by Cecy Robson
Bill has a point. Ryker is a predator. The way he attacked the Cù-Sìth and the viciousness behind each blow proves he’s dangerous. I’m not naïve nor am I stupid. What I can’t understand is why he didn’t attack me or leave me to die?
“Bill, I’d given up. I lay on the floor as the building burned. Call it shock or misery, but I was done.” It’s not an easy thing to admit, but it’s something he and Jane need to hear. “Ryker could have left me and returned for my soul when I was no longer a threat.”
Bill doesn’t hesitate to answer. “Unless you’re a threat in life and in death.”
I stumble through my words, desperate to convince them. “He couldn’t have eaten those souls, Bill. There were little ones, children.” Bill regards me like I’ve lost it. Maybe he’s right. “He told me he was different.”
My face falls into the pillow. I know how pathetic I sound.
The judgmental silence that follows is more than I can bear. I don’t want to be wrong about Ryker. I also don’t want to play the fool.
After a long drawn out moment, Jane stands and shuffles to the door, her long black dress trailing behind her. “Come,” she croaks to Bill in her rusty voice. “Much to be done.”
You can say Jane is Fae’s version of Yoda.
Bill waits before following. “Olivia, I don’t know what’s happening, but I find Ryker’s presence and actions questionable. Until we know his true purpose, I want you to stay away from him. Do you hear me? Stay far away from Ryker Scott.”
* * *
I stay awake the remainder of the day, ignoring my body’s pleas for rest and the aches eating away at my bones. Rest leaves me to all those horrible thoughts, taunting me with questions I have no answers to and memories I can’t stand to relive.
Bill promised to phone Dahlia’s family. There won’t be a funeral. Fae learned long ago to mourn in secret and in small numbers so as not to taunt Death. A large crowd of grief-stricken Fae works like dangling fresh meat before a hungry gator’s face, as collective grief diminishes the effects of our talismans. Any version of Death could swarm the somber scene like a soul buffet. And graveyards? They’re Death’s chosen lairs. It’s where they lurk until they catch a whiff of a soul, preying on each other when their hunger becomes too great. My kind stay far away from graveyards and cry for our dead alone.
I lay on the couch most of the day, staring at the TV with the volume turned up as loud as I can stand. It’s a tactic to keep me distracted. At some point I make soup, but don’t eat it, choosing to play with the carrots and bits of rice floating to the surface.
When the sunlight fades and my living room enshrouds in darkness, I embrace the inevitable and retire to my bed.
The air conditioning in the building has turned the brick complex into a virtual meat locker. I crawl beneath my thick white linens, clutching my floral pillows against me. I try not to think, thinking is bad, and succumb to a numbness that may permit some sleep.
Tension stiffens every bone, every muscle, every organ, turning my breathing into an arduous task. My eyelids droop, fighting my anxiety and losing.
It’s as if I haven’t been awake for more than a day. Once more, I’m alert, my heart rate accelerating and those awful tears burning.
A heavy hand travels the length of my spine, resting against my shoulder.
“Peace,” a deep voice whispers in my ear. His warm breath tickles and stirs a shudder.
But no one is here.
“Peace,” he murmurs, his lips teasing the ridge.
“There is no peace,” I mutter. I try to pry open my eyes and escape the purgatory I’m in. I’m not asleep. I’m not awake. I’m in between, with only the voice and his fingertips drawing waves along my spine.
“Not now,” the deep voice rumbles. “But there will be.”
“I don’t believe you.” I bury my face in the pillow. I think that’s what it is. “Death has found me too many times, robbing me of my peace.” I mumble. Bitter tears breech through my fog only to vanish when I unexpectedly yawn. I fight to speak. “There is no peace. Not for me.”
“Peace,” the voice says, deepening to a thrum.
“Not . . . meant . . . to have it,” I insist.
“You will. I swear it . . .”
I wake to the sound of my cell phone ringing. “Are you all right?” Bill growls when I answer.
It’s still dark outside. I rub my eyes. “What time is it?”
Bill speaks with more fury than I could have ever imagined. “Midnight. Why haven’t you called? I’ve been trying to reach you for two days!”
