“They won't let you out?” I ask. Goosebumps raise on my skin, but more from the chilled air than her story. “That's how cults usually work, I hear.”
“Not that. . .I'm afraid that he's going to notice me if I stop showing up. That he'll try looking for me, and then find out I'm from the bog.” She chews her lip, wide eyes staring at the ground, before she says, “I'm afraid he'll want to use me for what he plans to do.”
Remy perks up. “And what, exactly, is he planning to do?”
“Well. . .” Annevieve looks to the side. “That.”
My head snaps up as the cold hits me from the front. In the distance, the world becomes white haze. A deeply chilled breeze snakes around the small exposed area of my midsection, sending a shiver through my body, all the way down to my fingernails and toe nails.
“Sweet baby Jesus. . .”
“It's the first of many,” Annevieve says. “He's taking advantage of the portal being open.”
“I have questions about that,” I say, my gaze lingering on the approaching blizzard, “but let's get out of here.”
“I got the truck while you were. . .away,” Remy says, looking at me like he's expecting praise.
I grind my teeth and then spit out, “You didn't do bad.”
His expression falls. I grab Annevieve and hurry across the parking lot, scoping for the vehicle. Remy is right behind us. My soles slip just enough to remind me that hell is, almost literally, about to freeze over.
The truck is parked nearby. I take the driver side—Remy hands me the keys—and the other two pile in. Before the doors are even closed, I back out the lot and head for the road, away from the approaching bad weather. I want to believe we can outrun it, but it's not just a fluke-ish, natural snow storm. This has been sent on purpose. By a fae. With an open portal.
“What's this about him taking advantage of the open portal?” I ask as I drive, headed nowhere in particular. Going home with my new merry band of fae seems like a bad idea. Not going home also seems like a bad idea.
Getting up this morning was a bad idea.
“The shadows opened the portal, and Franjo seems bent on making the most of it,” Annavieve says.
I glance at her in the back. She alternates between clinging to the door and the seat, like she expects the truck to suddenly flip over and dump us down a canyon. Instead, we're going about 45 mph down a relatively empty, flat street.
I scrunch my face. “I don't understand why the portals open.”
“They do so for a few reasons,” Annevieve says. “On the new moon when there's a changeling, when a witch is allowed to sustain it, or, it seems, if it's included in a curse.”
My brain reels so quickly on this information, I nearly run a red light. I slam on the brakes, jerking us forward, but I'm almost frozen in thought.
“But. . .But. . .How can that be?” I look at Remy. “You came here before disaster struck. Before the shadows came, and your brother went missing. Did you have a witch. . .sustain it, or whatever?”
“Eh, sort of.”
I turn to him. “Sort of? That's it? How does one sort of have a witch open a portal?”
“I didn't do any of it, actually. My buddy—”
A blaring horn cuts him off. I glare out the rear view mirror at the SUV behind me, roll down the window, and flip the bird.
I whip back around at Remy. “Continue.”
“Um, shouldn't you be driving?” He gestures at the road out the windshield. “Terrible weather coming, I hear.”
“Now is not the time to be a smart ass,” I practically growl. “How the hell did you get through the portal if it wasn't supposed to be open?”
His eyes focus on me for a quiet moment. “Are you serious? You think I—” He shakes his head. “Look, if I knew my brother was going to become the world champion at hide-and-seek while I was away, I would have never tagged along. I had nothing—”
“Tagged along? With who?”
“My buddy, Matteo.” Remy gestures out the windshield again. “Drive.”
The light has already rotated back around to red, but traffic is minimal, so I stomp the gas. “Start talking,” I snap.
“Matteo had some errand, and he offered for me to come along. Not like we got to cross through very often, so I said I'd go.” Remy lowers his voice. “I didn't help Franjo, if that's what you're thinking.”
Truth is, I don't even know what I'm thinking.
“It just seems odd that you happened to get a portal open right before the shadows showed up,” I say without any remorse for my accusations.
