The Hob (The Gray Court 4)

by Dana Marie Bell

  “Hobgoblin.”

  Robin started, his attention once more totally on Oberon.

  “How will you gain that access?”

  Robin started and looked over his shoulder. “I will answer that anon, my liege. For now, forgive me.” He bowed. “It seems I have a date.”

  The mirror went dark, and Oberon blinked. “A date?”

  What was Robin thinking? Oberon stepped away from the mirror, unsure if he was irritated or intrigued. Boredom was a daily companion, and Robin’s little dance offered to bring some much-needed distraction.

  Perhaps a consultation with the Seer was, indeed, in order.

  Robin adjusted his breasts and smiled, checking his teeth for lipstick. Never was he gladder to be male than when he forced himself to be female. How did women live with underwire bras and lip gloss on a permanent basis? He swore to himself that next time he would disguise himself as a tomboy. They, at least, wore comfortable clothes. And since it required less energy to simply change clothes than to cause the ones he wore to conform to his wishes, Robin always traveled with an unusual array of attire.

  He missed the hippies and their bra-burning ways. It had to be the most comfortable decade of his existence.

  He zipped up his high-heeled boots and leaned forward to check his horns one last time, noting absently the overabundance of charms revealed by his low-cut halter top. He’d use those assets to his best advantage as often as needed, with no qualms. He’d gotten more information through the use of low-cut blouses than almost any other method he’d tried.

  Women were right. Men were foolish creatures indeed.

  Kael was going to have a fit when he saw Robin, but if he was going to recruit the boy he’d need to get him used to seeing Robin in disguise. Robin might prefer to be male and often disguised himself as such, but changing his gender often threw his prey off balance. The pooka would more than likely wind up using his own shape-shifting abilities to don the appearance of other sexes and races himself. The charade was all part of the job.

  He tucked the lipstick into the oversized purse and added the final touch, a pair of diamond studs in his ears. He eyed his appearance critically, satisfied with what he’d achieved. While Robin could change his gender or race at will, it took a great deal less power to put on a dress and apply makeup.

  Robin had shrunk six inches and gained fifteen pounds, making him a well-rounded female. He fluffed out his curly, blonde hair and batted his big, deliberately vacant blue eyes. He chuckled softly to himself.

  He looked both pretty and daft. It should be enough.

  He intended to join the con tomorrow as a large, black male, and the day after that? It would depend. If either of his disguises made contact with a delegate, he would use that to further his agenda.

  He checked his watch and grimaced. He wouldn’t have much time to case the convention. Robin would have to make sure he was back to male (and gloss-free) in time for his date with Michaela. Robin’s expression softened. She was an odd little thing, with her big, innocent brown eyes and her easy acceptance of the world around her. There was something about her that drew him, made him want to protect her. If she truly was the one for him…

  Robin shivered, terrified. The way she dealt with the most insane of situations petrified him. She’d run up to a redcap and pepper sprayed it to save a pooka, and nearly charmed the pants off one of Titannia’s top lieutenants, the Fear Dearc. Gods forbid she actually spoke to Cecelia Malmayne in that bathroom. She’d probably arranged to go get her nails done with her.

  Robin paled as thoughts of what his future would hold appeared before his eyes in horrifying detail. What would happen when he let her loose in the Courts? He shuddered at the thought; certain catastrophe would follow in her wake. Would she have Titannia and Gloriana over for tea? Meddle in Oberon’s love life?

  Redecorate the Gray Palace?

  Or worse, interfere with Robin’s work in the guise of “helping” him, thus placing herself in danger too great for her wiles to get her out of?

  Ugh. And the very thing he’d been attempting to avoid had already occurred. She’d gotten him so wrapped up in thoughts of her he was distracted from his very real, very dangerous mission. If he did not pull his head out of his ass, Prince Evan could die.

  Robin grabbed the compact mirror disguised as a cell phone and stuffed it into his purse. Only Oberon knew the trick of creating them. It was an art long lost, along with the Tuatha Dè Dannan, and Oberon was loathe to give them to any but those he trusted implicitly. As far as Robin knew, he was the only other recipient of a mirror since the war that split the Grand Court.

