Spin the Shadows

by Cate Corvin

  My head was buzzing pleasantly when the door behind Silke opened, admitting a tall figure to the balcony. I stiffened in my seat, but it wasn’t Brightkin who walked out.

  He was Gentry, though. Tall, handsome, with dark hair that brushed his shoulders, wearing a crisp white shirt that said he’d gotten out of work and come straight to Myrage.

  I watched him descend the stairs and disappear into the crowd, and was about to get up when he reappeared, pushing through the lighter crowd at the bar.

  There was no way I was leaving this club without something for Robin. All I could do was hope this Gentry was into nymphs as much as Brightkin was.

  I pushed my empty glass back across the bar, just enough to tip it over the edge. The glass hit the floor with a sharp crack. It didn’t shatter, but the sound was enough to catch the dark-haired Gentry’s attention.

  He looked up and met my eyes, and I smiled flirtatiously at him before making an apologetic face to the irritated bartender. His dragonfly wings were buzzing behind him in agitation. “I’m like, sooo sorry!” I giggled. “I’m a lightweight.”

  I let my voice rise at the end to make it into a question and felt a spear of panic when I glanced across the bar. The Gentry was gone.

  A warm hand descended on my bare shoulder, tracing around the jeweled chains. He wore a silver band around one finger, marked with carved waves.

  “You’re new here,” a male voice said. I looked up into eyes as green as emeralds. Up close, his dark hair was actually the same shade, verging on black. The Gentry smiled, spinning my seat around to face him, and the blue light caught on his teeth. “I’d remember seeing you before.”

  Something about him made me feel gross, but he was a one-way ticket to Brightkin. I lowered my lashes, ducking my face. “I just got here from Mag Cíuin. My brother wouldn’t come out with me, but he told me Myrage was the place to be.”

  Fingers brushed the underside of my chin and tilted my face up. When Robin had made this gesture, my heart had turned into a butterfly about to fly from my chest.

  When this guy did it, the vodka tonic sloshed around in my stomach like it was about to fly all over his shirt.

  “He was right. Got a name, pretty girl?”

  I shyly tucked my hair behind my ears. “Cress. What about you?”

  He gave me another blinding smile. “Call me Fionn. Come on; you’re not getting the best of Myrage by just sitting here.”

  I let him pull me off the stool, barely managing to keep my balance on the killer heels Robin’s wardrobe had provided for me. When I stumbled, I clung to Fionn’s arm, smiling up at him like a starstruck waif who had no idea what she was in for.

  We slipped into the crush of dancers, disappearing into smoke and dizzying lights, and I immediately felt Fionn’s hands at my waist.

  I wanted to slap them off, but just giggled instead. The sound was swallowed up by the thumping bass that vibrated in my chest, and Fionn was suddenly pressed against my ass, grinding against me.

  I kept dancing, gritting my teeth. It was easy to get inside Cress’s pretty, empty little head: just another party-mad nymph looking for a good time, looking for the magical Gentry prince who would pick her up out of the Lesser masses like a diamond in the rough, even though her dreams were just a castle in the air.

  Through a sudden part in the crowd, I caught a glimpse of Robin. He was sitting at a table in a dark corner, spinning a nearly full glass around on the table with his long fingers as he watched us.

  He didn’t look happy at all. The false face he wore was set in a faint scowl.

  Robin blinked and seemed to realize I was staring back at him. The scowl deepened and he looked away, surreptitiously glancing at the balcony where Silke stood guard.

  Well, he could scowl all he wanted, but I was the one out here with some Gentry bastard putting his hands all over me.

  The image of the photo flashed through my head. The girls’ glazed eyes were burned into my skull. It’s for a good reason, Briallen. Grow a pair and get in that room.

  The crowd swallowed us again, and I flung myself back into dancing against Fionn with renewed purpose.

  My feet were screaming and my skin sheened with sweat when I finally stumbled out of the fray, Fionn on my heels.

  “I need a drink,” I said, my throat raspy with thirst, and Fionn glanced at the bar. His eyes flicked upstairs, an almost imperceptible movement.

  He was still pressed against me. I felt his erection through his pants and suppressed a shudder.

