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Frankie peels the BMW away from the curb, making his way around the fire trucks, police cruisers, ambulances, and news vans swarming the area. New York earned its nickname as “the city that never sleeps” for a reason. Even in the predawn hours, large crowds gather for a peek of the action and for a chance to make it on national news.
The smoke billowing from the Glen stretches into the night. Firefighters won’t discover bodies buried in the ashes and police offers won’t find club patrons to interview. Fae have a way of disappearing. We stay quiet and keep our secrets. We learn to hide in the open and not be found. Many of our kind even possess the power to alter memories.
Frankie drives in silence, swiping his face to keep the tears reddening his eyes from falling. It’s only when we enter the Holland Tunnel that he finally speaks. “Mr. Sebastian is the Glen’s owner. He’s fixing it so it looks like the club caught fire as a result of bad wiring and a faulty sprinkler system.”
“The Fae who were there will go along with any excuse.”
Frankie keeps his focus ahead. “Yeah. The media will tell them exactly what they need to say if caught.” He wipes his face again. “I’m going after the gremlins. Dante, the other dragon, thinks he recognized one of them.”
I place my hand over my chest. It’s the first time I notice my blue dress is shredded. Torn strips of lace barely keep my breasts covered. It shocks me, despite knowing how rough Cathasach handled me. I tug the blanket closer. “What are you going to do to the gremlin if you find him?” I ask.
“Pound the fuck out of him until he tells me why our own has turned against us.” He punches the gas, passing a car on our right. “I need you to contact Bill. He needs to know what’s up. This isn’t good, Olivia. Whatever this is, it isn’t good.”
“All right,” I stammer.
Bill is respected and a widely known gargoyle. While Fae don’t have their own governing body, Bill is perceived as a leader among our kind. He helped Dahlia obtain her office manager job at the firm and, when I couldn’t find a decent job with an English degree, Dahlia convinced him to hire me as an administrative assistant and paralegal.
“Give Olivia a chance, Bill,” Dahlia begged him. “You’ll love her, darling.”
Dahlia always watched out for me. We met at the College of New Jersey when I was a sad little first year student and she was a junior and resident adviser. She recognized my loneliness and literally took me under her wings.
And now she’s gone.
I cry all the way to Hoboken. Frankie lets me. He doesn’t tell me to be strong or plead with me to stop. I’m grateful for it. Except he also doesn’t say everything will be all right. I gather it’s because it’s a lie. Nothing will ever be the same.
Frankie pulls the car in front of my apartment building, a trendy brick-front complex filled with young singles taking advantage of everything Hoboken offers.
He hastily wipes away the tears smearing his cheeks. “I loved her, too, Livvie,” he says. “Too bad I didn’t tell when it mattered.”
I glance at my dirty hands. There’s not just soot coating my nails. There’s blood. “She knew, Frankie. If there was any doubt, you shred it when you offered her your life.”
He looks at me. “But she didn’t take, Liv.”
I manage a small smile that doesn’t quite last. “Only because she loved you, too.”
He jerks his head away, cursing. There a times kindness hurts more. Frankie deserved the blow. He called me a hero. But he’s the one who offered Dahlia his talisman.
Dawn breaks over the horizon as Frankie walks me up to my apartment. I fumble with the key pad on my door, hitting several random numbers before I remember the right combination.
Frankie cups my shoulder when I try to step inside. “We’re going to find out who did this to Dahlia, you hear me? And when we do, he’s going to pay.”
He kisses my head like a parent would a small child. I thank him. At least, I try.
Frankie doesn’t leave until I shut the door behind me. His heavy feet trod toward the elevator. It’s only when I hear the door to the rear stairwell open and close that I move into the apartment.
The familiarity of the cool honey wood floors and the sense of home should bring me comfort. I barely feel my soles slap against the slick wood and half-heartedly glance around the small living space. Cream comfy couches are set around a barnyard-style coffee table, while the pink throw pillows and lavender window treatments make a firm declaration that females occupy this space. Well, two had, anyway.
I sniff as I roll back the barnyard-style door leading to my small bedroom. Stark white linens and bright floral pillows cover my full-sized bed. Its softness and promise of rest lures me to it. I ignore its pull and strip out of my clothes, tossing them in the bright yellow wastebasket and pad into my private bath.
I spend an hour showering and scrubbing my body clean of Death’s impurities. Remnants of Cathasach’s laugh haunts me with each pass of my sponge, so do Dahlia’s screams. His pack tore her apart to eat her soul. If he took the largest piece of her, was she now caged within his gut, just like my mother?
Are my sisters there, too?
And my father? What of him?
I lean against the tile. Death. So much Death. Everyone I love is gone. My body shakes horribly when I step out from the shower, though the water was as hot as I could stand.
The wound on my head is sealed, my hip is better, but my ribs still ached. I pull on a nightie and wrap a thick cotton robe around me. Each task is torture. Somehow, I manage.
My hands still tremble when I phone Bill.
“Hello?” his sleepy voice answers.
“Dahlia’s dead.”
There’s no more to say. I disconnect. A few minutes later, there’s a knock on my door.
“It’s us,” Bill calls.
I open the heavy door to find Jane standing beside him. He must have summoned our little druid priestess and requested a transport via magic. I’d woken him from sleep, yet he still managed to dress neatly in a light blue polo and freshly pressed tan slacks. He even managed a pair of polished dress shoes.
He rubs his goatee, his expression worried and despondent. “We can’t come in unless you invite us, Livvie,” he reminds me.
My hands grip the collar of my robe. In my state, I forgot all about the protective wards. “My apologies. Please come in.”
The threshold hums and Jane steps in, followed closely by Bill. Bill wraps an arm around me when I can’t seem to move and leads me past our kitchen into the living room. His posture is leaden with grief. Mine isn’t much better. Jane sits beside me, her beady eyes trained ahead.
“Tell us,” Bill says.
And I do.
The story grows more unbelievable as I sort through each event. Sitting becomes too much for Bill, he paces along the small space, his heavy feet threatening to wear out the floral print area rug Dahlia selected. She liked flowers and bright colors. Like me, she was born on a bed of daffodils.
Bill pauses, tightening his jaw when I speak of the gremlins and how they stole our talismans and how Cathasach and his hounds arrived to maul us. But when I explain that I hurt Death, neither Bill nor Jane move.
I stretch out my hand, inspecting every streak and bruise along my arm. “You were right, Jane. I have magic. I just never expected this.”
Their scrutinizing gazes make me squirm. Do I frighten them? I hope not. I need them. They’re my only friends.
Relief sweeps over my aching muscles when Jane offers a gentle smile.
Bill isn’t so reassuring. He closes the small space separating us and grips my shoulders, easing his hold when he sees me wince. His hands fall away. “Olivia, do you have any idea what this means?”
I stare at him. “Not really.”
It’s Jane who answers, smiling softly as a single tear slides down her cheek. “You’re immune to Death, Livvie,” she croaks. “You can save us all.”