And I had a feeling the Fae Queen wasn’t looking for sympathy.
“What do you know about your mother?” The Winter Queen asked.
“Me ma?” I asked. “Why would ye want to know about her?”
The Winter Queen pointed at my wrist, where a single silver crow still dangled. “She tried to protect you, you know. From killing my son. From dooming us all. That was meant to be a second chance, a chance to work with us, to prevent what’s coming.”
“That wasn’t me ma,” I said. “Me ma is dead.” It hurt to say, but it felt good to shut down the Queen before she could spout any more nonsense.
The Winter Queen snorted. “Have it your way. But that doesn’t change things. She would have wanted you to join us.”
“Join ye?” I asked, my jaw hanging open. “Ye mean join up with the ones killin’ innocent people?” I accused. “No t’anks.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Would you deny us the right to defend ourselves?” She approached, practically gliding across the floor, the block of ice in her hand dribbling water onto the ground as she held it out to me. “Balor is coming. We took his eye, long ago, as a prize. The eye that slayed Nuada.” The Winter Queen spun the block, and the dark mass took on a new shape. A floating orb. An eye, with tendrils trailing behind it like the limbs of a squid.
“That’s disgustin’,” I said, cringing.
“He is coming for it. For us. He and his kind will wipe out your world. They will take it by storm, searching for a way in. A way to come here and subjugate our people once again.”
“Here?” I asked, cocking an eyebrow.
“Fae,” she said, waving her hand at the throne room as though that were obvious.
“This is Fae?” I asked, floored. The Winter Queen snorted and snapped her fingers. Suddenly, the gloomy throne room became something else entirely. I twirled in a slow circle, studying the walls, the floors, the ceiling. She was telling the truth; we weren’t in my world. Not anymore. In my world, stone didn’t curl in on itself, like smoke, roiling beneath your feet so slowly you couldn’t even tell it was happening until you looked down at it. In my world, you might find bats hanging from the ceiling of a cave, but never fish—the same fish swarming in the throne—swimming high above your head, their scales strobing to light the room.
This was Fae.
“You have sought us out your whole life,” the Queen said, sliding up behind me, no longer old and tired, but young and stunning, “whether you knew it or not. You wanted answers. Answers we can give you. Release the last of your mother’s magic, and you can become who you were meant to be.”
I frowned and glanced back at the Winter Queen. She looked eager, anticipatory, her eyes locked on the bracelet around my wrist. I held it up to the light, studying the dainty charm hanging from it. Such a tiny, insignificant thing.
Would it be so bad? To be free? To find out what I was truly capable of? I felt something stir inside me. Something fierce and proud and…angry. Why not take her offer? It was true, I wanted answers. I deserved answers. I’d been through so much—and why? Why suffer and struggle when I had the power to stop it? And it was there. I knew it was. I could feel it, pressing against the bars of the cage, aching to get out and stretch.
“All that power…” the Queen whispered. “Yours…”
She was right. But it wasn’t just about the power; I wanted to belong. To have a family I could call my own. To know my place in the world. Uncaged, I could carve out that place for myself. No more pining after a father I’d never known. No more mourning a mother who’d left too soon.
I could forge my own family.
All I had to do was say yes.
Before I could speak, I felt a weight settle in the center of my closed fist. I unfurled my fingers, holding it out. A stone sat in the center of my palm.
A white stone.
“What’s that?” The Queen hissed.
“A gift,” I said, although even remembering that much was a struggle. Why couldn’t I remember? I shook my head in an attempt to clear my thoughts. “A gift,” I repeated, “from a man who knows how hard it is to find your way home.”
The Winter Queen scoffed. “Cast it aside. You are home.”
That didn’t sound right. This wasn’t home…was it? I concentrated on the question, on what home actually meant, my brow furrowed. I closed my eyes, blocking out the wondrous sights of Fae, and pictured Dez, younger, plopping me down on the couch beside her to watch our first of many movies. Christoff, behind the bar, counting the drawers and humming a Russian tune. Othello with her tongue sticking out as she typed, her fingers flying across the keyboard. Paul passed out under a table, snoring. More images flashed. More memories.