  Robin swirled, his matter dissipating into the ether, reappearing in a swirl of dark mist in a stall in the ladies’ room just outside the fairy convention. He took a deep breath and opened the door, smiling at the startled woman staring at him in the mirror. Considering she was dressed like a troll doll, with bright green hair standing straight up from her head and a fur-lined cloak that had to be too hot to be comfortable, she had a lot of nerve.

  Robin fluffed out his blonde hair one last time and strode for the door. He had a convention to attend and numerous fae to spy on. He would find out what Titannia was up to, come hell or high water. He did his best to ignore the insane humans around him, desperately trying to tap into their own sense of the fae. Since the decree of the gods to hide their existence from humans, the mania to find something, anything supernatural in the world had driven humans to highs and lows of insanity. Between the hunting of “devil worshippers” and the Salem witch trials, to the fake fairy pictures of the early 20th century and faery Wicca, humanity was obsessed with the fae, and not always in a good way. This, however…

  A man in a set of mechanic’s overalls with wings made of wires and gears glided past Robin, deep in conversation with a much more conventional-looking female dressed in sparkly pink. There was a set of welder’s goggles perched on top of the backward baseball cap he wore, bending fake pointed ears. Black tinted nails completed the man’s look. Robin nearly laughed out loud. Too bad Big Red wasn’t here with him. The gremlin would have surely enjoyed the sight.

  Red would have figured out a way to make the man fly.

  Robin snickered. That sounded much dirtier than what he’d meant.

  Red was brilliant, and one of his favorite Blades. Hell, he’d been the one to find the information that helped take down the leader Malmayne clan. Big Red was Robin’s go-to man when it came to anything computer related.

  “Did you hear? They pulled someone out of the Delaware this morning.”

  Robin half-listened to the humans muttering around him. He was too busy trying to find any of the Black Court fae wandering the halls. The bitch queen wouldn’t send just anyone to these negotiations. No, if Robin were to guess, their purpose was far more sinister than simply watching humans pretend to be fairies.

  “They say it looked like it was attacked by a shark.”

  The human next to him snorted a laugh. “Where did you hear that? There aren’t any sharks in the Delaware.”

  “Police scanner. My husband’s an officer.”

  Robin’s brows rose. Sharks indeed. The humans wouldn’t recognize the bite of an each uisge, but Robin would.

  Hell. He’d thought they were far enough from the river to be safe from the each uisge’s appetites. The each uisge, or water horse, was infamous for taking its prey to the water to devour it. It was not a taste Robin understood, nor did he ever wish to acquire it.

  There was a reason some naturally gravitated toward the Black, and each uisges were a prime example.

  However, there should have been very little left of the victim. Perhaps he’d been interrupted in his feeding, enough so that he’d left partially devoured remains to be found by the humans. It was rare mistake indeed, but not unheard of in younger fae with McNeil’s…proclivities.

  “I’m telling you, Robin Goodfellow is here somewhere!”

  Robin did his best not to seem as if he
was paying any attention to the hissed conversation going on off to his right somewhere. Neither of the voices was familiar, and he dared not look, but he caught the scent of fae and each uisge. It had to be Lord Wyght, the only male Black Court Sidhe, and McNeil. Robin bent down and examined the dangling earrings of a particularly gifted craftswoman.

  Michaela would look lovely in the gold and silver jewelry that was on display. He had a sudden, vivid image of her draped in nothing but silver, gold and her own dark hair.

  He shivered. It was the first time he’d ever felt arousal while wearing the body of a woman, and he wasn’t sure he cared for the sensation. It was familiar, yet alien, this throbbing need that had taken him over.

  “What do we do? If Oberon sent the Hob, then they’re more than likely on to us.”

  Oh? Robin smiled at the vendor and pointed to a particularly stunning necklace made of dripping stars. He’d see Michaela wearing it before the night was through. “How much?”

  The vendor named a price, but Robin wasn’t paying any particular attention. He dug into his purse for the required amount, his attention on the two men arguing not ten feet away.

  “We stick to the plan. Those were Her orders, and I for one am going to obey.”