  Fionn leaned down to talk in my ear. “Let’s go upstairs. I’ll get you a drink there.”

  Both excitement and dread ripped through me. I just let my eyes widen. “Oh, my trees, really? I thought you had to be like, a really big deal to get a VIP room here.”

  Fionn’s overconfident smirk grated on my nerves. “Babe, I am a really big deal. I’m fifth in line to the Seelie Throne.”

  I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes and gaped instead. “No way.”

  “Absolutely. Come on, pretty girl. Let’s go.” He took my arm and led me to the curving stairs on the edge of the dance floor.

  I had the feeling he’d already forgotten poor Cress’s name. He led me up the stairs, and without thinking, I glanced back over my shoulder at the lonely table below.

  Robin’s eyes followed us all the way up. I wanted to give him some sort of sign that I was okay, that I was good with this, but Fionn and I were now in full view of Silke.

  Her eyes were almost white and icy cold. I tossed my hair over my shoulders and clung to Fionn, wrapping my hands around his arm.

  The huldra held up a hand as we approached, as implacable as a stone wall. “Who is this?”

  Fionn stared at her for a moment, his mouth opening and closing, confirming my suspicion.

  “Hi!” I burbled, holding out a hand. “I’m Cress Willowtree! You’re like, so pretty, why are you up here instead of down there?”

  Silke gave me a withering look, her upper lip curling in a sneer and showing a very pointy incisor.

  “Yeah, this is Cress. Lay off the ice-queen act, Silke. She’s invited in.” Fionn tried to push past her, but Silke’s hand was suddenly planted in the middle of his chest, forcing him back like he weighed no more than a feather.

  “This is protocol,” she said. There was no arguing with that tone of voice.

  A moment later the huldra was whisking her hands over me, impersonal and cool. The search was over within seconds, considering the tiny dress didn’t leave much to hide, but she even slipped her fingers into my hair, searching my scalp for hidden weapons.

  Her eyes were narrowed when she stepped back. “Open the bag.”

  I obediently opened the wristlet, letting out a breathless giggle. Silke peered in at my phone and lip gloss and plucked the fake ID card out.

  She held it up, looking from my face to the ID, and her lips flattened.

  The huldra handed it back and I made to close the wristlet, but her hand was still outstretched. “No phones allowed.”

  A twinge of misgiving went through me, but I had to get into that room. I plucked the brand-new phone from my wristlet and dropped it in her palm, forcing another laugh. “Just be careful! I just got it and I can’t afford another.”

  She slipped it into her pocket, and I let out a mental sigh of relief that neither she nor Fionn had looked too closely at it. There was no way to explain how a backwater dryad from Mag Cíuin would have an Acorn phone that wasn’t even on the market yet.

  But she hadn’t noticed the delicate moonstone ring on my hand; or, if she had, it was unremarkable enough that she didn’t care to comment. Even without the phone, Robin hadn’t left me defenseless.

  “She can go through.” Silke’s voice was utterly toneless now. She stood aside, her arms crossed over her chest and looking back out at the dance floor like she was bored out of her mind.

  “Bitch,” Fionn muttered under his breath. Silke didn’t so much as twitch an eyelash, but I thou
ght I caught a glimpse of a satisfied smirk on her full lips as he pushed the door open and dragged me in.

  I caught a glimpse of her back, smooth and hollow, before he closed the door on her.

  A sigh slipped out of me. I’d made it into the belly of the beast.

  Then I realized what I was looking at under the low lighting.

  Robin would lose his fucking shit when he saw this.

  8

  At first, the VIP room was even darker than the rest of the club. For the few seconds it took my eyes to adjust, all I saw was lumpy shapes in the dim light, piled around the red velvet couches.

  A glint of light was caught in hair the color of burnished gold. I blinked, frozen just inside the door and willing myself to see, and realized it was the Prince.

  Brightkin was sprawled across one of the couches, his head tilted back. His hair spilled over his shoulders, so bright and unearthly that even without light, he still seemed to glow a little.

  His shirt had been torn open. The violet shimmer of evanesce coated the edges of his nostrils.

