“What are you capable of, besides healing and granting wishes?” she asked.
He raised a brow, and Alana flushed. “Okay,” she added, “and besides that.”
“I can transport small items by magic. Plus, I can provide transportation via carpet, as long as one is supplied. I’m also rather good at finding lost camels.”
Alana considered. Those were all handy talents, but not obvious showstoppers. Then again, what would it take to stop an invasion from another realm?
“I don’t have a plan,” she said. “Not yet, but I figure it’s like any fighting hold. It’s not about brute strength. It’s about finding the weak joint, then putting the pressure there.”
“Targeted resistance.” Ronan picked up his shirt, letting it dangle from one hand. “Go on.”
It was hard to marshal her thoughts with so much bare-chested glory in the room, but she did her best. “Let’s recap. For whatever reason, Blacktongue opened a door to the Shades, letting them into your world. The invasion ended with most of the fae fleeing to this world. Now Blacktongue, presumably still on the Shades’ payroll, is using magic mirrors to communicate with the exiled fae. I’ve personally seen one mirror in Corby’s office, and another in Tyrell’s front hall.”
To her great disappointment, Ronan pulled his shirt on. She understood the impulse. Talking about the mirrors made her feel vulnerable, and she pulled the blankets more tightly around her naked body.
“If yesterday’s attack is any indication, the Shades use threats to get what they want. Right now, everyone is running scared, including Tyrell and Hugo Martigen. I think they are the Shades’ contacts in this community. From the sound of it, Hugo was on board first, but now Tyrell is dragged into it.”
“That makes sense,” Ronan agreed. “And contact has probably been ongoing for some time.”
“But something’s changed. The fae here keep their existence more or less secret from the humans, and the Shades must know that. And yet, yesterday they mounted a daylight attack on Tyrell because he’s not delivering the goods fast enough.”
“Risky,” he agreed.
“Maybe the Shades don’t care about secrecy anymore, because they’ll soon invade this world, too.” Alana jammed her fingers into her tangled hair, as if that would stimulate her thoughts.
“So where in all this spiderweb of circumstance are you going to find your pressure point?” he asked, taking a seat beside her and wrapping an arm around her waist.
“I’ve got one more person to talk to. My old coach, Henry.”
“What would he know?”
“I still haven’t given up on the gambling angle, or that someone rigged my last fight.” Or that someone had poisoned Tina—an otherwise unbeatable fighter—to win big against the odds. “The perpetrator has to be desperate, presumably for money. Henry knows every player in the fighting game. Desperate people stand out.”
“Making them a perfect pressure point,” Ronan added, the warm weight of his arm coaxing her to lean against him. “The question is how this links to the Shades.”
“There has to be a connection. It’s the same cast of characters. That’s too much coincidence.”
Something between apprehension and admiration flickered across Ronan’s face. “Do you want me to come with you?”
“It might be better if I talked to Henry alone. He doesn’t know you.”
“Then I will rest a while. It takes energy to maintain a solid form for many hours.”
Alana couldn’t stop a smile. Ronan had been very solid on multiple occasions last night. “Sweet dreams.”
Ronan leaned over, giving her one last soft kiss. Then, with a flicker of light, he dissolved into a sparkling cloud that flew toward the lamp on the bookshelf. It was fascinating to watch, but it was an uncomfortable reminder of his situation.
The lamp was the one puzzle piece that didn’t fit anywhere. Ronan had called himself a weapon. From what she’d overheard, Tyrell was pressuring Corby to find the lamp because the Shades wanted it back. Somehow, Ronan was central to the whole story.
How? Why? She’d asked Ronan, but he couldn’t give her answers—at least not in so many words.
She wanted to lie by his side for hours, feeling the steady beat of his heart next to hers. Alana had longed for someone to hold—and to hold her—just the way he’d done. That was a gift she’d never expected.
Surely there had to be a way to free him! She was a warrior, wasn’t she?
