by Zoe Parker
I hide a smile at the look on my dad’s face. He hesitates only a moment and then takes the child into his arms. My father is as charmed as I am.
“You seem to draw the oddest things to you, daughter,” he says after a moment, turning to talk to Cadey about what he wants to play after breakfast.
I have a feeling there is a deeper meaning to his words, but I’ll think on it later, and the answer will come.
Auryn and Adriem join me. The gray in her hair draws a quick gaze from me. The reasons for it still bothers me; it’s stuck in my brain and I can’t let it go. There’s got to be a way to fix it.
Gray hair is a completely unnatural state for one such as she.
“I do not know how anyone rides around in those things all day long,” Auryn says.
Still foggy from being lost in my thoughts, I frown what’s she talking about? Then my brain kicks in. Auryn is not a fan of cars. They went with Jameson, earlier in the morning, to the store to get clothing. We can’t have them walking around in stuff from two hundred years ago. That would draw even more unwanted attention. We’ve already got enough eyes on us.
“You guys want to join us for breakfast?” I ask, snagging a piece of bacon.
“Not this morning, my lady. We’re meeting Phobe at the lists. We are to learn how to use those metal gadgets,” Adriem says from his mother’s side.
Metal gadgets? Does he mean guns?
“The guns, I’m guessing?” He nods at my words. “You guys have fun. They aren’t so bad once you get used to them.” With that, they both bow and leave the room.
They really need to stop the bowing.
I sit at a table with the kids and my Dad and help dish out food. Conversation flows and so does laughter. Now is the time to enjoy these little moments of happiness, because I know that in the coming months—years—they will be the most precious memories.
The sound of giggles keeps the smile firmly on my face. I can worry about that after I have a nice breakfast with them.
Knox slides into the seat beside me. I glance down at his face as I shove more bacon in mine. The look on his face is solemn, and way more serious than I’m used to seeing.
“You doing okay, Knox? Everything going all right?” I ask.
He turns to look up at me, and for a split second I’m looking at a stranger. Then he smiles, and charms the bacon right out of my hand. That smile is one hundred percent Knox as he snags the piece I was going to eat with an indulgent smile from me.
Right this second, he looks happy as he munches on the bacon strip, with a spot of grease on his chin. But I still can’t shake the feeling something is off with him.
I follow his gaze to a child I don’t recognize. He’s blonde, slightly older than Knox and he has the flattest brown eyes I’ve ever seen on a kid. The scar that mars the left side of that baby face hits me in the gut. Half his face is a mass of scar tissue.
The horrors this child has seen.
My Magiks reach out to him, and I get the normal feedback. A shifter, one of the ones I took from Boobs. But nothing personal. This kid is locked down.
“Who’s that?” I whisper to Knox.
“My friend, Peter.” Without another word Knox climbs to his feet and runs to Peter, and with their heads close together they leave the room.
I think it’s sweet Knox made a friend. Is that why he’s been so weird? Have I been worrying over nothing? Frowning, I stare at the empty doorway.
No, my gut says there’s something going on there.
A sour note strums through the song of the Web and then a shout sounds across the hall. I jerk my head around just in time to see someone collapse. Shit. Shit. Shit.
Chapter Thirty-One
Iza
After Val’s collapse, which he seems to have mostly recovered from, the peace lasts for two blessed days. Val is recovering nicely, and although no one can figure out what happened, he doesn’t seem to be experiencing any side-effects.
So I put everyone to work.
The cosmetic stuff outside, I asked the Sidhe not to fix. This many people with nothing to do is not a good idea. And I like keeping busy. So now I’m up to my elbows in paint as we work on the fence surrounding the house. When a large limousine pulls past us to the front of the house with a beat-up looking multicolored van right behind it, I sigh. Right off the bat, I know who and what at least one set of my ‘guests’ are.
The limo holds more lingires, but they’re not alone. The van behind them is full of imps. I look over at Adriem, who looks at me with paint on his nose.
