Then we'll find another way to free her; I swear it, my new subconscious voice crooned. I almost sobbed. So I would go home and Rachel would stay here. There was nothing that I could do. I let my head droop with defeat. My newfound, confident inner self could say what it wanted. I would most likely never see Rachel, or Dearbhail or whatever her name was, again.
I stared down at my bare feet and waited for Corey and the Queen to work out some sort of agreement. As I was studying my toenails and trying not to cry, a little white tabby cat with indigo stripes darted between my legs and wound itself around the base of the chair that the Queen was sitting in.
Aife scowled down at the cat and it turned her face from alien but pretty to monstrous.
“What do you want, Fool?” she snarled, sounding uncannily like her darker sister. Amadan immediately retreated a few steps and shifted back into his sidhe form.
I admired the curve of his ass and the smooth muscles in his back as he stood, shoulders back, and faced the Queen. Now I knew why he was so bold with them. He didn't belong to either court and from what he'd said, he seemed to have been personally involved with the Gray Queen herself. He was very nearly their equal. Maybe that was why they both treated him with such scorn. He wasn't as easily bossed around as the rest of the fae were and probably a hell of a lot harder to kill.
“My dearest Aife,” he said softly, kneeling and taking one of her hands in his before kissing it lightly. She allowed him the gesture, some of the anger draining from her expression. I watched Corey's brow knit together as he took in the newcomer. Obviously the two of them had never met.
“What do you want, Fool?” she asked him again in a slightly friendlier tone.
“Merely to offer my services to the … liath … that we have been waiting so long for.” I watched as understanding dawned on the Queen's features. She jerked her head back to look at me before it decided enough was enough and flopped back onto her shoulder. She adjusted herself with one angry, jerking motion before turning back to Amadan. He wasn't supposed to know, but he did and she didn't like it.
“I see,” was all she said as she sat silently. Corey exchanged a glance with me and I shrugged. I'd better pretend not to know who Amadan was. Things would be easier that way. Besides, I thought, cheering considerably, he can tell you more about Rachel and the Gray and maybe he could even help you see her again …
Aife studied Amadan's face for a long while, taking his measure with her creepy, milky eyes. How Corey had ever found her attractive was beyond me. I decided, despite her pseudo friendly attitude, that she was the creepier of the two sisters. At least in the looks department.
“What do you say, Corey?” Aife asked without taking her eyes off of Amadan. “He is unaligned with either court, so you will have to pay his price, but it seems he is willing.”
“What do you want?” Corey asked. “And why are you willing to help us? Who are you?” Amadan turned back to face us.
“I merely have some interests to take care of Above. All I ask is for a place to stay and the use of your magic when I require travel back and forth from here. Let's say, we reevaluate our needs in six months?” Corey's eyes were narrowed. He didn't trust Amadan. It wasn't that he was being paranoid; the fae were certainly some of the most untrustworthy folks around. And here was Amadan agreeing to help us out for so little. I could tell though, when he looked at me, why he was so eager. I was part of his precious Gray Court, a court that had been virtually silent for twenty or more years, and he wasn't going to let me go so easily.
“I think we should take him up on his offer, Corey,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. “What other choice do we have?” Corey's lips twitched to the side. He didn't like it, but he would do it. Without glamours, Elizabeth and I would be nearly useless in helping him find out what was up with the Coalition of the Righteous Living. Since they seemed oddly bent on our destruction, it was a necessity that we deal with them and their penchant for destruction sooner rather than later.
“Fine,” Corey agreed reluctantly, holding out a hand to the naked sidhe. “It's a deal.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
VAMPIRE
“One of the most powerful members of the undead, a vampire is created when a person is drained of their blood in a holy or sacred place by another undead entity. Any necromancer looking to add one of these powerful beings to their collection should look for a to'sach, one of the newly dead. Any attempts to summon an older vampire may result in bloodshed or even death.”
When Corey pulled the Silverado onto the gravel drive, the five of us went silent in shock. The fading white and gray paint of the house was awash in a sea of primary reds and blues. Four cop cars sat silently idling next to the front steps, lights rotating menacingly.
