The Exile: Book One of the Fae

by C. T. Adams

  He didn’t say then stay out of my way, but it was implied. “When is this supposed to happen?”

  “The sooner the better. Can we count on your assistance?”

  Nick thought about it for a moment. David would be pissed if he ever found out Nick had used him like this. But if Hai was dirty, Nick wanted her off the streets—and David out of the line of fire. This was his best bet at achieving that.

  “Yeah. I’ll make the call when I get off shift.”

  “Good.”

  Tennyson rose, then Nick and the captain. Reaching into his pocket Tennyson pulled out a business card. “Here’s my card. My cell number is on the back. Call me when it’s done.”

  Nick took the proffered card. Pulling out his wallet he slid it in behind his driver’s license, where it wouldn’t be obvious, but he’d be sure not to lose it. “Right.”

  * * *

  “What was that all about?” Juan pressed the button to unlock the doors of their unmarked car. A gray Ford, it was a midsize sedan, and as ordinary as white-bread toast. That was, Nick supposed, the whole point. An unmarked car was supposed to be unnoticeable. Still, it had an engine to it—and Ted, the station mechanic, kept it running smooth.

  The car beeped, and the lights flashed at the same time as the doors unlocked.

  Juan Sanchez wasn’t just Nick’s partner, he was his best friend. They’d been working together for a few years now. Each trusted the other with his life on a daily basis. It was tempting to just tell him. After all, Nick knew his buddy could keep a secret. But honestly, he didn’t want to talk about it. Hell, he didn’t really even want to think about it. So he just shook his head and climbed into the passenger seat.

  “Where are we headed, anyway?”

  “Juju left a message on my cell. Say’s he has something big for us. Wants to meet with us down at the railroad yard.”

  Juju was one of their CIs, a confidential informant. Fifteen years old, the kid was from a tough neighborhood. He lived on the fringes, not fitting in, and not nearly as tough as he thought he was, or probably needed to be. He’d given them good information once or twice in the past. More often, he tried to get money from them while providing vague and useless crap. Nick didn’t like him. Then again, as Juan kept reminding him, you don’t have to like him to use him. “The railroad yard? Seriously? Can’t he just meet up with us at the mall, or a restaurant like everybody else?”

  “I know. I know. But you know how paranoid he is, and it’s not like I could argue with a voice mail.” Juan turned the ignition, and the car’s motor came to life with a roar.

  “Think this time he actually has something worthwhile?” Nick asked.

  “Only one way to find out.”

  4

  JU-LONG

  It was a perfect night for flying. The skies were clear as midnight glass with diamond stars sparkling. A snow white half-moon shone bright, shimmering reflections glinting off the river below. The air at this altitude was cold, the mist from the dragon’s breath dissipating in the wind of his passage as he made lazy circles, not hunting, just flying for the sheer joy of it. It felt so good to be away from the stifling corridors of the palace, from the crush of Sidhe with their poisoned smiles, constantly jockeying for some advantage. On nights like this he wondered if the price he paid to save the last of his kind was too high.

  But that was stupid. What was done was done and best to be done with it. He snorted at the memory of one of his mate’s favorite sayings. He missed her—particularly on nights like this. He’d been alone a long time, and while the shining Sidhe women were beautiful, most were too cautious to take a dragon to their bed, and thus far none of those who were willing had caught his fancy.

  He shook his head to clear it of unwelcome thoughts. It was far too fine a night to waste brooding. Filling his lungs with air he let out a blast of fire, just for fun, before executing the kind of tricks that he’d used to win Marissa all those years ago.

  He was pulling out of his third consecutive barrel roll when a streak of blinding lightning thundered through the air a few miles away, moving from the ground to the sky. The crack of thunder that followed was loud, even at this distance. On the ground it would be deafening.

  That was not natural lightning—not on a night like this. Ju-Long straightened his body, streamlining it into an arrow that shot through the air in a blur of speed at the first beat of his powerful wings.

