Grave Dance

“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 massive 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 reassuring—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 butt 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, anticipated, 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 titles are not passed down along family lines because such things are assumed 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, titles, 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.”