Corey and I exchanged a shared look of terror.
What if they found the bodies?
We'd only just arrived back from Faerie, cramming Elizabeth, the ever present and seemingly useless Colette, and Amadan into the back seat while Corey and I shared the front. It was an uncomfortable arrangement and the drive had been full of awkward silence. I had been so looking forward to getting home and crashing, and now we had to deal with this shit.
“Oh, Corey,” Elizabeth breathed, leaning over his seat and draping her upper body across his shoulder, her barely formed breasts rubbing against his naked arm. I couldn't believe she was flirting with him given the situation. Corey should have held out; I hated when she was glamoured. “Do you think Lynna's okay?” Corey ignored her which, fortunately, he was wont to do, and reached under his seat. He reappeared with a sawed-off shotgun.
“What the hell are you planning on doing with that?” My voice came out in a high pitched squeak. It wasn't that I was feeling particularly cowardly, but after what I'd been through and what I'd learned in Faerie or the Other Place or whatever, I really didn't want to have a shoot out with a bunch of cops. Corey frowned down at the gun, the blue and red lights highlighting his cheekbones and leaving the rest of his face in dark shadows. Amadan remained silent, but I could feel his strong presence behind me. For some reason, he made me feel bold.
I opened the passenger door and balanced a foot on the stainless steel step bar.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Corey growled, reaching a hand out for my arm. I jerked away from him and scowled. New Georgette apparently would continue to come and go as she pleased. It was kind of nice in a way. Even if I couldn't stand up for myself all of the time, maybe there would start to be exceptions. What the hell had happened to me in Faerie?
“Let me handle this.” I slammed the door in his face and stalked the rest of the way down the drive as Corey's penile enhancing truck slid quietly back onto the street, headlights dimmed. Amadan doesn't need anything like that, I thought bitterly. My lips quirked up for just a moment as I remembered our naughty romp in the Queen's guest wing before falling back into a frown as the first of several uniformed officers stepped from the front doors.
They spotted me instantly. The young man in front grinned, a shock of curly brown hair dripping over his ears and forehead. I paused for a minute as my brain tried to match a face with a name.
“Kevin,” I said lamely as he came down the steps towards me at a near jog.
“Thank God!” he whooped, clomping over to me and stopping just a little too close for comfort. “Your Mama is going to be so happy to see you, Georgia!” His voice was thick with some sort of southern drawl that I couldn't quite place, and he repeatedly insisted on calling me Georgia. I believe his words went something like, “George is a right boy's name and Georgette just don't suit a pretty, young girl like you!” Everything Kevin said was said with an explanation point. It was just how he talked. Like the world was full of love and joy. What a crock of crap.
Of course my mother had called the cops. Of course she had. I'd been gone a whole two days without checking in with her. I slammed the butt of my hand against my forehead.
“Shit!” Kevin jumped like I'd slapped h
im though I doubted he had virginal ears after two years as a cop. Maybe it went back to the whole pretty, young girl thing. “All of this because I didn't call her for two days? Is this even legal? I thought someone had to be gone at least forty-eight hours before they could even think to file a missing persons report.” Venting my rage at a startled, southern boy wasn't helping, so I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself. Corey was going to filet me alive when he found out.
“Can I go inside and use the phone?” I asked Kevin unnecessarily. He'd already stepped out of my way. “I'll clear this whole thing up.”
Lynna scowled menacingly at me as I stalked angrily though the living room and snatched the receiver from its cradle.
“You fucking bitch,” she growled into my left ear. “What the fuck were you thinking, bringing these cops around here? I was feeding when they showed up. You are so fucking lucky that my blood bag was already passed out upstairs.” I ignored her and called Corey first.
“You can come in but leave Amadan and Colette in the car,” was all I said and ended the call before he could begin one of his legendary bitching sessions.
I dialed my mother's number next, my foot rapping an impatient rhythm on the hardwood floor. As usual, the phone picked up after the first ring. This time, it wasn't my mother, but my sister, Marilou.
