Lie Down with Dogs (2 page)

Sometimes even then I had my doubts.

Note to self: invest in thermal goggles.

With a shiver, the hound’s skin finally released me. I rose on two shaky legs with the pelt in hand.

“Thanks for the save.” I patted Righty on the shoulder.

He didn’t blink, but I read
you’re welcome
between the lines.

A
fter slapping a restraining Word on Herb, I loaded him into a sedan as old as I was, then headed to the office. Righty and Lefty didn’t ride with us. My hand-me-down wheels made them nervous for whatever reason. It was hard to tell if the peeling
A Honor Roll Student
stickers on the bumper or the flaking white paint job I touched up with a Wite-Out brush had convinced them it was a rolling deathtrap.

No skin off my nose. Their fear of an imminent and fiery death gave me room to breathe.

Fifteen minutes later, we reached the outskirts of Wink, Texas. Gravel pinged the undercarriage of the car as I turned up the winding driveway belonging to an abandoned farmhouse. When I reached the yard and parked, I noticed some enterprising soul had spray painted
See Rock City
in chunky white letters on the barn’s roof since my check-in last week. Vandalism was a common occurrence. Management practically encouraged it. I doubted they would even bother slapping a fresh coat of glamour over the top.

While I sat there drumming my fingers on the steering wheel, the withered cornfield behind the old house drew my eye.

Less than two weeks ago, I walked into that field as Thierry Thackeray, conclave marshal. I had walked out as Princess Thierry Thackeray of House Unseelie, future queen of Faerie and its inhabitants.

My kingdom for a time machine.

I didn’t want a crown, or a husband. I wanted my old life back.

I might have been cut from the same cloth as my father, but I wasn’t princess material.

“What is this place?” a nervous voice asked from the backseat.

Clearing my head, I exhaled through the tight knot in my chest. Herb had been so quiet I almost forgot he was there. I killed the engine. “Welcome to the Southwestern Conclave’s Texas Outpost.”

I stepped into a puddle when I got out, soaking my sock through my sneaker and dampening the frayed cuff of my jeans. I opened his door, grabbed his upper arm and hauled him onto his feet. He teetered while regaining his balance.

A built-in bonus to using a restraining Word was it sapped the strength of the person it bound to fuel the spell. Long-term usage caused fatigue, but Herb had energy to spare.

He blinked, eyes swimming in their sockets, and leaned against the car. “I want my phone call.”

“Someone watches too much
Law & Order
.” I popped the trunk, selected a dainty jar of orange blossom honey from a wooden crate then slammed it shut again. Herb looked steady enough, so I gripped his shoulder and guided him onto the rickety front porch. “You will be processed and sent to a holding cell to wait while your father is summoned. You’re a minor. The best thing for you to do now is sit down, shut up and hope the magistrates don’t try you as an adult for assaulting a marshal.”

“You’re going to summon my dad?” he squeaked.

“Yep.” I grasped the doorknob and spoke a Word. “From what I hear, djinns really hate that.”

The glamour shrouding the farmhouse sloughed away to reveal a tidy brick building. The office was one of five identical structures encircling the fae equivalent of a maximum security prison.

With the influx of fae leaving their motherland for the mortal realm, the Faerie High Court had made the decision to form the Earthen Conclave centuries ago. Now every country had a branch, and each one self-governed. In the United States, there were five regional divisions with headquarters based in Lebanon, Kansas. Each division was presided over by one Seelie and one Unseelie magistrate, and they were responsible for maintaining the outposts in each state in their region.

There were two ways of becoming a marshal, a fae peace officer with clearance to use deadly force. You swore a binding oath of neutrality that released upon your death, or you were born into the role.

As the daughter of Macsen Sullivan, the Black Dog of the Faerie High Court, the job was in my blood. As my father before me, I was bound into service by both House Seelie and House Unseelie. I was a faithful servant of Faerie, and once I would have said I was impartial. I wasn’t as sure these days.

“You don’t get it.” Herb jerked from my grasp. “He’ll kill me.”

“He’ll be pissed.” I clasped the back of his neck. “I doubt you’ll die from fatherly disapproval.”

