Faefever
Page 47
“Are you okay?”
She snorted. “I kill monsters, Mac. I fell out of a stupid window.”
I smiled. “Where are you?” I could hear horns honking in the background, the sounds of the city waking up.
“Not far from you.” She told me. I knew the intersection.
I glanced at the window. It was still dark out. I hated her being out there in the dark, regardless of her superspeed, and I doubted she had the sword. “There’s a church across the street.” It was brilliantly lit. “I’ll meet you in front of it in ten minutes.”
“But the rest of ’em aren’t here!”
“I’m just coming for my camera. Can you get the girls together this afternoon?”
“I can try. Kat says you have to pick a place where the other . . . couriers . . . won’t see us.”
I named several cafés, all of which she nixed as too risky. We finally settled on a below-street pub, aptly named The Underground, that offered darts and pool tables, but no windows.
I hung up, brushed my teeth, splashed water on my face, tugged on jeans, and zipped a fleece-lined jacket over my PJ top, then jammed a ball cap on my head. My blond roots were showing. I made a mental note to stop in a drugstore on the way back and grab a couple boxes of color. It was depressing enough that I had to have dark hair. I wasn’t going to cheese it up with a sloppy dye job.
It was 7:20 when I hit the pavement. The sun wouldn’t rise until 7:52 A.M. It would set at 6:26; I’ve become a bit obsessed with the precise timing of natural light, and keep a chart of it on my wall, next to the map where I track Unseelie hot spots and Book activity. I stayed to the lights as much as I could, moving from the pool cast by one streetlamp to the next, a flashlight in each hand, my spear heavy and comforting in my shoulder harness. My MacHalo was for deep night work only. If the people passing by thought it was bizarre that I was carrying lit flashlights, I didn’t care. I was staying alive. They could smirk all they wanted. A few of them did.
As I hurried down the street, I pictured myself three months ago, compared it to what I looked like now, and laughed. The businessman hurrying along next to me glanced over. He met my eyes, jerked a little, and stepped up his pace, leaving me behind.
It had rained during the night, and the cobbled streets were shiny in the predawn light. The city perched on the expectant edge of day about to explode: buses honking, taxis vying for space with commuters, people checking their watches and rushing to their jobs, other people . . . or things . . . already doing theirs, like those Rhino-boys sweeping the streets, and picking up trash.
I watched them surreptitiously, struck by the oddity of it. The non-sidhe-seer passerby would see only the human glamour they projected, of the still half-asleep city employee, but I saw their stumpy gray limbs, beady eyes, and jutting jaws as plain as the skin on the back of my hand. I knew they were watchdogs for higher-ranking Fae. I didn’t get why they were doing human dirty work. I couldn’t see a Fae stooping to it, Light or Dark Court. The many low-level Unseelie were chafing my sidhe-seer senses. Usually Rhino-boys don’t bother me too much, but in mass numbers they make me feel like I have an ulcer. I poked around inside my head, wondering if I could mute it somehow.
That was better! I could turn the volume down. Very cool.
Dani was leaning jauntily against a streetlamp in front of the church, bike propped against her hip. She had a painful-looking knot on her forehead; the undersides of her forearms were scraped raw, and dirty; and she’d torn holes in the knees of her pinstriped pants as if she’d gone sliding on all fours down an asphalt roof, which, she told me breezily, she had. I wanted to take her back to the bookstore, clean and bandage her up. I told my bleeding heart to get over it. If we ever ended up fighting back to back, I’d need to trust her to deal with all but critical wounds.
Dani slapped the camera into my hand with a cocky grin, and said, “Go ahead, tell me what a great job I did.”
I suspected she didn’t hear praise often. Rowena didn’t seem the type to waste breath on a job well done, when she could save it for a job badly done. I also doubted Dani got much nurturing from the other sidhe-seers. Her mouthy defensiveness made her hard to cuddle, and her sisters-in-arms had their own worries on their minds. I thumbed on the camera, glanced at the measly seven pages she’d photographed, of the wrong stuff, and said, “Great job, Dani!”
