City of Fae (10 page)

Shoulders slumped, head bowed, he gave his head a slight shake. “It’s real, but don’t let that concern you. The fae there, they don’t care for this place, this world. There isn’t enough draíocht here for them to ever be interested. We need draíocht, and this place is barren compared to Faerie.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose and pursed my lips. He wasn’t joking. This was real. Like the queen. Oh God. My little story about a wasted rock star fae had morphed into something too big and terrifying for me to deal with on my own.

“Why haven’t the fae told us the truth?” I asked, each word clipped.

“Right,” he rolled his eyes, “because humans are so well known for their tolerance of things they don’t understand? If you knew we were … different—from a different place—you’d take away what little freedom we have.” He chewed on his lip, his expression pained. “Are you okay?”

“Yup. Fine. Lovely.” Did Andrews know? Surely the government knew. Maybe the public had been kept out of the loop to avoid widespread panic.

“It doesn’t matter right now,” Reign said. “Faerie is not the threat here.”

My hand trembled when I reached for my coffee. “Okay, I’m going to file that revelation away for later.” I took a sip of the scalding drink and welcomed the burn on my tongue. The world hadn’t changed just because I knew Faerie was real. And Reign was right, we had more pressing problems. “The queen. You were telling me about her.” I watched him closely, waiting for my answers.

“I’ve been told she wasn’t always corrupted,” he said. “That a spirit, Arachne
,
sought her out due to her talent for weaving.” He turned his gaze away from me and bit gently into his bottom lip. “I don’t know if that’s true. Nor does it matter. It was a long time ago, long before I was around. She is what she is.”

“And what is that?”

“Poisoned from the inside out, by the spirit, by time.”

“And Under?”

“Under is a settlement beneath your feet, made with forgotten parts of London.” Reign hesitated. He looked at me, as though weighing how much he should say.

“Just say it. I think we’ve moved beyond me taking notes for my big break, don’t you?”

“We were expelled from Faerie. All the fae here were. We initially spread far and wide, preferring the less industrialized areas. But as time went on, we were forced to live among people, our main source of draíocht, to survive.”

Like rats
, I thought, and winced.

“The tunnels under London served as an ideal hiding place. Some, the most careful of us, would come and go, blend in with the city residents, but it wasn’t enough. We saw what the people had, and we wanted it too. We weren’t content to hide forever. We can’t. It’s not in our nature. Once we revealed ourselves, and the initial integration problems were ironed out with the introduction of the Trinity Law, the FA allowed some of us, those who had earned the right to roam, to leave Under. But only the fae have access. A home for some, a prison for others.”

We’d come and gone from Under freely enough. At least, it had felt like that, but it had also felt wrong, as though disconnected from the reality of London. Like the fae themselves, Under wasn’t exactly normal. “If you like the limelight so much, why do any of the fae stay in Under?”

“There are social layers; some fae, like me, have earned certain privileges, but the others either don’t want to or don’t possess the right kind of social skills.”

I gathered “the right kind of social skills” meant they weren’t monstrous beasts. “Like the queen?”

“Yes, but she’s been deliberately trapped. She’s unstable. She has been for a long time. The iron used in the tunnels and the underground reservoir help keep her there, but there’s more to it than that. She can’t—or shouldn’t be able to—escape.”

“Something’s changed?”

He nodded and scratched at an eyebrow, shifting restlessly in the seat. “Time, mostly. She’s had centuries to weave her plans. Her power here is limited, but she can manipulate those around her.” He paused. I encouraged him with a nod. “She’s getting help,” he said. “Not all fae agree with how we live. The queen, weak as she is, shouldn’t be able to create constructs, but she is. The fae must be taking her victims.”

I swallowed hard. “Some fae are feeding her people?”

He leaned both arms on the table, bringing him closer, closing the conversation down around us so we need only speak in whispers. “Fae magic, our draíocht, can be used to create constructs when mixed with organic elements, like the spider construct the queen sent after you at the
Metro
offices. Only a few fae can do it, which is why you’ve not heard of it. But to weave draíocht in that manner … It’s exhausting. Creating constructs should leave her completely drained.”

I tasted my coffee. Memories of the queen’s encounter with Reign had goose bumps rising across my skin again. “She didn’t look drained.”

