Gray and Graves: A Dark Fae Menage Urban Fantasy (The Three Courts of Faerie Book 1)

by C. M. Stunich

  “Let's test her and then send her on her merry way, shall we?” Scatach looked disappointed but nodded her acquiescence. I'm going to kill you, Corey. I swore as the Unseelie Queen descended upon me. You did not prepare me for this shit.

  I looked around frantically for Amadan, but he was nowhere to be seen. Not that I really expected him to come to my rescue, but it would have at least made me feel a little bit better.

  “What are going to do to me?” I squealed as I was, once again, snatched violently on the wrist and jerked roughly back towards the podium. My own self-preserving advice to keep quiet flew out the window in my terror. “No! Keep that thing away from me!” Scatach ignored me. My stomach roiled in protest at the onslaught of nausea until I emptied my Caesar salad at the Queens' feet.

  God, I was pathetic.

  Get a hold of yourself, Georgette! I berated myself as Scatach pulled me upright and proceeded to plunge a hand directly into my chest. The magic of my glamour burst as easily beneath her hand as a soap bubble would in the hands of a child. The stench of rot filled the cavernous room in an instant causing even Aife to turn and away and cough, but Scatach didn't blink an eye. She furrowed her brow in concentration and pushed even deeper into me. I didn't feel it in any physical sense. Whether that was because of Corey's magic or because she was reaching for something beyond the physical, I didn't know, but I could feel her reaching into a place deep inside of me, one that even I didn't know existed. It was connected to the feeling of turmoil in my gut, a well of misplaced magic that had somehow gotten inside of me. I wanted to cry out or flee, but I found myself relaxing into her grip until I felt her hand close around something tangible.

  With a cry of triumph, Scatach removed her hand from my chest with no visible sign that she'd ever been and emerged with something clenched in her fist. It was red and dripping and reeked of iron.

  Blood.

  A heart, my heart, pumping uselessly in the hand of a woman that Amadan had called the Keeper of the Dead. I knew it shouldn't look like it did, fresh and pink and alive. I had been dead for six months and although my decay was different from that of a regular person, it was still just that, decay. But there it was, dripping crimson spots onto the Queen's bare feet, still moving as if it were in the chest of a living person.

  I watched the two of them lazily, a ridiculously giddy smile blooming on my face. I knew deep down that what I was watching should terrify me, but whatever Scatach had done had left me in a drug-like stupor. I swayed back and a forth on my feet like a flower in a light breeze, gentle as could be, content.

  Scatach turned towards the scales and placed my heart on one of the little silver plates, the other rising to accommodate the shift in weight. Aife turned to face her sister, face placid and calm as she reached up and began to stroke gently at her scalp until she'd plucked one, floor length strand of hair by its root.

  “Let it be seen that this heart has been tested by the House of Sticks and Bones,” Scatach droned, hands palm up and facing the scale. In the same manner as she'd done with the shadows in the forest, the Unseelie Queen absorbed the darkness from the corners of the room until she once again held a fist sized mass of swirling violet and ebony. The magic tossed and turned in her hand like spots of fire on a miniature sun, licking at the cold metal beneath my heart until it trickled away to nothing, absorbed by the scales.

  “Let it be heard,” began Aife, as she curled the strand of hair onto the other metal plate. “That this soul has been tested by the House of Hands and Hearts and Hair.” She released her hair with a flourish, and I watched in astonishment as the plates began to balance out. Even in my magic induced semi-coma I understood that what I was looking at was strange.

  The heart began to raise slowly, millimeter by millimeter until it was just about even with the plate holding the hair. It didn't matter that Aife's hair was the longest I'd ever seen on an actual person; it didn't weigh near enough to cause any sort of weight change, let alone balance the whole thing.

  The Seelie Queen placed her hands in a mimicry of Scatach's but this time, instead of shadows, the hazy gleam of light that framed the scales responded to her call. Her magic was blinding, leaving miniature stars in my eyes in the long, quiet minutes that passed after her magic was absorbed in the plate beneath her hair.