Yes, it was easy to be brave in the comfort of her Ronan-warmed bed. With a faint groan, she rolled out of her nest and shuffled to the bathroom. She turned the shower on hot, stepped in, and let it ease away the aches from yesterday’s attack. After washing, she got dressed and made coffee. She was as ready as she’d get to take on the world.
Scooping up her shoulder bag, she headed for the door, but then paused to study the lamp where it sat on the bookshelf, half-hidden by scruffy spider plants. The lamp wasn’t in any obvious danger, but she didn’t like the idea of leaving Ronan unguarded—not while the likes of Blacktongue and Barleycorn were sniffing around. After picking it up, she buried it in the bottom of her roomy shoulder bag, immediately feeling better.
With a genie on board, she could do anything, right?
10
Henry’s gym was in a nondescript warehouse in the industrial district of town. The building didn’t look like much, but it sat above the underground arena where the fights were held. The shabby paint and cracked windows on the outside provided camouflage that kept curious humans away.
As Alana had predicted, her old coach was in his lair, bellowing at the next upcoming hopeful. “Get your tail in gear, you shiftless sack of fur,” Henry growled, clapping his hands so loudly the sound bounced off the high ceiling.
The unfortunate trainee—a werewolf from the big-boned look of him—jerked to attention, then ran and leaped, executing a perfect somersault midair. He landed, sprang over a vaulting horse, then ran a few steps up the wall before springing into a back-flip.
“You didn’t stick the landing,” Henry roared. “Do it right this time.”
Alana winced in sympathy. She knew the drill. Had done it herself a thousand times. Henry never settled just for brute strength or even speed, but counted agility as an essential survival skill when it came to the fights. That was where Tina had excelled.
Alana hung back, watching for another minute. The familiar scent of resin and sweat filled the air. Somewhere, an insect buzzed lazily in the morning sunlight. It seemed as if time had stood still. Same drills, same lessons to learn, same old Henry. Sadness seeped in, along with a vague sense of betrayal. A few months ago, he’d been yelling at her and Tina. Now it was someone Alana didn’t even know.
She opened her mouth to protest, but then closed it. She’d come to do a job, and needed to focus on that. Hitching her shoulder bag higher, she approached Henry with a touch of her old swagger. “Hey, Coach. What’s up?”
He turned her way in surprise, but then a smile spread across his battered face. “Alana, babe.” He spread his hands out. “The Incorruptible, as I live and breathe.”
They hugged hard, and then he examined her. “You’re a lot better,” he said, sounding mystified. “You’re not limping at all.”
“I’ve been doing the exercises you gave me,” she lied. “They’ve helped a lot.”
He brightened. “Great to hear! What can I do for you?”
“I have some questions.”
“About what?” The light in his eyes dimmed to suspicion. He’d always been able to read her mood.
“This and that.”
Henry turned to his trainee, who was toweling the sweat from his neck. “Take ten, willya?”
“Sure thing.” The young fighter turned toward the locker room with a weary hobble.
“You’re riding the kid hard,” Alana said.
“He’s got talent.” Henry put an arm around her shoulders. “So I’ve heard you’ve got a great job now, working
for the young chief.”
“Yup.” That was what the rank and file called Tyrell. “Some things have come up there. They’ve reminded me I’ve still got questions about my last fight.”
“There’s nothing new I can tell you.” He said it too quickly.
“Then maybe you can tell me something old, like how long Martigen has been using gambling revenue to pay off his investor.”
Henry went chalk-white. “Keep your voice down!”
He steered her toward the back corner of the gym, where there was no possibility they could be overheard. Alana followed quietly. For once, Henry was listening instead of brushing her off.
“I was with Tyrell Martigen yesterday when he was attacked by Shades,” she whispered. “Or their lackeys, anyway.”
“I heard.” Henry’s jaw bulged with tension. “What do you think I can tell you?”
Frustration itched like poison under her skin. “I heard Hugo and Tyrell talking. Are the Shades squeezing the exiled fae for gold?”