  “But what if—”

  “No. Let the Raven Lord deal with the Hob, Wyght. We do our part, nothing less. Understood?”

  The Sidhe lord grunted his displeasure. “Why I have to take orders from you I will never understand.”

  Robin paid for the necklace in cash, waiting patiently for the receipt. He was in no hurry to move. This was getting better and better.

  “What about the redcap? Do you think he’ll speak?” Wyght was nervous. Perhaps Robin would visit the redcap in the hospital. If he had information on Titannia’s plans, Robin would get them from him.

  “One survived? Shit. Does the Fear Dearc know?”

  “I have no idea. Lord Raven doesn’t exactly come to my tea parties.”

  Robin picked up his bag and moved closer to the speakers. If they were aware of the surviving redcap, they might be aware of Michaela as well, and that would not do. McNeil would destroy her and leave nothing but bones behind.

  “We need to tell him. Deal with it, McNeil.”

  “What was that, Wyght? Which one of us is in charge again?”

  The silky threat in the water horse’s voice was clear to Robin, but Wyght didn’t appear to notice. “I’ll be bringing that little fact up with Her soon. You’ll be sent packing. Why you were even allowed out of that loch you were haunting, I’ll never understand.”

  “Maybe because I’m more useful than some pansy fairy with his head in the clouds.” McNeil laughed, the sound surprisingly sweet. “That doesn’t work on a fae of the water, Wyght.”

  Robin tilted his head in surprise, but kept his gaze glued to the knitwear on the table he’d moved to. McNeil was resistant to a Sidhe’s glamour? Intriguing. He’d been aware water fae had a slight resistance to mental manipulation, but to find one who laughed in a Sidhe’s face? He was either older than Robin had assumed, and therefore careless with his kills, or he had some special resistance Robin was unaware of. He’d have to ask Duncan when next he saw the Sidhe Lord. Duncan, at just over five hundred years old, was a powerful Sidhe, one who could influence any but the strongest of minds.

  “Be aware, any one of these seemingly innocent humans could be the Hob. From now on, we stay silent unless we’re in the privacy of our rooms. No more panicking, Wyght. I mean it. You wouldn’t want your Clan to be without a leader, would you?” There was a sweet-sounding chuckle, and the sound of footsteps. The scent of each uisge faded, leaving the sour stench of fear behind.

  “One day, I’m going to cut him up and turn him into glue.”

  Robin grinned and heartily concurred.

  Chapter Eight

  “Michaela?”

  She turned, dazzled once more by Ringo’s good looks and winsome smile, but something about his appearance bothered her. The diamond studs in his ears were hot, but… “Are you wearing lip gloss?”

  Ringo put his hand to his mouth, wiped it, and showed her his palm. It was clean, the shine she’d imagined no longer present. “Why on earth would I wear lip gloss?”

  She relaxed. She’d probably just imagined it. Ringo wouldn’t make a date with her and then be with someone else. Would he? “At a fairy convention? You have to ask?”

  Moira, who’d stuck with her most of the day, giggled. She’d made a hell of a companion, snarky and sweet at just the right moments. She’d turned some surprisingly dull workshops into something Michaela would remember for a long time to come.

  “Believe me, my sweet. My interest is solely in the fairer sex.”

  She tilted her head, and forever after she’d say the devil made her do it. “You could be a transvestite, like Eddie Izzard.”

  Ringo blinked, his expression shocked. Maybe she shouldn’t tease him.

  Jaden, on the other hand, had the most impish grin on his face. “You know, there are a lot of movie titles that would be a lot more fun if the word transvestite were part of it. Day of the Transvestite Triffids, for instance.”

  Moira grinned. “The Transvestite Son of the Mask.”

  “Freddie the Transvestite Got Fingered.” Michaela stumbled as Ringo came to a dead halt. “What?”

  Ringo’s dark brows quirked upward. “I thought that movie was made.”

  A tall, cool blond put his arms around Jaden and Moira, tugging them close. “There are a lot of movies that would have been better with a transvestite in them. Like Showgirls.”

  Jaden relaxed into the blond’s embrace. “That was a movie about transvestites.”

