Grave Dance Part 7

"La.s.s, talking to invisible faeries isn't uncommon here, but I happen to know none are present."

In other words, he thought I was crazy. I gave him a tight smile.

"Ghost," I said by way of explanation, and the little man squinted as if that would help him see the spirit among us. I ignored him, turning my attention back to Roy. "I shouldn't be long. If I'm not out in an hour or two . . ."

I trailed off. If I wasn't out soon, what was he supposed to do? He couldn't come after me, and unless he tracked down another grave witch-and last I'd heard, the closest one not in Faerie was over a hundred miles away-he couldn't communicate with the living. A ghost really was terrible backup.

I didn't finish the sentence. With a quick wave good-bye, I jerked the door open and let myself into the VIP area of the Eternal Bloom.

I signed another ledger inside the door, again printing carefully. The attendant, a sour-faced fae with long, donkeylike ears and cloven feet, nodded, taking the pen from me and shooing me farther into the Bloom when I would have dawdled in the doorway.

The Eternal Bloom hadn't changed since the last time I was here. The giant tree growing through the floorboards and blooming with an impossible arrangement of s.h.i.+mmering blossoms dominated the center of the room, its large limbs spreading to form a leaf-and-flower-filled canopy over the tables in the bar. I didn't stare at the tree long-it had nearly entranced me last time.

In the far corner, a new fiddler had taken the place of the one whose strings I had severed to halt the eternal dance. A small cl.u.s.ter of dancers spun around him, but not yet a third as many as I'd freed during my last visit. I could just barely hear the lively jig the fiddler played over the murmur in the bar, and I moved farther away so I wouldn't be drawn into the dance.

The crowd in the bar boasted a mix of the grotesque and the beautiful. While some of the patrons either still wore their glamour or were, in fact, human, many were very obviously fae, other. Small, large, winged, floral, too-manylimbed, too-few-they were a dizzying display rarely seen on the streets. While the fae had announced their presence and needed mortal belief, they kept their own counsel more often than not and had no interest in becoming sideshows-not that I blamed them. I let my gaze move quickly, not lingering long enough to cause offense as I searched for Rianna. I spotted her at a small round table at the very back of the room.

She stared at her drink as I approached, never glancing up. Her note had said she needed my help, but she didn't appear anxious, and certainly not fearful as she sat in the crowded bar. If anything, she looked dejected and worn down. Her narrow, slumped shoulders were thin under the drab gray gown she wore and her skin was pale, sickly. If she was in danger, I would have expected her to be watching the other patrons, to glance nervously from person to person as she scanned the room, or at least to glance at the door once in a while, looking for me, since she'd asked me to meet her here. But she didn't look up from the wooden mug in front of her, not even as my approach put me only tables away. Of course, maybe she didn't have to-she'd brought a guard dog.

The huge black dog stepped around the side of the table when I approached. The thick hair on its back stood up, and it glared at me, its black irises ringed with red as if splashed with blood. A low growl tumbled from behind rust-colored teeth.

Rianna's head snapped up at the sound, her sunken green eyes a little too wide. Then her gaze landed on me, and her thin lips spread into a weak smile. She jumped to her feet.

"Al!" She all but ran around the side of the table. Her arms wrapped around my shoulders, the rough material of her gown scratchy against the skin left bare by my tank top. "I was afraid you wouldn't come."

She stepped back. Before I'd seen her inside Coleman's circle a month ago, I-and the rest of the world-thought she'd died four years back. It turned out she'd been kidnapped and enslaved in Faerie. When I'd destroyed Coleman, the silver chains holding her had dissolved, but she looked no better now than the last time I'd seen her. Roy called her the Shadow Girl, and she truly looked like little more than a shadow of the girl who'd been my best friend in academy. Her grayish skin lacked any rosy hint of health, her once-vibrant red hair now hung listlessly around her shoulders, and her eyes had the haunted look of someone who had seen too much pain and too much evil-which, considering she'd been enslaved to a megalomaniac, she probably had.

"Of course I came," I said as I stepped back. A pang of guilt that I hadn't come earlier, that it had taken a plea for help nailed to my porch to get me to the Bloom to see her, wiggled under my skin and whispered what a horrible friend I'd turned out to be. I ignored that voice. "It's been too long," I said, smiling. Both the smile and the statement were true-I really was glad to see her. We hadn't had any time to catch up when I'd seen her last. But even as the words left my mouth, I could feel the awkwardness between us. What do you say to your best friend after she's been enslaved by a psychopath and presumed dead? I fidgeted with my purse strap. "So, what's happening? You said you needed help?"

