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

by C. M. Stunich

  The whole ordeal took less than five minutes, and I soon found myself seated on the edge of a musty smelling bed complete with splotchy white stains across the dark, navy comforter. If you could call it a comforter anyway; it was more of a threadbare blanket, fuzzy and suspiciously similar to the ones I'd seen the inmates using on National Geographic's documentary, Lock Down.

  Elizabeth was crying silently in one of the plastic chairs in the corner near the little two seater table next to the window while I waited, shivering in my lacy black bra and boy shorts while Corey used my robe to smuggle Mai into the room. Lynna had managed to snag a box of cigarettes along with our rooms, and I held out my hand impatiently while she took the lit one from her mouth and passed it to me. It was a Marlboro light, definitely not my favorite, but just having a rush of tobacco in my system was welcome.

  After Mai was safely tucked away in our adjoining suite along with a now sleeping Elizabeth, Lynna excused herself to take a bath in the grimy bathroom which just so happened to be smaller than my closet at home, and I waited with a silently brooding Corey.

  “We have to go back. If there's anything left to go back for. We have no money, no supplies, no phones.” He sighed and held out his hand for one of the four cigarettes Lynna had reluctantly given to me. Corey didn't even smoke. I lit it for him anyway and took a drag before passing it over. He breathed the smoke in deeply before the coughing started. I patted his back and rubbed my hand in little circles while he finished and practically threw the cigarette back at me.

  “We can't go back there, Corey, you know that.” He was already shaking his head at me, batting my concerned hand away before standing up and beginning to pace. I, on the other hand, was having trouble getting Amadan out of my head. Where the fuck are you? I wondered.

  Amadan is safe. Don't pay him another thought.

  I almost betrayed my anxiety at the return of the mysterious voice in my head by screaming. The little yip that managed to escape my throat was easily passed off as a hiccup to Corey's preoccupied self as I struggled to ignore the man's overly sensual tones.

  Don't be afraid, sweetness, darling. Everything will be okay. I can promise you that. I have found a –

  La la la la la, I screamed into my own brain while trying to keep an expressionless mask plastered across my face. La la la la la. Go away you fucking psycho. La la la la la.

  I paused, shoulders tense, and waited to see if the voice would make another appearance. It didn't. It was gone, at least for the moment. But this was something that couldn't be held off much longer. We needed to find Amadan, and I needed to get information out of the fucking Fool before this whole thing drove me crazy.

  Corey snapped his fingers, causing me to jump. He gazed at me suspiciously for a moment before his need to tell me his brilliant idea overrode everything else.

  “Tomorrow night, you and I will go back. Just to see what's happened there. I'll get in touch with some contacts today, check the news, see if anyone knows anything about what happened. If they find the bodies and report us to the police, we're fucked.” Corey paused his rant to plant his hands on his hips and take a deep breath. “But my guess is that the Coalition works just as far outside of normal society as we do. I don't think we're going to see our faces plastered across the news anytime soon so,” he paused again, flicked at a speck of imaginary dirt on his bare arm. “We'll give it a shot. I just need fifteen minutes in there to grab what I need and maybe,” he said, eyeballing my lingerie. “We can get you some clothes though I think I prefer you like this.” I tried to smile back at him; he was being as nice as he possibly could given the circumstances, but I was still preoccupied with the mysterious voice in my head.

  “Okay, Corey,” I said, standing up and stepping into his waiting arms. “That sounds like a good plan.”

  I'll be waiting, sweetness, I'll be waiting. The voice intoned. I was at least semi prepared this time and managed not to jump. I bit my lip and tried to relax into my lover's arms.

  “I love you so much, George,” Corey said, burying his face into the crook of my neck and stroking his fingers down my spine. The voice was still talking to me though I was trying to drown out its words. My thighs however, had already begun to moisten. Something about that damned voice got my libido going like nothing else could. Not Corey, not Amadan, not Rachel. “I'd do anything for you.” I nodded against Corey's shoulder. I wanted to say something back to him, but I couldn't. It was taking all of my willpower to ignore the voice.

  Sweetness, why? We're parted once and you forget about me? Why?

