A Risky Proposition (14 page)

“Um, yeah actually,” I replied, my eyes still drinking in the surreally familiar environment through which we passed.  Somehow I had expected it to appear more alien.  “What are those huge anthill things between all the buildings?”

Titus snorted in soft amusement, while Lorien peered confusedly between two buildings as we passed.  “Anthill things?  I don’t see any…wait…those aren’t ant hills, they’re faerie mounds!  Lumbering human,” she muttered in affront.

“Well how am I supposed to know?  What exactly are faerie mounds?”

“They’re like apartments,” she replied in a sullen tone.  “Seelie City is populated by all sorts of folk, from your size to mine.  Sizes of living accommodations, therefore, vary as well.”

“Oh, that makes sense,” I said, taking note that some of the buildings had entrances only large enough to accommodate a human child.  “But I’ve read myths that said faeries lived in giant oak trees.  Where did they get that?”

Lorien rolled her eyes at me and sighed.  “A tree is a living entity.  Wood nymphs, or dryads, will live in certain trees—but they’re more like spirits.  They can manifest a physical form if they choose, or become insubstantial and morph into the tree itself. 

“If a sprite and a dryad are friendly, we’ll sometimes heal their tree if it develops a blight.  That’s probably where the rumors associating faeries with trees began.  But you try living in a tree—it’s not the most stable of environments.  Although, certain petrified tree stumps do conceal the entrances to our homes. 

“We prefer to live in natural caverns beneath the earth.  The closest ones are beneath the mountains we just came from, but they don’t extend this far, so the sprites who work and live in Seelie City build faerie mounds.  They’re a bit like above ground caverns, supported by rock beneath the earthen exterior.”

I inspected a mound more closely and realized that beds of tiny flowers surrounded it, some even beginning to grow up the packed dirt sides.  A group of sprite children, probably a little older than Obie, suddenly shot out of the opening at the top of the mound.  The mismatched troupe raced down toward a patch of large toadstools growing in the shade of one of the buildings.  They began jumping up and down on the spongy caps as if they were trampolines, giggling and using their wings to gain height.

I smiled and shook my head as they passed out of sight.  “So, where do pegs live?” I asked Titus.

“We live in the open fields beneath the skies, little human, wherever our wings can carry us,” he replied in a deep rumble.  “But entertaining as it has been, I believe my part in your lesson for the day is over.  Here we are.”

Titus came to a stop before an official-looking white stone building.  Large silver letters posted above the entrance labeled it ‘Seelie City Police Station’.  He lowered himself to the ground so that I could climb down, my fists again bunched in the long hairs of his mane to keep from falling.  I looked up in time to see Lorien sprinkle an oddly lumpy, blandly colored dust over his wide nose.

She bit her lip regretfully.  “I’d give you more for all your help, Master Titus, but I’m afraid that’s all the oatcake spell I can spare.  Otherwise I won’t have enough to pay for Sydney’s ride back.  You’ve been so kind to us. Allow me to do something else for you.  If there’s anything that’s been paining you, I could heal it,” she offered.

“Not to worry, Mistress Lorien, the spell will be fine,” he replied in a kindly voice as he rose to his feet.

“Please?” she entreated.

Titus was silent for a moment.  He seemed to be struggling with his pride.  “Well,” he said finally, “I suppose my back left hoof has been troubling me a bit of late.  Probably just a stone bruise, but maybe a little healing wouldn’t go amiss.”

Lorien was already at the site of his complaint, gently sprinkling a fine silvery dust over the area.  He lifted his heavy rear leg, gingerly stamping his foot into the ground, an expression of satisfaction spreading down his long face.

“Why thank you Mistress Lorien.  That did the trick right nicely.”

“Nothing to it,” she said, sounding pleased.

“If you have need of me again, just ask any of the pegs.  They’ll know how to reach me.  It was nice to meet both of you ladies—pleasure to serve.”  He nodded as he began to trot away.

