached the outskirts of the huge main city.

  It was early spring, but it was a warm morning. She would take this time to collect her thoughts and commune with this land that was closest to that of her homeland, Ireland, just from the fact it was occupied by her people.

  Piefferburg was a large territory, home to every type of fae imaginable. Sort of like a big, very deadly zoo. These were the Boundary Lands, where the wilding fae lived, the ones that preferred the forest glens, tree groves, freshwater lakes, and treetops. Mostly they kept to themselves, forming their own society apart from the rest. Like the goblins did. Also the water-dwelling fae—the selkies, Untunktahe, kelpie, sirens, and the rest—who mostly resided in the eastern part of Piefferburg, where the ocean met land.

  Not far from the gates of Piefferburg was the city. There she would find the Rose and Black Towers and the trooping fae, the work-a-day fae who lived all over Piefferburg, in both the city and the rural areas. The troop idolized the Seelie and the Unseelie for reasons she would never understand. The Seelie Tuatha Dé, especially, were like royalty.

  Having avoided the Great Sweep thanks to her ability to cloak her true nature so well, she really only knew these things academically. She’d left Ireland, and the fae world, when she was only twenty years old. Walking through these enchanted woods now, with the pollen dancing through the air, the shimmering lights of nearby wilding fae winking in the foliage, and the low hum and sing of magick in the air around her—it healed her soul. Sprae, the tiniest of her fae brethren, minuscule beings that provided magickal energy to the forest, flocked to her, lighting on her arms, hands, and face. It was like being welcomed home.

  Smiling, she took a deep breath of her environment into her lungs and held it there for a long moment. Her mission was critical, but she could take a moment to put aside her fears and relax here, among her kind.

  It had been too long. She barely remembered what it was to be fae—what she was under the layers of illusion she’d donned. It was good to be here. She didn’t regret a bit not ordering a car to come for her at the gates, even though the walk would not be doing her leg muscles any favors tomorrow morning.

  She blinked, glimpsing something down the road that didn’t fit with her natural surroundings. Someone striding through the dappled sunlight and pollen-laden air. A man. A large, muscular man walking with purpose toward her. He carried something in his hand, but she couldn’t quite make it out.

  Her pace slowing, she watched him approach, seeing something intangibly familiar in the way he moved and the broad set of his shoulders. Who was this man? What was he doing way out here? His posture and the way he strode toward her seemed vaguely threatening. Suddenly she wished for a weapon. She usually carried one—old habits died hard—but she hadn’t brought any into Piefferburg with her.

  He strode on heavy boots and wore black pants and a white poet’s shirt that would’ve made any other man but him look feminine. His long, dusky blond hair was pulled partway back at his nape, free tendrils moving around a face so heartbreakingly beautiful in a savage, brutal way it made her want to cry. Strong, clefted chin; full lips; dark brown eyes. His build peeked out at the collar of the poet’s shirt—strong and muscled from hard work—wide shoulders, narrow hips, the fabric of his pants clinging to the thighs of an athlete.

  Or of a blacksmith.

  The man’s identity slammed into her like a freight train, stealing all the rational thought in her head and transforming it into perfect shock. In some faraway part of her brain, she realized she’d halted on the road, bits of floating pollen and sprae caught in her hair, watching the vision approach her. The sight of him arrested her, made her remember him from so many hundreds of years before. He hadn’t changed.

  Neither had how he made her feel when she looked at him
.

  “I know you,” said Aeric Killian Riordan O’Malley. The words came out harsh, angry, lashed with raw power, just the same way his magnificent body moved. His voice was laced with the remnants of an Irish accent that years in Piefferburg hadn’t been able to wash away. “Emmaline Siobhan Keara Gallagher. The Summer Queen’s assassin. The woman with the crossbow.”

  Danger. There was danger here. He shouldn’t know her. Hell, he shouldn’t even be here.

  How did he know her? She was glamoured.

  Her feet twitched and she glanced at the forest near her. Her survival center—an exceptionally strong part of herself—screamed run. Suddenly she was a mouse to a lion, prey to predator. Her intellect won out and she tamped down the fight-or-flight response, lifting her face to him. Still, the need to lie—to cover her true identity in the face of his brutal wrath—was overwhelming. “I’m not who you think I am.”

  And that was true enough.

  He grabbed her by her collar and shook her like a dog. “I know you.”

  She yelped. “You don’t know me!”

  “I do.” He bared white teeth in a grimace. “I’ve been waiting for you. For hundreds of years, Emmaline Siobhan Keara Gallagher, I have been dreaming of the day you would reenter my life.” By saying her whole name he was reminding her of the power he held over her.

  She shook her head. “No, you don’t understand. Let me explain—”

  “Shut up!”

  Her gaze flicked down to his hand. The thing she couldn’t make out from a distance was a burlap bag.

  She knew what that was for. She’d used one just like it more than once.

  Her survival instincts finally cut through the shock. She brought the flat of her hand up, aiming for his nose. She got his chin instead, but it worked. Teeth knocking hard, he grunted and released her, turning away with his hand to his mouth. She was free.

  Pressing her advantage, she whirled on the ball of her foot and kicked up high, catching him in the jaw with her hiking boot. He staggered to the side and she set up for another kick, knowing there was no other way to deal with a man of this size. Fists just wouldn’t do it. Kicks and hits to tender parts of the anatomy just might.