I smiled and opened my eyes. The throne room was dark again. The Winter Queen, her skin hanging on her frame, mouth turned down in a wrinkled face, glared up at me. I cocked my head. “Ye planned to use me like ye did your son from the start, didn’t ye?” I asked.
Her face, filled with hate and malice, gave me my answer.
I clutched the white stone to my breast and whispered the only word—the only thing—that mattered more to me than my long-awaited trip to Fae.
Home.
Chapter 38
Sadly, it seemed the stone had different ideas.
Apparently, home was a loose concept. Turns out the stone hadn’t been attuned to my home, but its owners. Which is how I ended up in Hansel’s lap, his poor desk chair groaning from the strain of holding up our combined weight. He coughed, clearing his throat.
“Ms. MacKenna, not to inconvenience you, but could you get off me?”
I narrowed my eyes and rose, working my way around the edge of his desk. “Was this your plan all along, ye nasty old man? Have ye just been sittin’ here, waitin’ for me to use this t’ing?” I tossed him the stone, which had darkened considerably.
Hansel arced an eyebrow as he snatched the stone from the air. “I’ll admit, I hadn’t expected you to need it so soon.” He looked me up and down, frowning at what he saw—a frazzled, battered mess, I imagined. “Busy day?” he asked.
“Just got the recruitment pitch from the Winter Queen,” I said, adjusting the strap of my dress and brushing off the grime, ignoring the copious bruises. I didn’t even bother fussing with my hair. “Christ, I hate dresses,” I said, eyeing the racy amount of leg I’d exposed to move around freely while fighting Jack.
“Oh, that reminds me,” Hansel said, snatching a parcel off the side of his desk. “I believe you left these. I’d planned on sending them, but recalled you don’t care for our method of delivery.” He passed me the parcel.
I hefted it, gauging, then tore it open. “Me clothes!” I squealed.
“I thought you might appreciate having them back,” Hansel said, leaning back in his chair.
I briefly considered changing right then and there but decided—no matter how much I despised the idea of wearing the dress Jack had picked out for me—I needed a shower before I bothered. A very hot shower. Followed by a hot bath. And a long nap.
Hansel pointed to a chair opposite him. “Please, have a seat. You mentioned the Winter Queen?”
“Aye,” I replied, settling in. Now that I was back in the mortal realm, I felt the residual effects of my brief stay in Fae wearing off; my mind clearing, like a hangover in reverse. “She gave me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”
“And yet…” Hansel waved a hand, indicating our surroundings.
“Aye, but I t’ink ye had a role in that,” I ventured.
Hansel snorted. “I gave you the stone yesterday. Surely you don’t think I knew you’d need it so soon.”
We studied each other.
“I t’ink you’ve been more involved in t’ings than ye let on,” I said, finally.
“I’m afraid,” Hansel began, “I don’t make it a habit of discussing private conversations I’ve had with clients. Confidentiality is part of my—"
“Frost is dead,” I said.
Hans
el’s jaw snapped shut. He scowled. “How?”
“I shot him in the face. Other places, too,” I admitted. “But the headshot… that, yeah, I’d bet that was the final snowflake that brought the mountain down.”
Hansel’s eyes widened.
“So, I may need a lawyer,” I continued. “Know any?”
Hansel cursed in German, then steepled his fingers. “I was hoping it wouldn’t come to that.”
“When ye sent Hawteye to find me, ye mean?” I asked.
“Hawteye?” Hansel asked.
“The Fae with the bow. Flamin’ eyes.”
“The Huntress. Yes, I reached out to her,” he replied, confirming my suspicion. “She’s been advocating for you for some time, you know.”
I frowned, wondering how that was possible. I’d never even met the Faeling before today, and I’d only met Othello a couple months back. “Why would she do that?” I asked.