Lorien and I echoed our gratitude and turned to enter the police station.  I automatically prepared to hold one of the glass doors open for her, then noticed that she had already flown through another miniature door high in the wall.  I smiled faintly as I pushed open the door designed to accommodate someone my size, and was assaulted by a chaotic rush of sound.

A harried little man with dark, wizened skin and a grizzled, brown beard sat on a high stool behind a long counter.  He was surrounded by haphazard piles of papers.  A distinguished-looking older gentleman stood before him in a tailored suit, quietly arguing about something.  His hand gestures were an elegant enforcement of his dispute.  But the volume of the many voices spilling from the unseen room beyond prevented his words from reaching my ears.

He glanced over at us as we entered, his fiery green eyes piercing me from a maturely handsome face, framed by salt and pepper hair, and sporting a neatly trimmed goatee.  Three small, gold hoops pierced his left ear.  The corners of his chiseled lips raised slightly when he saw me, but I found no comfort in his semblance of a smile.  His attention only rested on me briefly, but it made me feel like an insect being pinned for study.

Lorien darted in front of me, trailing red dust as she motioned me to a seat in the far corner.  She flew closer to whisper in my ear, “That’s King Moab, ruler of the death djinns.  Please Sydney, just sit here quietly and don’t say a word.  I’m going to try to sneak past Galen, while he’s occupied with the king, and find Agent Sparrow.  I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

My stomach lurched at the discovery that I was sitting several feet away from the king of the death djinns.  Lorien disappeared into the chaos of the room beyond and I was left alone with the morbid desire to gape at him.  I realized that something about him reminded me of Balthus, and I wondered if I could learn how to recognize death djinns by sight.  Now that would be a useful skill, especially for someone in my position.

The door to the back room suddenly flew open and out stormed Sparrow, cursing under his breath in Gaelic.  My heart fluttered and I resisted the urge to jump up and run across the room to him.  He looked angry, and exhausted, and sexy as hell.  His tie was pulled loose around his collar and his white button-down shirt was rumpled, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows to expose the tattoos inked into his tanned forearms.  One of them was pulsing with a yellow glow.  Lorien whizzed out after him, her wings dropping purple faerie dust.

“Ah, Agent Sparrow.  Just the man I wanted to see.  What is the meaning of this attack against my people?”  King Moab’s voice was calm and refined, but his words created a tension so thick he might as well have drawn a weapon. 

My eyes widened as I watched the lines of one of Sparrow’s tattoos expand and go blacker into stark relief against his skin.  When he spoke, his tone held a composure that belied the fury radiating from him.

“King Moab,” he nodded.  “My apologies for your wait.  I’m afraid all I can tell you at the moment is that we have charged several members of your tribe with the possession of unaligned souls—which as you know, is a very serious offense.  I assure you that this is not meant to be an attack against your people, and that only those found guilty will be punished.”

Moab’s jaw clenched beneath his salt and pepper goatee.  “This is ludicrous.  The death djinns have lived by the terms of the soul contract for millennia.  No member of my tribe would knowingly deal in the trade of an unaligned soul.  I promise you, our council’s punishment for doing so is far more…
unpleasant
than anything that would be inflicted by the Seelie Court.”

“Be that as it may, possession itself is grounds for arrest.  I will take your words under advisement, and if it is discovered that your djinns were unaware of the illegal status of the souls in question, they will of course be released.”  It was impossible to ascertain Sparrow’s opinion on the matter from his carefully modulated tone, but I could guess that he thought the djinns’ innocence unlikely.

“Mmm,” King Moab responded with a razor-thin smile.  His gaze sliced to me and I froze.  “This is an interesting specimen to find in the waiting room of Seelie police headquarters—a non-magical human with an open contract.  I don’t suppose she has anything to do with your inquiries into the legitimacy of the affairs of my people.”

Suddenly King Moab was towering over me.  I gasped—I hadn’t even seen him move.  “Pretty little thing, isn’t she?  Bright, shiny soul too.  I could find several uses for this one.” 

