Grave Memory: An Alex Craft Novel

by Kalayna Price

  Ryese smiled, taking the seat opposite me. “Quite a feast they’ve laid out for you. And yet, once again, you are not eating.”

  It wasn’t a question, and I couldn’t lie and say I wasn’t hungry, so I simply ignored him. I was much more concerned with the fact that both Holly and Rianna were staring at Ryese like he was the last source of oxygen in the world and they needed to be near him to live.

  Crap, they’re bespelled.

  The sad part? I doubted he’d done it intentionally. As a race, the Sleagh Maith were a lot like the ever-blooming amaranthine flowers: so pretty you couldn’t help looking at them, but the more you looked, the more caught up you became. I clearly hadn’t inherited that particular trait, but Ryese possessed it in spades.

  At my side, Desmond nudged Rianna’s knee. When she didn’t react, he nudged her stomach, first gently, but when that didn’t work, hard enough to knock the air out of her. She blinked, gasping for breath, and then looked around, as if she’d forgotten where she was. Desmond gave a soft whine and she blinked again.

  She swore under her breath. I caught only bits of it, but what I could make out was very unflattering toward Sleagh Maith in general and Ryese in particular. I didn’t take it personally. Rianna lowered her gaze, locking it on the food in front of her and as far from the glimmering fae as possible. She curled her fingers in the hair on Desmond’s nape as if the barghest could keep her grounded. Then she very pointedly ignored Ryese.

  Not that he noticed. This wasn’t the first time he’d crashed my dinner, and more than once he’d made it clear he regarded changelings as little more than ornamental furniture.

  Was it obvious I didn’t like the guy? The fact he’d carelessly bespelled two of my best friends didn’t improve my opinion of him.

  Unfortunately, Holly didn’t have a fae guardian to bring her around. I called her name, once, twice, a third time. She didn’t notice. Of course, she was closer to Ryese. Him sitting across from me put him directly beside Holly.

  I shot a glare at the fae. “Can’t you tone down the…” I waved my hand.

  “You just gestured to all of me, dearest.”

  I gritted my teeth at the term of endearment because I wasn’t his “dearest.” Hell, I wasn’t his anything. Nor did I have the least bit of interest in becoming such. I was ninety percent sure he was here because the Winter Queen sent him. She was determined to add me to her court by any means necessary, and I wouldn’t put it past her to send her nephew to seduce me. Hell, she’d offered him to me once before. The fact I’d passed was why I reserved the other ten percent when it came to his motives. Ryese didn’t take rejection well. When I’d turned him down, it was just possible I became a conquest to be won for his pride’s sake.

  Whatever his motive, he was doomed to fail. He was as trustworthy as a viper, and had an ego larger than could fit at our table. Besides, he sucked at the whole seduction thing. I just wished he’d figure that out and stop showing up uninvited.

  “Glamour yourself, would you?” I said, having to force the words through my still gritted teeth.

  “Afraid you can’t resist me much longer?”

  I laughed, I couldn’t help it. “Trust me. That’s never going to be a problem. But you are disturbing our meal.”

  Ryese’s pretty face darkened with rage. His eyes, which were so pale I’d have thought he lacked irises if not for a thin ring of blue on the outer edges, narrowed, and he turned, looking at the bespelled and besotted Holly at his side. When he reached out to stroke her cheek, she moved into his hand, sighing with pleasure at his attention.

  “Do. Not. Touch. Her.”

  Ryese didn’t drop his hand, but he did turn toward me. “Dear heart, she’s not the one I want to be touching.”

  I think he meant for the words to be suggestive, but the darkness I’d seen flash across his face when I’d laughed at him was still evident in his voice, so it sounded like the touch he wanted involved strangling me.

  “You’re in my seat,” a deep voice said behind Ryese, and the fae whirled around.

  Caleb put his hands on the back of the chair and stared at the fairer fae. Caleb wore the familiar glamour he favored. One that made him look like your average boy next door with sandy-colored hair and a friendly face. Well, typically friendly—right now his expression was as hard as the marble blocks he spent most of his time carving into decorative but powerful wards.