I sense a headache coming on.
At least some of them are nobility. I’ve got a bad track record with nobility so far. Resigned, I put my paintbrush in the brush can. The temptation to send someone else to deal with it is strong, but my gut tells me it’s something I must do myself.
My gut had never failed me, so there’s no point in ignoring it.
For half a second I’m concerned with my appearance. My hair is wrapped in a bandanna for protection. It doesn’t like the paint at all. The bandanna is black with crossbones on it. I love it. My hair gives me an excuse to wear it. I’m wearing a pair of too-big jean bibs and a T-shirt of some local band, topped off with a pair of black chucks.
I look fabulous for painting. Not so much for meeting new people.
Why the hell am I worrying about my clothes? Christ, I need to pull my head out of my ass. It isn’t my clothing that needs to make an impression, it’s me.
‘Oh, you will make an impression, Iza.’ I roll my eyes at Phobe’s words.
He thinks he’s a comedian lately.
“Oh well,” I mumble, heading inside. My little group of fence painters was overlooked by the newcomers.
Pausing in the doorway, I turn back to look at Phobe, who’s wearing a plain black t-shirt and a pair of those incredible jeans that hug him in all the right places. He stops beside me, his bare feet silent as always. Looking down at the paint covering me and then looking pointedly at his spotless clothes, I make a face.
The bastard was painting just like everyone else. How the hell does he always manage to remain clean?
“Showoff.” I stick my tongue out at him.
The sound of raised voices can be heard outside over the sounds of saws and hammers. Not good. I pick up my step.
What meets my arrival inside is a screaming woman wearing some old dress with peacock feathers sticking out of an incredibly ugly hat, her face an inch from Jameson’s. Poor Jameson looks like he wants to strangle her.
Behind her stands a younger version of the screaming woman and several armored men. Off to the other side of the room are some very dirty, poorly dressed imps. Why are they hunkering down in fear while the obnoxious woman is not?
I’ll find out, as soon as I dealt with this mess—a mess that better not be a repeat of the Montgomery fiasco.
“I will not live in the same place as those despicable creatures. They are filthy! Nobility does not house with the peasants!”
I stand there a minute. What’s with the I’m better than you bullshit? It’s getting on my nerves.
“Enough!” My voice cuts through the argument, silencing the room.
Everyone turns to look at me. The woman’s eyes rake me from head to toe, turning speculative. This one is ignoring her gut instincts. She really shouldn’t. I find her thread easily. Snotty she may be, but she’s loyal. This makes everything more difficult.
“I demand to see the Lady about this atrocity.” She uses a voice that I imagine is quite effective on servants.
Gently, I strum the thread connecting me to Florenta, the widow of one Hieran De Salve who was executed with the former dark king.
The shock on her face is something I can’t help but smirk at.
“You’re looking at her, Florenta. How may I be of service?”
Several chairs appear for the weary ones to sit. It doesn’t escape my notice that only the ones with Florenta sit. The tired ones remain standing there, star
ing at me.
“You’re the Lady?”
I fight the urge to reach over and shut her gaping mouth. Is it that big of a shock? I shrug. “Yep, that’s why I said I was.”
Someone snorts in amusement. The throne poofs into existence beside me, I’ve been on my feet all day; it won’t hurt for me to sit down for a few.
When I sit, then the poor-looking imps do. So that’s the trick with that. Refreshments for the guests would be—they poof into existence. The goblins are busy at work. They like being busy again, as I can see in the polished look of things around the Sidhe. Now and then you can hear whistling echoing through the halls. I can feel their contentment.
“But you’re dressed like a peasant, covered in paint.” Florenta comments in disbelief.
At least she shut her mouth.
“And you’re wearing a dead bird on your head. I think it makes us even.” I’m not one to mince words, and I’m horrible at the ‘eloquent’ speeches I’ve seen on TV.
“Why, I never!” she sputters out.
“I suggest you get used to it. I do it all the time.” I turn to study the group accompanying her.