“Oh my God, Kevin, is that you?” I had to really pause for a minute before responding. My sister and I hadn't spoken in over a year. We didn't exactly see eye to eye on a whole lot of things. Namely, my dating girls and boys and the fact that I'd worked briefly as a clinical assistant at Planned Parenthood. Her semi-recent move into the deep south had changed her moral jigsaw pieces in ways that would never fit with mine.
“It's me, Lou.” After she'd gotten married, Marilou Walker, had sworn vehemently to each and every family member who would listen that she was no longer going to be referred to by her childhood nickname. I chose to conveniently forget that fact.
“Mother!” Lou shouted more or less directly into the speaker. I held the phone away from my ear. “It's your daughter!” Not my sister, not Georgette, nothing that linked us together too closely.
“Oh my God!” My mother's harried tones burst onto the other line. “Have you been kidnapped? What's the ransom? Oh my God!” I breathed in carefully as I watched Corey and Elizabeth sidestep the group of eavesdropping cops as they made their way through the front doors. “Georgette!” My name burst from her lips like the call of some exotic bird attempting to escape a blood thirsty panther.
“Mom, I told you that I wasn't going to be able to come by and see you. Why are you always doing things like this?” By 'like this,' I was of course referring to the search party of mounted park rangers that had been sent out to find poor, lost little sixteen year old George who had been gone from her tent less than an hour to smoke some pot with friends on a school camping trip. Or maybe I was referring to her stealthy retreat out the back door of our family home to peer into the back of Corey's white cargo van while he and I were in her living room drinking tea. Or maybe it was just the million and one other borderline psychotic things she'd done over my twenty six years on this earth. “Corey and I were at a funeral director's conference in L.A. Why can't you just accept that I'm a fucking adult who doesn't need any more Goddamn coddling?” My voice rose a good octave or two higher than I'd intended. The milling police officers coughed into their hands and pretended not to notice.
I patted my jeans pockets until I found a loose cigarette and slipped it between my lips. I snatched a Betty Boop lighter that was sitting in a jar next to the phone and lit it before the enraged sputtering had stopped and she was able to answer.
“Georgette Marie French!” she exclaimed as my sister tsk-tsked away on the other line. I was only proving what she already thought she knew about me anyway. “How dare you speak to your mother like that? I was so worried about you. Why didn't you answer your phone?” Because phones don't work in the Other Place, Mother. “And you better not be smoking,” she finished as I gaped, the cigarette dropping from my mouth and onto the carpet. I ground it out with my boot before it could singe the nearby rug. No need to give Corey extra fodder to bitch at me with. He was already going to have a friggin' field day.
“I forgot it,” I said lamely, still feeling like the sixteen year old girl who'd hung her head and gone off to her sleeping bag without dessert, friends snickering behind their hands. I had never been any good at standing up to Annette French. A light click sounded as Lou hung up her end of the line.
“Well, I guess you'll remember to take it with you next time, now won't you?” I nodded, remembered she couldn't possibly see me, and then grunted noncommittally. “Good. Then you'll come and see me tomorrow at noon for cakes and tea. Don't be early, my bridge club is going to be here until eleven thirty.” She paused. “And bring some flowers for your sister. She flew all the way here when she found out that you were missing.” Click. I sighed and placed the phone gently back into the cradle.
I stared down at the gray and blue marble surface of the end table for several long minutes, mentally tracing the veins in the stone. Why did I let her treat me like that? Where the fuck was the wave of confidence that I'd felt in the truck? Did only Amadan bring it out of me? Why couldn't I stand up for myself when I needed to most? Because you're a fucking coward, Georgette. You always have been and you always will be. I sighed in frustration. I almost wished that my mother knew I was dead. That would teach her, I thought bitterly. It was a stupid idea, like a teenager considering suicide because he'd been ridiculed by the football team. It didn't make a whole lot of sense, but at that moment, I savored it in my head like some sort of screwed up dream. At least it made me feel better.
