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

by C. M. Stunich

  “Why Samael?” I sobbed. “Why is this happening to me?” He smoothed my hair back and held me tight even as two security guards burst from the doors behind me and stormed into the parking lot.

  “I don't see her,” said a gruff voice behind me.

  “Neither do I,” replied another as footsteps sounded across the pavement towards us. I lay still in Samael's arms, trying not to cry or whimper or do anything that would draw their attention to me.

  “Don't be afraid, sweetness,” Samael whispered against my skin. “They can't see or hear us.” I clutched a handful of fabric and let out the rest of my anger and sadness and fear. About Rachel, about my family, and about me.

  And I vowed that it would be the last time that I would cry for a good, long while.

  I sat as a passenger in my own car while Samael drove us back towards the house. I hadn't the slightest clue how the damn faeries knew how to drive. I didn't want to know.

  “I'm still mad at you about Rachel,” I said but was surprised to find that all of the earlier vehemence I'd felt towards Samael was gone. He was sad. I knew he was sad. He had loved Rachel, too. He didn't say anything, just kept his glamoured eyes, which were blue but with the slightest purple tint when the sun hit them just right, locked into the road in front of him. He wasn't like Amadan with his glamours. He didn't transform into a balding middle aged man or a GQ model. He just turned his violet hair, black and infused his skin with a light peach tone. His piercings were gone and his canines were flat, but other than that, he looked basically the same.

  “What happened, Georgette?” Samael asked, emphasizing his usage of my real name. It was one of only a few times that he had ever used it.

  “I hope he isn't dead,” I said and splayed my hands out across my thighs, examining the perfect crescent shape of my nails with their French manicures and shiny overcoat. I wondered what they looked like, really looked like, underneath all of this magic. How rotten were they? Did I even have nails anymore? I'd been wearing glamours almost constantly since we'd taken Amadan home. The few times I hadn't, I'd been just a little too busy to stare at my fingernails. But now I wanted to know. I wanted to know how disgusting and repulsive and rotten I really was.

  “My sister hates me,” I said, probably confusing the hell out of Samael but not caring. “She's never really liked me, but I think she always loved me, at least a little bit, but now she hates me. She'll always hate me. She thinks I'm devil spawn.” Samael remained quiet, but I could tell from the twitch in his neck that he had heard me, and he didn't like what he was hearing.

  “I just wanted to see her,” I continued. “It could be the last time, you know?” I looked up at Samael sharply. “Her baby is beautiful, Samael,” I said and although I wasn't one to fawn over infants, I realized that I truly believed that. “But I'll never see her. Never. Or my mother. Especially if Joe is dead.” I grabbed one of my fingernails and tugged on the end of it until the pain made me gasp and blood welled up around my cuticle. Samael snatched one of my wrists in his hand, hard, almost painfully.

  “Please, sweetness,” he began before releasing me.

  “I thought you weren't going to tell me what to do?” I snapped, pushing my hand beneath my thigh. It was more painful than I had expected.

  “I didn't,” was all he said. I glared at him, turned my attention to my own window and fell silent.

  Several minutes later, my phone rang. I pulled it out of my purse and stared at it. It was Mom. I answered it but didn't speak.

  “Georgette … ” Her voice was soft and careful, low pitched and frightened. “I don't know what happened, but I don't care. Please talk to me.” A pause, unnatural and terrified. “Your sister's gone crazy. She thinks you're a … ” Annette French took a shuddering breath. “A zombie. Georgette, please. I know you're there. Come and get me. I rode with Joe. I'm frightened. His eyes are wild. He's making outrageous claims and calling all sorts of people to come to the hospital. With guns, Georgette.”

  “I'm coming,” I said quickly. “Wait out front.” And hung up. I turned to Samael who was already in the process of pulling into an empty parking lot and turning around. “We need to hurry,” I said and he nodded.

  Since we weren't far from the hospital, it took only a few moments to get back and find out that not only could we not get in the parking lot, we couldn't get anywhere near it. There were several black vans belonging to M.E.T. as well as one of the silver Lincolns that I'd seen gleaming in front of our house the day we'd ran.