“You just left this morning,” I say slowly, working through what he said.
“Olivia, that was Saturday. It’s Monday night.”
I jerk up so hard, I almost fall off the bed.
Bill continues, his voice lessening only slightly in severity. “I went to your home and pounded on your door. I even sent Fae to search for you. My fear was that the Cù-Sìth had found you.”
“I’ve been asleep.” I push my crazy hair from my face and pause. My right hand and arm are back to full working order. “I’m so sorry, Bill. Between my injuries and everything that happened, my body likely shut down.”
“Yes, yes, of course. My apologies.” He clears his throat. “I don’t want to lose you, too. Dahlia’s death was a tragedy. It shouldn’t have happened.”
My fingers run through my borrowed talisman. “There’s a lot that shouldn’t have happened.”
“I know, Olivia. Jane and I, along with the Ancients and a few others are working to make it right.” The shuffle of papers on the other line tells me Bill has been busy. “I’d like you to come to work tomorrow―Forgive me, I know it’s a terrible request given everything you’ve endured. But it can’t wait. The Ancients have tasked me with identifying the source behind the attacks and bringing the perpetrators to justice.” He hesitates, tapping what sounds like a pen against a stack of papers. “I’ve arranged a private meeting on the 28th floor . . . with Ryker.”
My fingers curl tightly against the phone. “Do think that’s wise?”
“We have no choice. We need a better understanding of what we’re facing. Jane will be in attendance for your safety, as well as the dragons. I promise, nothing will happen to you.”
Bill wants to mean what he says. But he wasn’t there. He didn’t witness what I had. “Did you speak to Ryker?” I ask. “Directly, I mean?”
“Yes.”
I take a breath. “What did he say . . . about everything?”
“Nothing. He agreed to attend the meeting, but only if I guaranteed your presence.”
Chapter Ten
I step off the bus on Hudson Street, a block from the office building where I work, in head to toe pink. Yes, pink. The pixie needs brightness in her life, any way she can get it.
A few men repairing a large pothole whistle at me as I pass. When you work in Jersey City (or anywhere in the Tri-State area), you never know what adventure lurks around the bend. If the crazy guy masturbating two seats behind me was any indication of what my day is going to be like, my appointment with Death is a very, very bad idea.
My steps are quick, despite what waits for me. I want answers. I just don’t want to die getting them. Will I welcome what Ryker has to say, or will his words throw me into a dark place I’ll never wake from?
I cross the lobby, groaning. Good ol’ security half-wit Ralph is on duty. He barely glances up from slopping down his greasy Taylor ham and cheese sandwich. “You’re needed on the 28th, Alexandria,” he mutters between licks of ketchup from his fingers.
Thanks, jackass. I’ve worked there for a year and a half and am required to present my ID when entering the building. You’d think he’d know my name, especially given my unique hair.
I step into the elevator to giggles and familiar voices. Humans. I recognize them by their good cheer. The leprechaun and she-elf who work in Archives aren’t laughing. They hurry to catch the elevator before it closes, pausing
briefly when they see me.
Fear and sorrow drown their typically pleasant demeanors.
A law intern held the doors open when he saw them approach. The leprechaun enters first, offering me a sympathetic smile. The elf squeezes in beside me and gently strokes my arm. They heard about Dahlia. Word of Death spreads quickly among the Fae.
They mean well, but their kindness chips away at my resolve. I can’t break down. There’s too much that awaits, and I need my wits.
I focus on the elevator numbers as they blink off one by one.
Don’t cry. Don’t cry. This is not the time.
I take a calming breath and at least four more. The idle elevator chatter bothers me. Someone complains about a hangover and a woman bemoans the barista who screwed up her latte. I want to scream that there are worse things in life. By some miracle, they’re the first to pile out.
The elevator accelerates quickly, so does my heartbeat. As it comes to an abrupt stop, my stomach lurches into my throat. Like the first mournful blast of Taps, the elevator dings open and shuts behind me like a closing casket. I should run. These are all bad signs. Still, I walk through the large open area and toward the Fae folk sitting at the granite boardroom table, hoping my shakes will lessen to manageable quivers.
