by Lauren Dawes
My snooping skills were losing their edge.
I was curled up in a round chair, one that had a deep seat, a high back, and loads of cushions. I didn’t think it was Sawyer’s style, but I was learning that he could keep surprising me. Sprawled in my lap was a large leather-bound book that was about magical artifacts. I was kind of hoping something would be in there about my opal, but after reading it from cover to cover, I learned that magical cauldrons, weapons, and jewelry existed, but there was no mention of magic-repelling, fatal-shot-warning black opals that were given by fathers.
It was hopeless. I needed Mrs. Brown to tell me what she knew. She’d said we’d have plenty of time to talk, but two weeks later, and nothing. Not that I could blame her for wanting to take a vacation.
Heaving a sigh, I closed the current book and slid it on to the ottoman with the other tomes I’d read already. I probably had another hour in me. Despite thinking that I couldn’t sleep, I was discovering that my head was growing loggy.
Hauling myself upright, I walked along the wall-length shelves, trying to see if anything jumped out at me—hopefully not literally. I needed to know about Rogue Faction too, and since the opal search was turning into a dead-end, I changed tactics.
I ran my fingers along the spines of the books as I inched my way down, stopping at a book that was titled Enemies of the Fae: A History.
“Well, color me intrigued,” I said to myself.
Pulling it out, I traced the image of a beautiful fae woman on the front cover with my fingertip. Given the size of the spine, the fae had a lot of enemies, it seemed. Mind you, they had been around as long as human civilization so they had to have accrued a few in that time.
Opening the book to the table of contents, I skimmed the entries, stopping when I reached vampires. Vampires were enemies of the fae? Given that vampires were aloof and ruthless by nature—just as the fae were—it made sense, but I didn’t realize there was anything more to it than that.
Another entry that caught my attention was called Ancient Rome’s Solution. Intrigued, I flipped to that page and took a little look. I read a few entries about how the fae had been blamed for the madness of the Caesars from Tiberius to Caligula to Nero. They thought that the fae influenced these men and their actions, but it sounded to me like they were looking for a scapegoat.
Then my gaze snagged on something else. It looked like an ax, but not in the modern sense. It was made of bundled wooden rods and an ax head bound together with strips of leather. It was called a fasces, and it was a symbol of power and authority, strength and justice.
It said that many people suspected of being one of the fae race were killed with one of these fasces. And because they successfully killed would-be-fae with them, they were long thought to be one of the only safe ways to destroy them.
Ancient civilizations sure had a way about things.
I kept searching, grinding to a halt when I saw Humans as a heading. I scanned the words on the page below.
Humans are the most problematic to the fae. This is not due to any powers the humans possess, as they possess none, but it has to do with their physical number. The human population outnumbers the fae one thousand to one, and with that larger number, they control them.
Three centuries ago, the two ruling queens decided to create a world just for the fae. Parallel to the human world, The Mound reflected the human one surrounding it.
“The Mound.” I traced the letters with the tip of my finger. That must’ve been what the fae called it before we started calling it Wonderland.
I kept reading.
The Mound was designed to be a place where the fae didn’t need to use their glamor to hide their true identity. Its creation was also two-fold. The humans had started to become distrustful of the fae. Because it appeared they never aged, or had strange diets, they began to think that maybe they were not human at all. They formed organizations to hunt the fae. These groups of humans called themselves Rogues, which, as their numbers grew, became Rogue Faction, or simply Faction.
I looked up, rubbing my eyes with my thumb and forefinger. Rogue Faction had been around for three centuries? And my parents had been a part of this group—a group that willingly hunted down fae at first, then supernatural creatures on the whole.
“Fuck.”
Still, I kept reading, this time flicking over to a section called ‘aos sí.’
It is often said the biggest enemy of the fae are the fae itself. The two queens of the Fae Court—the Seelie and Unseelie—are always related by blood. As with magic, there must be balance—light and dark.
The Seelie Court seeks help from trusted humans when they feel it’s necessary and is often called the ‘Golden Court.’ The queen’s quarters are filled with golden light and have a living ceiling of white ash boughs.
On the opposite spectrum is the Unseelie Court, which has gained the name of the ‘Shadow Court.’ Here, the Unseelie Queen is covered in blackthorn thicket and is perpetually cold and gloomy. The Unseelie fae are dark in complexion and enjoy torturing humans for the smallest slight.
I slammed the book shut and breathed deeply for a little while. The fae were a complex civilization, and as I stared down at the beautiful—clearly Seelie fae—on the front, I wondered who had written this book. A lot of the information in here could be used against them, and it’d be a cold day in hell before I had a fae for an enemy, well, another fae.
Kailon was plenty enough for me to handle right now.
Placing the book onto the top of the pile, I stood and stretched my arms above my head. Tomorrow was a new day, and if it involved the fae, I had to be on my guard.
Six
The next morning, I was on coffee duty. Since nobody in the office liked the filtered shit in the break room, I was sent out to retrieve some of the real stuff from the local coffee shop, along with some orders for breakfast muffins and a raw steak.
I wished I was joking about that last one.
But I wasn’t.