  “I was invited,” Ryese said, his tone haughty petulance. “And besides, I was here first, green man.” He made the last sound like a slur, pointing out how much farther down the food chain Caleb was than the conceited son of a bitch.

  “Actually, you weren’t invited. I told you that you couldn’t sit there,” I said. “And Caleb has a standing reservation at my table, so that is, in fact, his chair.”

  Ryese frowned at me.

  I’d been receiving a crash course in all things fae recently. Rules, laws, customs—whatever Rianna and Caleb could cram in my head. I was trying to learn and retain it. After all, knowing how to play the game was the only way I was likely to keep my freedom. Maybe the only way I’d survive. From what I understood, all Sleagh Maith were considered royals in the courts. From there each court had their own way of determining the standing of the courtiers, which mostly just made my head hurt when Rianna had explained it. One thing all courts agreed on though, was that the independent fae were at the very bottom, their rank not much higher than changelings—who were property—so that said something about how low court fae considered the independents.

  My rank in Faerie’s hierarchy was unclear. I was neither independent nor court fae. There was no precedent for a completely unaligned fae. In fact, the words “impossible” had come up more than once. Of course, I didn’t quite fit in any of the fae boxes. In all appearance, I was born human but either became fae or the fae in me woke under the Blood Moon—I still wasn’t clear on that detail. Since then, other fae sensed me as Sleagh Maith, and yet, how much of me was fae and how much human no one knew. The fact I hadn’t been born tied to a court or grandfathered into the independent’s vows further muddled the situation. It also lent credence to those who considered me more human than fae.

  So where did that put me in Faerie’s hierarchy? Caleb and Rianna had been debating that for weeks. It was pretty clear Ryese outranked me, so he could sit anywhere the hell he wanted. But he had asked, and I’d said no. Rianna and Holly had said yes, but even if I were only feykin—a mortal with fae blood—I still outranked a changeling and a human.

  I could almost see Ryese weighing these facts in his mind. After whatever conclusion he came to, he rose, slow and casual-like, as if it were his own idea.

  “Until next time, dearest Lexi,” he said, reaching for my hand, most likely to kiss my knuckles, but he faltered when his fingers touched the stiff material of my gloves.

  He’d seen them before; it wasn’t like I’d been hiding my hands. There were only three reasons fae wore gloves: fashion—which for the winter court appeared to be stuck in the Tudor period, but my gloves were clearly not a part of my ensemble; the second reason was for fae in the mortal realm, as gloves protected their hands from iron, but we were in Faerie, not the mortal realm, which left the final reason a fae wore gloves and that was because Faerie took the phrase “his blood is on your hands” very seriously. I’d killed another fae, and I’d had a damn good reason to do it, but now I wore his blood.

  Ryese’s palms were spotless.

  As he’d already taken my hand, he didn’t change midgesture, but gave me a stiff bow, not touching more than my gloved fingers with his hand. Then he straightened, and without another word or a glance at Caleb, he turned and strolled back toward the giant tree and the door to the winter court.

  Once the fae had vanished behind the trunk of the tree I turned to Caleb. “I don’t think I’ve ever been happier to see you in my life.”

  The stony glare he gave me as he sank into the chair told me he didn’t agree. Not at all. Then al
l his attention turned to Holly. She had a vague, unfocused look on her face now that Ryese was gone.

  Caleb reached out and squeezed her shoulder, shaking her gently. “Holly, can you hear me?” She blinked, but her eyes didn’t focus. Caleb rounded on me. “How could you let this happen?”

  “I…What?” I stared at him. Not knowing what to say. It wasn’t like I’d called Ryese over and said, “Hey, why don’t you mesmerize my friend?” I realized my jaw had dropped, my mouth slightly open, and I snapped it closed, my teeth hitting with enough force to resonate up my jawbone. I crossed my arms over my chest and met Caleb’s accusatory glare. “What was I supposed to do? Ryese just showed up.”

  “You’re supposed to protect her while she’s here.” Caleb’s glamour was slipping, making the angry slit of his mouth cut farther across than humanly possible, and blackness bled into his eyes as a greenish tint showed through his tan.