Hansel shrugged. “That, you’d have to ask her. But around here, her word carries weight. She could assume the role and responsibilities of an Adjudicator, if she so chose. I’ve tried to get her to accept the position, if only to solve disputes between Morgause and Sir Bred…but she refused.”
So, Hawteye was actually a Faeling named the Huntress—and a badass to boot. A badass who’d vouched for me, for some reason...I’d have to follow up on that, at some point.
“So, when did ye suspect Jack was the one murderin’ Regulars? Or did he tell ye outright?” I asked, switching gears so quickly I caught Hansel by surprise; his face told me everything I needed to know. I wasn’t sure when it had hit me—probably the moment my mental fog had lifted, once I’d realized the stone had been purposefully programmed to bring me here, to Hansel’s office, and not to my own apartment—but it hadn’t taken me long after that to see Hansel’s hand in everything that had happened, lately. The stone. Him tipping off the Huntress. Sending Robin to Christoff’s house to intercept me.
Which meant there was someone else I needed to talk to.
“Dobby!” I yelled. “Come out, ye wee mongrel.”
“I’m right here, my lady,” Dobby said, slipping off his ring. He stood behind Hansel, resting against a bookshelf. “I hope you’ll forgive me,” he said.
“No, the blame is mine,” Hansel interjected. “When I discovered you were acquainted with this unregistered Brownie, I took the liberty of asking for his help in exchange for clemency.”
I frowned at Dobby. A Brownie? The spriggan held a finger to his lips and winked, which was probably the most off-putting thing I’d seen today—and I’d seen some messed up shit in the last twenty-four hours. But at least I knew now why Dobby had sought me out and sent me after Christoff. I considered outing him to Hansel, out of spite, but the older German man spoke before I could decide one way or the other.
“Robin works for me, as I’m sure you’ve already surmised,” Hansel explained. “I’ll admit, the Huntress was quite…upset with me, for involving you. But it seemed the best option at the time. I needed answers and hoped the bar owner would be more forthright with you than he had been with us.”
“Why didn’t ye simply tell me where he was, then?” I asked.
“I had intended to, once you’d gotten a taste of how things work here. But when you confessed you were looking for a killer, things…changed. I realized you might be able to solve two of our problems.”
“That’s why ye gave me the stone,” I said, hazarding another guess. “Ye knew I’d get meself in trouble.”
Hansel smirked. “I suspected. Although, to be fair, I never imagined you’d have to use it to skip out on an audience with the Winter Queen. She isn’t one to be trifled with.”
“She isn’t the only one,” I growled, glaring at the man. He’d used me. Granted, he’d tried to help me, too, by sending the Huntress to save me and giving me the stone…but that didn’t change the fact that he’d been manipulating me from behind the scenes for days now. “So,” I said, glancing up at the books above Hansel’s head, “what now? D’ye put me on trial? Or is it lawyer’s choice?”
“Jack’s death, you mean?” Hansel asked.
I nodded. “I knew when I pulled the trigger I’d be comin’ to see ye, one way or the other.”
“Yes, well, this is typically more my sister’s area of expertise. But, seeing as how you were working as an agent of the Chancery at the time, I don’t see why you’d be liable for his death.” Hansel eyed me, meaningfully.
I cocked an eyebrow. “Ye sure ye want to do that?” I asked.
Hansel spread his hands out as if laying his cards on the table. “You were an unwitting participant, but you managed to chase away outsiders who were a threat to this city, and you put an end to one of our number who would have exposed us to the outside world. The Chancery owes you a favor. And if there’s one thing the Fae do—”
“It’s return the favor, aye,” I finished, for him.
“Which leaves me with this,” Hansel said, opening a drawer. He rummaged for a moment and pulled out a squat metal disc, the size of a hockey puck. “Robin recovered it from the wreckage of the car, which we subsequently made disappear. He said it would be important to you.”
I took the Gateway grenade—which is all I could think to call it—and cradled it in my hands. “D’ye know what it is?” I asked.
Hansel shook his head. “No, although I’m sorry for your loss. I heard the bar owner and one of the FBI were caught in the crossfire.”