Ben was hungry, apparently, and I’d take throwing a steak at him rather than him taking a bite out of me any day of the week.
I was walking through the main reception area when I spotted a woman with pale, shimmering blue skin peeking out from behind the collar of her high-necked blouse. She was also wearing a long skirt that went down to her ankles, and a large-brimmed hat that covered everything but the tip of her nose, mouth, and chin. I automatically drew to a stop, while my heart kept on climbing—trying to get out of my throat. The fae talking to the receptionist turned and stared straight at me. I was a heartbeat away from dumping the drinks and pulling out my Glock when she smiled at me…
… in relief.
“Can you help me?” she asked.
I glanced around then looked back at her. “Me?”
“Yes. You’re the only one who can help me.”
“Am I?” I asked.
“You’re with PIG, right? I’ve seen the photographs in the papers.”
My galloping pulse slammed on the breaks and dropped back into my chest with a relieved sigh. “Y-Yes, I’m with PIG. What seems to be the problem?”
The blue-skinned woman glanced around the busy lobby. “Can we talk in private?”
“Of course.” I led her through the department, passing through the pit of beat cops and detectives. It was like running the gauntlet, and we’d almost made it to the other side when Smith stepped into our path.
“Civilians aren’t allowed through here,” he told me with a satisfied smirk on his face. His gaze skimmed the fae I was with, scanning her from head to toe. “Although, pretty ones are certainly allowed to stop by my desk any time, even if they are friends with a freak like McKenzie.”
The fae woman turned in my direction. I shook my head a little, wondering why Smith couldn’t see that her skin was tinted blue—that she wasn’t human as he preferred his… everyone.
Gleefully, I mentally rubbed my hands together. “She’s here to report a crime, Smith. She’s not a
friend, and she’s certainly not human.”
Smith stepped back half a step, his now wide-eyed gaze traveling over the fae’s body with a new light—aggression and hate. “She’s one of them?” he demanded angrily in a hard tone.
“Yes.” I looked around the office to find a couple of people staring. Could they see she was clearly one of the fae? “Now, if you’ll excuse us, I have to take her statement.”
I steered the female away and hurried her into the PIG offices.
“… Christmas party is at The Palatial this year,” Brax was saying to Ben, the name of the hotel snagging my attention.
“Is it?” I asked him, my brows raised.
“Yeah, Wolfe just sent out an intraoffice email about it.”
I pumped a fist. Even the thought of spending a night with Smith couldn’t dim my excitement for Christmas or Christmas parties.
I turned to the fae and gestured to my desk. “Take a seat there, and I’ll be with you in just a sec.”
She nodded, and I dropped the brown-paper-wrapped steak onto Ben’s desk. “Bon appetite,” I told him. He grinned at me like he was imagining I’d just dropped my own arm in front of him. Shudder.
I deposited a coffee cup onto Hayliel and Brax’s desks, then carried mine and Sawyer’s over to my desk. The fae was sitting quietly on the other side of my work space, her spine straight, her hands folded in her lap.
I sat and jiggled my mouse to wake up the screen. “Now, Mrs.…”
“Smith,” she replied quietly.
Mrs. Smith was totally a false name, but the fae never gave their real names out to anyone. It was too dangerous because with a name, there was a power.
“Mrs. Smith, what can I help you with?”
“The others didn’t believe me,” she started, gesturing to the door they’d walked through.
She removed her hat, and I couldn’t hold back the gasp. She had dark blue hair that looked as if it was made out of water. With each movement, it shimmered silver, glistening like the surface of Buxton Lake in the middle of summer. I also got a good look at her face—cheek bones so high and sharp you could cut yourself on them, eyes the color of back-lit sapphires. She was an absolutely stunning woman.
“You can see past my glamor, ie?”
Afraid of what my voice might sound like, I simply bobbed my head.
She cocked her head to the side, her water-like hair flowing over her shoulder. “How?”
“I’m not sure.” I couldn’t see past Kailon’s glamor unless he showed it to me, so why was I seeing it now? I resisted the urge to clutch at my opal.
“It doesn’t matter what you look like, though, Mrs. Smith. I’m here to help you with whatever you need.”
She nodded slowly, a beatific smile appearing on her serene face. “For your generous nature, I would give you something,” she said, and I stiffened. Gifts from the fae were a bad, bad, bad idea.
“You don’t have to—”
“My name,” she interrupted. “You may call me Gwen.”
Also, probably not her real name, but it was better than the wholly ubiquitous Mrs. Smith.
“Thank you, Gwen. Now, what can I help you with?”
“My son has been taken by a gang of kappas.”
Well, that’s a new one, I thought wryly. Keeping my professional persona in place, I opened up an incident report. “Tell me what happened.”
“My son was ice skating on Buxton Lake with some friends when a section of ice broke and he fell in. His friends tried to pull him out, but they said it was like someone else was tugging on his foot, dragging him back under the water. They couldn’t hold him and he… he… disappeared under the ice.”
Grabbing the box of tissues on my desk, I offered one to her. “When did this happen?”
“Yesterday,” she replied, dabbing at her face.
“And you reported it yesterday?”