Shock blossomed across his face, as if she’d broken a rule. She held up her hands in surrender. “I wouldn’t ask, but they nearly killed us.”
His answer was brief. “Yes.”
“Are they after all the fae?”
“The rich ones. For now.”
“Why?”
His gaze slid around the room, searching for something—or someone—who wasn’t there. “Have you heard the expression that an army marches on its stomach? Provisions cost money.”
She folded her arms, confused. “Those things shop?”
Henry’s expression was grim as he bent forward, keeping his voice low. “You can’t always kill the peasants. Someone has to do the work. In many cases, a cash transaction is the simple answer.”
Alana stared at the scarred wooden floor without really seeing it. “They get money from this realm through the mirrors and into their pockets?”
He nodded. “Gold and rubies spend most places.”
“Who would deal with them? A lot of fae remember the invasion.”
“You’d be surprised. Blackmail. Threats against a child or a lover. People cave.”
Their eyes met. Her gut said he was telling the truth.
“What have they got to do with Martigen Industries?” she whispered.
“Everything funnels through Martigen.” Henry jerked his chin at the gym. “Like I said, they need the money. I’ve put two and two together, just like you.”
It was as she’d suspected. If the Shades wanted funds to support their next conquest, the underground fights made money flow like nothing else. Even the mayor was sending fat envelopes to Tyrell, the bookmaker with the magic mirror in his front hall.
Alana spun, savagely kicking the wall. The so-called investor wasn’t an investor at all, but a leech sucking the life blood of the exiled fae community. And sooner or later, some fool would open the door and let them in, giving the Shades a whole new world to destroy.
Alana felt the heat climbing up her cheeks. She clutched the strap of her shoulder bag like a comfort object. “Our fight was fixed for a big payoff, wasn’t it?”
Henry’s face was haggard. “I swear by the Wheel I didn’t know that was going to happen.”
“But you knew something!”
“They asked me who would win.” Henry looked away. “I told them no one could beat you.”
He’d finally admitted it. She should have felt relief, but instead a sour burn hurt her stomach.
He touched her arm, bridging the gulf that suddenly yawned between them. “I swear I didn’t know you were in danger. I never would have let you walk into the circle if I had.”
“Who did it?” she ground out.
“I don’t know who did the poisoning.”
“Was it you?”
“No!” His voice rose, and he visibly struggled to rein in his temper. “I swear to you, no.”
Maybe that was true, but Tina was dead and the enemy was on the doorstep. She was tempted, so very tempted, to use a wish to get the answers out of him. Something told her, though, that Henry would never forgive such a violation of his will.
“What am I supposed to do with this?” she asked, pulling out of his reach. “Fighters have been dying these last couple of years. Is this a pattern?”
“Stay out of it, Alana,” Henry warned. “If not for your own sake, for the rest of us. Most of us have something to lose.”
No, most people weren’t like her, a girl whose adopted family had given up on their talentless daughter. Most people didn’t have friends who died on the packed dirt of a basement arena. Lucky them. Now her coach stood before her, telling her to let the enemy win. Disappointment tightened around her ribs. “Don’t you want to fight back?” she demanded. “For Tina?”
He shook his head. “There’s no answer I can give that you’ll like. These people don’t make empty threats. Trust me on that one.”
Somehow, Alana found her smile. It felt cold and hard on her lips. “You taught me to fight, Henry. Too late to regret that now.”
With that, she stalked out, letting the heavy fire door slam behind her.
She fished her sunglasses out of her bag and slid them on, blinking back tears. Physical pain never made her cry, but this had hurt her heart. Henry was her friend, her mentor, but he’d given in. It would have been easier if she could have hated him, but he had family to protect.
She’d loathed the Shades before, but in a theoretical way. Now they’d stolen her faith in her friend.
Halfway down the block, she caught a glimpse of movement near one of the neighboring warehouses. She backtracked a few steps, searching the corners and loading bays, but saw nothing. After a few fruitless moments, she moved on, but the nagging sense of trouble didn’t leave her. She slipped into a deep doorway, using its shade for cover.