“They aren’t dead,” I said.
Hansel looked dubious but said nothing.
“Will ye do me another favor?” I asked, not considering his definition of the word favor until I’d already spoken.
“That depends,” Hansel replied, sliding the drawer shut.
“If ye hear anythin’ about Christoff or the FBI Agent, call me. Hell, send me one of your letters, I don’t care. Just make sure ye get word to me as soon as possible. I intend to find ‘em.”
“Christoff is still a citizen of this city, and under our protection. If he’s still alive,” Hansel held up a hand before I could insist he was, “we’ll be sure to notify you. No favor necessary.”
“T’anks. One other t’ing, then,” I said. I leaned forward and planted both my hands on the lip of his desk. “And keep in mind this isn’t me askin’, it’s me tellin’. From now on, ye and yours stay the fuck away from me. I don’t want to so much as smell a Chancery member. Until ye find Christoff, I want nothin’ to do with ye manipulative bastards.”
Hansel’s eyes had widened momentarily, but by the time I was finished, he seemed to understand exactly what I was saying. We were square. Even. But that didn’t make us friends. It didn’t make us anything. I didn’t trust him or his organization; Robin, who I’d come to rely on, had lied to me from the very start. Even Dobby had betrayed me to save his own skin.
I’d been right all along.
None of the Fae could be trusted—especially not their lawyers.
“Understood,” Hansel replied, tersely.
“Good,” I said, before getting up to leave.
“My lady?” Dobby said, propping himself up off the bookcase.
“Be careful out there, Dobby,” I said, refusing to meet the spriggan’s eyes. “The world can be a tough place, when ye are on your own.”
And, with that, I strode out the door.
It was time to go home, for real this time.
Chapter 39
I found the spare key to my place in its usual hiding spot and opened the door, still clutching the Gateway grenade and my spare clothes. On the way home, I’d come up with a tenuous plan for the next few hours—and maybe the next morning if I could get hold of Othello.
I had an idea that might save someone’s life.
First, I needed a shower. I knew I needed to check on Jeffries and Lakota as soon as possible, but—since I didn’t have a phone—that could wait until I was decent enough to go buy a replacement. I considered reaching out to Robin, who would be able
to fill me in on what had happened with Throm and the two Agents after I’d been pulled away by the Winter Queen, but the idea of talking to him—to any Faeling—filled me with outrage.
As far as I was concerned, the Fae could go rot in a deep, dark hole.
“Fuckin’ Faelin’ bastards,” I muttered as I flipped on the lights and kicked my door closed.
“I know how you feel,” a man said from my living room.
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ!” I yelled, ducking into the bathroom, my heart hammering in my chest so hard I felt like I was going to pass out. Or stroke out. At this point, neither would surprise me.
“Sorry,” the man called. “I couldn’t find the light switch.”
I poked my head out once I realized I recognized the voice. The man sat casually in my recliner, ankles crossed, hands clasped in his lap. He had unkempt, ashy-brown hair, and moody green eyes, with a five o’clock shadow that had slept in way past its alarm. I thought I caught a glimpse of gold in those green eyes, like a flicker of lightning on the horizon, but it was gone just as fast.
Nate Temple. The Fae-killer.
Well, I suppose I couldn’t hold that against him.
Glass houses and all that.
“And just how long have ye been sittin’ in me apartment in the dark, ye fuckin’ loon?” I asked, dispensing with the niceties entirely; burglars didn’t deserve them, after all.
“Not long. Maybe a couple of hours. It’s a nice place,” Nate said, taking in the decor. “A good place to collect my thoughts. The last few days have been murder.” He swung his eyes to me, and I felt the weight of them settle on me, threatening to pull me to the floor with their intensity.
And there it was. Now I had Nate Temple complaining to me about his problems…was he about to try to recruit me, too?
I so didn’t have time for this.
“Get out,” I said.
Nate arched an eyebrow. “Listen, I just wanted to offer you a job, that’s—”
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