She nodded and led me to the table. The enormous dog continued growling, lower now but no less threatening. He stepped in front of Rianna, blocking her from me with his own body. Rianna cooed at him under her breath. "It's all right, Desmond. This is the old friend I told you about."

The dog stared at me, and I felt a trickle of sweat trail down my neck as he caught me in the glare of those redringed pupils. The growl leaking out of Desmond's throat ceased, but he kept his rust-colored canines exposed.

"New pet?" I asked as I sank into the chair across from Rianna.

Her hand moved to the ma.s.sive dog's head, and he leaned against her legs, dropping his muzzle in her lap. "No, not a pet. More of a friend turned guardian. This is Desmond. He's a barghest. Desmond, this is Alex Craft."

The barghest lifted his head briefly, gave me an unimpressed glance, and then nuzzled Rianna's thigh.

Back at you, buddy. Not that I could say as much out loud. I mumbled a quick "Nice to meet you," just to be polite. I hadn't read much about barghests, but I vaguely remembered a tale suggesting that seeing one was a portent of death-not rea.s.suring-but they were fae creatures, or perhaps lesser fae, so polite was the best approach. Not that Desmond seemed inclined to show me the same courtesy. Guess we'll agree to ignore each other.

I pulled my chair closer and leaned forward. "Your letter sounded urgent. Are you okay?"

She nodded. "I have an odd request," she said, her hand still idly stroking the dog's head. "Can I see your palms?"

I blinked at her. My palms? "Are you reading fortunes now?" I joked, but obediently placed my open palms on the table. Then I gasped.

Dark red liquid coated both of my hands-red liquid that looked a whole lot like blood.

I jumped to my feet. "Are you hurt?" I asked, starting around the table. The blood had to be hers. It must have transferred to my hands when I hugged her.

Desmond rounded on me, blocking my way.

"I'm fine, Alex, Desmond. Both of you, sit."

I frowned at the fae dog and then at her again. What's going on? When Rianna just stared at both of us, I finally returned to my side of the table and sat. We were both stubborn-spending half our lives as roommates during academy had provided plenty of opportunities for our unyielding natures to b.u.t.t heads. She'd asked me to come and I wanted to hear what she had to say, so for now I sat. Desmond continued to stare over the table at me for several seconds before he sat back on his haunches and laid his head in Rianna's lap again.

"So if you aren't hurt, whose blood is this?" I asked as I lifted my purse with one finger. Thankfully the tissue I'd used earlier was still on top of the purse's contents and I didn't have to root around and risk getting the blood all over everything.

"How familiar are you with fae inheritance?"

I frowned at her. Well, that definitely doesn't answer my question. "Not at all. Now about the bloo-"

"I was afraid of that." She leaned forward and plucked the tissue from my hands. "That won't help."

I glared, though she was right. I'd rubbed at the blood, but it still coated my palms and fingers, as if I'd dipped my hand in paint.

"Now, about fae inheritance," she said without pause.

"The fae are not truly immortal, just unaging. Death for humans is expected, antic.i.p.ated, and in some ways prepared for. Death among fae is always a shock. They do not prepare for it, and as a culture have few precedents for it. Property and t.i.tles are not pa.s.sed down along family lines because such things are a.s.sumed to be owned forever unless traded, gifted, or lost in duels. There are dozens of faerie princes and princesses, but none will rule a court unless they duel or kill for it."

"Okay. Why the culture lesson, and what does it have to do with this?" I lifted my hands.

She motioned me to be patient and continued. "Most duels are held under court supervision. Rules are established before the duel begins, but if it is a duel to the death, the winner takes all: property, t.i.tles, possessions, whatever the loser claimed as his own. When a fae is killed outside of a duel, it is less clear what happens to his property. But Faerie, well, sometimes Faerie has its own idea."

The sick feeling in my stomach told me I knew where this conversation was going. "Coleman?"

Rianna nodded. "You killed Coleman outside a duel, but because of the magic of that night, we were technically in Faerie. The courts tried to claim Coleman's property, but thus far, all claims have failed." She took a deep breath and looked at my hands again. "I wasn't sure, with how things played out that night, if you would be credited with his death-I mean, the Winter Queen's knight shot and killed the body Coleman inhabited. But you, well . . . you have Coleman's blood on your hands, so I think Faerie transferred his property to you."

A sour taste crawled up my throat, and I swallowed, trying to rid the taste from my suddenly dry mouth. "His blood?" I stared at the red, tacky liquid and then scrubbed my palms on the thighs of my pants, desperate to wipe them clean.

It didn't work.

"Here." Rianna dropped something in the center of the table between us.

I tore my gaze from my palms, hoping she'd had baby wipes or hand sanitizer on her. No, she'd dropped a pair of white gloves on the table.