“No, she’s getting stronger because she’s feeding, among other reasons.”

Oh God. “Is she killing people?”

He toyed with the packets, fingers working, teasing; fixing all of his attention to that one spot. “I’ve tried to search the tunnels, but Under isn’t always easy to navigate. There are other things down there that shouldn’t be disturbed. If she has a larder, I’ve not found any evidence.”

Thousands of people were reported missing in London each year. Were the fae taking them? Killing them? No, the fae needed draíocht. They didn’t kill their victims; bespellment made their “pets” pliable and susceptible, easier to feed from. If the queen wasn’t killing them, perhaps they were alive somewhere under London. Andrews needed to know this. Maybe he could do something.

“How can you let this happen?” I asked, unable to hide the disgusted hiss. “Can you stop her?”

He winced, and I recalled how he’d dropped to his knees in front of her. Was he helping her? He’d already told me he wasn’t innocent. “It’s not that simple.”

“Of course it is. She’s trapped, right? Find out who’s helping her, take them out. I saw you fight the general. You’re capable—”

“I’ve tried, but many don’t talk to me in Under. They don’t like how easily I’ve integrated with the people here, or how close I am to the queen.” His skittish gaze wandered anywhere but to me. “They don’t trust my allegiances.”

“Tell the FA. They must know what’s going on.”

“They do …”

I recoiled. “The FA know and they aren’t doing anything?”

“As far as they’re concerned, the queen is contained. There’s no evidence she’s doing anything untoward. Rumors and whispers aren’t enough.”

“Reign, this can’t be allowed to continue. If you don’t do something, I’ll go back down there with my cell phone and take pictures. I’ll tell the world.”

“You can’t.” Head bowed, watching his fingers work, he continued to avoid looking at me. I might have thought he was ashamed, if I believed rock star Reign was capable of shame.

“Why not?”

“You can’t get in without me, and neither can the human authorities.” He looked up and held my gaze, all trace of smug-ass fae gone. “Don’t you think they’ve tried? Your government don’t want us in London any more than we want to be here, but they can’t get to us to evict us. Under’s roots go deep.”

“So, what? We do nothing?”

“I’m working on something.” He pulled back and shifted sideways in the booth, resting a shoulder against the wall, so he could stretch a leg along the seat, knee bent. How could he look so relaxed after everything we’d seen, after what he’d just told me? “What?” He blinked. “You’re giving me the look.”

“What look?”

“The look that says you believe I’m lying.” He circled a finger at his face. “A half-frown arched-eyebrow semi-smile-kinda look.”

A hint of a smile lightened my lips. “I wasn’t aware I had a look.”

“You do with me.”

“Then I must think you’re lying a lot, because that’s my default face.”

He smiled, but the humor in it fled before reaching his eyes. “I
do
have a plan.”

“And you can’t tell me because?”

He hesitated. “I fear to do so would put you at greater risk.”

I gave him
the look
. “It’s because of you I’m at risk.”

“I don’t think so. It wasn’t coincidence you were on that platform when I needed you.”

I crossed my arms and slumped back in the seat. “Sure it was. I was on my way home.”

“Why did you get off the train?” He asked it casually, feigning interest in the TV, as if the answer didn’t matter.

“Huh?”

“You live in Mile End. So why get off at Chancery Lane at all?” A little more weight settled behind that question. The answer did matter, and the slight narrowing of his eyes confirmed it.

“I …” Why did I get off the train? He was right, I should have stayed on. It hadn’t even occurred to me that my actions didn’t make sense. “I don’t know. I just … The train …” I tried to remember why I’d stepped from the train at Chancery Lane, but the memory flitted away, slippery and quick. Squeezing my eyes closed, I fought to recall the moment. I went back further, to the late-shift meeting with my boss, less than an hour before, when I’d been fired. I’d left the
Metro
offices, caught the train home, and—“I can’t … I don’t remember.” Opening my eyes, I frowned at Reign’s grave face. “What are you saying?”

“I don’t know exactly. Why don’t you tell me? The queen sent her construct to retrieve you—not something she’d do lightly, given how difficult it must be for her. Last night, she said you were hers. What do you think she means?”