  I gulped. I’d seen Caleb this pissed before, but never had his anger been aimed at me. Some primal part of my brain told me I needed to back away, to get away from the monster transforming in front of me.

  Beside me, the legs of Rianna’s chair screeched as she pushed away from the table. “I’m going to…” She pointed to the door to Faerie. “See you at the office tomorrow,” she called over her shoulder as she and Desmond all but ran from the table.

  I didn’t blame her.

  Unfortunately, regardless of what that primitive fight or flight part of my brain told me, running wasn’t an option. I swallowed again and focused on making my voice flat, emotionless—or at the very least, not riddled with fear. I didn’t quite succeed as I said, “What should I have done, Caleb? Jump across the table and stab him? Or maybe you think I should have let him take me to the winter court so he wouldn’t be a threat to Holly?”

  “You—”

  But whatever he was going to say was cut short when Holly mumbled something, the words so quiet I couldn’t hear them. Apparently Caleb couldn’t either.

  “What was that?” he asked, his voice gentle as he squeezed her shoulder.

  She still wasn’t focusing on anything.

  “He’s so pretty,” she said, her tone distant and wistful. Then she turned toward me, but didn’t exactly focus on me. “He wants you, Alex. It would make him happy. You should definitely go for it.”

  The last sentence sounded like the Holly I knew and used to barhop with. The middle bit? Not so much.

  I moved to the seat Rianna had vacated so that I’d be directly across from her. “Hey, Hol, you in there? Snap out of it.”

  Caleb frowned at me again, but Holly blinked. Then blinked again. Her eyes narrowed. “Wasn’t someone else here?” She blinked rapidly and then gulped hard enough I could see her throat working. “Al, I feel kind of strange.”

  “Need a bucket strange or need a drink strange?” Oddly enough, that wasn’t the first time in our friendship I’d asked that question.

  “Drink. Definitely a drink.” She shook her head as if the movement would help clear it. Then she seemed to notice Caleb for the first time, and the fact he still gripped her shoulder, worry written over his not-quite-human face. Holly’s head tilted to the side, her expression still not sharp, but closer to clear. “What are you doing here?” she asked Caleb. “And what’s with the freaky half glamour?”

  He stared at her for several seconds before releasing her shoulder and sinking into his chair. Then he pulled the entire platter of the remaining lamb in front of him and grabbed a thick hunk of the meat.

  “I’m here,” he said between bites and his now fully black eyes cut over in my direction, “because a particular FIB agent mandated an inspection of my workshop ‘due to reports of possible suspicious behavior.’”

  I cringed. Another raid?

  “This has to stop, do you understand me, Alex?”

  Again he was making me responsible for someone else’s actions.

  “Exactly what do you want me to do, Caleb?” I asked, my voice low. Falin might be conducting the raids, but we both knew it was the Winter Queen ordering them and they weren’t likely to stop unless I joined her court.

  Caleb shoved the platter away. “I don’t know. Figure something out. I’d hate to be forced to evict you, but this is intolerable.”

  Something in my chest clenched, stealing my air, preventing me from speaking.

  Holly gaped at Caleb. “You can’t mean that?”

  He didn’t answer her.

  “Caleb?” I said, squeezing the word out. My voice was thin. If he kicked me out…I’d lived in Caleb’s house for over seven years. I’d say he and Holly were like family, except I didn’t like my family. I cared about my friends a lot. I didn’t have any idea where I’d go if he made me leave. And I’d just put all my money into renting the office for Tongues for the Dead. I didn’t even have the money for a deposit if I had to go on an emergency apartment hunt.

  Caleb frowned at me for what felt like forever; then he dropped his head and rubbed a hand over his face. The green faded from his skin, his glamour solidifying. “Just go, Al.”

  Go? My throat closed. He really was kicking me out?

  He looked up and whatever he saw in my face made his expression soften. “Home, Al. Go home.”

  Oh.

  “And attend the revelry in a few days. You need to see more of Faerie so you can choose your damn alignment and stop this madness.”

  I had no idea what to say. So I nodded and then did as he asked and left.

