Charmed Vengeance

where first class passengers or captains of luxury ships dined. No, this establishment catered to lower workers, cargo haulers, and aeronautical entrepreneurs—those people otherwise known as air pirates.

Like he was perfectly comfortable with places such as this, James strode over, took a stool at the counter, and ordered coffee for both of them from a one-eyed man.

“Coffee? I’d rather have tea.” Steven’s nose wrinkled in disgust as he slid onto the none-too-clean stool next to his brother.

James snorted in distain. “Tea? We’re not at one of your silly social events. Really, we should be drinking beer.”

Beer? Steven wiped the counter in front of him with his handkerchief, trying not to show his blatant repugnance at this substandard establishment. His spine prickled. There were people from the Otherworld here. He should have guessed. Many of their kind who lingered in this realm involved themselves with persons of the lowest common denominator. He and his brother would have to avoid contact so they wouldn’t be recognized. The last thing he wanted was for the queen to know where they headed.

The one-eyed bartender plunked two chipped mugs in front of them filled with something resembling engine grease. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be on your quest?”

Steven’s heart tumbled. Of course James would lead them into a shady bar run by one of the Fae. He wanted to smack himself in the forehead.

James leaned forward, looked both ways, and lowered his voice. “We’re trying to get to Raleigh. Know anyone headed that way?”

Warning bells clanged in Steven’s head. What was James doing? Did he want everyone to know their destination? Maybe it was his sorrow—usually James was more careful than this.

“No, we’re not going to Raleigh, remember?” Steven hissed. “We’re going to … San Francisco.” It was the first city that popped into his head. “Yes, we need to get there as soon as possible—and we’re not the princes. I hear we resemble them a little. Is that true?”

James scowled over his cup of coffee. “I’d rather go to Raleigh or Atlanta.”

The bartender scanned the room, squinting with his good eye. “Wherever you’re going, I’m sure someone would be willing to assist you.” His one eye winked. “Even if you’re not the princes.”

Steven’s heart skipped a beat. Had his mother been circulating images of them or did they resemble her or their father so greatly there was no question? Whatever the reason, they’d have to tread carefully, lest anyone’s help be malicious—on their mother’s orders or otherwise.

The bartender waved at someone. A man with dark hair and a long black coat, who disconcertingly reminded him of Kevighn Silver, sauntered over. He looked cleaner than most of the bar’s current patrons but disingenuous nevertheless.

“Yes?” He put one hand on the bar, his middle finger glinting with a black ring.

The bartender smirked. “The boys need passage; make sure they get there in one piece.”

The man nodded, giving them a once-over that made Steven want to squirm.

Steven leapt to his feet, the need to flee overwhelming. He flung a coin on the counter. “Where I appreciate your kind offer, my brother and I must head out now,” he looked to James, jerking his chin toward the door. “Right?”

“I really don’t want to peel more potatoes.” James seemed oblivious to the ominous undercurrents of their situation.

Several other large men joined the first, all with sneers and leers plastered on their rough faces. They crowded around James and Steven, preventing their escape.

“Oh, don’t worry,” the first man cracked his knuckles, “there won’t be any potatoes.”

“Let us out! What do you want from us?” Steven shook the bars of the airship they’d been forced onto. There were no chairs in the cell and things of dubious origin covered the floor. The stench of the human condition surrounded him, making his eyes water.

The dark haired man appeared on the other side of the bars. “We are helping you.” Mischievousness dripped from his voice. “You’ll be there in no time.”

“Where?” James eyed him from his spot in the corner.

“You’ll see soon enough.” The man winked and left.

Steven hit his forehead against the bars in despair. “This is exactly why I wanted to avoid anyone from the Otherworld, James. Why I wanted to stick to reputable ships.” Frustration leaked into every syllable. “We only have a mortal month, who knows how much time we’ll be in here—or where they’ll leave us? They could hurt us or worse.”

James peered through his fingers and blinked. “Do you really think they’d do that?”

“Just look at them.” Sighing, he leaned against the bars, which looked cleaner than the wall. Desperation rooted him to the floor, making him wish it were cleaner so he could sink to it.

“This is my fault. I’m sorry.” James put his face back in his hands.

“I hope this ends well. Because if it doesn’t … ” Steven glared at his brother, hoping despite James’ poor choices that he’d live to see Noli again.

Kevighn sauntered into a bar in the Chicago Air Terminal and took a seat at the bar, hoping he’d still be welcome in an establishment run by those of the Otherworld. His exile applied here to some extent, but the man running this bar played by different rules.

How those rules applied to him he wasn’t yet sure. “Silver, it’s about damn time you blew into town.” Roderick turned around at the bar, giving Kevighn a smile that made his stomach unclench.

He smiled back at the old one-eyed bartender. “Is it because you have work for me? I’m a little down on my luck.”

None of the ships Red said needed gunners happened to be in this port.

“I’ve got a message for you.” Roderick handed him a mug of ale.

“I can’t pay for this.” He wasn’t about to cheat the likes of Roderick. Those of the dark court played for keeps.

Roderick leaned an elbow on the bar. “You’ve done enough for me in the past that I can spare you a pint of ale. As for that message … Ciaran says you need to stop moping and go find him. He’s got work for you.”

Kevighn took a swig of ale. “How old is the message?” His eyebrows rose. “Are you certain he wishes to see me?”

Roderick cleaned the counter with a bit of dirty rag. “I think His Majesty misses you. He’s doing some business in this realm, and unless you went soft working for the high queen, a man with your skills could be an asset.”

Relief swept over him. The dark court was the one place he could be welcome in the Otherworld. Where he and the king of the dark court went back a very long way, he didn’t dare make assumptions. His stint as the high queen’s huntsman hadn’t made him many friends. Tiana, and those who did her bidding, weren’t well-liked in the circles he used to run in.

“What sort of business?” Kevighn took another long drink. Since when had Ciaran been interested in the mortal realm? Then again, an increasing number of his people were coming into this realm for diversion, business, or to escape the mess the new high queen was making. “I’ll let the boss tell you himself.” Roderick grinned. Kevighn shook his head at his friend’s ambiguity. Roderick enjoyed being infuriating. “Where can I find him?”

“He’s been spending a lot of time out west—especially San Francisco.” Roderick gave him a knowing smile. “Apparently there’s this opium den there … ”

Once, San Francisco had been among Kevighn’s favorite places, home to a particular opium den. Then he’d met a beautiful, clever mortal named Magnolia and the whole world he’d carefully created to shield his heart from the pain he’d felt at losing his sister Creideamh had tumbled down like a building during an earthquake.

Could he bear returning to San Fran? Then again, what choice did he have? He couldn’t keep wandering around the United States getting kicked out of air terminal bars and opium dens. Kevighn polished off his ale.

“Have you heard about the museum robberies?” Roderick added. “They’re not stealing paintings, but odd things.” He gave Kevighn a meaningful look.