Grave Dance
Page 30“Where did you find these?” he asked, his nose buried in a grimoire with pages so thin and weathered that he used a tool instead of his fingers to turn them.
“Did you hear about the magically constructed beast that attacked pedestrians in the Quarter?”
Corrie looked up and squinted at me. “Oh, you’re that girl. Yes, I recognize you now.” He rubbed a finger against his chin, making the loose skin jiggle. “How interesting.”
He pushed away from the table and scurried to one of the bookshelves. “Where are my manners?” he said as he hauled a book with a cracked leather spine off the shelf. “Take a seat. I made tea.”
I’d have preferred coffee to tea, but as I saw where his finger pointed, I realized it wouldn’t have mattered what he served. In the center of the table sat a black iron kettle and three deceptively delicate teacups on saucers. Iron teacups, of course. Where did he even find these things?
His book thumped on the table and Corrie grabbed the kettle. He poured the tea and passed out cups as if we were dolls gathered at a child’s tea party. I gulped back the nausea clawing at my throat as he pushed a dark saucer into my hand, and I set it on the table as soon as possible. Falin held on to his cup and saucer, his gloves apparently shielding him. When Corrie turned to walk back to the other half of the table, Falin bumped my leg with his. I met his gaze and he lifted the mug and shook his head. The message was clear: Do not drink.
Not that I’d planned to in the first place.
“How is the tea?” Corrie asked, sipping from his iron cup with his pinkie crooked. He didn’t look at me when he asked, but at Falin. And he more than just looked at him—he watched Falin, waiting.
Falin obediently lifted his cup, but he stopped before it touched his lips and blew on the steaming liquid. “Still too hot for my taste.”
The old witch set his cup down, the iron making a horrid skritching noise as the cup ground against the saucer. “You’re fae, aren’t you?”
Falin stared at him for several long heartbeats, his expression unchanging. “Yes.”
“Ha, I knew it!” Corrie jumped to his feet. “Get out of my house. You’re not welcome here. And you.” He turned to me. “Were you knowingly associating with a fae or were you tricked?”
I blinked at him. He’d asked two questions with opposite answers. I picked one. “Yes.”
“Good girl. Wait . . . which is it? Did you know he was fae?”
“Yes.”
Falin and I exchanged glances and then both pushed back our chairs, letting the legs scrape on the floor as we stood. The irony was that if I’d been fully human I could have lied, and probably avoided being kicked out. But I wasn’t.
“What are you waiting for? Get out.”
“My runes,” I said, holding out my hand for the paper.
Corrie snatched it off the table, clutching the page between his wrinkled hands. He glanced between it and us and then stepped back, pulling the page closer to his chest. “This I’d like to keep.”
If I’d thought he would share what he learned I’d have let him; after all, I could always recopy the runes. But he wouldn’t. I knew he wouldn’t. I shook my head and extended my hand farther.
Corrie took another step back. “No. I’m keeping this.”
“What would you like to trade for it?” Falin asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
Corrie looked down at the page. His eyes glimmered with either greed or lust—it was hard to tell which, but whichever demon he struggled with also had to contend with his prejudice.
Prejudice won.
The old witch tossed the page toward us. “I don’t trade with Faeries.”
That settled that. I picked up the paper, folded it, and then left.
Chapter 17
We spent the rest of the afternoon—and the remainder of my gas tank—searching for the kelpie’s “thundering gate.” We drove down as many riverfront roads as I could find and walked the riverside areas of two of the three parks that butted up to the Sionan. By the time we left the second park, dusk had fallen dangerously dim and I squinted at the shadows merging my blue car with the asphalt. I blinked, keys in hand. It had gotten dark fast. You couldn’t tell by the weather, but winter was on its way, and the days were growing shorter. Which meant fewer hours I could be out and about.
“Want to drive?” I asked, turning toward Falin.
“Maybe I’m just being nice.” I tossed my keys in his direction. I heard more than saw him catch them as I headed for the passenger door. “Just be nice to her. And obey traffic laws.”
“Of course.” I could almost hear the smile in his voice.