The damn fae.
“I didn't get the portal open,” he says. “Matteo did. Like I told you, Matteo had an errand to run.”
“What kind of errand?” I take a turn despite having no plan about where we're going. Just going to keep driving until all of this makes sense. Which might be forever.
“Didn't ask, wasn't my business. Matteo suggested while we were here, that if I could get some of your money, we could go do stuff,” Remy says, rubbing his fingers together.
“So you decided to hold up a convenience store?”
“Well. . .I wasn't really thinking about how much of a dick move that was,” he confesses like it's been weighing on him. “I was just thinking about how I'd get some of your type of money, and we could go party, and no one would ever catch us because we'd be going back home.”
“Do you just rob people in your own world? Or is that just a tourist thing?” I shoot him a glare.
“I wasn't even thinking about—” he begins.
Annevieve interrupts, “I don't think that's really pertinent right now!”
I shut my mouth, despising that she is correct and making a mental note to give Remy more shit about his behavior later—I glance out the back window at the approaching storm—if we make it that long.
“We need a plan,” I admit. “I don't really know where to begin with this.”
Remy chimes in, “We need to figure out what Franjo is up to, besides changing the weather, and how to stop him.”
“And tire chains,” I say, frowning. “And parkas.”
“Or we can go back and try to find Gwendolyn. She's going to have more answers, more ideas.” Remy continues to rub his hands together, and I flip on the heat in the car as the temperature outside continues to dive. My fingers are already turning pale, but that could be from my vice-like grip on the steering wheel.
“No, not her,” I say. “Where can we find Matteo?”
Remy scowls, looking at me.
“Well, he was the reason they opened the portal to begin with, so we need to know why.”
“It was just an errand,” Remy says, shaking his head. “They happen sometimes.”
“Rarely,” Annevieve scoffs.
“They didn't send him for milk and butter, I suppose.” I realize I'm going ten miles over the speed limit, but I accelerated to fifteen. We aren't going anywhere, but we will get there fast.
“I don't know what it was about!” Remy huffs and turns to the back seat to look at Annevieve. “Tell her it's not unheard of.”
“I think it's suspicious,” she says primly, winning a gold star from me. “Even witches can't open them for just any reason. We work almost exclusively with changelings. Definitely something you both should find out.”
“Wait, you're not coming with us?” I ask.
She scoffs.
“What if we need something frozen?” I try to make it a joke, but I'm dead serious. That is a handy skill, and one Remy is void of.
“Get a freezer,” she says evenly.
“We really could use your help,” I say, maybe pleading.
“No way I want Franjo to find out I know you two, not if you're planning to take him on.”
Way to embrace her inner coward.
I want to yell in frustration, but that's not going to convince her to stay. So I lay it all out on the table: “Is there anything I can do to make you change your mind?”
“Get rid of Franjo,” she says simply.
“Then we wouldn't need. . .” I groan out an irritated sigh. “Fine, I'll drop you off at a portal. Remy, where can we find Matteo?”
“Matteo only likes two things, so it should be relatively easy to pinpoint his location,” he says.
“And, pray tell, what are those two things?” I brace myself.
“Hookers and blow, of course.”
9
We pull up outside a small pale pink building with pink shingles. I must have driven by this place on multiple occasions, but never considered it to be anything more than a hole-in-the-wall taco shop. Turns out, it's a brothel, so I guess it is a taco shop, just a different kind. . .
I kill the ignition and then look at him, my hand still on the key. “Really?”
“Hey, I'm not the boss of him.”
I shake my head, pulling out the key, and then step out of the truck. Remy piles out and then comes around to my side and stands next to me.
The sparse windows are dim, and there are no signs of any kind.
“You sure this place is open?” I ask with hope that they closed up, so I won't have to go inside.
“Positive,” he says.
“You seem awfully confident in that.” I nudge his shoulder as I head for the door. “You must be very familiar with this place.”
