Pale Queen Rising (13 page)

“What’s your point?”

“Only that our situation is dire. We don’t have time for you to be waylaid with thoughts of protecting this girl. Eli tells me you don’t yet have another lead, and here I find you, drinking when you should be out there finding who is behind all of this.”

I open my mouth to argue that I’m only drinking because she’s here, but it doesn’t seem worth it.

“I was getting that amulet from the jewelers,” I reply coldly. “So I could
find
the next trail. You haven’t made this easy, you know.”

“I would if I could,” Mab says, and for once I actually believe she means it. Which tells me just how dire the situation really is. She likes it when I sweat a little. “Will it work?”

“I haven’t had the chance to try it out.” I look to Eli. “You ready?”

“Always,” he says. Which is true. Astral creatures like him never tire. He pushes himself from the stool and bows to Mab, who barely takes notice of him. “A pleasure,” he says. Then, without waiting for me, he turns and leaves the bar.

“I’m doing the best I can,” I say quietly, when he’s out of earshot.

“Then do better.” Mab turns back to her drink. Clearly my exit cue. I sigh and down the last of the bourbon and leave. Eli’s waiting for me outside the bar. He doesn’t say anything at first, just pushes off from the wall and falls into step at my side.

“Well,” he eventually says as we make our way toward one of the kingdom’s many exits, “that was pleasant.”

“Can it.”

“I see where you get your manners. Where are we off to, anyway?”

I open the tiny locket and study the small hand.

“No idea. But we’re about to find out.”

Eight

The pocket watch works.

After I’ve landed in the mortal world and asked where the greatest leak of Dream is, it spells out the coordinates to a conservatory in Chicago. I’m not certain which conservatory it is, but thankfully I don’t need the name for my magic to work. I hastily sketch a portal on the wall of some dingy hallway in what looks like a middle school, using the coordinates from the amulet and praying it actually works and doesn’t lead us into, I don’t know, the heart of a volcano or something fun like that. It must be my lucky night—the portal lets us out in a hallway that definitely isn’t on fire. I hear the murmur of an audience down one end and silence down the other. Judging from the photos and plaques on the wall, this is the right place. The tiny watch hand points dead ahead. I sniff once and feel my skin crawl.

“This is Summer territory,” I whisper. The magic ringing through this place has the telltale whiff of lightning and cut grass. And, sure enough, the gold hand on the watch is spinning around wildly. I thought the amulet would only track unmarked Dream. Or has someone found a way to smuggle right from underneath our noses? Not by hijacking claimed Dream, but by stealing it before it could be branded . . .

Eli nods silently. I twist the dead man’s ring and the tingle of magic washes over me. I have no connections here, and if I’m found out, I’m as good as captured—Oberon’s made it quite clear that I’m not welcome on his turf. I guess he’s pissed that I’ve killed off so many of his “best and brightest.”

Even though I’m cloaked, I stay close to the wall as I head toward the stage. The music coming through the hall is classical, which is so unlike last night’s show I almost laugh. Whoever’s stealing Dream clearly isn’t playing genre favorites. It’s not a concert, though. That’s readily apparent when a bunch of lithe men and women run past wearing nude shorts and nothing else—not even the women.

“Modern dance? Really?” I whisper. Eli just shrugs.

It figures that Summer would have stakes on this place. Personally, I’d rather be getting my teeth drilled.

We head to the stage wing and stay in the shadows. Onstage, the dancers twist and dance and leap, making circles with legs and hands, throwing billowy sheets of silk into the air. It doesn’t make any sense to me, but I can tell from the influx of Dream that the audience is eating this shit up. Like with Roxie, there seems to be more getting pulled in than should be possible—I mean, in a situation like this, I’d expect most of the Dream to be occurring because the audience is falling asleep. It’s also readily apparent just who onstage is siphoning the Dream.

It’s a young man, maybe twenty-three, with short auburn hair and a single black ring tattooed around his right ankle. He’s clearly the lead ballerina or whatever they call it in modern dance foo-foo land—he’s the one dancing in the center of the stage, doing a duet with a girl I could probably crush with one hand. I watch him lift her, the muscles in his arms and back flexing quite nicely. Why is it always the hot ones who get mixed up in this shit? I can’t even pretend to be excited about killing this guy—I’d much rather seduce him in a bar and take him back to my place to show him how we dance in Faerie.

Like Roxie, the guy’s not Fey, but there’s a magic surrounding him similar to hers. I sniff again, and sure enough, the scent’s the same as the magic binding Roxie to her contract. Bingo. But if this place is run by Oberon, I’d think he’d realize there is an interloper on his own grounds. Unless the contact here was recently killed off as well and Oberon hasn’t caught on yet. Unlike Winter, Oberon’s kingdom isn’t known for being bloodthirsty; I don’t think he has anyone like me, and I don’t think he’d know what to do with an assassin if he did.