She preened a moment, then hopped on her bike and pedaled off, skinny legs pumping. I wondered if she ever used her superspeed while biking and, if she did, would you see only a flash of green whizzing by? Kermit the Frog on steroids. “Later, Mac,” she said over her shoulder. “I’ll call you soon.”
I headed back to the bookstore by way of the drugstore. It was light enough to put away my flashlights. I did, then stared down at my camera, zooming in on the photos, trying to figure out what she’d gotten.
I knew better than to walk with my head down. I didn’t even dare carry an umbrella in the rain for fear of what I might bump into.
When I careened off the shoulder of a man standing near a dark, expensive car parked at the curb, I exclaimed, “Oh, sorry!” and kept right on going, blessing my luck that it had been a human I’d bumped into, not a Fae—when I realized I had my “volume” way down—and it hadn’t been a human.
I whirled, whipping my spear from my jacket, willing the people passing by—most with their noses buried in a newspaper, or on their cell phones—not to see me, as if maybe I could throw a little glamour of my own. Melt into the shadows with the other monsters.
“Bitch,” spat Derek O’Bannion, his swarthy features contorted with hatred. But his cold, reptilian gaze acknowledged my weapon and he made no move toward me.
Ironically, that weapon is the spear I stole from his brother, Rocky, shortly before Barrons and I led him and his henchmen to their death-by-Shade behind the bookstore. Capitalizing on Derek’s hunger for revenge, the LM recruited him as a replacement for Mallucé, taught him to eat Unseelie, and sent him after me to get the spear. I’d convinced the younger O’Bannion brother that I would kill him if he so much as blinked at me wrong, and I’d let him know just how terrible that death would be. The spear killed anything Fae. When a person ate Unseelie, it turned parts of the person Fae. When those parts died, they rotted from the inside out, poisoning the human parts of the person, and ultimately killing them. The one time I’d eaten Fae, I’d been terrified of the spear. I’d seen Mallucé up close and personal. He’d been marbled with decay. Half his mouth had rotted, parts of his hands, legs, and stomach had been a decomposing stew, and his genitals . . . ugh. It was a horrific way to die.
She snorted. “I kill monsters, Mac. I fell out of a stupid window.”
I smiled. “Where are you?” I could hear horns honking in the background, the sounds of the city waking up.
“Not far from you.” She told me. I knew the intersection.
I glanced at the window. It was still dark out. I hated her being out there in the dark, regardless of her superspeed, and I doubted she had the sword. “There’s a church across the street.” It was brilliantly lit. “I’ll meet you in front of it in ten minutes.”
“But the rest of ’em aren’t here!”
“I’m just coming for my camera. Can you get the girls together this afternoon?”
“I can try. Kat says you have to pick a place where the other . . . couriers . . . won’t see us.”
I named several cafés, all of which she nixed as too risky. We finally settled on a below-street pub, aptly named The Underground, that offered darts and pool tables, but no windows.
I hung up, brushed my teeth, splashed water on my face, tugged on jeans, and zipped a fleece-lined jacket over my PJ top, then jammed a ball cap on my head. My blond roots were showing. I made a mental note to stop in a drugstore on the way back and grab a couple boxes of color. It was depressing enough that I had to have dark hair. I wasn’t going to cheese it up with a sloppy dye job.
It was 7:20 when I hit the pavement. The sun wouldn’t rise until 7:52 A.M. It would set at 6:26; I’ve become a bit obsessed with the precise timing of natural light, and keep a chart of it on my wall, next to the map where I track Unseelie hot spots and Book activity. I stayed to the lights as much as I could, moving from the pool cast by one streetlamp to the next, a flashlight in each hand, my spear heavy and comforting in my shoulder harness. My MacHalo was for deep night work only. If the people passing by thought it was bizarre that I was carrying lit flashlights, I didn’t care. I was staying alive. They could smirk all they wanted. A few of them did.
As I hurried down the street, I pictured myself three months ago, compared it to what I looked like now, and laughed. The businessman hurrying along next to me glanced over. He met my eyes, jerked a little, and stepped up his pace, leaving me behind.