His emerald eyes burned into me, leaving me cold with fear.  A faint whisper began in my brain, dissolving my growing terror and fogging my thoughts.  I heard a voice softly murmur, “I wish…” and was horrified to find that it was my own.

“Yes, my lovely, what do you wish?” King Moab urged in a husky purr, gently caressing my cheek and sending unwanted desire cascading through my belly.

“Her business here is none of your own.”  It was a growl, low and menacing.  The sound tore my eyes from King Moab’s, and I was shocked to discover that it had come from Sparrow. 

Lorien positioned herself between me and the king, sooty black dust filtering heavily from her agitated wings.  Other than the glowing yellow design, all of Sparrow’s visible tattoos had now thickened into a pulsing, nearly indistinguishable blackness that bled across his skin.

King Moab stepped casually back from me, giving me a slow smile that chilled me to the bone.  “I was merely testing her resolve.  No law against that.  I would be careful if I were you, Agent Sparrow.  You don’t want to be accused of allowing your personal feelings to cloud your judgment during this investigation.  I would hate for you to be reassigned due to any old grudges you might be harboring.”

He faded into a smoky outline and was gone.

Sparrow muttered another harsh string of Gaelic curses and Lorien turned to face me anxiously, the dust from her wings changing from black to purple.

“Are you okay, Sydney?” she asked worriedly.

“I thought he couldn’t just disappear from here like that,” I said in a faint voice.

“He’s a king, Sydney.  He has close ties with members of the Seelie Court and standing authorization to do pretty much whatever the hell he pleases,” Sparrow spat angrily. 

Lorien’s wings flickered faster for a moment, giving off a high-pitched buzz.  Sparrow closed his eyes and sank into the chair next to me.  “I’m sorry, Sydney.  Lorien’s right.  Are you okay?  If that bastard enspelled you, I swear I’ll kill him.”

My fingers reached out to soften the tension in his jaw, the desire to taste his lips so visceral that I almost wondered if
he
hadn’t somehow enspelled me.  I jerked my hand away when I realized what I had been about to do.  It wasn’t the time or place.

“No, I don’t think he did,” I denied softly.  “I think he was doing exactly what he said—testing my resolve.  He tried to persuade me to make a wish, but in the end he left it up to me.” 

Even if Moab had enspelled me, I didn’t think I would have admitted it to Sparrow at that moment.  I fully believed he would go after the djinn, and somehow I didn’t think it would be a good idea for Sparrow to threaten the king.

His blue eyes were searching, but he seemed to accept my answer.  “Are you sure you want to go through with this?  Balthus is bound to try the same thing.  He’s not as powerful as the king, but he’s a close second.”

“We’ve already had this discussion, Sparrow.  I need to do this.”

“Dragon dung, Sydney!  I’ve had my doubts about this idea from the beginning.  And don’t tell me your
resolve
wasn’t swayed just now—I could see it in your face!”  His voice was low and desperate.

The comment rankled, but I did my best to ignore it.  “First of all,
dragon dung?”
I repeated teasingly.  “And second of all—I’ve made up my mind, Sparrow.  The only thing that Old Moby did was help me prepare for Balthus’ tricks.  Don’t back out on me now.”  I gave him an irreverent smile.

Sparrow groaned a reluctant laugh.  “Fine Sydney.  You win.  Again.  Just do me a favor—don’t ever call the king
Old Moby
to his face.”

“I’ll try to remember that.”

“Incorrigible little witch,” Sparrow muttered.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

 
Sparrow led the way past Galen, the dwarf manning the front counter, and into the organized chaos beyond.  Wooden desks populated an open area, punctuated on two sides by closed doors and windows with drawn blinds.

Uniformed and plain-clothed officers filled the room, the larger variety draped across chairs and perched on the sides of desks, while the more diminutive variety hovered in the air between them.  They were all joking and laughing companionably over different-sized steaming mugs of coffee.  The thick, heavy aroma was a palpable presence.

They whooped and cheered as Sparrow passed through, some of them reaching out to pat him on the back.  He gave everyone a forced smile and a hearty wave.