  “I, uh,” I tried to repeat the phrase I'd carelessly uttered the afternoon before, but I couldn't. It wouldn't come out. Maybe because I knew for sure now what I'd only guessed before. I didn't love Corey. I didn't know when it had first hit me, but at that moment, I finally accepted it as fact.

  Sweetness, darling, remember me.

  I rubbed Corey's back and pushed the voice away using the strength of my new conviction as fuel for my fire.

  “I appreciate everything you do for me, Corey.” That, at least, I meant, and I showed him so with a passionate kiss and a night of frenzied passion, dirty sheets or no.

  The one thing I couldn't be sure of however, was whether I heard a mournful howling in my thoughts, or if it was just the Pacific breeze whistling outside our motel room.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Agnoble

  “The agnoble are three formed shape shifters. Their forms include that of a black cat, a white cat, and an imitation of a sidhe, colored skin, bright hair, tall stature. All agnoble have dual colored eyes and can be identified by a crook at the end of their long tails. If ever you find an agnoble lying across your place of rest, remember to pet it twice before going to sleep. If you do not, it will return thirteen days from its first sighting in an attempt to steal your liver. What happens if you pet it once? You don't want to know.”

  I didn't need to look for Amadan because he found us. It was nine in the morning and I'd had only a few fitful hours of sleep. I kept waking up, soaked in sweat, imagining a boot bursting through the cheap plywood of the motel door. I was in a sour mood not merely because of the life or death experience the night before but also because I'd had to deal with Lynna, Mai, and Elizabeth bitching from the moment they'd woken up. Corey had left to meet with some supposed contacts though I had no idea who they were or that he even had any. Mai occasionally disappeared and did secretive things for Corey, but it wasn't something we ever talked about and she wasn't willing to share any information either.

  So I sat at the grubby little table with no clue of what was going and listened to the three women nag at me.

  “I'm hungry, Georgette,” Elizabeth moaned, rubbing her belly with one hand and pulling a curler out of her hair with the other. I flung my hand out at Lynna.

  “So take your fucking sidekick and go roll somebody at the convenience store or something.” Lynna frowned at me.

  “You expect me to venture out wearing this? In broad daylight? I'll be picked up by the police for prostitution.” Her voice seemed extra nasally to me that morning, or perhaps I was just stressed out.

  “At least you're aware that your style choices are less than wholesome.” This came from the wraith who'd touched herself at the thought of killing twenty armed men. I nearly screamed in frustration at the scene in front of me and was relieved to hear a knock at the door.

  Even if it was the CRL come to send me home to Jesus, I would be grateful for the reprieve from my housemates. I tied my robe tighter around me, happy to have claimed it back from the nearly naked Mai who retreated back to her own room, and answered the door.

  Our visitor was standing in the dirty hallway in a brown, leather jacket over a black button up with dark trousers and dirty work boots. He had a shiny, balding head with a few wisps of gray hair and a beak like nose, sharp and pointed. It wasn't until he spoke that I realized it was just a glamoured Amadan.

  “You were fairly difficult to find. I'll
have to thank Corey when next we meet for keeping you safe.” I stepped aside and allowed him into the room. “Those soldiers are certainly thirsty for your blood, Georgie, what on earth did you do them?” Elizabeth frowned at the arrival of the sidhe and retreated into the bathroom to work on her hair. Lynna, quite aware of the attractive persona beneath the magic, licked her lips and surreptitiously raised the hem of her nightgown. I shot her a dirty look as Mai sauntered back into the room.

  “Hmm, well, if you managed to find us then I suppose we're not very well hidden.” Amadan shook his head and shed his glamour like a dog might shake water from its fur.

  “On the contrary, wraith,” he spat the word like a curse. “I have a knack for finding people.” Mai bared her teeth at him, but Amadan ignored her; he had eyes only for me. He knelt down in front of my position, sitting on the end of the rumpled bed, and leaned in so that only I could hear.

  “There is someone outside that would like to see you.” I gave him raised eyebrows, but he merely held out his hand and waited for me to take it. Mai was watching me suspiciously while Lynna continued to do ridiculously obvious things like “accidentally” dropping one of her skimpy straps down her shoulder.