  Michaela shot a look at Ringo, who winked. She turned back to the blond, who was watching her interaction with Ringo with some amusement. “Duncan, I presume?”

  “And you must be Michaela.” He held out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Moira enjoyed her morning with you. Thank you for that.”

  Michaela smiled. The affection on his face for both his partners was obvious. “We had fun, even if she did mock me in wing building class.”

  Moira laughed. “I don’t think that instructor will ever recover. She was muttering something about whiskey when we left.”

  “Did you give her grief, amoureaux?”

  Moira gave Duncan an innocent look so patently false Ringo was choking back yet another laugh. “Me?”

  Michaela shook her head. “Who’s up for pizza?”

  Jaden rubbed his stomach. “Mm. With extra garlic.” When his partners shot him an odd look, he shrugged. “What? I want pepperoni too.”

  Michaela jumped when Ringo took her hand and placed it on his arm. “Ignore them, and maybe they’ll disappear.” The trio shot him horrified looks, only relaxing when Ringo laughed. She didn’t understand why; it wasn’t like he could really make them disappear.

  He escorted her through the hotel’s doors and into the cool city streets. “What trouble did you and Moira get into in wing building class, hmm?”

  Michaela pouted up at him. She probably looked as convincing as Moira had not moments earlier. “She didn’t like my color scheme.”

  Moira tsk’d. “I don’t know why not. Joker green, limeade, and wake-the-fuck-up yellow are perfect colors for fairy wings, especially when you add confetti like it was rainbow sprinkles.”

  “I know, right? And then she tried to get me to do something more dainty and ‘fairy-like’. Pfft. Like she’d know a real fairy if one landed on her small, pointy head.”

  For some reason, Jaden found that so amusing he had to stop and lean against the wall until he caught his breath.

  Michaela led the way into the pizza place, eager to spend time with Ringo and his friends. But before she could get a table, Duncan’s cell phone vibrated. He made a face as he looked at the caller ID. “Work.”

  “Damn.” Moira and Jaden exchanged a look. “Ringo—”

  “Go. Protect your husband. I�
��m certain Michaela and I can find something to do by ourselves.”

  The look he shot her was full of heat, and Michaela damn near melted on the spot, her question about why Duncan needed protection forgotten. His eyes… God, his eyes were gorgeous. They were the most beautiful shade of hazel she’d ever seen, more blue than brown. They had a strange glow that had to be some kind of freaky light reflection, there and gone again so fast that maybe she’d imagined it.

  If she hadn’t seen it before, back when those men had attacked her and Kael and Ringo tried to help her, she would have believed that too. Maybe she was crazy.

  Or, and here was a truly crazy thought, maybe Ringo was as magical as he seemed.

  “Thanks, Ringo.” Moira patted Michaela’s arm. “We’ll get together later, okay? We have that workshop on Gaelic, so don’t forget.”

  “Hmm?” Michaela blinked. Oh, crap. She’d forgotten all about Jaden, Duncan and Moira, so lost in Ringo’s otherworldly gaze she’d been mesmerized. “Yeah. That sounds good.”

  Ringo’s grin was anything but subtle. He was obviously pleased by her distraction.

  Crap. She’d been too obvious in her attraction. Maybe she should tone it down, cancel the date and plan another one. She’d only met him yesterday, but already she was ready to drop her panties and beg for mercy.

  “Michaela?”

  She could see that too. Ringo over her, loving on her, leaving his mark on her inside and out.

  “Michaela.” Her name was breathed into her ear, sending shivers down her spine. “Our table is ready.”

  Ooh. Table-top sex. She’d always wanted to try that.

  Sharp teeth nipped her ear. “I have no idea what is going through your mind, but save it, if you please, for when we are alone.”

  Michaela almost moaned. Ringo’s voice sounded…different. More formal, the tone lighter, yet somehow deeper. Wilder, and full of power. She focused back on the real world to find him staring down at her, the blue in his eyes nearly overwhelming the brown.

  He wanted her too.

  Michaela licked her lips, her breath stuttering when his gaze zeroed in on her tongue. He looked like he could eat her up in one bite.