“I haven’t passed the Seven Trials.” He squirmed. “I haven’t earned a lamp.”

I stared at him while his meaning dawned. “You’re telling me you stole a lamp?”

“My f-father’s free.” His lip quivered. “It was my mother’s third wish.”

I shook him by the collar. “You’re telling me you stole
your father’s
lamp?”

“He hates it, hates what we are. He won’t teach me, but I’m manifesting, I’ve got all this power, and I can’t control it. I thought the lamp would help, but it makes things worse. It makes me feed it more magic. I think—I think it wants to devour me.” He shook the hand clutching the lamp at me. “I can’t put it down. See? It’s stuck. My dad quit cold turkey, like thirty years ago, and it’s starving.”

Some objects did accumulate residual energies as they passed through hands over the years. The older an item and the more powerful those hands were, the greater the charge it collected until it had a power all its own. Some substances were hungrier than others, but metal usually remained latent.

But djinns lived for eons with the metal of their lamps conducting their magic. If any object had a right to gain an appetite, it stood to reason that would be one of them. That didn’t excuse Herbert’s actions—he had chosen to pick up the lamp in the first place—but I understood the need to push back.

I had my own daddy issues after all.

“I don’t know enough about djinns to know if what you’re claiming is possible, but I’ll ask someone about it who knows before summoning your dad, okay?” Between the lamp theft and his crime spree, I doubted anything I said would help his case much.

His hunched shoulders slumped with relief. “Thanks.”

After opening the door, I pushed him through it into the reception area. “Don’t thank a fae.”

One day he might meet someone with fewer qualms about collecting on that debt than I had.

“Is that a real thing?” he asked as I handed him off to a steward for processing.

“Say it to the wrong person and it becomes a very real, very bad thing,” I cautioned him.

“Children these days.” Mable tsked from behind her tidy receptionist’s desk. “Parents get so worked up over how to hide their mistakes and their pasts that they end up enabling history to repeat itself.”

I narrowed my eyes at her, but it was hard maintaining a glare at someone who reminded you of Mrs. Claus. Instead of red, she wore pink. And instead of fur-trimmed boots, she preferred fuchsia snakeskin. But her cheeks were rosy, and she baked a mean cookie.

I rocked back on my heels. “We are talking about Herb’s parents and not mine, right?”

Her soft laughter made the room brighter somehow. “Does it matter?”

“I guess not.” I reached into my pocket and presented the jar to her. “For you.”

She moistened her lips. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know.” That was half the reason why I did. The other half being it was smart to stay on her good side. She was the one who assigned cases, and the more she loved me, the better cases I found waiting for me on my desk.

Better cases meant higher bounties. More money meant increased risk, too, but I had bills to pay.

With a plump hand, she indicated a chair angled across from hers. I dropped into it with a smile while she sampled her bribe. Mable was a bean-tighe, a type of hearth spirit. She would live for as long as the building she was bound to stood, and I hoped hers stood forever. The job wouldn’t be the same without her.

While she licked her tasting spoon clean, I dropped Herb’s file in front of her and got comfortable.

“Long night?” She lifted a tray of honey oat cookies and offered them to me.

“Very.” I snagged one, bit down and moaned. “Have I told you your talents are wasted here?”

“My people exist to tend our homes and care for our families.” Mable gazed lovingly around the room. “This is home. You and the other marshals are my family. I’m happiest when you’re happy.”

I gave her fingers a squeeze.

“Thierry Thackeray,” an overhead speaker blared, “report to the magistrates’ chambers.”

I exchanged a startled look with Mable. “When did we get a PA system?”

“It’s always been there, dear, but I think—” The wrinkles on her forehead deepened. “That might be the first time it’s ever been used.”

A groan pushed me to my feet. “That can’t be a good thing.”

“It could be,” she said cheerily. “Honestly, Thierry, the world isn’t all doom and gloom.”

Famous last words.

D
uring the eight years I attended public school, back in the days when I still thought I was human, I never caused trouble worthy of being sent to the principal’s office. But if I had, I imagined the walk of shame after being called out in front of the class felt like this.