I glance at Eli and gesture to the lead dancer. Eli nods. Usual drill—find the bastard after the show and make him talk, by whatever means necessary. I just hope I don’t have to suffer through another hour of this mess before that happens. That bourbon can only take the edge off for so long.

Thankfully, I only have to stand there another ten minutes or so before the final act—a very “rousing”
number that involves all the dancers running into each other repetitively to ambient piano music. Then the lights go dark and rise again, the whole cast standing in line for a few bows. I’m practically tapping my toes in eagerness. After a day of being shit on, I’m ready for someone else to pay for it.

The cast leaves and heads toward the dressing room. Just to make sure my senses are right, I click open the watch William made me; sure enough, the short hand follows the auburn-haired dancer like a bloodhound. He smells so strongly of magic when he runs past that I nearly gag. Maybe I was wrong; maybe he’s not like Roxie. The magic surrounding him feels different, even if there are threads of the same faerie bindings. But something tells me that—unlike her—he got precisely what he wanted from whatever agreement he made. There’s a smugness to him no magic can alter. It reminds me a lot of that barista witch from Queens, Frank.

Eli and I follow closely, heading straight into the dressing rooms. I guess I’d normally feel like a creeper as we stand there, watching the guys undress and congratulate each other. But I can’t take my eyes off our man, a guy the others are calling Henry (which in reality is not the most sinister of names, but then again, a modern dancer doesn’t seem like the most sinister of people). I watch him like a hawk, examining him for any tells or weaknesses. He undresses slowly, and once again I’m in awe of his perfect musculature, the way his entire body seems to glide through the motions. I’ve never been too fond of the willowy types, but there’s a power under his skin that’s a huge turn-on. And when he slips out of his shorts, it’s clear it’s not just his legs that are long.

I’d blush, if I were that sort of girl. Instead I just watch as he walks around the changing room ass-naked, clearly in no rush to get into normal clothes. I can’t say I would be either; if I were in his skin, I’d be showing it off to the world. I’m no longer as torn over having to kill him—something about his cocky nature completely switched off that trigger—but I can still appreciate his beauty. We just need to get him on his own. To start the interrogation, that is.

For that, I have a few different tools at my disposal. I have rings to paralyze and a pouch of faerie dust in my pocket that could put them all to sleep. Eli alone could probably weave a quick spell to knock them all out at once. But as we watch and wait, it becomes readily apparent that none of that will be necessary. The dancers all leave one by one. Henry stays behind, slowly changing into street clothes.

When the rest of the dancers are gone, Henry goes over to the dressing room door. I clench my fists, ready to leap at him and start our dance, when he does a tiny motion over the doorknob and I hear a click
.

No wonder the guy feels like Frank. Henry’s a witch.

“You can take off the enchantments,” he says as he turns. “I know you’re there.”

I chuckle to myself. Thank gods. I needed a fun one to help relieve the stress.

It’s really boring when they don’t put up a fight.

I twist my ring and let the enchantment roll off. Eli clearly does whatever he does to be visible to mortals.

“How long have you known we were watching?” I ask.

“Since you teleported here,” he replies. He smiles at me. It’s a very
bedroom
sort of smile. “And I could feel you watching me.”

“What can I say? I appreciate confidence. Especially when you’ve got the goods to back it up.”

Eli chuckles beside me. I have no doubt he was enjoying the show as well.

“You from Summer?” Henry asks, looking the two of us over. He’s wearing baggy sweatpants and a loose V-neck T-shirt, the neckline of which dips below his sternum. Not a look I’d normally find attractive, but he’s somehow pulling it off.

He might be in the know, but at least he’s not
that
in the know.

“Not even close,” I say. “But it’s nice to know I won’t have to explain anything when forcing answers out of you.”

Henry laughs. “Babe, I don’t think you know who you’re dealing with.”

I cringe at that word. “
Babe?
Really?”

He just smiles. I shove down the revulsion and flick my wrist, a small piece of magic. A long sword slides from the ether, appearing in a sliver of black mist. “I don’t think you know who you’re dealing with, either.”

“I really hope that’s not supposed to scare me.” He definitely doesn’t look perturbed by it.

“Not really,” I say. “That’s what this guy’s for.”

Eli takes off his glasses then, sliding them back to rest atop his head.

Still, Henry doesn’t flinch. He looks Eli over coolly and says, “I was wondering why he felt off.”

Overall, this isn’t going as well as I’d expected. Why aren’t these people as timid as they should be when staring death in the eyes?