  Something was wrong. No amount of magic could mask that fact from me. And it wasn't the kind of wrong that came from a strand of hair balancing equally against a human organ. It was something worse. That was what set me from scared to downright hysterical.

  The plates had stopped back where they'd started, at an equal distance from the top of the frame and the podium below them. They were leveled out, equally balanced and that was what was getting to the two sidhe women.

  “This is certainly … the closest we've ever had,” said Aife, bending at the waist like a straw doll so that she was nearly folded in half, her white eyes locked on and focused, trying to determine a winner in whatever macabre game they were playing.

  “Closest?” Scatach whispered, her own voice sounding far more fearful than her sister's. “This is madness.” She turned towards me, slowly, almost robotically and I would have wet myself if I could have. The fear in her eyes was that intense. “Who are you?” she breathed carefully, voice pitched so low that I could barely hear her.

  I continued to sway back and forth, feeling like an idiot. I couldn't move, still trapped in whatever spell she'd put on me.

  “Shush, Scatach,” Aife whispered back, her own voice beginning to take on the slightest trappings of fear. “They cannot be equal, merely close.” Scatach turned her attention back to the scales and bent down in front of the podium so that she was at eye level with the plates.

  I rolled my eyes to the side as far as I was able and tried to discern for myself what was going on. I didn't know why it mattered but whatever the reason, it seemed that my well being depended on it.

  “We must alert Samael,” hissed Scatach as she rose from her crouch with a start. “I see no other option. The scale is balanced!” Aife unfolded herself and touched long fingers to her glistening brow.

  “I suppose it is.” This was said with a finality that hung in the air like smog. “For now I will take the girl with me as I have already made a bargain with an old friend of mine.”

  Corey, you idiot, never bargain with the fae! I wanted to scream, to cry, to beg. They were making plans for me, about me, and I still didn't even know what was happening. My heart was still beating on a silver plate three feet from its proper place inside my chest, and I was swaying back and forth like a reed.

  Scatach stood sullenly in front of me, dark eyes studying me with what I thought might have been fear and respect, but when she blinked, both emotions were gone. Without taking her gaze from me, she reached her left hand over and retrieved my heart. It was still beating, though not as frantically as it had been before. She held it out to me like an offering.

  “Let it be believed that this being was fairly judged by the Light and the Dark in place of the Gray, and let it be known that we have found it unworthy.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  BANSHEE

  “The banshee are some of the most feared of all the fae. Not because they are dangerous, but because of the message they bring. A banshee's scream will warn their intended target to beware of their impending death and will strike terror into the hearts of all who hear. Originally, the Gray Court used them to prevent an influx of liath into the realm, but since the disappearance of the Gray Queen, they have been used primarily by the Dark Court to hunt down and warn perceived traitors of the Other Place as to whom they owe their allegiance.”

  I woke to a white tiger sitting on the edge of my bed. It hadn't a single stripe of black on its muscular frame and if it hadn't been for the blue violet of its eyes, I would have guessed it to be albino. The lavish bed, all rococo creams and golds, was sagging alarming beneath the beast's five hundred pounds of power, strength, and speed.

  I blinke
d slowly, sleep weighing my eyelids down to a point where it was a struggle just to keep them cracked.

  “Wha … ” I wanted to ask a question, but words were too much of an effort at that point, so I just waited, slumped uncomfortably forward by the Mount Everest sized mound of frilly, decorative pillows propped behind me. One particularly sparkly gold tassel hung directly in front of my face. I willed my arm up to bat it away, but my body refused to move.

  Amadan yawned, revealing wicked canines as long, if not longer, than my index finger before stretching out across the bed, Bunyanesque paws resting on my thighs. His jowls pulled back into a grin and his tongue lolled from his mouth like an oversized dog. He lay there for several minutes gazing at me and panting while I struggled to gain some semblance of control over my limbs.

  I couldn't say if I passed out, but I remembered nothing past Scatach's last, ominous words to me.

  “We have found it unworthy,” rang in my head like a mantra of doom. The sooner I could get some clarification on what the hell had happened to me, the better.