He follows behind me. “I don't go here—I mean, I've been here—but not for that! I followed Matteo around when we first got here—ya know, through the portal, not here the. . .”
I halt at the door, glancing over my shoulder at him. “Are you nervous?”
An embarrassed grin cracks his face. “It's not a place I would normally take a woman.”
“You didn't take me here. We came together,” I say, trying not to laugh at his traumatized expression.
He seems to catch that I find the whole thing amusing, then mutters, “Whatever,” as he reaches past me to push open the door.
I enter first, and he joins me while I take in the front room. It's not a large space, but there's a curved fuchsia sofa, deep purple carpeting, and brass vintage lamps. The pale pink walls are covered in tacked up drawings of women by various artists: pinups, geishas, and even a few superheros in bikini-like outfits. On the floor, next to the couch, stands a tall eight-hose hookah.
A woman enters from a far doorway, wrapped in a sapphire-colored sari.
“Can I help you?” she asks in a sing-song voice. “Are you here for a bed?”
“That's one way to word it,” I mumble, and then pat Remy on the shoulder as if I'm tapping out of this exchange.
He steps forward, clearing his throat. “Yeah, uh, no. I mean, I'm looking for Matteo.”
Her face brightens. “Yes, of course. He is in a room right now. I will let him know he has guests. He had not mentioned he was waiting for anyone, and they already started.”
I try not to vomit on my shoes.
The woman glides down the hallway from where she came.
I turn, grabbing Remy by the shoulder of his jacket, and tug for him to lower so I can whisper in his ear. “I am not joining Matteo in anything. Got it?”
Remy chuckles, pulling away and adjusting his jacket. “What? Didn't you listen to the lady? He's already got a girl.”
I shudder and glare up at him. After a few minutes of stunned silence, the woman returns to the main room.
“He said he will see you now.” She steps aside and gestures down the hallway, smile firmly in place.
Remy and I exchange horrified looks.
“Uh, but you said he's with. . .” I glance down at the purple carpet and try not to feel like I'm on my first day at sea. “He's got. . .”
“They are taking a break,” she says kindly.
This is just a normal everyday conversation for her.
“Good to know,” Remy says, clutching my arm as we hurry past the woman and down the hallway furnished with framed photos of gorgeous gals in risque but impractical clothing and poses. Oops, she dropped a towel, how silly of her. And oops, all her clothes are dirty so she's baking muffins in stockings, heels, and a thong.
Remy comes to a halt at a door and knocks.
“How do we know which one?” I ask, scowling.
“It's always the same,” he says with a shrug, as a booming voice in the room tells us we can come in.
I eye the door suspiciously. “He has his own reserved. . .bed?”
Remy twists his mouth as if contemplating, too, how gross this situation is, then he shrugs again and opens the door. I bring my hand up, ready to shield my eyes, but then I lower it.
A corpulent man with streaming wispy wings is sitting on the edge of the dark blue stuffed mattress, overflowing to the floor. He has a silver standing tray in front of him that looks almost like Barbie furniture in comparison, and he's eating crackers and cheese from it.
Two women in sheer outfits sit on either side of him, nestled up close, and another woman sits on a fat pouf nearby. The walls are darker pink than the ones in the main room and hallway, and they display two enormous mirrors in painted frames. The other wall contains a large poster of a woman in stocking and garter belt, bent over for the camera.
“Ayo, Remy,” the man says as he stuffs a stack of crackers and cheese into his mouth, leaning over the tray as if it had any hope of catching all of the crumbs. “What can I do you for?”
“I just wanted to ask some questions, when you weren't busy,” Remy says, flat against the wall by the door, as if ready to run as soon as things get weird. . .Well, weirder.
“Anything for you, buddy.” Matteo shovels in another Leaning Tower of Crackers and Cheeses and gestures. “Come in, come in. Shut the door. The girls get cold easily.” He laughs at what I guess what supposed to be a joke and plops his free hand onto the thigh of one of the girls next to him.