She shook her head, a lock of her mesmerizing hair falling over her face. She shoved it back impatiently. “No. I thought I could reason with the kappas as I have done previously, but my negotiations failed.”
At that statement, my brows rose. “This has happened before?” When she nodded, I asked, “Excuse me if this is rude, but what kind of fae are you?”
The woman startled at my question, and I wondered how many rules I’d just broken. “I am Gwageth Anoon.”
I hadn’t heard of Gwageth Anoon before, but that didn’t really matter. According to Sawyer, I was as naive as a newborn water sprite when it came to the thousands of different fae and supernatural creatures out there—whatever that meant.
“So your son is half… Gwageth?”
She gave me a faint smile and swept her liquid-like hair off her shoulder once more. “He’s a fantastic swimmer, so even if a kappa did get him, he should’ve been able to break away from them. I’ve told him how.”
I tapped my chin with the tip of my finger in thought. “Unless there were a lot of them.”
Gwen’s sapphire eyes widened. “Of course. The kappas must’ve bred since the last time I encountered them.”
“When was that?”
“About a decade ago.”
I typed in that information, then glanced up when Sawyer strolled in. He’d just come back from the gym so was freshly showered and looking oh-so-fine in his black slacks and shirt, his sleeves rolled up, his dark hair wet.
His gray-eyes gaze flickered to me and stayed there. Heat immediately erupted through my body, my nerve endings firing with pleasure. My pelvis felt heavy with want, and I watched as his eyes darkened, and he started feeding off my lust.
So.
Damned.
Inappropriate.
But still so freaking hot.
I frowned and the pressure lifted, but my lust didn’t. It was simmering in the background, just like it always did.
Then his eyes flickered to the woman sitting at my desk with me, and he straightened. “Gwen? Beth wyt ti'n gwneud yma?”
Gwen visibly stiffened before turning to face him. “Cythraul rhyw,” she breathed, then shook her head. Swallowed. Switching back to English, she said, “The kappas at Buxton Lake have my son, and my negotiations have failed.”
Sawyer perched on the edge of his desk, folding his arms. “When did this happen?”
“Yesterday. He was ice skating with friends,” I said helpfully, totally feeling out of the loop since they clearly knew each other and were speaking in Welsh. “But why were you negotiating with them?” Then I slid a glare at Sawyer and asked, “And what the hell does cythraul rhyw mean?”
I caught the faint smell of fresh water coming off Gwen’s skin as her eyes darted around the office before returning to me. “We have a long history, the kappas and I.”
“We should go to the lake,” Sawyer said casually, picking up his coffee cup and taking a sip.
And completely ignoring my question.
I frowned at him.
“We probably only have another couple of hours before they drown your son.”
My head jerked to him, and my brows rose. How could he be so flippant about drowning children? “Seriously? You just throw that out there?”
He shrugged. “Kappas only keep their victims alive for twenty-four hours before they kill them.”
“You’re right,” Gwen said in a fretful tone, worrying the brim of her large hat in her hands. “We should go.”
“All right, well, I don’t think we’re all going to fit on Sawyer’s bike, so I’ll just hang here.”
“No, I’ll meet you there,” Gwen said, standing with that same fluid grace as before. “I… I… shall meet you there.”
And with that, she turned on her heel and left the office. I walked around to the other side of my desk, perching my hip on the corner. I hiked my thumb in the fae’s direction. “Was that weird? And for the love of God, what the hell does cythraul rhyw mean?” His eyes grew hooded—in the same way he did when he didn’t want to tell me something. “Come on, Sawyer.” I gestured to the
look of disdain on his face. “This doesn’t work on me so just spill it.”
He let out a sigh. “It’s Welsh for ‘sex demon.’”
I snorted, and he glared. “How do you… ah… know her?” I tried to ask nonchalantly.
“I knew her back in Wales.”
“Wait. So, you’re telling me she’s as old as you?”
“Older, I believe… by at least a century. You can tell the age of a water fairy by the length of their hair.” He picked up his motorcycle keys and jogged them in his palm. “Are you ready to go?”
“Argh, no.” But I had no other choice. I hadn’t wanted to drive my truck in to work today, so it was safely tucked in the garage at Sawyer’s and my apartment, which left me with Sawyer’s motorcycle.
We strolled from the office, walking through the pit of Buxton officers on the way to the door. Sawyer’s longer stride ate up the distance, putting his at least six feet ahead of me. Yeah, it sucked to be short. I’d almost made it all the way through when Smith stepped in front of me, folding his arms and blocking my way.
I peered up at him. “You mind getting out of my way?”
“You mind fucking off and dying?”
I smiled. I couldn’t help it. “One day, Smith, you are going to need my help, and you’re going to regret every single bit of shade you’ve thrown my way.”
“It’ll be a cold day in hell before that happens.”
Stepping around him, I blew him a kiss and walked for the door. Sawyer would be so proud of me.
I met my partner outside. He was already astride his Ducati, my helmet in his hand. After handing it to me, I put it on, then slid onto the back of his bike. He dragged me in tighter to his broad back and squeezed my knee. Jesus, all these casual touches were killing me. The comms crackled to life in my ear.