  I took Amadan's hand and allowed him to lead me out the room door. I gave both the remaining girls a 'do not fucking follow me' look and closed the door firmly behind me.

  Leaning over the railing, her chestnut braid blowing back from her soft cheekbones and rounded jaw, was Rachel. She turned and smiled at me, the brown eyes of her glamour watering for just a moment before she wiped them with the sleeve of her turquoise blouse.

  I didn't know how to react, so I just stood there, glancing nervously back at Amadan. He was standing there in his sidhe form, indigo hair billowing back from his face and wearing only a thin white, silk shirt and black pants, no shoes.

  “Don't worry,” he advised me, baring his teeth. “They can't see me unless I want them to.” That, at least, I had seen proof of when Amadan had killed the little orange fae. It hadn't seen him coming until it was too late.

  “George,” Rachel said, stepping forward awkwardly. She held out one pale hand towards me. I fidgeted uncomfortably and tried not to meet her eyes. The woman standing in front of me had nothing to do with the woman I'd dropped off in a random suburban neighborhood, at least not in my mind. Though I was more than relieved to see that she was safe.

  “Dearbhail,” I said, probably mispronouncing the name horribly. The look on her face was enough. Her eyes darted up to Amadan's face in anger. He shrugged.

  “George, I need you to listen to me. When Scatach finds out I'm gone, it could mean the end for me.” I inhaled deeply, trying to ignore the acrid double scents of piss and unwashed bodies. We had quite a few onlookers necking out of their pea-green doors.

  “Why don't we go inside?” I suggested. As much as I loathed the idea of my undead pseudo-family being in the same room as Rachel, I loathed the idea of drug addicts and hookers hearing the intimate details of our conversation even more. I just hoped that Corey would stay gone until Rachel left.

  She nodded and the three of us went back inside. Mai's eyes widened with surprise while Lynna snorted and snickered and Elizabeth's eyes grew gleeful. Corey was going to get three different, damning stories about me when he got back.

  “Go in the other room,” I commanded, pointing at the door connecting our two rooms. “And you can all tell Corey whatever the hell you want.” It was enough incentive, thankfully, and the Three Stooges made quick work of leaving and surely finding places to eavesdrop behind the now closed door.

  I turned back towards my banshee ex, leaning against the old, yellow dresser for support. Rachel sat as close to the edge of the bed as she could get and took a shuddering breath, adjusting her red leather jacket carefully before beginning.

  “I don't know what Amadan,” she shot the blue skinned sidhe a nasty glance before turning back to me. “Has told you but – ” I interrupted her.

  “Well, first of all, you trusted me enough to show me your true form, tell me you were a banshee, but not enough to tell me your fucking name.” I didn't know why that particular item bothered me the most, but it did. I went on, my voice rising at least an octave or two as I felt myself getting more and more flustered. I had enough shit to deal with. I had thought I wanted to see Rachel again, to ride off into the sunset and rescue her, but now that I was looking at her rounded face, I just felt pissed off. “You have a son,” I continued. Rachel's gaze flew to Amadan, eyes wide, but he shook his head. She breathed a sigh of relief. “And what the fuck was that?”

  “George, listen to me,” she interjected, leaning forward, eyes pleading.

  “Amadan is your lover? You told me you were gay, Rachel.” Now it was her turn to get pissed off. She stood up, black chiffon skirt ruffling, heels digging into the dingy brown carpet.

  “What about you? You said you loved me, George. I took care of you after your,” she paused. She never could say it. After you died. “After your accident and then I come home to find you fucking that … that … necromancer.” She said it like it was a dirty word, a filthy profession, the worst fate that could befall a person.

  “I tried to make it up to you!” I screeched, referring to the smuggled glamours.

  “Bullshit!” Rachel screeched. “You could never make it up to me!” Her cheeks were ruddy and flustered and even Amadan had taken a step away from the two of us. We were toxic together, Rachel and I.