  There were three human girls draped around him. Well, maybe draped was a weak word; one of them had her face buried in his lap over his unzipped fly, her head bobbing up and down.

  The other two stared blankly into space, their hands running over him languidly. Evanesce was streaked across their noses and mouths, and as I watched, Brightkin reached over to a platter and picked up a slice of faerie fruit, as red as blood and dripping thick juice, and fed it to one of them.

  I felt like a boulder had been dropped into the pit of my stomach. The girl ate the fruit out of his hand, sucking his fingers for the juice when it was gone.

  She whimpered like she was in pain when even the juice had vanished.

  Brightkin didn’t even open his eyes all the way when Fionn brought me in. He just curled his fingers in the hair of the girl sucking him off and pushed her head down lower.

  “She’s a cutie,” he said. His eyes glimmered through the slits of his eyelids, the brilliant green of spring grass.

  Fionn grasped my arm and pulled me closer to the couches. Every muscle in my body wanted to lock up tight, but I made myself walk. Pasted a grin on my face even though the dead-eyed girls made my skin crawl.

  I sat carefully on the velvet couch, as far away from them as I could manage without being conspicuous, and beamed at him. My smile felt like it was going to split my face in half.

  “Oh, my trees! Fionn didn’t tell me you’d be here!” I giggled nervously, which wasn’t too hard to accomplish right at that moment. “You’re, like, the actual Prince!”

  Fionn hadn’t sat down. He passed behind me, running his fingers through my wild curls. Once he was gone, the soft clink of glass reminded me that he’d promised me a drink.

  One of the human girls looked barely out of her teens. She was curled up against Brightkin’s side, staring at me with her hand inside his shirt. There was a touch of sunburn lingering on her cheekbones, a little scar in her eyebrow, and her nose was a little too long for conventional prettiness.

  It was all those little things that made me feel even more nauseous when I looked back into her empty, glazed eyes.

  I wanted to scream at Brightkin. She’s a person, a human, not a piece of meat.

  But I said nothing.

  The couch opposite me was set in deep shadows. I hadn’t realized it was occupied until the shrouded form in it leaned forward.

  Short, curled horns rose over the stranger’s greasy dark hair. His thickly furred legs ended in dainty cloven hooves, but above them he wore a worn leather jacket that was opened to expose his potbelly and a vivid red tattoo of a thorned circle on his chest.

  My first thought was Numa, then I realized this satyr was far uglier than even my hated boss. His face was a mire of pockmarks and poorly healed scars.

  He looked me over with yellowish eyes, and finally grinned, exposing crooked brown teeth. “Mind if I light up, pretty thing?”

  I shook my head.

  The satyr conjured a cigar and trimmed it neatly, then lit it, taking several deep puffs and releasing the dense greenish billows into the air.

  If it’d been hard to see before, it was nearly impossible now. I resisted the urge to cough or wave the smoke away, my eyes watering.

  Fionn finally came back, holding a fizzing pink drink in a glass. He handed it to me and sat down, putting a blessed wall between myself and the girls.

  I curled up against him, taking a surreptitious peek at the drink. Rose petals and a slice of bloodred fruit floated in the carbonated concoction, and it smelled like summer.

  “Found myself a snack,” Fionn said, smirking at Brightkin.

  I raised it to my lips, and the ring Robin had given me flared white-hot against my skin, causing me to miss whatever Brightkin had just said back.

  It took every ounce of effort not to jerk and spill the drink everywhere, but I lowered it quickly.

  “Something wrong?” Fionn asked, his brows drawing together.

  I smiled at him, peeking up under my eyelashes, and tittered. “It’s just so sweet! We don’t have them like this back home. It’s all home-brewed there.”

  Prepared this time, I raised the glass again, and the ring flared once more. It was only for a split-second, not long enough to really burn me.

  But, if I was willing to make an educated guess, Robin had left out one important thing about the ring: it was telling me the drink was tainted or poisoned.

  Fionn had likely dropped a roofie in it, along with the roses and cloying faerie fruit to disguise the taste.

  I wanted to push his head back and make him choke on it, but Robin was counting on me.

