Cruel Enchantment (3 page)

“Shh, I understand. I only hope that one day—”

“Brother Gideon? Emily?” It was Archdirector Maddoc’s voice coming from behind them.

Gideon gritted his teeth for a moment. His face—just for a heartbeat—made the transformation from medium to monster. Veins stood out in his forehead and neck. His skin went pale and his eyes bulged. He dropped her hands and moved away from her, his natural, unassuming visage back in place in a matter of seconds. Just the glimpse of Gideon’s true self was enough to leave Emmaline shaky, a reaction that luckily worked for this particular situation.

The tension in the air between Gideon and Maddoc ratcheted upward. Power struggles within the structure of the group seemed to permeate all their interactions. Then, of course, there was the carefully orchestrated charade she’d been performing for Gideon to make things worse—making Gideon believe she was sleeping with his archenemy.

As undercover HFF, it was her job to throw wrenches into the best of the Phaendir’s machines and she was good at her job.

“Are you ready?” asked Brother Maddoc with a warm smile. Brother Maddoc was annoyingly likable, considering he was Phaendir. With him, you got what you saw on the surface. Trouble was, he hated the fae. Not as much as Gideon hated the fae, but enough to want to keep them imprisoned forever.

Her smile flickered. “No.”

Maddoc laughed and pulled her against him for a hug. “Don’t worry, you’re all set up. They’re expecting you at the Rose Tower as the newest addition to the
Faemous
crew. Just go in like you’re a real anchor and start snooping around for information about the
bosca fadbh
. I don’t think I need to impress upon you how important a job this is, Emily.”

Except it wasn’t her real job.

She knew all about the
bosca fadbh
, and what
she
needed concerning the valuable puzzle box would be found nowhere near the Seelie Court. The fae already had one piece of the box. The second piece, the one the HFF was trying to get, was halfway around the world, off the coast of Atlit, Israel. It just sucked that the only man capable of helping the HFF get that piece was stuck in Piefferburg.

She laid her head on Maddoc’s shoulder, an action that made Gideon shuffle his feet and cough as he tried to conceal his irritation and jealousy. “I won’t let you down, Brother Maddoc.”

“I know.” He smiled and kissed her temple. “Now go. They’re ready to let you in.”

She turned toward the heavy wrought-iron gates that separated Piefferburg and most of the world’s fae from the fragile human world. The huge doors opened with a groan and all the heavy protocol that went with the admission of individuals began. On this side of the gate things were monitored by the Phaendir. On the other side of the gate, all deliveries or people passing through were carefully inspected by the fae and all arrivals reported to both towers.

Of course neither side trusted the other. The fae exerted what little control they had by checking to make sure no Phaendir entered—some had tried; all had been brutally killed. The Phaendir, of course, would not allow any fae to leave. Humans could come and go at their own peril. Not many did. Only the very brave and the very stupid dared cross into the land of the fae.

Or the very desperate. That would be her.

Glancing back at Gideon and Maddoc and shooting them a look of uncertainty she didn’t have to feign, she stepped past the gates.

Surely the Blacksmith wouldn’t recognize her under her powerful glamour. Surely she would be safe from his wrath. If she could fool all of the Phaendir, she could fool one fae. Even if somehow he did recognize her, hundreds of years had passed since that unfortunate day and her errand was of monumental importance to his people.

Surely this would turn out all right.

THE
scents of lavender and chamomile immediately enveloped her as the heavy gates behind her clanked shut. She held up her hands as two red caps approached her. They didn’t carry guns, but they didn’t need to. Built like two bald linebackers on steroids, they could snap her in two with minimal effort. Their heads were dyed a bright red, a constant reminder that they needed to kill periodically to survive. In Piefferburg they did that in a controlled setting, in games that echoed the days of gladiators.

She was pretty sure she never wanted to attend.

“My name is Emily Millhouse,” she said. “I’m here as an addition to the
Faemous
film crew in the Rose Tower.”

She couldn’t exactly say, “Hey, y’all, my name is Emmaline Siobhan Keara Gallagher and I’m a three-hundred-and-eighty-year-old pure-blood Seelie Tuatha Dé with abilities in glamour so powerful that I can easily make you think I’m human. Oh, by the way, I’m on your side.”

No, as far as these fae were concerned, she was going with the first of her covers. No sense in alarming twitchy magickal trigger fingers. She needed to make sure she could get back out of Piefferburg. The thought of being trapped here forever was enough to bring a touch of bile to the back of her throat.

“Show your identity card,” ordered the one on her left with a heavy Scottish accent.

Slowly, she pulled her pack from her shoulder and fished out her wallet from the front pouch. The red cap on her right took her pack and rifled through it, then he patted her down. Once they’d inspected her false I.D., they gave all her things back to her.

As she arranged her wallet, one of the red-skulled power twins spoke. “From this point on, you’re on your own. Humans who enter Piefferburg take their safety into their own hands. Do you understand? Human law doesn’t apply in here.”

She pulled her pack over her shoulders and nodded. “I understand.”

“You sure you don’t want a car? It’s a long walk to the city.”

“No, I told them I’d rather walk.”

His lips drew back in a smile to reveal pointed teeth. It jarred her a little. Clearly she’d been with humans for too long. “Good luck.” He pointed down the dirt road that would lead her into the city. “Stay on the path until you hit Piefferburg City.”

Follow the Yellow Brick Road. Man, she hoped there weren’t any flying monkeys.

She nodded, hitched her pack higher on her shoulders, and took off. Time to get this show started. Her boots crunched on the dirt as she made her way in. It would be a good few miles, according to the map she’d looked at, before she reached the outskirts of the huge main city.