  It was over before he landed. King Leu stood just outside of a ring of standing stones in a circle of scorched earth and the shattered bodies of half a dozen fried and blackened pixies and one dead guard. Scorched pixie dust filled the air around the king, blackened multicolor glitter settling sadly to earth. And while his attackers had obviously perished Leu hadn’t escaped unscathed. There were tears in his dark gray tunic, and a single bloody scratch marred his cheek where one of his attackers had tried to take out his left eye. His expression was one of utter disgust. Still, he stood on the narrow path that passed through the wide swath of water that surrounded and protected the sacred circle.

  “Your majesty.” Ju-Long landed neatly, dropping onto one knee on the path before the king. His form shimmered, changing from beast to man-shape in the time it takes to blink. He was clothed in the illusion of a full guard’s uniform and his magic made it real even to the touch. “May I be of service?”

  “I’m fine, thank you,” Leu answered curtly. Then, taking a deep breath he mastered himself. Ju-Long could actually see the king forcing himself to be calm, setting aside the formidable anger at having been forced to defend himself against his own small subjects.

  He raised his voice, speaking to an audience that, while hidden, was undoubtedly present. “The Pixie King rules his own court at my pleasure. Occasionally I’m forced to remind them of that.”

  “I suspect the new king or queen will bear it in mind, having been given such a firm reminder.”

  “We can but hope.” He sighed. “Walk with me, Ju-Long. I had intended to pray alone, but your company is always welcome.”

  Leu led them down the path between the nearest pair of stones, the lintel of which was far overhead.

  “I thought I was the only one who still came here.” Ju-Long spoke carefully. The king had good reason to be angry, and while he seemed in control at the moment, caution was definitely called for.

  “Not quite. My duties don’t allow me to come often—and the nobles would use it against me if they knew I came at all. They believe the stories of the oracles are myth. Faerie is not alive. It is a place, not a being.”

  “They are wrong.”

  “Oh, yes. She is not like us, but she is definitely alive. I’ve felt it.” Leu made a gesture with his hand and the ground heaved, a pair of boulders bursting up through dirt and grass. He sat on one, motioning for Ju-Long to take the other.

  “The first time was the night Valjeta and her people attempted their coup. I felt the rest of my family die; and when I was the last, the only one left, I felt the power of Faerie slide into me. It’s … difficult to describe. The closest I can come is that I was the cup, and her power and knowledge flowed in for me to hold and use.”

  “You said the first time. There were others?”

  “I brought each of my children here on the night of their birth. I felt her react to them … testing them to see if they were—”

  “Worthy?”

  “No, more than that, and less. The king or queen must be capable of holding the power, controlling it. It doesn’t even have to be a Sidhe—although we’re the ones with the most magic.”

  They sat in silence for a moment. If Leu wanted to talk, Ju-Long would listen. But he would not push. Not tonight, when his king, his friend, seemed so haunted and fey.

  “Valjeta and her people are gathering up their forces. They’re preparing to move against me. I can feel it. The storm is coming. I’ve tried to prepare, but I very much fear we won’t be ready. My people don’t believe much in Faerie, or in me. My children—”


  Ju-Long shifted on his stony seat, acutely uncomfortable. He had strong opinions about most of Leu’s children—thoughts and opinions best kept to himself.

  Leu gave Ju-Long a sharp look, but didn’t pursue it further. “You came to me when your people had been hunted to extinction, when you and your children were the last three dragons left. You swore to serve me. And I swore to protect your lives, so that dragons would not vanish from the skies of Faerie.”

  “I remember.”

  “When the time for battle with Valjeta comes I cannot guarantee your safety. To keep my oath I will have to send you across the veil.”

  “I have human blood, human magic. I can cross. But you will need your dragons. When the time comes, I will release you from your oath.”