The 28th floor was recently vacated by a computer software company with more brain power than money to satisfy its arrears. Jade green marble tile spreads brilliantly along the expanse, catching the light from the bare wall of windows.
Unlike the 29th and 30th floors that MacGregor and Santonelli own, there are no offices or cubicles. There’s not much of anything except the table and chairs at the end. The owners must want potential buyers to imagine the possibilities the mammoth space holds. All I can imagine is where my bleeding corpse will lie following a quick swing of Ryker’s scythe.
I don’t want to believe Ryker will kill me, just like I didn’t want to believe he could go on representing murderous and iniquitous clients. But he helped free those I believed were guilty and he’ll likely do it again.
Well, after he dumps my body in Staten Island.
Bill waits at the center of the table. Jane sits to his left, her candy cane and ribbon wand steady in her hand. A gray-haired gentleman in a jet-black suit and tie sits to Bill’s right, tapping his gold pinky ring impatiently against the table. Dragon, my pixie instincts tell me. Yet even if my Fae intuition failed to reveal his race, Frankie’s presence proclaims it loud and clear.
Frankie stands behind pinky ring dude, flanked by six more dragons. I recognize two from Friday night’s attack.
The tension heating the room gathers an edge the closer I step. I half expect to be knifed in the chest when I reach the table. Anger surges to the surface, that and screams for blood.
I adjust the purse strap on my shoulder. My lunch is tucked inside. I hope I live to eat it. “Miss Olivia Finn.” Bill motions to the pinky ring dragon. “I’d like you to meet Mr. Sebastian.”
“Hi.”
Under other circumstances, I’d offer old snarl tooth my hand. And under other circumstances, perhaps Mr. Sebastian wouldn’t meet me with a frown.
“There must be a mistake,” he says. He scrutinizes me from big, multi-colored hair, to floral pink mini dress, and all the way down to my hot pink pumps. “She’s a damn rainbow.”
“She’s the real thing, Mr. Sebastian. I assure you,” Frankie says, beating Bill to my defense, and possibly Jane’s hex given the way her beady eyes glare at him.
Frankie is back in black camo clothes and boots. His brown eyes carry the grief of a wounded man, but his hard face discloses his need to avenge.
The elevator dings behind me. The doors part. Ryker step through.
And I’m wrenched across the table.
My purse falls from my shoulder, spilling my container of soup, a hair brush and wallet, and my emergency stock of tampons. Glorious. Nothing like a bout of extra humiliation on your death-day.
“My apologies,” Bill mutters, lowering me to his side.
Everyone is on their feet except for Jane. My water bottle rolls along the length of the floor, stopping beneath Ryker’s foot. His cold piercing gaze locks on me as he bends to retrieve the bottle. I expect the black and azure armor and cape of his alter ego. Instead, a freshly pressed charcoal suit with a crisp white shirt and blue tie provide his only protection.
He walks with purpose toward us, like a tiger staking out his turf at mealtime. I shudder. Okay. Maybe he is here to kill me.
“That’s far enough,” Bill says when mere feet separate us.
Ryker stops, hints of annoyance sizzling his lethal stare. “If I wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead.”
The bare face truth of his statement has me all but keeling over.
Bill leans forward, no trace of fear in his face or his voice. “Then what you do want?”
“Freedom,” Ryker replies, his focus returning to me. “Something only Olivia can grant me.”
He lifts his hand, offering me the water bottle. The plastic tip meets an invisible force. Sparks of red magic clash against it, sending streams of water and fragmented bits of warped plastic shooting across the room. The dragons vanish except for Frankie who stays by Mr. Sebastian. They materialize along with three more dragons directly behind Ryker.
Ryker shakes out his hand from a deep crouch on the floor, anger and pain darkening his features. His gaze cuts to Jane. “Druid priestess?” he asks. Jane answers with blink. “Impressive. Too bad your trap can’t hold me.”
A charred ring circles Ryker and fires a deep red. Bill and Jane obviously prepared before I arrived. “You caged him?” I ask.