It was early spring, but it was a warm morning. She would take this time to collect her thoughts and commune with this land that was closest to that of her homeland, Ireland, just from the fact it was occupied by her people.

Piefferburg was a large territory, home to every type of fae imaginable. Sort of like a big, very deadly zoo. These were the Boundary Lands, where the wilding fae lived, the ones that preferred the forest glens, tree groves, freshwater lakes, and treetops. Mostly they kept to themselves, forming their own society apart from the rest. Like the goblins did. Also the water-dwelling fae—the selkies, Untunktahe, kelpie, sirens, and the rest—who mostly resided in the eastern part of Piefferburg, where the ocean met land.

Not far from the gates of Piefferburg was the city. There she would find the Rose and Black Towers and the trooping fae, the work-a-day fae who lived all over Piefferburg, in both the city and the rural areas. The troop idolized the Seelie and the Unseelie for reasons she would never understand. The Seelie Tuatha Dé, especially, were like royalty.

Having avoided the Great Sweep thanks to her ability to cloak her true nature so well, she really only knew these things academically. She’d left Ireland, and the fae world, when she was only twenty years old. Walking through these enchanted woods now, with the pollen dancing through the air, the shimmering lights of nearby wilding fae winking in the foliage, and the low hum and sing of magick in the air around her—it healed her soul. Sprae, the tiniest of her fae brethren, minuscule beings that provided magickal energy to the forest, flocked to her, lighting on her arms, hands, and face. It was like being welcomed home.

Smiling, she took a deep breath of her environment into her lungs and held it there for a long moment. Her mission was critical, but she could take a moment to put aside her fears and relax here, among her kind.

It had been too long. She barely remembered what it was to be fae—what she was under the layers of illusion she’d donned. It was good to be here. She didn’t regret a bit not ordering a car to come for her at the gates, even though the walk would not be doing her leg muscles any favors tomorrow morning.

She blinked, glimpsing something down the road that didn’t fit with her natural surroundings. Someone striding through the dappled sunlight and pollen-laden air. A man. A large, muscular man walking with purpose toward her. He carried something in his hand, but she couldn’t quite make it out.

Her pace slowing, she watched him approach, seeing something intangibly familiar in the way he moved and the broad set of his shoulders. Who was this man? What was he doing way out here? His posture and the way he strode toward her seemed vaguely threatening. Suddenly she wished for a weapon. She usually carried one—old habits died hard—but she hadn’t brought any into Piefferburg with her.

He strode on heavy boots and wore black pants and a white poet’s shirt that would’ve made any other man but him look feminine. His long, dusky blond hair was pulled partway back at his nape, free tendrils moving around a face so heartbreakingly beautiful in a savage, brutal way it made her want to cry. Strong, clefted chin; full lips; dark brown eyes. His build peeked out at the collar of the poet’s shirt—strong and muscled from hard work—wide shoulders, narrow hips, the fabric of his pants clinging to the thighs of an athlete.

Or of a blacksmith.

The man’s identity slammed into her like a freight train, stealing all the rational thought in her head and transforming it into perfect shock. In some faraway part of her brain, she realized she’d halted on the road, bits of floating pollen and sprae caught in her hair, watching the vision approach her. The sight of him arrested her, made her remember him from so many hundreds of years before. He hadn’t changed.

Neither had how he made her feel when she looked at him.

“I know you,” said Aeric Killian Riordan O’Malley. The words came out harsh, angry, lashed with raw power, just the same way his magnificent body moved. His voice was laced with the remnants of an Irish accent that years in Piefferburg hadn’t been able to wash away. “
Emmaline Siobhan Keara Gallagher
. The Summer Queen’s assassin. The woman with the crossbow.”

Danger. There was danger here. He shouldn’t know her. Hell, he shouldn’t even
be here
.

How
did he know her?
She was glamoured.

Her feet twitched and she glanced at the forest near her. Her survival center—an exceptionally strong part of herself—screamed
run
. Suddenly she was a mouse to a lion, prey to predator. Her intellect won out and she tamped down the fight-or-flight response, lifting her face to him. Still, the need to lie—to cover her true identity in the face of his brutal wrath—was overwhelming. “I’m not who you think I am.”

And that was true enough.

He grabbed her by her collar and shook her like a dog. “I know you.”

She yelped. “You don’t know me!”

“I do.”
He bared white teeth in a grimace. “I’ve been waiting for you. For hundreds of years,
Emmaline Siobhan Keara Gallagher
, I have been dreaming of the day you would reenter my life.” By saying her whole name he was reminding her of the power he held over her.

She shook her head. “No, you don’t understand. Let me explain—”

Her gaze flicked down to his hand. The thing she couldn’t make out from a distance was a burlap bag.

She knew what that was for.
She’d used one just like it more than once.

Her survival instincts finally cut through the shock. She brought the flat of her hand up, aiming for his nose. She got his chin instead, but it worked. Teeth knocking hard, he grunted and released her, turning away with his hand to his mouth. She was free.

Pressing her advantage, she whirled on the ball of her foot and kicked up high, catching him in the jaw with her hiking boot. He staggered to the side and she set up for another kick, knowing there was no other way to deal with a man of this size. Fists just wouldn’t do it. Kicks and hits to tender parts of the anatomy just might.

He blocked her foot and pushed. She staggered to the side, almost landing on her ass in the dirt. He came at her and she whirled to the left, narrowly missing his enraged grasp. She danced away from him, but he was too fast. He grabbed her upper arm and she brought the flat of her palm up again, this time hitting pay dirt. Blood exploded from his nose and he yelped in pain.