Using my inner sight and my outer sight, I carefully take in their reactions to me. Some hold amusement, some the same look as Florenta, some hold assessment. One of them holds the clear as day look of hope.
“So what’s the problem? I was busy.”
Florenta squares her shoulders. Oh god, here it comes. I ready myself to hear something I’m not going to like.
Be calm. Be calm. Be calm.
“This steward informed me that I have to reside in the same wing as the peasants,” she finally says.
I raise an eyebrow. Peasants? I can’t believe they how often they use that word. Hell, add a letter, and it’s a bird.
Like her hat, ha.
“Well, Jameson has the right of it. All will share the wings assigned. We have many to accommodate and the Sidhe will shape around your particular needs in your set of rooms.” The woman hasn’t considered that, has she? Snotty old biddy. I’ll take care of this quickly.
“But they will be given the same status as I. My family is—"
I interrupt her. “Times have changed, Florenta. There are not very many of us left. Over the last few centuries, we’ve been brought almost to the point of extinction, yet you’re complaining about rooms.”
I watch the guardsman next to Florenta looking at the gold and silver lining the walls in front of him. He’s not interested in who I am because he’s too busy imagining the money from selling the valuables.
I almost feel sorry for him. He’s another of those Feyrie who doesn’t carry any loyalty for our kind in his heart. He carries only the want of more money. The brief satisfaction having a full pocket gets you.
Speaking of pockets. “It won’t fit in your pocket. Shame you didn’t bring a bag in with you. It might fit in there,” I say dryly.
His eyes jerk up at my words, his hand going to the hilt of his sword.
“If you pull that weapon you’ll die,” I warn.
The man looks around him, seeing no one protecting me. He smirks. I’m in the Sidhe. I’m never alone here.
‘I must do this myself,’ I say quietly in my mind to Phobe, the unseen presence in the shadows to my right.
“Who will kill him?” another of the guardsmen asks.
So, two out of fifteen, that’s not so bad. The only ones left out of Montgomery’s group are Ducard and the gorgons. Briefly, I glance at Florenta’s face. She’s now watching me with a bit of caution. She felt my flare of power on the Web.
The first one pulls the weapon from its sheath.
The thing about stupid people is, they can never see past themselves. He’s in the Sidhe, for fuck’s sake—does he think he can kill me and take off with the silverware? I don’t understand how stupid people survive in the world.
“She must be an imposter, my lady,” he says more to justify his actions than he cares whether or not I am.
He’s also under the impression that everyone else in the room is as greedy as him and his peanut gallery. He takes one step, and I move.
The sword that Auryn gifted me with materializes in my hand. It slides easily through his neck, splattering blood all over poor Florenta’s ugly dress. I turn to look at her, knowing my eyes are midnight black.
“Like I said—" I swing around before Florenta can even blink and punch the second one in the face, hard. He falls sideways, his sword clattering loudly to the ground. “—Times have changed. You are loyal to your people, Florenta. I respect that, but you will obey the rules we have, understand?”
Florenta nods her blood-spattered face. But it isn’t disgust in her eyes. There is fear mingled with respect.
My sword vanishes with dark smoke up my arm.
Florenta drops down into a full curtsy. “My apologies my lady, for bringing vermin such as them into your home, and disrespecting you in such a fashion.” She's being truthful, I’d feel a lie from her.
I pluck the damp towel out of thin air and remove the blood from my hands and right arm. Then the towel vanishes again, along with the dead man.
My Fiends are hungry.
They aren’t the only ones. The still-breathing guard slides into a particular kind of darkness that I haven’t seen in a while.
Phobe.
“Now, once you and the rest of the nobility get over yourselves, we’ll get along just fine. Until then, I imagine most of you will be pissed off about one thing or another. But this isn’t an acceptable way to be to each other. Not while I’m here.” I stare pointedly into each face with equal measure.