I scoffed. “Obviously, I’m not hers, or anyone’s. I’m a nobody; I do my nine-to-five job, live my life, that’s all. I don’t know any fae or have any secrets. I told you, I have no idea what’s happening.” He tried my
look
on for size and shot it right back at me. “Reign, before I met you, I’d never even seen a fae up close.” My heart fluttered and a fleeting sense of unease undermined my bravado.
This isn’t about me. It’s not.
There would be a reasonable explanation. I just needed to think, to remember, that was all. “Why would I lie?”

Hesitating, he mulled over my words, testing their authenticity. “I saw your face when the spiders swarmed you. You weren’t faking it.”

“Thanks, I think. But this isn’t about me. It’s about you.” I lowered my voice, “It all comes back to why you were near death on that platform.”

Reign twisted in his seat and rested an arm on the table. He rubbed his forefinger and thumb together, gaze glued there instead of my face. “I’ve done some things I’m not proud of. And I’m sorry for my past, for the wrongs I’ve committed. But I have a life, like you. I don’t want to lose that. I won’t lose it.”

“Why would you lose it?”

“The queen—” he stopped himself, drew in a deep breath, and closed his eyes. “She and I are connected.” He sighed, and seemed to age a few years in that one gesture. “In ways I can’t talk about.”

Defiance burned in his eyes. The weight of his words, the challenge in his glare; I wanted to reach across the table and take his hand, toxic touch be damned. “What is the queen planning?”

“There are—were—four fae powerful enough to keep her trapped. The Keepers. Three are dead. Caroline was the third.” He bowed his head and focused hard on teasing the packets through his fingers.

“Did you know her?”

A grimace tugged his lips downward. “She was one of the oldest. We all know the ancient ones.”

“What happens if they all die?”

“She escapes.”

That monster would escape. A nightmare free in London. “Why doesn’t someone stop her, send her back to Faerie?”

“We can’t ever go back. It’s a one-way trip. There isn’t enough draíocht here to weave a return journey. Besides, I’m not sure the fae want to stop her. Those that do are too afraid. She has agents everywhere. Spies. It can be difficult to know whom to trust. If I talk to the wrong person, I’d likely end up with a dagger in my back, and if you try to stop one of her agents, another will take its place.” Over and under, he flipped the packet between his fingers.

I plucked the packet out of his grip and caught his gaze. “Reign … What I saw … Are you one of her agents?”

He looked right back at me, not a quiver of doubt, not a flinch. “Do you ever wish you were someone else?” He softened his voice, smoothed it out and added a poignant note of sadness, which tugged on my heart. He didn’t need to confirm his answer; he’d admitted he was an agent by omission. He did work for her but it definitely wasn’t voluntary.

“No,” I said.

“Never? Your cozy little life isn’t exactly inspiring.”

“You know, just when I think I could like you, you go and say some fae mightier-than-thou crap and remind me just what a spoiled smug-ass celebrity brat you are.” That garnered a smile from him, shattering and sweeping away the creeping tension.

“Thank you.” He grinned, eyes brightening.

“I’m not complimenting you. You need to replace the filter between your ears. The messages aren’t getting through.” I tossed the packet at him and settled back in my seat. His answers mingled with countless unspoken questions in my head. It was a lot to take in. Too much to consider all at once. Faerie was real. The queen was escaping. And I had somehow managed to get tangled up in the middle of it. I needed time to process the information, time away from the distraction of Reign. I noticed him watching me; analyzing my face in that utterly unashamed way he did. Blatantly staring. “What?” His scrutinizing summoned a blush.

“You like to argue.”

“You’re easy to argue with.”

“You know opposites attract, right?”

“I’m not attracted to you.” A slither of nervous laughter escaped. I fidgeted in my seat. “Do women really fall for your BS? How do they even get past your love for yourself?”

He chuckled. “Most don’t care.”

“What do you mean?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Noting my enquiring expression, he rolled his eyes. “This conversation, here now, is the most real thing I’ve experienced in months, years maybe.”

I scrunched up my nose, “This conversation? This one? About magical faerie lands and spider-queens? This is real?”

“Yeah, this very one. You’re not afraid to say what you think. I like that. Some find my presence intimidating.”