Bill’s focus doesn’t waver. “We need to take precautions. I can’t risk anything happening to you.”
“I would never hurt her,” Ryker growls.
The force in which Ryker responds strikes us all. Ryker was met with a strong offense and a show of collective force. He should be wary. The rest should demonstrate confidence in numbers and strength. That’s not what happens. The rigid and guarded stances betray fear of what Ryker is and what he can do. Ryker’s warning that he could kill us wasn’t a mere threat. It’s a statement of fact.
Ryker flexes his grip, appearing to rein in his temper. “I’ve been alone with Olivia in the past. I’ve had several opportunities to kill her—
“Nice,” I say.
He frowns. Oh, like I’m the lunatic here.
“But I haven’t,” he bites out, ignoring the interruption. “Why would I harm her now?”
“Because she knows what you are.” Bill’s voice remains steady. “We all do.”
Ryker’s deadly tone reverberates across the floor. “You have no idea what I am.”
The icy scratch of fingers dig their way up my arms. Cobras don’t need to announce they’re deadly for people to fear them. They slither along, aware of their power and intimidate by simply being. Ryker is the same way, the venom in his voice suggesting he’s moments from striking.
My feelings fluctuate between reassuring him and running for my life. Jane remains neutral, giving no indication of what I should do. Bill and the dragons have me ready to sprint toward the stairwell. As predators, they recognize another foe, and like Ryker, their tightening postures indicate they’re ready to fight.
Only Frankie keeps his cool. He walks around the table, his movements cautious yet imperturbable. “The night of Cù-Sìth attack, he protected Olivia and entrusted me with taking her home.”
Bill stays focused on Ryker. “Do you know what Olivia is?” he asks him.
Ryker grinds his teeth, muscling through the enchantment. Jane’s binding spell harmed him, but it didn’t disable him as she likely intended. “No,” Ryker admits. “I’m guessing she’s some subspecies of lawn gnome.”
“I’m a pixie,” I reply rather defensively.
The barest glimpse of a smirk curves the edges of Ryker’s mouth. It was brief, but there.
Mr. Sebastian dissects him from hea
d to foot. “You can’t distinguish one Fae from another, yet you appear at a club designed specifically for our kind. Don’t tell me it’s mere coincidence two kinds of Death appeared that night.”
Ryker stiffens and doesn’t reply. Bill huffs, his patience wearing thin. “If you want us to trust you, you need to explain your presence.”
Ryker doesn’t move and gives nothing away. My life is an open book. His is a locked diary tightly wrapped in cellophane.
I have escalating tension. “Please, say something,” I beg.
Ryker lowers his head, muttering a curse. When he looks up, the force of his presence bowls me over. “I heard you calling to me. Sometimes, your thoughts invade my own.”
Doesn’t that bring me more attention than I ever wanted or needed.
“You brought him onto my premises!” Mr. Sebastian’s incredulous tone awakens the dragons’ dormant forms. They abandon Ryker and close in on me, their eyes ablaze in yellow and orange light.
Frankie steps in front of me, shielding me with his body as Bill yanks me back. “Stand down,” Frankie snarls. “She’s one of us!”
“You sure ‘bout dat, Frankie?” one of the dragons spits out. “You heard him. She called him to us!”
“I-I, I didn’t!” I insist.
Jane clutches my hand and mumbles a spell. Frankie and Bill shove two dragons away from me. My shoulder blades fall back against the large windows as a dragon transforms into his dormant form. Purple and gray scales erupt from his skin and his body expands four times its size. His snout widens ready to spill flame.
“Don’t do it, Aaron,” Frankie warns. “I’ll kill you if you get anywhere near her.”
A sharp snap slices the air. My body is wrenched from the floor and I’m blinded in darkness. I release a startled breath to find myself halfway across the room and clutched against Ryker.
The long black cape of his kick-ass death suit cascades downward as he grips his scythe.
“I told you, I would never hurt Olivia,” he rumbles, his arm tight around my waist. “And I’ll be damned if I let anyone touch her.”