  Chapter 9

  I wasn’t sure what I’d find when I returned home. The raids had been progressively worsening. Caleb was right—it was ridiculous. And yet, as I got off at the bus stop and walked toward the house, I hoped Falin would be there. That I’d see him. Or at least, part of me wished that. The smarter part knew it would only hurt if he were still at the house. But I guess it was better than hoping I’d spot Death on the way home. At this point, that would require wishing someone dead.

  My car was the only vehicle in the driveway when I reached the house, and only a Chinese crested greeted me at the door. I hated how disappointed I was by that fact. Falin had the irritating tendency to enter my life like a whirlwind, stirring up emotions, and then leaving just as quickly. Right now he was out. Again. I sighed. Pining over men I couldn’t have? That wasn’t me.

  “You’re the only man I need in my life, right Prince Charming?” I said, picking up my little six-pound dog. PC licked my nose, the white plume of his tail wagging. See, I have puppy love. I don’t need prince mysterious or prince unpredictable.

  Yeah, tell that to the ache in my chest.

  I glanced around my apartment. The drawers with clothes hanging precariously out of them and open cabinets were proof the FIB had swept my room in their raid. Oh, it had looked worse than this before, but it hadn’t been a mess when I left this morning. That was due entirely to the fact that when I’d inherited Coleman’s castle, I’d also inherited the brownie and garden gnome who lived there, or more accurately, they’d inherited me. Faerie might say the castle was mine, but the brownie, Ms. B, ran the place and had long before Coleman owned it. Throughout history and folklore, brownies bonded to the land or to a family. Burn a brownie’s home to the ground and they’d tend the ashes. A family brownie would follow the bloodline, even when they didn’t wish it to.

  Ms. B had always been a land-bound brownie, but for reasons I couldn’t begin to understand, she seemed to like me. I rarely saw her, but for the last month my apartment had been consistently cleaner than in the last seven years I’d lived here. I sighed as I scanned the mess. Great. The room looked more trashed than searched, and I walked around the room pushing things back in drawers and sliding them shut, PC following at my heels.

  When I passed the bed, I froze, a splash of color catching my eye. I turned. Thoughts about the mess scattered as if they’d never been there as my attention narrowed to a bloodred rose lying on top of my white pillowcase.

  I sank onto the bed, staring,
waiting for the rose to vanish. To prove to be a figment of my imagination.

  But it didn’t.

  I reached out a tentative hand and touched the velvety smoothness of a petal so deep a red it verged on black. I’d never considered myself a flower girl, and with my dating habits, it wasn’t like I’d received many, but I couldn’t help smiling as I stared at this single, solitary rose. I picked it up gingerly, mindful of the large, curved thorns running the length of the stem right up to the rose’s delicate bloom.

  Appropriate.

  I hoped to find a note, or message, or anything, but there was just the rose. I frowned. If I were a note, where would I hide? I glanced at the stack of mail on my counter—or what had been a stack of mail. Now it was scattered over the countertop and littered across the floor

  Oh crap. That stack was where I’d tucked Falin’s business card. I’d considered programming his cell number in my phone, but I was afraid I’d be tempted to call him and I didn’t want to hear the cold tone of his voice. So I’d hidden the card from myself among piles of other papers, junk mail, and flyers. Now I dug through the scattered pages, searching.

  No. No. No. It wasn’t there. Did one of the agents find it? Had they seen the scrawled number on the back and reported Falin to the queen? Crap, oh—wait.

  There, tucked between a get well card and a coupon for pizza, was the card. Relief washed over me as I picked it up. Then I just stood there, rose held carefully in one hand and Falin’s card in the other.

  Behind me, PC whined.

  Oops. I’d gotten so distracted, I hadn’t walked him yet and he likely had one very full puppy bladder.

  “Sorry, little guy,” I said, pocketing the card. “We’ll go out as soon as I get this in water.”

  Not that I owned a vase. I filled a chipped drinking glass with water and set the rose inside. Then I grabbed PC’s leash and took him for a much needed potty break, all the while fingering Falin’s card in my pocket.

  I spent the rest of the night on the Dead Club forums searching for anyone with experience with shades missing memories. Most old posts I ran across were the expected: dementia, long-term brain damage, even a couple of posts about memory spells—though none that occurred as close to death as in the case of James Kingly.