“You know why we’re here, yes?” I ask.

“I’d assume because I’m not playing for your team.” He winks at me. “They told me the Courts wouldn’t be too happy when they found out about me stealing Dream.”

“And yet you’re still onstage,” I say. “Seems pretty stupid to me. It’s not like you’ve made yourself hard to find.”

“I wasn’t trying. I’ve played my part. And all parts have to end eventually.”

“How poetic,” I say, rolling my eyes. I take a step forward. “So this is how the rest of this game goes: You’re going to tell me who’s buying your Dream. If you do, I might actually let you live.” Again, it’s a good thing I’m not bound to telling the truth. There’s no way this guy’s getting out of here alive. “If you don’t, I will make the next few days of your life a living hell.”

Eli chuckles. “As someone who’s been there, I can personally attest to this.”

Henry spreads his arms wide. “Do your worst.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

In the next blink I’m there at his side, my sword slicing clean through his Achilles. He goes down with a grunt, and then I’m behind him with my hand in his hair and my blade to his neck.

“Now,” I say, “let’s try that again. Who is buying your Dream?”

“Fuck you,” Henry says through gritted teeth.

He actually puts up a fight. Or tries to. My spine scalds with power as the glyphs protecting me from magic flare to life. A folding chair beside me bursts into flame, and the room quickly fills with the scent of burning plastic and sweaty clothing.

“That wasn’t very nice,” I say. “But I appreciate you trying so hard. It’s cute.”

Henry’s blood has formed a small pool at my feet now, and I know he won’t have too much time left before he bleeds out or faints. So I stamp my foot over the slash in his leg and send a few small enchantments down there, let his flesh stitch back together. I don’t want him to fade just yet.

For his part, Eli just stands there with his hands clasped behind his back. Watching and waiting.

“I’m not going to tell you anything,” Henry says.

“Oh, but you will. You’ll tell me who’s buying and who else is selling before I actually start to get pissed.”

Henry just laughs. “No, I won’t. Contractual impossibility.”

I yank his head back and look into his eyes. He’s just smiling at me.

Of all the times in the world I could use a charm or something to sever a faerie contract, now would be it. But there isn’t one. Faerie magic can’t be broken, not like a witch’s curse.

I let go of Henry and take a step back, look to Eli.

“What do you think?”

“He’s telling the truth,” Eli says. “I can taste it.”

“Fuck,” I say. I kick Henry in the ribs. “What do we do now?”

I can’t go back to Mab empty handed again.

“Let me talk to him,” Eli says. His blue eyes blaze.

“Be my guest,” I say, and step away.

Eli walks over and kneels in front of Henry, who still has that ecstatic martyred look on his face. The guy grins even wider as Eli takes his head in his hands and forces him to look in his eyes.

“I want to show you something,” Eli whispers. He leans in close, their noses almost touching. It would be borderline erotic, the intimacy of it—the blue of Eli’s irises reflected in Henry’s, the hush of his voice. Until, that is, Henry starts to scream.

Quickly, I grab hold of an amulet around my neck—a horned moon holding a bloodstone—and send a small riff of power through it, my other hand going to the wall. Magic pulses through me and through the wall, a quick ripple that I should have done the moment we got here. A spell to keep out prying ears.

I actually have to plug my own ears once that act is done. I’ve seen Eli do this before, but that doesn’t make the knot in my gut any more pleasant. After a while Eli pushes Henry back and stands, wiping his hands on his pants.

“Well, that was fun,” Eli says, smiling at me. He slips the glasses over his eyes and walks over to my side. “He’s all yours.”

Although effective, Eli’s basically taken all the fun out of tonight. Henry just stays there, kneeling, staring at the wall with wide eyes and a completely vacant expression on his face. He’s goneso. Nobody home.

Staring into the netherworld has that effect on people.

I walk over and kick Henry in the crotch to get his attention and anchor him back to reality. The guy’s response is slow, just a grunt and a closing of the eyes. I kneel down in front of him and grab his shoulders to keep him from falling to his side.

“Let’s try this again,” I say. “I want to know who your buyer is.”

“Can’t say,” he whispers. His words sound like they’re being dredged up from the bottom of a well. Or, in this case, some hellish black hole.

“Then how do you know Frank?”

They shouldn’t know each other—it’s not like there’s some international witches’ coven or something. Though there might be some sort of social network . . . I should really look into that.

In any case, I know the two are connected. There’s a tang to their magic, a similarity that tells me they’ve crossed paths. Maybe even learned a thing or two from each other. Which doesn’t make sense, seeing as they live a thousand miles apart. Frank and Henry have been sharing magic, while Roxie and Henry are branded by the same faerie. Too convenient. I’ll have to ask her about it.