Since I couldn’t see much of anything anyway, I closed my eyes, just a blink. Or so I thought. When I opened them again, Falin was parking the car. I stretched, reaching for the door handle. Then I stopped. The air didn’t resonate with magic—we weren’t in the Glen, which meant he’d taken me somewhere other than home.
“Where are we?”
“My apartment. We won’t be here long.” He slid out of the car, but leaned back in when I didn’t move. “I need to pick up some supplies.”
“Supplies?” I had the suspicious feeling he meant things he would need in order to move into my loft for a few days.
When I still didn’t emerge, he walked around the car and opened my door. “I need an extra gun and ammo, for starters. You’re being targeted and I’d prefer to be prepared.”
I didn’t have any response for that. His help had been indispensable this morning, but he was injured. He needed to rest, not fight magical constructs. Besides, I wasn’t exactly comfortable with his jumping back into my life and playing white knight. On top of that, I wasn’t sure I could trust him. Caleb seemed convinced that Falin was here on the Winter Queen’s business, and I wasn’t positive he wasn’t. What is his agenda?
Falin led me into the large brick apartment complex, and we rode the elevator to the seventh floor. At his front door, he hesitated, his hands moving to his pockets but not reaching inside them. He sighed, his shoulders sagging with the soft sound. When he looked up again, he gave me a weak smile.
“Wait here a moment,” he said, and walked to the door next to his. He knocked.
It took his pounding on the door several times before the music in the apartment muted and a woman in her early twenties answered. She wore her hair in a messy ponytail, brown strands escaping around her face. A long blue streak of paint decorated one cheek where it must have transferred from her paint-stained hands when she’d brushed her hair behind her ear. She scowled when she opened the door, but when her gaze landed on Falin, her features softened, her eyes widening as she smiled.
“Falin. Hey. Long time no see. I was starting to worry,” she said, wiping her hands on the thighs of her overalls. “Please, come in. I’ll, uh—” She glanced at her paintcovered fingers. “I’ll just clean up. You want a drink or something?”
“Actually, Tess, I locked myself out of my apartment. Do you still have my spare key?”
“Oh, yeah. Of course.” She opened the door wider to motion him inside, and for the first time her gaze landed on me. She froze, the door hanging half open. “Oh. You have company. Let me get you that key. I’ll be right back.”
From where I stood, the heavy wards draping the box were obvious, as were several nasty spells set to trigger in the event of tampering. I shook my head, and huffed under my breath. The box had been coated in a classic massproduced pandora-trap charm.
“You got ripped off,” I told Falin.
He looked up, his finger hovering over the box. His eyebrow lifted in a cocky question mark, and I held out my hand for the box.
He started to hand it to me, but hesitated before dropping it in my palm. “There are built-in penalties for getting the code wrong,” he warned.
“Yeah, feels like a shock for the first incorrect code, sickness for the second, and a knockout spell after that until the box runs out of juice.” I kept my hand extended and he dropped the small box in my palm.
I wrapped my senses around the box and then, with the tip of my finger, I traced the rune for loyalty into the lid. The second rune was love. The third . . . I hesitated, my finger hovering over the lid. I didn’t recognize the third rune, but I traced the design I felt.
The box popped open.
Falin stared at me. I smiled at him; then I removed the key and tossed first it, and then the box, to him. “Next time shop for charms with a sensitive.”
He palmed the key and stared at the box. “What’s the trick?”
“Not really a trick.” I shrugged. “Low-grade pandora-trap charms sit around waiting for the right answer, and if you’re sensitive, they practically broadcast what that answer is. A higher-grade pandora-trap includes a blanket spell that covers that broadcast.”
“Huh.” He shot a disappointed glance at his spelled box and shoved his key in his apartment door. Once he returned the key to its box, he flashed Tess a dazzling smile and handed it back to her. “You’re a lifesaver, Tess.”
“Yeah. I know. See you around.” She shut the door and a moment later, the music in her apartment turned up again, twice as loud as when he’d first knocked.
Falin said nothing as he ushered me inside his apartment. The air inside smelled stale, like the one-room apartment hadn’t been opened during the month he’d been gone. I wrinkled my nose and glanced at the layer of dust coating every surface of the otherwise immaculate room.
Falin crossed to the closet and grabbed an empty duffel bag. He dropped it beside the TV on the dresser and pulled open a drawer.