  “What's … ” I paused, grunting with the strain of pushing myself to a more erect position, pillows falling to the sides like boulders in a rock slide. “What's going on?” It was the best I could manage; even that small bit of effort was too much. I panted, lifting one shaky hand up for examination. I was glamoured again. At least there was that.

  Amadan shifted immediately back into his sidhe form, indigo hair trailing down his naked back like a river, ripe buttocks towards the ceiling. If it had been a better day, under slightly less frightening circumstances, I might've checked him out.

  “Which part?” the Fool asked the question like a riddle.

  “I'm not in the mood – ” I coughed once into my hand before erupting into a hacking fit. Amadan acted as if he didn't notice. That, at least, I could appreciate. “Where are my pants?” I choked out between gasps for breath. It wasn't as if I needed them. I was now wearing a gossamer nightgown in peach with lace trim, and I suspected that my slacks were trashed after what I'd been through, but I did want a cigarette. No. I needed one.

  Amadan slithered back off of the bed like a snake until he was standing next to me, fully and gloriously naked. I glanced away. “Where are my pants? I need a cigarette.”

  “Why would I have that particular bit of information? I didn't dress you; I merely followed. It was no easy task. The Seelie are twice as watchful as the Unseelie.” His voice was calm, even, steady. It was a good sign. Maybe I could weasel some more information out of him before whoever had put me here found out that I was awake.

  “Where am I?” I asked, slowly turning back to face him. I kept my head uptilted and my gaze away from the area below his waist.

  “The House of Hands and Hearts and Hair.” Amadan didn't seem willing to elaborate though his words barely counted as an answer to my question.

  “It's not actually made out of those things this time, is it?” I ventured weakly. From what I could see, the room around me was quite lavish, done up in gilded dressers, silken tapestries, and crowned with a glistering chandelier that was at the very least as big as my Impala. It didn't seem feasible that we were in or even beneath a reeking boil of carnage, but I had to ask. Amadan either didn't care to answer or didn't understand the question. I was beginning to wish I had studied Rachel's singsong language more thoroughly. Everyone thus far had been able to understand me, but who knew if there would be a critical moment in which I was at a loss for words. At least everyone seemed to speak in the same tongue. I had been under the impression that the lilting words were a language specific to the banshee, but apparently, I'd been wrong.

  “Is Corey here?” I asked as Amadan stood in complete silence, eyes locked onto my face. I still didn't get why he was helping me or what his connection with Rachel was, but hopefully his assistance would extend to a Q and A session.

  “I haven't seen him.” Again, not really an answer, just a statement. I sighed.

  “Okay, then can you tell me what the fuck just happened in there?” Amadan shrugged his shoulders loosely.

  “I couldn't actually follow you into the Gray Chamber; it is far too defensible to allow hangers-on through its iron doors. I only saw you being carried out by Aife's servants afterward. I am assuming you were tested?” I nodded confirmation. “Were the scales tilted towards your heart or her hair?” He asked casually, but I could see his eyes had a greedy twinkle in them. He was fishing for information. Maybe I could use this to my advantage …

  “I'll tell you,” I said carefully, trying not to sound too cheeky. “But first you have to tell me where Rachel is. She wasn't … ” I paused, trying to catch a deep breath. If the answer to my next question was affirmative, I would need some time to recover. “She wasn't part of the execution that you were talking about, was she?” Amadan's blue mouth twisted into a sardonic smile.

  “No, no she was not. Just a traitor to the House of Gray and Graves. Rachel,” he said, emphasizing her name like a joke. “Is pulling favors for the Unseelie though she's quite lucky she didn't end up on the Queen's chopping block for her little stint Above.” I was so relieved, I almost cried. The thought of never seeing Rachel again hurt more than I was willing to admit. If she had been executed, I would have felt partially responsible.