“What’s wrong?”
She spun, bumping into the warmth of Ronan’s chest. “I spoke to Henry. You wouldn’t believe…”
“I heard it all.” Giving her a slight smile, he squeezed her hand. “The lamp is in your bag, remember?”
“I thought Henry had our backs.”
“I’m sure he is doing what he can.”
She realized how much she craved Ronan’s touch right then, and threaded her fingers through his.
Ronan stroked her cheek, his touch impossibly gentle. His carefulness was still a surprise to her—so many men never saw beyond her strength. “Why did you stop here?” he asked.
“I had a bad feeling.” She studied his face, the memories of last night overlaid with the mystery of who and what he was. And why did caution melt away every time he got close?
She pulled her wits together, catching motion from the corner of her eye. Henry was leaving the gym, striding in the opposite direction. “I wonder where he’s going in such a hurry?”
Ronan raised a brow. “Might I suggest we follow? You stay behind him. I will look ahead.”
With that, he dissolved into smoke, leaving her alone. Alana waited until Henry turned the corner, then ran across the street to fall into step a block behind him. She hadn’t got halfway before someone else emerged from an alleyway further ahead. It was Randall, the sleazy job applicant who was now working for Hugo Martigen. Alana’s stomach flipped with apprehension. Was it Randall she’d seen lurking nearby? He seemed like a lurking kind of guy.
He reached the corner first, vanishing quickly. She doubled her pace, wanting to catch up before she lost the two men. As she drew near, she heard voices.
“Is that why you called me all the way out here?” Henry asked, loud and unhappy. “Is this your big emergency? Grab some brains!”
She slowed, hugging the wall so she could peer around the corner unseen. Henry stood outside a small neighborhood coffee shop that had tables and chairs on the sidewalk. A few of the early bird locals were drinking coffee, eating pastries, and watching Henry lose his temper. Randall was walking up to him, but he wasn’t the one the coach was bellowing at. Alana leaned a b
it further, catching a glimpse of Corby standing with his hands on his hips.
So Corby had summoned Henry. Alana hadn’t known they were even acquainted. She hung back, wanting to hear more.
“It is an emergency, Blackwell,” Corby said. He sat on one of the metal bistro chairs before placing something on the table. Alana couldn’t tell what it was until it moved.
A bug. Fae listening devices were actual insects, although they spoke in a language trained handlers could understand. This one looked about the size of her palm, although it was hard to tell from a distance. Was that what she’d sensed lurking around?
One by one, the humans were picking up their coffee mugs and phones and preparing to go. They couldn’t see the bug—that would be hidden from their sight—but even Alana could feel the push of a repulsion spell designed to send potential witnesses on their way. Before a minute was up, the three fae men were alone.
“What did he tell the she-devil?” Randall asked Corby. His tone said he hadn’t forgiven her for the incident in Barleycorn’s office.
“My former employee seemed to know a great deal before she got there. Blackwell filled in a few blanks.”
Why are they bugging Henry? Bewildered, Alana leaned against the side of the building, grateful for its support.
“For shame,” Corby said. “I thought our coach here understood discretion.”
“I do,” Henry replied. “She just showed up. I had no idea she was coming.”
Guilt hammered Alana, turning her stomach sour. This is my fault!
“A nosy creature, isn’t she?” Corby slipped the bug into his shirt pocket. It crawled in until nothing but the long antennae showed. “It’s not your job to satisfy her curiosity. It’s your job to make sure the fights go our way.”
“I’ve told you before, I won’t put my fighters in danger.”
Corby snapped his fingers, and a privacy shield snapped into place around them. They were invisible and inaudible to anyone but fae. They might be right outside the coffee shop playing a brass band, but no humans would know.
“Shoulda played dumb,” Randall said sadly.
Henry’s face went red. “And you’re volunteering to give lessons?”
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