"I'm just supposed to cover it up?"

Rianna shrugged. "Fae blood can't be washed away."

I stared at the gloves and my throat constricted. I had blood on my hands. My eyes burned, my vision clouding over as moisture gathered. I blinked it back. I was angry, and freaked, but I wasn't going to tear up. I wasn't. I have a man's blood on my hands. But he'd been a monster. If I hadn't stopped him, others would have died.

I took a deep breath. Then another. It took three deep breaths to ease the tightness in my chest enough that I could speak again. I picked up the gloves, sliding them on with slow, careful movements to keep from jerking them on frantically. Then I looked at Rianna.

"It's been a month. Why did the blood appear now?"

"I'd guess because this is the first time you've come to Faerie since the Blood Moon." There was no accusation in her words, but I still felt the sting and cringed anyway. One of the few things she'd had time to say to me that night was to ask me to come here, to the Bloom, to see her. I hadn't.

She wrapped her fingers around her wooden mug and stared at its contents, not meeting my eyes. "Faerie tends to take things more literally than the mortal realm does. When you're not here, you probably won't be able to see the blood."

But it would still stain my soul-not that I hadn't already felt it there.

"You talk about Faerie like it's sentient. It's a place." The fabric of her dress rustled as she shrugged. "Faerie is . . . It just is. I wouldn't say the land is exactly a being, but it is certainly full of very old magic, which appears to have grown aware, for lack of a better word."

"And you think the land decided I should inherit Coleman's property?"

We both looked at my now covered hands. Then she pressed her lips together and nodded. "Like I said, the courts tried to claim it, but all of his former holdings moved to a type of no-man's-land, outside any of the courts' control. They are incensed, to say the least, particularly the Winter Queen, as she thought her knight had claimed it for her. You should come to Faerie and see if the holding responds to you."

Mention of the "queen's knight" again-Falin. I made it a point not to think about him, or about the fact that he'd never called or made any attempt to contact me after the Coleman case. But being back in the Bloom, remembering what had happened here-or more accurately, what had happened after we'd left the Bloom, made heat lift in my cheeks and the ache fresh again. I dropped my elbows on the table and pressed the palms of my hands against my eyes. "I think I need a drink."

"Have you tried that before?"

I looked up. "What?"

"I have heard rumors. Most are not convinced you are fae enough to hold land in Faerie, but the blood . . . If you've eaten faerie food before and left Faerie unscathed, that perhaps proves you are fae enough."

"Oh." I shook my head. Everyone knew better than to eat faerie food. One bite of food or sip of wine would addict a mortal for life-she would never be able to eat anything else, as regular food would turn to ash on her tongue. Even if someone had the willpower to leave Faerie, she would eventually starve to death. There were talks about importing regulated faerie food for those who accidentally became addicted, but making fae food available outside Faerie increased the risk that mortals would come in contact with it. Currently there were very few cases of addiction, but it was also very difficult for mortals to get into Faerie, so the chance for accidental exposure was minimal.

I was half fae. Did that give me a fifty-fifty chance of being addicted? I glanced at Rianna's mug.

Her thin fingers wound around the mug, dragging it closer to her side of the table. I didn't think she was aware of the motion. She believes I can claim land in Faerie but is unconvinced I can eat their food? I felt a smile crawl over my face, but I knew it wasn't a happy one. I wasn't about to take the chance of getting addicted anyway.

"Will you come to Faerie?" she asked. "See if the land responds to you? If it does, you can align to a court so the holdings move there."

"Whoa, slow down." I threw up my hands. "I don't want to claim Coleman's holdings. They can rot for all I care. And I'm certainly not going to align myself with a court."

Rianna's frown stretched across her face, and if possible, her shoulders slumped further. "Al," she said, her voice just above a whisper, "I'm part of Coleman's property."

Chapter 8.

I blinked at my former best friend and roommate. "I thought you were freed when Coleman died." I'd seen the silver chain dissolve from her throat.

"From his compulsion, yes. But from Faerie?" She shook her head. "I'm a changeling. Four years pa.s.sed for you, but I have lived in Faerie hundreds of years, danced with the fae, eaten their food and drunk their wine. I'm not mortal anymore, not truly. Like them, I'll never age, never die, but only while I'm inside Faerie."

"You can't ever leave?"