  “They’re more pliable, you know?” Brightkin was saying. His words were slurred, making him sound sleepy. “Like clay in my hands. Look at her.”

  He put a finger under the chin of one of the girls, a brunette with a ring in her nostril. Barely moving his finger, he got her to raise her head and looked at the ceiling.

  When he took his finger away her head stayed there, tilted back so far she could go no further. Brightkin giggled, a sound that grated on my nerves. “Let’s give her a drink, Fionn.”

  The satyr shook his head. “Too mortal. I like those water nymphs, those nereids— already wet. Don’t have do nothin’ to get them going.”

  I realized Fionn was looking at me, a little of the friendliness gone from his eyes, and made my choice. I couldn’t pixie out now, not without ruining any progress I’d made.

  I sent up a silent prayer to the Blessed Branches, ignored the white-hot flare on my hand, and took a sip of the pink drink.

  Fionn’s brow smoothed and he got up. The satyr had leaned back into his shadows, but I knew he was there, watching, his eyes likely on me.

  I took another drink.

  Who knew how long I had until the drugs kicked in and I couldn’t walk out? All I needed was to witness this with my own eyes, but I couldn’t go without a show of good faith, or I’d never be able to squirm my way back in again if necessary.

  Fionn had a bottle of pixie-made wine. For some odd reason, I was glad it was deep emerald instead of sapphire; like seeing sapphire would’ve tainted the association forever.

  He held it over the mouth of the human girl, whose head was still tilted back, her eyes wide open.

  “Pour, pour, pour!” Brightkin chanted, still giggling, and the satyr’s eyes glinted like hard stones.

  Fionn started pouring. Her mouth was like a chalice, and when the emerald wine spilled over and ran over her cheeks, he stopped, waiting for her to save herself and swallow.

  I realized I was holding my breath, half-expecting her to drown on pixie wine in front of me, and if I made a single wrong move, I knew perfectly well I’d never walk out of this room alive.

  I could’ve sworn a tear slid out of the corner of the girl’s eye and into the hair at her temple.

  I took another drink, almost choking on how syrupy-sweet it was.


  My lips and tongue were starting to feel a little numb, but I kept the smile on, giggling while Fionn emptied the bottle of wine into the girl’s mouth and wanting to slap myself for it.

  He tossed the empty wine bottle aside and came back to me, sinking into the couch. “She’s going to have a hell of a hangover.”

  Brightkin just picked up a slice of faerie fruit and waggled it in front of the other’s mouth with a cat-like smile. “No, she won’t.”

  Fionn leaned against me, ducking his head so his blackened-emerald hair swung across his face like a curtain. “Taste good, pretty girl?”

  He must’ve forgotten my fake name again. Blessed Branches, I was going to forget my fake name if I didn’t get out of here soon.

  My lips were so numb, I didn’t even feel the kiss he pressed against them.

  “Pretty good,” I sighed when he broke away. My glass was half-empty, and it was getting harder to hold up my hand. It was a rock that wanted to settle and never move.

  I had to get out. I had proof with my own eyes. This had gone far enough.

  “I— I feel weird.” It took a fucking monumental effort to put my hand on my stomach and arrange my face to look puzzled. Maybe. I couldn’t feel it at all anymore. “I need the ladies’ room.”

  “You’re fine.” Fionn slid an arm around my shoulders, lifting me into his lap.

  It was just the leverage I needed to get myself upright. I wobbled in place for a precarious moment. “No, it’s… really bad. I’m gonna be sick.”

  Somewhere in the back of my mind, I figured it was the one thing that would get a Gentry like Fionn to back the fuck off. He could deal with evanesce and faerie fruit and a limp body, but vomit? No way.

  “Shit, get her outta here.” Brightkin’s voice sounded muzzy, almost underwater. I stumbled towards the door as black began to swim at the edges of my vision.

  The satyr chuckled under his breath. “Shoulda taken it a little easier, Fionn.”

  I heard Fionn cursing under his breath, hurrying ahead of me to open the door. I stumbled out onto the balcony.

  Silke gave me a coldly impassive look and fished something out of her pocket, handing it to Fionn.