  I had been supplying her with the glamours she needed to stay that side of the Veil. Her deal with the Unseelie Court was that she could stay Above, as the fae referred to it, as long as she maintained her physical glamour. Rachel didn't have the abilities or the know-how to create her own and so had been expected back within the week. That was why bargaining with the fae was bad. Even Rachel, sweet as she'd always been to me, was full of trickery. She'd kept up her glamour for over a year with my help and managed to piss off the entire court. How they'd gotten her through that faerie ring was a mystery; technically she was still upholding her end of the deal and they would have been breaking their oath to do so. The fae never broke their oaths. It was all they had to bargain with. Once an oath was sullied, there was no getting it back. But someone had risked it. And now she was trapped here unless I could persuade Aife to grant me Rachel as our new donor.

  “Do you think – ” I started, intending to question Amadan about Aife's influence over the Unseelie. He shushed me with a finger to my lips.

  “A question for a question.” I sighed and nodded. “The scales, were they weighted at heart or hair?” I debated briefly about answering him truthfully. Both Queens had seemed rather disturbed at the results, and I had no idea how Amadan would react when I told him. But since I had no idea what any of it meant, I decided to just stick with the truth.

  “They weren't.” Amadan stared back at me, confused. “Weighted, I mean. They were even. It came up even.” He held his shocked expression back rather well. If I hadn't been explicitly looking for it, I would have missed it. I took the opportunity to try and catch him off guard. “What does it mean?” I gushed, turning my body so that my legs dangled off the side of the bed.

  The Fool was stumped. I could tell. He took several steps away from me before collapsing into a walnut armchair, upholstered in pale pink with gold paisleys.

  “Are you … certain?” He asked the last word in English. It was so heavily accented that it took me a moment to understand what he'd said.

  “Yeah. I am.” I stood up boldly, feeling as if I'd cornered him. It was stupid, I knew, but I didn't think I was going to get another chance to see one of the fae like this. Still, I tried to remind myself of how dangerous he was. He killed that little fae with a touch. Be careful, be very careful. “Why does it matter? What were they even doing with me? What's a lee-ah?” Amadan stared back at me as if he had never seen me before.

  “It would make sense then that she was drawn to you,” was all he said before standing back up. We stood a mere two inches apart as I waited for him to continue. He didn't, just shoved me back abruptly onto the bed before leaning over me and whispering, “I was never here.” His body m
elted to the floor, and I was able to catch just the slightest glimpse of a mouse's tail before he retreated beneath the bed.

  The door burst open and slammed into the floral wallpaper with a sickening crunch. I yanked the blankets towards me as if they were a shield but relaxed when I saw who it was. Corey.

  His pale face was pinched with worry, red eyebrows drawn together as he stomped over and knelt next to the bed, taking my hand in his. A light flush of salt water tickled his lower eyelids, but he brushed it away abruptly.

  “Are you alright, Georgette? God, I was so fucking worried about you.” Colette dragged her soulless body in behind him, but I was relieved to see that Elizabeth wasn't with them. I tried to smile but felt my own tears beginning to build.

  “Yeah,” I whimpered, hating how weak I sounded. “I'm okay.” Corey smiled back and brushed a hand across my face.

  “I asked her not to test you but,” he bit his lower lip and shook his head. “She said the Other Place demanded it. At least you ended up with the Seelie as your court.” Corey shivered. “I would've hated to see you under Scatach's rule. She's the one that fucking separated us in the first place. Fucking cunt.” I blinked confused eyes back at him.

  “What do you mean the Seelie is my court?” Corey rose from his kneel with a groan and sat on the edge of the bed next to me. His green eyes sparked once and Colette shuffled back out of the room, fumbling with the doorknob for several moments before finally grasping it and closing it behind her.

  “The scales that they used on you, Georgette, determine whether a soul is going to become part of the Dark, Light, or Gray courts. When they're weighted towards the heart, it means the soul is destined to serve the Unseelie. If it's with the hair, the soul goes to the Seelie. Technically, an even weight means that the soul goes to the Gray, but since the Queen disappeared, there hasn't been a single addition to the House of Gray and Graves.” Another bout of nausea gripped me, even more fiercely than before, though I suspected this was more from shock than magic.