  “Yeah, you made me very aware of that.” I sounded bitter, too bitter. I needed to let this go. It had been nearly six months. It was time to let it go. Rachel took another breath, sat down again, and pressed her hands into her knees for support.

  “I came here to help you, George. Now that I know what … ” She looked at Amadan again. It was already starting to get old, the silent sharing of information between the two of them. Amadan shook his head, negative. “Now that you know what you are.”

  “Know what I am?” I queried though I knew perfectly well that she was referring to the Gray. I was however, surprised at my facetious behavior. I'd never been able to stand up to Rachel before. Or anyone else for that matter. Maybe something really was happening to change me.

  “You're the … the first of the Gray which means,” she took a shuddering breath. “That the Queen will soon be reappearing.” I shrugged, loose and easy, like Amadan always did, my joints rolling in their sockets like well oiled machines.

  “Yeah, so?” I said, sounding bitchy as hell. Rachel pretended not to notice.

  “So, I came here to tell you about my son.” Her voice sounded faraway, sad, lonely. I wondered what age the poor kid had been when he'd died. He couldn't have been very old. Rachel was only thirty years old herself.

  “What about him?” I asked, trying to soften my voice. If anything required my civility, it was the death of another's child.

  “My son, Samael … ” Her lips twitched with the mention of the name. I raised an eyebrow.

  “Samael? Like in the Bible?” Like I needed anymore religious shit in my life. She nodded, lips still quirked in a little half grin. Amadan was smiling at her, too, and if I wasn't just delusional from a night of running for my life, I might have said he was doing it with a face full of affection.

  “Yes. He is the Consort of the Gray Queen and – ” I held up a hand to stop her.

  “The Consort? How old was this fucking kid?” Rachel looked to Amadan again.

  “Stop that!” I screeched as Rachel jumped and looked back at me like I'd gone crazy. “Stop looking at him.”

  “Well,” Rachel began hesitantly. “I guess … I guess now he'd be going on about … ” She bit her full, ripe lips, and I had to look away. There was only so much I could take. “F-fifty?” I choked on my own saliva and had to run to the sink to get some water. As I scooped some of the questionable tap water into my mouth with a cupped hand, Rachel stood up and sputtered, trying to explain.

  “I know I told you tha
t I was thirty, but George, you were going through enough changes; you didn't need anymore surprises. I'm a banshee, George, one of the immortal fae. I've been traversing between the Other Place and Above since Florida belonged to Spain.” I didn't need to do any mental calculations in my head. Translation: your ex-girlfriend is old as fuck.

  I whirled on her, backing up against the sink as if the bland, Formica countertop might absorb me into it and carry me away from that room and the huge fucking shit storm that was spinning around me.

  “But he is dead, right?” I asked. Rachel paused, looked back at Amadan, again.

  Dust motes floated like dirty caricatures of faeries in the weak sunlight streaming through the moth eaten brown curtains that framed Amadan's sturdy frame. He just shrugged.

  “I might have said dead,” Amadan said unapologetically. “What I meant was, asleep.” I nearly screamed in frustration. Lie after lie compounded down upon my head until I felt like I would collapse beneath the weight.

  “Samael was put under a spell by his … ” Her lips went pale, her voice shook, and her next words were filled with a deep seated terror and hate that I had trouble comprehending. “Father.”

  “His father?” I asked as Rachel turned away, presumably to get control of her emotions. Amadan certainly seemed to need some help with that. His eyes were wide, the whites overly prominent like a frightened horse. I noticed that both of his fists were clenched, the veins on the back of his hands bulging with the force of his anger.

  “Yes,” Rachel said without turning around. “The man who … ” She couldn't continue, her voice was wavering too much. I looked to Amadan for an explanation.

  “Gadrael,” he said, baring his teeth in anger. “The man that raped Rachel.” Amadan had told me before that he hadn't known who had fathered the child, but even the idea of another lie didn't send my emotions into overdrive as much as his statement. My blood turned to molten lava; I was like a volcano ready to erupt. If there was one thing that I had trouble stomaching, it was rape. Killing, I could handle that, but rape? It was torture of the worst kind, an invasive twisting of something that should be one of life's most pleasurable experiences into a living hell.