He doesn't seem to care that I'm intruding, and I make a quick move to the empty pouf next to the other girl. It squishes ever so slightly as I sit on it. I try to assess what kind of danger I am in this room, but I'm not sure Matteo could even get up without assistance, and the girls are too under-dressed to be hiding weapons.
Remy sits on the third pouf, so close to me we're about joined at the hips, and seems to force himself into a relaxed pose. “Ember had some questions about the portals.”
Gee, thank for throwing me under the bus.
Matteo looks at me, mid-bite, for a long moment, then he continues to force the food in.
“What sort of questions about them portals?” he asks between chews, a puff of crumbs spraying out on the last word in a gross kind of emphasis.
“Who got you through the portal?” I ask, trying not to sound as revolted as I am feeling. “Before the curse started.”
“That witch, Gwendolyn. Who else?” He huffs a chuckle that turns into wheezing. “It was her idea, and nothing that witch won't do for the right price.”
“But I thought even the witches had to have a good reason to open the portal?” Remy asks, and I'm thankful for him chiming in, because I still don't remember half the rules in that forsaken place. “What errand were you running?”
“You're right, lad, it gotta be an important un', and it was. That why she chose me,” he says, scooting away the tray with a dramatically slow motion. He folds his hands on the bit of lap peeking from under his belly and leans forward.
“So, what was it?” Remy sounds vaguely impatient. Makes me proud.
Matteo looks between Remy and me, his Shar-Pei face more wrinkled than usual. “You gotta be shittin' me, lad.” He huffs and wheezes, though I think it's another attempt at laughing. “You mean, you didn't find her on purpose?”
I hate how he says words beginning with p, like he's expelling all the air from his lungs to say one syllable.
Remy looks at me with apparent expectation that I'm going to explain what Jabba the Hutt is referring to. I shrug, blanking my face in confusion.
Matteo leans back a little like it's letting pressure off his gu
t enough to really laugh. When he finishes, he wipes his thick hand across his lips. “Remy, lad, you always did run on luck.”
“You mean,” Remy says, lowering his voice, “you were looking for her?”
Matteo nods. “You gonna be rich, lad. You found the lost changeling.”
I stiffen harder than anything in this room probably ever has. “Excuse you?”
Something thuds the exterior wall. I snap around to stare it, but it doesn't happen again, so I return my focus on Matteo.
“You were s'posed to come back years ago, little lady, but I dunno what happened, just Gwendolyn, she say, Ayo, Matteo, wanna lucrative errand, and of course I'm not gonna turn down a lucrative errand.” He wipes his hands on the front of his shirt. “Didn't find you, but didn't look long, not when the shadows come right after. No way I'm going back through that portal. Keepin' my ass right here, and I'd suggest the same for you both.”
“But I'm not a. . .” I halt when I realize I can't figure out how to disagree, because I don't know what we're actually talking about. “What's a changeling?”
Remy turns to me a little. “The reality is a little different than the human myth. Every few years or so, we bring one of our babies to replace a human one. Then when they're adults, they come back to our world.”
“But why?” I ask, incredulous that this would even be a good idea, let alone if it had actually happened to me.
Still, that would explain why the portals were opened in my city. . .
“I don't know,” Remy says, sounding defeated. “Like the. . .wall. . .it's just something we do, always have. Or long enough to feel like always.”
“Well, I can't be one,” I say, resolute.
“Okay.” He leans back, facing Matteo again, then looks at me. “Wait. . .why can't you be one?”
“Because I'm not a fae!” I gesture wildly at him and Matteo and then at myself, clearly indicating I don't have wings, though Remy just looks more confused. “Wings, Remy!”
“They aren't going to show up til you return home,” Matteo says.
I reel around to him, leaning forward and speaking through gritted teeth. “If by home you mean the fae world—which is not my home, by the way—then I've already been there, and I don't. Have. Wings.”
Wicked Legends: A Dystopian Paranormal Romance and Urban Fantasy Collection Page 33