  “We’ll see.” Leu gave a sad smile. “Valjeta cannot win. Faerie will perish. She needs the ruler as much as the ruler needs her and she cannot use a broken vessel like Valjeta. Fate tells me I am to die at her hand—but she doesn’t say when. Nor am I certain she’s right. Atropos likes to pretend that our lives are set in stone by the oracles and her weavings, but I know better. If they were I’d have died with the rest of my family in the coup, and Faerie would have perished with us. I will fight tooth and nail to survive and protect my world and my people. Still, I must also prepare for what will happen if she is right. When the time comes I must choose a worthy successor; one that both Faerie and the people will accept.”

  Ju-Long schooled himself to remain still. Straining his ears he heard the sound of soft footfalls on stone. Men were coming. They were moving in stealth, but he could tell there was more than one.

  His expression alerted Leu, whose features had grown harsh with anger. At a signal from the king, Ju-Long rose, sliding silently into the shadows as Leu’s magic lowered the stones that had been their seats back into the ground.

  There was a flash of sparkling light and the silence that had descended on them was cut by the shrill war cries of a dozen pixies. Sidhe voices, male and female, shouted virulent oaths. Magic flared, and by its light Ju-Long caught sight of a group of three attackers.

  They wore light armor, with no insignia. But their features and coloring were of those from the far northlands, territory held by Sidhe nobles who gave lip service to a king they viewed as weak while they secretly plotted against him. Ju-Long gathered his power, preparing a magical strike against the man in the lead, but before he could loose it the pixies struck again.

  The fight was brutal, bloody, and remarkably quick. The pixies swarmed, diving at the intruders, attacking their eyes with weapons and magics. Off-balance and blinded, the first Sidhe stumbled into the man behind him. Both staggered. The man fell and the woman’s boot slipped off of the stone where she’d been standing. She regained her balance, one foot in the shallow water, water that moved in silent, gentle ripples outward—then in larger, faster ripples moving inward.

  With a whispered word from Ju-Long power flowed out from his left hand, encircling the third Sidhe, raising him from the ground as it kept him frozen immobile, until he hung fifty feet above the water’s surface. A swarm of pixies circled him, their wings buzzing with the sound of a thousand angry wasps. They circled, but none were foolish enough to touch. They could smell dragon magic—and the dragon was powerful enough to destroy them all with little more than a thought.

  Ju-Long left the man suspended, but fully conscious and aware, let him watch as his companions were wrapped in long, fibrous strands of what looked like seaweed, and dragged inexorably to the water where, if they were lucky, they would drown before the Philae stripped the flesh from their bones.

  They weren’t lucky.

  The water thrashed, turning black in the moonlight as the Sidhe bled, shrieking hideously each time their heads broke the water’s surface.

  The entire thing took only a moment or two, but it seemed much longer.

  Leu and Ju-Long stepped out from the shadows behind the standing stones, standing on the path. With another whispered word, air and water coalesced into a shimmering force that lifted both men until they stood before their captive. The pixies moved away—though not far off, waiting and watching to see what was in store. Below, the water became deceptively smooth, its glassy surface giving no hint of the creatures hidden below.

  “We have a few questions for you.” Ju-Long’s words were deceptively pleasant. “If you answer them your death will be quick, and relatively painless.”

  “I won’t.” The man’s voice was strangled and breathy with fear, despite his words of defiance.

  Ju-Long smiled. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  5

  NICK ANTONELLI

  It was broad daylight, and a warm day. So why was his skin crawling with goose bumps? Nick and Juan were on foot, making their way over uneven gravel through a maze of tracks and railroad cars decorated with multicolored graffiti. The bang of cars coupling and screech of metal on metal served as background noise. Gravel dust and grease scented the air.

  “Did he say where in the railroad yard?” Nick snarled. He was losing patience with this. Already on edge and irritable from this morning’s meeting, he was not in the mood to be led on a wild goose chase by a paranoid informant, and his dress shoes were not comfortable for hiking on uneven ground.

  “No.” Juan sounded disgusted, though whether he was aggravated at Juju for getting them into this mess, or Nick for being an ass was anybody’s guess.

  They’d nearly reached the fringe of abandoned buildings at the edge of the yard and still they’d seen no sign of him. Coming around the end of a long row of identical black tank cars both men saw a bloody male body sprawled on the ground. Drawing their weapons, they moved forward to check for life. Adrenaline sang through Nick’s veins as he used the cars for cover, his eyes scanning the area, looking for movement.