  “Shit. Shit. Shit!” I cursed and picked up my phone, dialing my mother's number. She didn't answer. I turned to Samael. “What do I do?” I asked, suddenly desperate to save the woman who really hadn't ever been that nice to me. But I loved her. She was my mother after all.

  “Let me go in,” he said simply and pulled into a crowded parking lot across the street. He tossed the keys onto my lap before giving me a look that not only melted my bones and turned my heart into a palpating mess but also scared me. “They won't recognize me though I can't guarantee there are no fae masquerading around in there as Coalition members. If they do figure out who I am, I may not come back alive. Please leave if you hear gunfire or I don't return in fifteen minutes.” I stared back at him, stunned, as he climbed out of the Impala and shut the door.

  I wanted to go in with him. I wanted to save my own mother. But all of the people crowding the parking lot and checking the bushes, gazing in the windows of nearby cars, they were looking for me. I tapped my foot impatiently and stared at the screen on my phone, just in case my mother called.

  Fifteen minutes came and went, but still, I stayed. Too stubborn to leave.

  “This will be the death of me,” I grumbled as I grabbed the handle and tried to open the door. It refused to budge. Samael was holding it closed, my mother on one arm, and a wicked grin on his face. My mother was shaking, but she was okay. As soon as she saw me, she let out a squeal which, unfortunately, managed to catch the attention of some of the people across the street. They pointed and whispered and some of them began to jog our way.

  Samael grabbed the back door and yanked it open, shoving my mother inside just this side of rudely, and ran around to the driver's side. I already had the keys in the ignition and the engine started by the time he closed his door.

  “What's happening?” Mrs. French screamed as Samael tore out of that parking lot like a bat out of hell. “Georgette!”

  “Mom!” I shouted back, turning around and gripping the side of my seat tightly. “Calm down, you're hysterical!”

  “Georgette!” she screamed as her blue eyes turned towards the front window. I followed her gaze and saw that several of the men and women nearest us were pulling out guns from holsters hidden under jackets, in bags, under skirts even. And they began to shoot. In a crowded parking lot.

  Bystanders screamed and dove for cover as we flew over a speed bump, caught some air, and were nearly sideswiped by a semitruck full of logs. Samael, however, didn't just know how to drive. He was really, really good at it.

  Mom was sobbing as we took the highway faster than I really wanted, men with guns or no. I turned back towards her and tried to sound comforting.

  “Mom, it's okay,” I soothed, reaching out a hand and brushing it across the back of her injured wrist. She jerked away from me and continued to bawl, less like a fifty-four year old woman and more like a five year old girl. I scowled at her and looked over at Samael. Blood trickled down the side of his head and leaked from his nose, but other than that, he looked okay to me.

  “Thank you,” I said quietly, my words nearly drowned out by my mother's cries.

  “That was thirty-three minutes,” Samael said mildly. Despite everything, I smiled.

  “Yeah,” I said. “It was.” And he looked over at me and smiled, too. “But I'm glad I waited for you.”

  “I'm glad you waited for me, too,” he said and I felt a deeper meaning behind his words. I took a sharp intake of breath and tried not to cry. I ha
d said that I wouldn't.

  I don't have a faerie soul mate, I told myself, that's just too weird.

  Samael, who had obviously been listening in on my thoughts, placed a hand on my knee. My heart warmed, and I realized with a start that maybe, just maybe I was going to lose this battle.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHARLIM and FAERIE LIGHTS

  “Charlim and faerie lights are two halves of a whole. The charlim are damaged souls while the faerie lights are damaged spirits. As it is understood by the most prominent of faerie doctors, the soul is the essence of a person's memory, their magic, and the weight of their existence in relation to the universe. A spirit is the outer shell, the personality, the likes, dislikes, and tendencies that make a person unique. When combined, they may be collectively referred to as an 'anam' or simply as a soul.”