She shrugged. "I can take short trips as long as I'm careful. If I leave, the magic of Faerie will protect me except for the moments surrounding dawn and sunset. Those are the moments between, when the world is changing, and all but the strongest Fae magic fails. If I were caught outside of Faerie in the moments when magic fails, all the years I've seen would catch up with me and I would turn to dust." She shuddered and Desmond nudged her stomach with his muzzle. Her hand dropped to him and clutched the thick fur at his nape. "But back on topic. A changeling can't own anything or align with a court. If I had just wandered into Faerie, I could be claimed by any court, but since I belonged to Coleman, I now belong to his heir. While possession of his property is in question, I am untouchable-theoretically--but there is no one to enforce that status, and no court will help me."

"So you want me to come to Faerie and claim you?" The words tasted bad in my mouth. "That's crazy. You're a person. You're my friend."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm a changeling. And I'm in trouble."

"I-" My protest died in my throat when Desmond's head snapped up. He lunged to his feet, his lips curling away from his rust-colored teeth as he stalked around the table.

I whirled around, my hand moving toward the dagger hidden in my boot even as I turned. Me, paranoid? Probably.

A woman who looked human, though she may have been glamoured, stopped three tables away. Her eyes widened as Desmond planted himself in her path, and her hand froze in front of her body, as if caught in a motion between reaching and blocking. Then, shocking the h.e.l.l out of me, she dropped into a curtsy.

"I mean no harm, sir barghest," she said without rising.

Desmond went silent. So the overgrown dog likes ladies who curtsy. But even though his growling stopped, he didn't move from the woman's path.

"Is there something we can help you with?" Rianna asked, her hands disappearing in her sleeves as she spoke. When they emerged, I caught the glint of metal. A dagger, maybe? Clearly I wasn't the only paranoid one. Of course, it's not exactly paranoia when the monsters really are chasing you.

The woman straightened from her curtsy. She looked about ten years older than me, with wide, blunt features that made me suspect she was a changeling, not a fae. It wasn't that she was unattractive, just more handsome than pretty. She smiled, her wide mouth softening her face with the expression. "Actually . . ." Her focus moved to me. "I think you already have. You're Alex Craft, aren't you?"

In my experience, it was rarely good when people I didn't know recognized me. Still, it wasn't like I could deny I was me. I nodded.

"Oh, I thought you were." She pressed her palms together, her smile spreading. "I saw you on television and was sure I recognized you. You were the one who stopped the eternal dance. I know you were."

c.r.a.p. Being recognized as someone who had caused trouble in the Bloom probably wasn't a good-or safe-thing. The woman's excitement grew when I didn't dispute the claim.

She rushed forward, sidestepping Desmond. The barghest growled again, but the woman had already reached our table. She threw her arms around me, and if she'd had a weapon, I would have been dead. Instead I found myself in an emphatic embrace.

"Uh."

"Thank you," she said. The top of her head ended at my shoulders and her cheek felt blistering hot where it pressed against my bare arm. "I was caught in that dance for six hundred years. You freed me."

At her words, a balance between us s.h.i.+fted and whether she realized it or not, the debt she owed me became a very real obligation. I ignored the feeling. I wasn't about to start collecting favors from strangers. I patted her back awkwardly.

"Don't mention it." Really. As in please be quiet. I glanced over her head. Several patrons had turned our way, listening.

I extracted myself from the woman's hug gently, trying not to be rude but anxious to reclaim my personal s.p.a.ce. She released me, but she didn't back off.

"I'm Edana. I didn't mean to interrupt your conversation." She nodded an apology to Rianna. "But I had to thank you when I recognized you. I can't believe you managed to free everyone from the dance. And you talk to the dead as well, don't you? The newscast I saw featured you with a ghost. It looked like you were holding hands, but I didn't think the living could interact with ghosts and shades. How did you pull that off?"

"I . . ." I didn't have a good answer for that, especially since most grave witches couldn't. Of course, if she'd been in that circle for six hundred years, I had no idea how much she knew about the changes since the Magical Awakening. "I have an affinity for the dead."

"But-" she started, but was interrupted as two men approached the table. Well, two male fae.

Whereas Edana appeared human, the two newcomers were undeniably fae. The first had skin the texture of bark and wore a twisting vine of mistletoe in place of clothing. The second stood only three feet from the ground. He had eight spindly legs but a surprisingly humanoid head on the top of his insectlike thorax. Behind him, I caught sight of a curved stinger as long as my forearm on the end of a thick scorpionlike tail.

Desmond's growl rolled soft but menacing across the table. He'd planted himself between the fae and Rianna. I was apparently on my own.

"You are the one who s-stopped the endless-s dance?" the scorpion fae asked.

I gulped. The two fae weren't the only ones waiting for my answer. Conversation had all but ceased in the bar. Why do I get a feeling not everyone is going to want a members.h.i.+p to my fan club?

"There were extenuating circ.u.mstances," I muttered, dropping eye contact.