It had rained during the night, and the cobbled streets were shiny in the predawn light. The city perched on the expectant edge of day about to explode: buses honking, taxis vying for space with commuters, people checking their watches and rushing to their jobs, other people . . . or things . . . already doing theirs, like those Rhino-boys sweeping the streets, and picking up trash.
I watched them surreptitiously, struck by the oddity of it. The non-sidhe-seer passerby would see only the human glamour they projected, of the still half-asleep city employee, but I saw their stumpy gray limbs, beady eyes, and jutting jaws as plain as the skin on the back of my hand. I knew they were watchdogs for higher-ranking Fae. I didn’t get why they were doing human dirty work. I couldn’t see a Fae stooping to it, Light or Dark Court. The many low-level Unseelie were chafing my sidhe-seer senses. Usually Rhino-boys don’t bother me too much, but in mass numbers they make me feel like I have an ulcer. I poked around inside my head, wondering if I could mute it somehow.
That was better! I could turn the volume down. Very cool.
Dani was leaning jauntily against a streetlamp in front of the church, bike propped against her hip. She had a painful-looking knot on her forehead; the undersides of her forearms were scraped raw, and dirty; and she’d torn holes in the knees of her pinstriped pants as if she’d gone sliding on all fours down an asphalt roof, which, she told me breezily, she had. I wanted to take her back to the bookstore, clean and bandage her up. I told my bleeding heart to get over it. If we ever ended up fighting back to back, I’d need to trust her to deal with all but critical wounds.
Dani slapped the camera into my hand with a cocky grin, and said, “Go ahead, tell me what a great job I did.”
I suspected she didn’t hear praise often. Rowena didn’t seem the type to waste breath on a job well done, when she could save it for a job badly done. I also doubted Dani got much nurturing from the other sidhe-seers. Her mouthy defensiveness made her hard to cuddle, and her sisters-in-arms had their own worries on their minds. I thumbed on the camera, glanced at the measly seven pages she’d photographed, of the wrong stuff, and said, “Great job, Dani!”
She preened a moment, then hopped on her bike and pedaled off, skinny legs pumping. I wondered if she ever used her superspeed while biking and, if she did, would you see only a flash of green whizzing by? Kermit the Frog on steroids. “Later, Mac,” she said over her shoulder. “I’ll call you soon.”
I headed back to the bookstore by way of the drugstore. It was light enough to put away my flashlights. I did, then stared down at my camera, zooming in on the photos, trying to figure out what she’d gotten.
I knew better than to walk with my head down. I didn’t even dare carry an umbrella in the rain for fear of what I might bump into.
When I careened off the shoulder of a man standing near a dark, expensive car parked at the curb, I exclaimed, “Oh, sorry!” and kept right on going, blessing my luck that it had been a human I’d bumped into, not a Fae—when I realized I had my “volume” way down—and it hadn’t been a human.
I whirled, whipping my spear from my jacket, willing the people passing by—most with their noses buried in a newspaper, or on their cell phones—not to see me, as if maybe I could throw a little glamour of my own. Melt into the shadows with the other monsters.
“Bitch,” spat Derek O’Bannion, his swarthy features contorted with hatred. But his cold, reptilian gaze acknowledged my weapon and he made no move toward me.
Ironically, that weapon is the spear I stole from his brother, Rocky, shortly before Barrons and I led him and his henchmen to their death-by-Shade behind the bookstore. Capitalizing on Derek’s hunger for revenge, the LM recruited him as a replacement for Mallucé, taught him to eat Unseelie, and sent him after me to get the spear. I’d convinced the younger O’Bannion brother that I would kill him if he so much as blinked at me wrong, and I’d let him know just how terrible that death would be. The spear killed anything Fae. When a person ate Unseelie, it turned parts of the person Fae. When those parts died, they rotted from the inside out, poisoning the human parts of the person, and ultimately killing them. The one time I’d eaten Fae, I’d been terrified of the spear. I’d seen Mallucé up close and personal. He’d been marbled with decay. Half his mouth had rotted, parts of his hands, legs, and stomach had been a decomposing stew, and his genitals . . . ugh. It was a horrific way to die.
