“I can’t believe you made me roll around like some drug-crazed house cat,” he said.
“What?” I asked. “I didn’t make you do any of it. Though I appreciate you turning up when you did, I never asked for your help.”
Which now that I think of it was strange indeed. Most fae don’t lend their assistance without making sure they get something out of the deal, but the cat and I had entered no pact for his help. I’d know if I sealed another faerie bargain. It wasn’t the kind of event that went unnoticed. The debt I already carried was wrapped around my soul like choking vines.
My gaze returned to the scars that striped his body and I swallowed hard. I definitely didn’t want to owe this faerie a boon. I was pretty sure that fulfilling that kind of favor would get me killed.
“No, but you didn’t leave me much choice, Princess,” he said. The cat sidhe stretched forward, resting his chin on his front paws, tail waving hypnotically above his head. “Your clumsiness sealed my fate. As soon as you dropped that bag, I had one chance to snatch it back or you’d have been hauled downtown—with no glamour. I’m thinking that the stress of such a trip would have set your wisp skin to glowing.”
“But what do you care?” I asked.
“Who says that I care?” he asked. He lifted a paw to his mouth and yawned. “I do, however believe in self preservation. Letting humans know we exist would be foolhardy, especially in light of recent events.”
“Such as?” I asked.
I wasn’t sure what recent events might have stirred up human suspicion. Vamps had erased the memories of all the humans who stumbled onto the waterfront during the
“Don’t you listen to the mortals?” he asked. The cat sidhe’s tail danced an archaic pattern above his tattered ears and I forced myself to look away. Becoming ensnared by a cat sidhe was not on my to-do list. Fae blood may run through my veins, but my human genes left me vulnerable to faerie enchantments. I gripped the vial of cold iron in my pocket. Thankfully, my human half did have its perks—an immunity to iron being one of them. “Sightings of spectral beings have been reported all over the city. Graves are rumored to have been disturbed in local cemeteries. If street corner gossip is to be believed, the dead walk the streets of Harborsmouth.”
“But ghosts don’t exist,” I said, body going rigid.
“Does it matter?” he asked. “If mortals go poking their noses into shadows looking for ghosts, they may just discover who they really share this city with. That is one secret I’d rather we kept.”
“So you helped me back there to protect the secret of our kind,” I said. “To save your own hide.”
That scarred hide was beginning to wink in and out of existence as if made of shadow. Watching parts of the cat sidhe’s body appear and disappear made me dizzy, as if the ground at my feet were becoming less solid with each flickering wave of shadow. I wrenched my gaze from the faerie cat’s body and focused on his face.
“Yes, Princess,” he said. The faerie leapt gracefully from the metal bin to the pavement and began crossing the empty lot toward the main road. “And let me give a free word of advice, since I’m in a generous mood. Don’t go throwing cold iron around these streets. You’re likely to attract the wrong kind of attention.”
The cat sidhe flashed a razor sharp smile in my direction then melted into the fog. The last I saw of him, he was a shred of shadow twining around the ankles of shoppers on Market Street.
“And what kind are you?” I muttered.
“Wait,” I said. “The iron shavings were for self defense. Didn’t you see the seven foot tall, angry lamia?”
The sound of rush hour traffic was my only reply. I’d waited too long to ask my question and now the cat was gone. But the realization nagged at me as I trudged through back lots and alleys, avoiding throngs of shoppers as I made my way back to the clurichaun’s shop.
Unlike the crowd of humans who only witnessed my side of the near-battle, the faerie cat should have seen through Melusine’s glamour. So why hadn’t he mentioned her? Ceffyl’s ex had been there, hadn’t she?
I shoved gloved hands into my pockets and ducked my head, avoiding the curious stares of dish washers and line cooks as they each sucked down one last cigarette before the busy dinner rush. The alleys of Joysen Hill were never completely empty, but at least there were no obvious threats in sight. Of course, that didn’t mean I was safe.
Melusine was out there somewhere. She was in Harborsmouth, wasn’t she? I’d seen the bitch with my own two eyes, so why was doubt creeping in like an unwelcome guest?
I bit the inside of my cheek and shook my head. No, I trusted my second sight. No one else had witnessed a seven foot tall woman with a serpent’s tail on a busy city sidewalk? So what, that was business as usual. I was used to being the only person who could see the monsters who roam our streets.
I rounded the corner onto Catch Lane behind Dead Man’s Catch and dropped into a crouch. Knives slid into my gloved hands from custom sheaths hidden beneath my coat. Clurichaun’s were good at crafting more than gloves. The sheaths had been skillfully designed with two functions in mind; protecting my skin from contact with my new weapons and easy release. The grip end of twin throwing knives, balanced silver blades with sharp iron tips, hit my palms before I could blink.
Was that…? A large form loomed, emerging from a gap in the thick fog. I adjusted my grip on the knives, spinning each knife a half turn, and pinching the tips of the blades with shaking fingers.
I breathed in slowly, filling my nostrils with the fetid smell of frying fish and stale beer, relaxed my stance, and assessed the distance to where Melusine loomed in fog thickened shadow. The decision to switch my hold on the knives from the grip to the blade depended on range. If I misjudged the distance, the knives would bounce off my target. I’d lose the element of surprise and end up with one pissed off lamia.
I squinted at Melusine who hadn’t moved since my intrusion into Catch Lane. That was weird. When the bitch stared daggers at me through the Clurichaun’s shop window, her serpent tale had lashed back and forth like a cat watching a tasty bird just out of reach. But the only thing moving now was a mouse as it scurried beneath a rusting dumpster.
Still holding my knives, wrists cramping, I peered through the shifting mist at the unmoving form. I shook my head and slid my blades back into their custom sheaths. It wasn’t Melusine leaning against the brick building, just a large coil of rope beside a stack of wooden barrels. I rubbed my eyes and straightened, cheeks blossoming heat. I’d nearly murdered a pile of rope. What the hell was wrong with me?
Time to retrieve Jinx and get off this damned hill before I got myself arrested. I didn’t think Officer Hamlin would take too kindly to a second run in with me, not in one day.
Chapter 4
I rubbed my arms as I walked up Joysen Hill, comforted by the blades that hid beneath my leather jacket. Jenna had been trying to convince me to start weapons training since we met last summer, but I didn’t take her up on the offer until the holidays. I had worked a job that could have gone south, fast. Even with Jenna’s expert assistance, the faeries we were hunting had managed to ambush us. I was lucky to be alive and had the nightmares to prove it.
I still woke to the smell of burning flesh, the awful memory of that night seared into my subconscious. The memories left me feeling weak and vulnerable. Facing a horde of bloodthirsty redcaps will do that to a girl.
So I had treated Jinx and myself to a month of battle training with Jenna. Four months later, we were still attending classes. Jinx was a perfectionist and an adrenaline junkie and I was determined to gain the skills necessary to protect this city, and my friends. I don’t make friends easily and wasn’t about to let those precious few I had get hurt because I wasn’t prepared.
I knew basic self defense, ran through a routine of moves to disarm and immobilize an opponent every evening while Jinx cooked dinner, but this was no ordinary self defense class. Having a skilled Hunter as a teacher was both enlightening and embarrassing. Jenna had discovered our weaknesses before our butts hit the practice mat.