  I managed to get my mother into bed and to sleep before being asked too many difficult questions. Amadan had been waiting outside the front door when we'd arrived, rocking slowly back and forth on the porch swing. Milling around his feet and chasing each other through my mother's flower gardens were the hellhounds. We'd left the dogs outside, but the two fae were now standing behind me, looking entirely out of place in the cream and white bedroom with its unflattering mix of antique furniture and cheap Chinese imports.

  “What now?” I asked as I stared down at my mother's sleeping face. “Can't we just erase her memory or something?” I glanced over my shoulder at Samael. “You can do that, right?” I knew some fae could. I had read nearly as much about mental glamours as physical ones in Corey's journals.

  “I could,” Samael mused, giving Amadan a rather nasty look out of the corner of his eye. “But that sort of magic isn't so … specific. She'll have a gap in her memory. A big one. She won't even remember that your sister had a baby. If it's what you want, I'll do it, but I recommend finding another solution.” I sighed and turned around, gesturing for the men to follow me from the bedroom as I eased the door closed behind me.

  The female hound, who I not only suspected was the mother of my pup but also the alpha or pack leader or whatever else one might call the boss of a bunch of hellhounds, was sitting in the living room, muscular tail wagging happily as her ruby eyes stared up at me with blanket affection and sheer adoration that I knew there was no way in hell that I deserved. I reached out a hand to pat her head and then decided against it, remembering the rubbery feel of her clear, hairless skin.

  “When do the puppies lose their hair?” I asked, completely off subject. Samael stepped forward and rubbed a hand down the creature's right ear.

  “At around eight weeks, sweetness,” he replied, giving the dog a final pat and glancing back up at me, eyes serious. I avoided him and turned back around to face Amadan. He stared back at me, dark eyes bored, mouth turned down at the corners. It was a mask but one he didn't seem willing to take off. Not if the set of his brow and the tension in his face were any indication of his current mood.

  “If I go to Faerie with you,” I began, already knowing that my 'if' was really a 'when.' The blurry little dancers carrying memories I didn't want to see were back. They had taken a brief hiatus while I'd been at the hospital, but now they were worse. I could barely see out of the corners of my eyes, and I knew without a doubt that if I accidentally locked onto one, it would be a one way ticket down memory fucking lane. Whatever Samael had done while I was at Rachel's funeral had unleashed an unstoppable storm inside of me. One that I didn't have the strength to fight. “Then who will be here to take care of my mother? Especially if she's now embroiled in all of this somehow.”

  Lou, you fucking idiot. You stupid, fucking idiot.

  “Amadan will stay and watch your family for you, and if you don't mind, he will do it in your guise.” Amadan's eyes widened, almost imperceptibly, but he nodded, as if he'd known all along that that had been Samael's plan.

  “Are you okay with that?” I asked him, wanting to hear him speak. He hadn't spoken to me since the fight in the hallway, not that we'd had much time together, but still … it was a bit disconcerting to see such an arrogant, self-assured person like Amadan slinking around like a naughty teenager.

  “Whatever my master's will.” Amadan spoke firmly but quietly, eyes focused on my mother's rosy pink carpet with its border of white carnations. I stared at him, but he kept his eyes downcast. “Besides,” he continued, finally looking up at me. “We must make sure that Gadrael is unaware of your location. I'll play decoy with a bit of your essence. If someone has to die, it might as well be me.” He spoke evenly, voice calm, as if discussing the weather. My blood chilled, and I glanced back at Samael.

  “What is he talking about?” Samael walked towards the door and opened it, just a crack, so that he could look out. I could hear tires on the gravel drive outside. A whole bunch of them.

  “He's talking about a fae trick, my darling,” Samael growled as he shut the door and threw the latch. He whirled around to face me, just as I heard a faint scratching at the back door. Samael strolled across the room, hellhound in tow, and threw it open. He was instantly surrounded by more of the skinless dogs and turned to me, face split in a maniacal grin.

  Why, I thought as I watched him turn his gaze to Amadan, why are all of the fae crazy?

