Wrenn shrugged and took the coffee. “Yeah.” Her witchness would eat her up in a wholly different way than any of the other witches in the realm.
Rich tapped her finger on the smooth wood of the countertop. “Hmm.” She went back to wiping the bar, but stopped and stared into the tavern’s main room. “You should go home,” she said.
Yes, they should both be following the rules. “I have a case.” She moved away from the counter so she could tap her paladin star.
Rich continued to stare at the patrons in the main room. “Hmm,” she said again.
Wrenn turned around and scanned the fae gathered around the tables and in the game rooms.
There, at a back table, a kelpie shimmered pale green in the low glow along the back wall. He sat alone in the shadows sipping at a pint, with one arm on the back of his chair and his legs out as if he were looking to trip the waitstaff. He wore a black kilt—they always wore black kilts—and a tight-fitting black polo shirt. He’d half-heartedly swept his black locks back from his face, and one still fell onto his forehead, giving him a psychotic Clark Kent look.
He wasn’t the most beautiful variation of the baseline kelpie look that she’d seen, but he was handsome enough with the standard kelpie strong jaw and five o’clock shadow. They all were. Kelpies were pretty much identically ideal in their features, fantastic to behold and bewitching, but they were murderous dark fae.
They mostly stayed in Titania’s realms, but one or two came into Oberon’s Castle during festivals. They rarely caused overt problems—dark fae were watched—but that didn’t mean this one was behaving himself. He might just be out on a Samhain jaunt, but Wrenn suspected not.
She looked back at Rich.
“He’s…” Rich blinked. “He’s been here all evening,” she said.
She blinked again.
Wrenn looked back at the kelpie, then at Rich and her continued blinking. She shook slightly and went back to wiping at the bar.
Somewhere in the back, a group of fae broke into song. Near the door, another laughed. The kelpie sat in the shadows sprawled out like a bored child, watching it all.
Wrenn looked back at Rich, who smiled. “Need a refill?” she asked as if she’d forgotten that she’d just filled Wrenn’s mug.
Which she might have. Wrenn looked back at the kelpie.
The bastard winked.
He’d enthralled Rich to ignore him.
“Want me to get rid of the kelpie?” Wrenn would have to be careful. A kelpie who felt slighted would always look for revenge. They were as petty as boggarts in that respect.
Rich nodded, blinked again, then went back to her wiping.
Wrenn stood. She smoothed her jacket, made sure her paladin star was visible, and walked toward the kelpie’s corner.
He didn’t look at her when she pulled out a chair. He sipped his pint, watched the satyrs tossing hatchets in the back room, and puffed out his chest. He set down his mug and looked up at her expectantly.
She dropped her hand to her Paladin star without saying a word.
Something was off about this kelpie. He wasn’t exuding the charm and charisma that normally acted as their lure.
This kelpie was cold.
“Nae witches out on Samhain.” He returned to staring at the game players in the back room and didn’t look at her. “Company policy.”
Something about her time with Victor kept Wrenn from being read as witch by other magicals. Robin speculated it was the same interference that kept them from reading her magical heritage, and also why she didn’t overheat the same way the vast majority of witches did, no matter whose magic they semi-wielded.
So to this kelpie, she should have read as mundane. Yet she didn’t.
He looked up at her and smiled.
Fangs.
“Out vampire huntin’ tonight, darlin’?” he asked.
Chapter 4
The proof Wrenn needed of vampires in Oberon’s Castle had walked into her neighborhood tavern, gotten himself a pint for show, and sat down waiting for her to come around.
Though he wasn’t proof of anything, really, beyond the poor judgment of kelpies. They were as likely to get themselves into dangerous situations as they were a danger for their mundane prey.
Which was the way of dark fae. Stupidly-evil is as stupidly-evil does. And this one was stupid enough to walk around in public.
She shouldn’t engage. She should call for backup and have his vamped-out butt hauled into headquarters so he could be properly interrogated by a fae wielding strong magic.
But headquarters might not ask the right questions. Headquarters might dust him the moment backup appeared.
“Tonight’s the night you move around the realms undetected, huh?” she asked.
He rubbed the tip of his nose with his thumb knuckle. “Or mayhap I’m just another witch’s Samhain vision, sweetheart.” He nodded toward the back room.
He’d have to be three witches’ vision for that to be true. “If you were a vision, we would have conjured up a handsome kelpie.”
His lip twitched and he flashed a fang again.
So he was a hotheaded vamped-out kelpie. She’d have to be careful with the insults.
He silently shifted in his chair—more glided or slipped than shifted—and leaned forward over the table. “Leave me alone an’ allow me a moment t’ enjoy the ambiance.”
“All dark fae are to be surveilled while in Oberon’s Castle,” she said. Best not to tell him that his fangs meant a dusting once she called him in.
He rolled his eyes. “It’s Samhain.”
“I could stake you right here and now and be within my rights as a paladin,” she said.
He laughed. “Ye think I’m nae real.” A wave in the ambient magic moved out from his body. No new magic appeared, only the ripple that hit her and bounced back to him.
So that’s how it works, she thought. A true vampire’s enthrallings weren’t visible in the magic. But this vamp was also a kelpie.
“Get up.” She pointed at the exit as she pulled out her phone to call him in. “The Royal Guard would like to know how you got yourself vamped.”
He