  There was the shifting of shadows behind the glassless second-floor window of one of the ruined buildings that lined the yard. Light glinted off of metal in the window frame.

  “Juan!” Nick shouted to his partner as a hail of bullets rained down on them from a weapon set on full automatic. The roar of gunfire and Juan’s screams of pain joined the cacophony of the trains, all of it overpowering the series of well-aimed shots fired from Nick’s Glock.

  * * *

  “Officer down”: the two words that officers everywhere dread most. Every day they risk their lives to serve a public that can be mistrustful and downright hostile. Those two words over the radio brought instant, massive action to bear. In minutes the railroad yard was swarming with cops and emergency personnel. Two gangbangers were caught fleeing the scene. The third was as dead as Juju.

  Juan was alive, if barely, thanks to Nick’s first aid and the efforts of the EMTs. But he was badly injured, and God alone knew if he’d survive the surgery to repair the damage of multiple bullet wounds.

  Nick had discharged his weapon in the line of duty, had used deadly force against a fourteen-year-old kid. It had been necessary. He’d do it again in a heartbeat. But it was going to be a complete cluster fuck … already was come to that. The press had arrived with the cavalry, and they were already casting racial overtones on the situation. He’d heard them doing it as he sat inside the back of a cruiser waiting to give his statement. He’d already handed over his weapon and been tested for gunshot residue by the techs.

  Nick hadn’t killed the kid because he was black, white, green, or purple. Hell, he hadn’t even seen the kid well enough to tell what color he was. He’d seen the gun, and movement, and he’d fired in response to gunshots. But the truth wouldn’t keep him from being pilloried in the press.

  But that didn’t matter. All that mattered right now was that Juan make it.

  Closing his eyes, Nick said a quick prayer for his friend. Whatever the fallout, I’ll deal with it. Just please, God, please let Juan live.

  Nick wanted, needed to go to the hospital, to be with Maria and the family, to show his support. Instead, here he sat, in the ba
ck of the cruiser, with all the time in the world to worry about his best friend and think about just how fucked he was.

  6

  KING LEU OF THE SIDHE

  Leu stripped off his filthy garments, letting them fall to the bathroom floor. Leaning down, he turned the taps so that gloriously hot water sprayed from the showerhead. Teo, his body servant, would be arriving any minute to “wake” him. He would be horrified to see his king doing such mundane things as taking care of his own bath and laying out fresh clothing for the day. But while Leu liked the little human, and was inclined to indulge him, today he was simply not in the mood.

  The interrogation had been necessary, but very messy: with good reason, of course. Time had been limited, and neither Ju-Long nor Leu would have wasted it. Just invading the man’s mind would not have been enough. They needed him to be injured badly enough that, when he was allowed to “escape” Valjeta’s other supporters would welcome him back with open arms. And he needed to believe it had been a normal interrogation, without dragon mind control—or they would kill him and a precious intelligence asset would be lost.

  It was definitely necessary, but not by any means pleasurable. Nor was Leu looking forward to his first task of the morning—notifying the guard’s loved ones of her death in service of the king.

  He sighed, climbing under the water’s spray, letting it sluice the worst of the filth and gore from his body. He’d love to take a bath right now, long enough and luxurious enough to soak away his aches and pains—physical and mental. That wasn’t happening. There was no time. There was never enough time for pleasure anymore.

  Leu heard a light tap on the bathroom door. It cracked open to reveal the prominent nose of an elderly man of Polynesian descent, his caramel-colored skin deeply wrinkled, his dark eyes old and possessed of considerable wisdom and compassion.

  “Your majesty?”

  “Teo.” Leu turned. Pointing at the pile of clothing on the floor, he said, “Burn those. Do it personally. Make sure no one sees it done.” Grabbing a bottle of liquid soap he poured a bit into his palm before rubbing it over his body until he was covered in fragrant lather.