“Miss Georgia?” It was Kevin, approaching me slowly as if I were a wild creature, yet to pounce. “Can I get you to sign some paperwork for me?” I nodded slowly, my eyes finally catching on Corey's scorching ones.
Emerald hearths burned back at me from his post against the doorframe next to the kitchen.
Tonight was really going to suck.
“I'm not an animal for you to bleed out and be done with,” Amadan said mildly as if merely mentioning the foggy Pacific Coast weather that had rolled in overnight. Corey's face twitched, once, twice, before smoothing back into an emotionless mask. He adjusted the needle in Amadan's silvery flesh carefully before checking the collection bag. He'd already checked it twice, but Corey couldn't help himself. He was at best a perfectionist and at his worst, I oftentimes wondered if he had undiagnosed obsessive compulsive disorder.
“What do you want, Amadan?” Corey's words slithered from his mouth like a snake, low and menacing. Amadan tilted his head to the side for a moment, examining the tiny droplets of blood already beginning to fill the bag.
“I seem to remember him volunteering for the position,” I said, trying to keep my tones even. My body was responding to the sight of Amadan's bare chest a lot more strongly than I'd expected. He smiled at me and I averted my gaze to the lavender quilt that was lying over his outstretched legs. “Volunteers don't ask for rewards to validate their actions.”
Calm down, Georgette. Corey's not an idiot; he'll be able to tell just like Rachel did. Don't let this happen again. You need him.
Fortunately for myself, Corey was too busy being annoyed with Amadan and the watermark his glass had left on the side table.
“I want access to a motor vehicle,” Amadan said. I could still feel his gaze on me. My thighs were beginning to moisten uncomfortably beneath the Perfect-In-Peach, knee length skirt that I was wearing. It was one of the dullest, most drab articles of clothing that I'd ever seen, but it would help soothe my mother's temper. At least, I hoped it would.
I whirled around on one beige pump and gave Corey what I hoped would pass for a come-hither grin. It wasn't that I was trying to fake my need, just that I was trying to pretend it was for him.
“Corey,” I cooed, grabbing one finely muscled arm beneath my fingers. �
�I'm going to head out. I don't want Mom calling the cops again.” Corey smiled back at me softly, brushing a strand of auburn from my face. A wave of guilt washed over me like a tsunami, knocking the air from my lungs for a moment as I tried to steady my conscience.
Last night hadn't been nearly as bad as I'd expected. Corey had been pissed; he had a right to be. If we hadn't come home when we did, the cops might have taken a closer look at things and discovered the fresh graves in the backyard. Without our house and Corey's supplies, life would be a whole lot more difficult for us. Life on the run was no piece of cake. But he hadn't been that pissed.
After less than a minute of incomprehensible shouting, Corey had sent Elizabeth out to get Amadan and dragged me up the stairs and fucked me from behind until I'd had one of the best orgasms of my entire life, save for the ones I'd had in Faerie. In bed afterward, he'd been downright sweet. A chorus of, “I love you, Georgette,” and a “Maybe we should get married?” had followed.
What the hell was my fucking problem then?
I grabbed him behind the head and kissed him fiercely. My tongue shoved his out of the way as I stood on my toes, heels off of the floor, and tried to pretend that I'd never slept with Amadan. It had been out of desperation after all. Just a method of relieving stress.
Everyone makes mistakes sometimes, I thought desperately. Even if they make the same mistake twice. I ignored my subconscious and tried to forget the fact that Corey's and my relationship had come out of an affair.
I pulled back and sucked in a deep breath.
“I love you.” It was the first time that I'd ever said it to Corey. He blinked slowly back at me, shocked. “Gotta go, talk to you later.” I snatched my black, leather purse (the most conservative one I owned) from the top of the dresser and bolted away from the two biggest sources of confusion I currently had in my life. That was a tall order to fill, considering I was a zombie who'd just come back from a world full of death-crazed faeries.
Gray and Graves: A Dark Fae Menage Urban Fantasy (The Three Courts of Faerie Book 1) Page 10