  “Gadrael knows you're here, and he's managed to find a Faerie Doctor that can facilitate his travel between the Other Place and the World Above. His mother and father travel with him, both very powerful themselves. And he's got the Coalition. They all know where you live, sweetness. The only reason,” he continued, stepping forward and taking my hand gently in his. “That you're not dead is because I did what I did but … ” He paused but didn't elaborate, flipped my wrist over, and stabbed the soft flesh with the fingernail on his thumb. I hadn't noticed before, but the tip was encased in some sort of metal plating and cut through my skin like a warm knife through butter. I gasped and tried to pull away, but Samael held me tightly, magic pulsing between us like a heartbeat. “It won't last long. Once he's here, really here, and we're lucky sweetness, because he's not, it's just his reavers for the time being, we won't stand a chance. You and I will both be dead, our souls consumed like a thousand more before us, and Gadrael in charge of human souls. A monster playing God. Is that what you want?” he asked as he gestured for Amadan to step closer to us. Footsteps were pounding up the steps outside, and I was certain I could hear the sounds of guns being readied.

  “Take a breath,” Samael commanded quietly. “This is going to hurt.”

  Amadan bent down and took my wrist in his mouth, like a vampire, sucking around Samael's metallic thumb and drawing not only my blood but the warmth of my magic into his mouth. It snaked up from my belly, through my chest, and down my arms like electricity, hot and painful. I gasped, my vision darkening for just a moment before everything snapped painfully back into place, the wavy memory dancers included.

  I found myself looking over at a carbon copy of me. Pale skin, auburn waves, and bright blue eyes stared back at me, looking both miserable and excited all at once.

  “Is he going to die?” I asked Samael as I stared at the backdoor and wondered how long it might take M.E.T. or whoever else was outside, to figure out that there was one. Samael shrugged, released my aching wrist and stepped back, gesturing for me to follow.

  “Only time will tell,” he said as I locked eyes with Amadan.

  “I'll try not to,” he said, in my own quiet voice. “It is in my best interest after all.” I smiled at him, glanced at the front door, and followed Samael out the back. I didn't want to leave my mother or even Amadan for that matter, but Samael seemed to know what he was doing. And I didn't. I knew absolutely nothing about any of this.

  With one last glance back at Amadan, I followed Samael's broad back down the porch steps and into the forest behind my mother's house.

  “My spell won't last long, hurry up,” he said as we trudged through mud and sloping trails. I had often come out here alone when I was a kid, trying to
find peace from my mother and sister. Now, the landscape looked different, the trails leading off into directions that seemed at odds with my memories. I paused, just once, to look over my shoulder at the family home with its white siding and hunter green shutters, and I immediately regretted it. It was like the view from across a stretch of hot pavement, wavy and distorted. It made my head spin.

  “What spell exactly was that?” I asked as I turned back towards Samael's rapidly retreating form.

  “Just a little glamour, nothing unusual,” he said, keeping his gaze forward. I thought about checking over my shoulder again, just in case, but it felt wrong. Even the idea of looking back at the house again made my stomach churn.

  “You sure have a lot of weird tricks up your sleeves,” I said suspiciously as Samael paused near a small stream. He followed its path with his winding eyes for just a moment before making a decision and stepping into the water. He gestured for me to follow, and I cringed as my heels sunk into the muddy banks. It took me only a few steps to realize that I'd have to take them off and ended up trudging along, barefoot, with my once classy heels slung over my shoulders, mud and water wet and cold and uncomfortable against my back.

  “I haven't forgotten,” was all he said, at least fifteen minutes later, in response to my earlier statement. The memory dancers pirouetted even further into my field of vision causing me to stumble and sink nearly to my knees in the mud before Samael grasped my elbow and hauled me to my feet.

  “Haven't forgotten what?” I asked quietly, but I already sort of knew what he meant. Hadn't forgotten Faerie. Hadn't forgotten his magic. Hadn't forgotten me. He had a lifetime of memories with me, and I didn't have a single one. Samael didn't respond, and I was forced to drop the question. “What did you do?” I asked, changing the subject back to more pressing matters.