“Those peasants, as you put it so nicely, are the lifeblood of our people. They’re willing to do the things that need to be done without complaint. If you respected them more, you might have discovered that before.” I stare at Florenta pointedly. “Now, I expect all of you to eat, rest, and then get your paintbrushes. There is work to be done.”
Work I feel everyone should pitch in on.
With that said, I leave the front room, heading back outside to finish the top posts on the side fence. A fence that has grown since I went inside.
The Sidhe senses the need for people to be busy.
Luckily for everyone, my Dad and Jameson convinced me that we need to fit in. I was already picking out neon pink paint. Well, after some grumbling they convinced me to use white paint for the fence.
How very normal looking it is. Unless I look deeper. And that’s when I see the different kinds of Feyrie walking around on eight legs or flapping by on clear-membraned wings. The large blue trees that move and sway to the Sidhe’s music, some of which are alive in a more Magikal sense.
And when I look inside of the Sidhe, no castle in the world can compare to it.
But to anyone non-Magikal or anyone it doesn’t want to see, it will look like any normal house. Only to the Magikals does it look like its name, the Dark Sidhe.
A chord of warning. It’s going to be a long month.
‘Iza.’ At my name, spoken with caution, I stop to look at Phobe, but he’s gone.
Shit, while I was lost in la la land, I missed something.
‘Full Glamour.’
Those words, whispering through my mind, bring my glamour fully active. Someone is standing behind me. I sigh again. I want to get the freaking fence painted. Turning, I throw on my poker face.
Before me stands someone connected to the Web faintly, but still connected. He’s a decent-sized guy, not tall like Phobe but big like a linebacker. He’s attractive, but not my type. I cock my head to the side, paying attention to my other senses.
No Magiks, other than what they call the ‘physical’ kind. He’s a few steps, genetically, below a Feyrie. So, a shifter but not as watered down as some of the others I’ve come across.
There are hundreds of different species of them on the planet, all half-breeds from one type of Feyrie or another. This one is some kind of canine. I can smell it, but can’t qui
te put my finger on it yet.
Shifters are strong, fast, and capable of doing some pretty heavy damage in a short amount of time. Jameson’s still gathering information on the power structure of the ones here in this realm.
I need to know who is who and where.
I ignore his three buddies hidden ten feet away in the shadows of the tall oak trees that surround the property. The ground is already coated with one layer of dusty-colored leaves.
I’d rather they not make it worse with blood and guts and such.
“Can I help you?” I ask, breaking the silence and his intent study of me.
His eyes flash green then back to a dark shade of brown.
“We have been summoned here.” His voice is deep, accented with an unfamiliar slow drawl. “Our Alpha has asked me to inform you of his arrival.”
Okay, so why send men ahead? Wouldn’t it be easier to just show up with the lot of them?
“Let me ask you something, dude.” I pause for effect, mainly to gauge his reaction. I’m betting he’s hyena or possibly a wolf. “Why didn’t he come himself, instead of sending a puppy to inform us?”
“We don’t know your Feyrie master's customs well, nor do we trust them. All we know is that we heard a call that some of us could not resist.”
So obviously my glamour works well. He thinks I’m human.
“Where is this Alpha right now?” my curiosity makes me ask. I’ve never met an Alpha before. I know he’s the head honcho in of a pack, in the shifter world.
I wonder if these shifters realize that standing just behind the ones hiding are some of their forefathers. Auryn and Adriem are completely hidden from their view, waiting for them to do something threatening to me.
“He is across town in a hotel because the trip was tiring,” the shifter explains.
Eh? He doesn’t expect me to believe that bullshit, does he? He hands me a plain white business card that I tuck in my front pocket without reading it. His Alpha is connected to me with the same degree as the shifter standing in front of me.
Barely a whisper. For now.
The connections are weird like that with shifters. I have to awaken their Marks. Initially, they’re not nearly as strong as the other Feyrie. Even the shifters in the shadows are dormant—although not all the shifters are really what they’re claiming to be. But I’ll deal with those when I get to them.