After trudging up three flights of stairs, I rounded a corner and stopped in front of a heavy door carved from glimmering silver-veined oak imported from Faerie.

My fist rose at the same time a cool voice called, “Enter.”

Stepping inside made me do a double take. The room was split down the middle by some unseen line, and every item on the left side was mirrored on the right side. The shelves lining the walls, the bulky silver-veined oak desks—also imports—even the knickknacks and the arrangement of the workspaces were identical. The only obvious difference, other than the magistrates’ contrasting appearances, was the crests inlaid into each desk, indicating house loyalty.

“Magistrates,” I greeted them.

Evander, the Seelie magistrate, was golden-skinned. His pale blond hair hung in a sheet down his back, and his shrewd lapis eyes appraised me. He stood when I entered, which showed more respect than the scowl Kerwin, the Unseelie magistrate, aimed at me.

Kerwin resembled my guards with his grayish skin and ink-blot hair. His eyes were onyx. Cold, dark and chilling.

“Always a pleasure, Thierry,” Evander began. “Please, sit.”

I sat when he did, taking the chair in front of his desk since he was the one who offered. I angled myself so I could watch Kerwin from the corner of my eye. His glower darkened. I had slighted him, and Evander’s pleased expression told me the maneuver had been calculated, but switching sides now would only make things worse. Instead of playing musical chairs, I stayed put and faked ignorance of their political maneuvering.

“I believe that we discussed the new terms of your employment in this very room less than two weeks ago.” Kerwin leaned forward. “And yet payroll was notified not ten minutes ago to prepare a check for you.”

I glanced between them. “You have notifications set on my account?”

“We have taken precautions for your safety,” Evander soothed. “You were asked not to accept any fieldwork without clearing the cases through us first.”

“I have bills to pay.” I struggled to keep my voice level. “Base salary around here is peanuts, in case you haven’t noticed.”

As if waiting for me to raise the point, Kerwin flashed a sharp smile. “You are a wealthy woman. You have no need of this position. In fact, your attentions are best focused elsewhere.”

“Is that caveman speak for I should let my husband club me over the head and drag me back to the cave where I belong?” I barely kept the snarl from my tone.

“Thierry is a modern woman. She wants to pay her own way, to be independent.” Evander tsked Kerwin. “The sooner your house accepts that, the easier her transition will be.”

I sat up straighter. “Thank you, Evander.”

“She refused the crown and abandoned our people for what?” Kerwin swept his hand around the room, no doubt including all my past transgressions. “She apprehended a djinn, a teenager, which makes him twice as volatile. If she wants my respect, she must earn it. Starting with assuming her rightful place on the throne.”

My mouth fell open, but none of the biting retorts scrolling through my mind popped out of it. Maybe my brain-to-mouth filter had finally kicked in. Took it long enough.

“You might not want me as your house’s princess,” I said calmly. “You might hate the idea of me being queen one day. You might even tell yourself it’s not because I’m a half-blood, though we both know better, but consider this.” I twisted in my seat to face him. “My mother was kidnapped by a representative of your house. The same man also tricked me into performing fae marriage rites and ensured I took my father’s place in the Coronation Hunt. Then, after I won, he went after my crown.”

“A crown you didn’t want.”

“Rook used me. I want to live a quiet life in Wink. I want to pay my bills, live in my crap apartment with my best friend and maybe one day meet a guy and fall in love.”

The word
love
furrowed their brows.

Sidhe weren’t big on love. Wealth or political gain, now those were Sidhe aphrodisiacs. Exceptional beauty was another. They were stumped as to why I wasn’t giddy over the prospect of finding myself married to Rook—who was, I admit, easy on the eyes—when our marriage improved us both financially and politically.

“We find ourselves at an impasse,” Evander began. “You agreed to our stipulations in order to continue working as a marshal. Yet you have proven your willingness to disregard those conditions. Do you wish to continue our arrangement or not?”

“I do.” I had to work if I wanted to make ends meet until my earthbound year expired.

“All right.” He nodded. “What do you think is a fair punishment?”

Fair
was the trick question on this oral exam. “I get to set the terms?”