A Risky Proposition (9 page)

“Sydney?” he asked as he straightened, his voice rough beneath his thick Irish brogue.

“Agent Sparrow?” I croaked, shock, and something warmer, traveling across my nerve endings at the sight of him.  He’d starred in a few of my more explicit fantasies over the past week, but seeing him here was the last thing I’d expected.

“Do you know her?” he asked softly, indicating the girl in the bed.

“No.  I…I’m visiting someone else,” I sputtered.

“What are you doing here then?” he asked, his cobalt eyes narrowing in a mixture of confusion and suspicion.

“Lorien said…I mean my friend said…I was looking for the gift shop,” I finally managed, cringing at how awkward I sounded.

A slow smile dawned across his face and my stomach quivered in response.  “Lorien?” he queried, one dark eyebrow cocked in a knowing expression.

“You know Lorien?” I asked uncertainly.

“I’ve had the pleasure,” he said dryly.

“Oh.  I wasn’t sure if you could see her,” I replied, and then winced at my stupidity.  Of course he could see her.  He was a half-faerie policeman who arrested death djinns. 

He chuckled at my obvious discomfort.  “How would you like to have a cup of coffee with me, Sydney?”

My pulse quickened.  “Sure,” I answered, suppressing the urge to grin like an idiot.  It was hospital coffee, for Goddess’ sake, it wasn’t like he’d asked me out on a date. 

“Good.  I have a feeling it was Lorien’s intention that you and I have a chat.  Just let me finish up here.”

He reached out to gently place his hand on the unconscious woman’s head.  He whispered a few words that had the sound of ritual, and then slowly removed his hand, his strong fingers brushing her brow in a regretful caress.  The dim light reflected faintly off of something silver in his palm before it disappeared into his jeans pocket. 

Then he left her side and exited the room, towering over me as he motioned me to join him.  I fell into step beside him, inhaling his spicy, woodsy scent.

“Who is she,” I asked in a subdued tone, hoping she wasn’t his wife, or sister, or some other close relation.

Sparrow sighed.  “I’m not sure.  She was found unconscious by the side of the road about a week ago.  She’s been in a coma ever since.”

A tension that I hadn’t known I held left my body at the discovery that he didn’t know her. 

“What happened to her?” I asked as we stepped onto the elevator and began to descend.

“I think it’s quite probable that someone stole her soul.”  Sparrow’s anger hung in the air as we stopped on the first floor and waited for the doors to open.

“But I thought that when a death djinn claimed a soul the person became an immortal slave,” I said in a low voice, hurrying to keep up with his long strides as we turned a corner to find the brightly lit cafeteria.  “Why would she be in a coma?”

“I didn’t say it was a death djinn, nor did I suggest someone claimed her soul legally; I said it was probably stolen.  There’s a difference.”  I digested that as we moved down the empty buffet line, past some dry mashed potatoes, questionable looking meatloaf, and myriad small bowls filled with green Jell-o squares.  He stopped at the drink station and filled a white ceramic mug with steaming hot coffee, which he then offered to me.

“No, thanks.  I’ll just grab some iced tea.”

Sparrow paid the tired-looking cashier and we moved through the sterile, fluorescent space toward a quiet corner alcove.  He pulled an ugly plastic chair away from a table adorned with a cheap vase of fake flowers, and held it out for me to sit.  The chivalry of the gesture felt odd in the midst of the inelegant surroundings.

As soon as we were settled, I heard someone call my name.  I looked up to find Mickey, of all people, heading straight for me in his gangly teenage stride.  He’d abandoned the Goth thing completely and dyed his hair brown.  “I knew we were destined to have coffee together…” he dropped into silence as he rounded the corner and saw that I wasn’t alone.

“Hi, Mickey.  What are you doing here—is everyone okay?” I asked, ignoring the disappointed look that flashed across his face at the discovery of Sparrow’s presence.

“Um yeah, no, I’m just visiting a friend,” he fumbled, his eyes darting from Sparrow and back to me.

“Well, I hope your friend’s alright.  Tell your Mom I said ‘hi’ and I’ll talk to her Monday, okay?”

“Alright, I guess I’ll catch you later.”

“Bye, Mickey.”  I gave him a smile and a wave as he hurried away.

Mickey looked back once before he darted out a side exit into the hallway and Sparrow’s eyes followed him until he was gone.

“Who was that?”

“Oh, just my boss’ son,” I smirked.  “I think he might have developed a crush on me.  He’s seventeen.  I’m sure he’ll get over it in a day or two.”

Sparrow raised a dark eyebrow and gave a noncommittal nod.

I tore open a pink packet of sweetener and carefully sprinkled half into my iced tea, stirring it with my straw as the questions I wanted to ask percolated in my mind. 

“So, when you arrested Balthus, you’re saying it
wasn’t
for stealing that woman’s soul?”

Sparrow combed his fingers through his dark hair with a sigh of frustration, leaving it charmingly disheveled.  “I shouldn’t be discussing the details of the case with you, Sydney.  She is very much his type, though.  I don’t know if you noticed, but she bears quite a bit of resemblance to you.”

I
had
noticed, and the idea that it could have been me lying in that hospital bed made my stomach lurch.  “Lorien said he was arrested for having an illegal soul…unaligned, or whatever,” I replied in discomfort.  “I just assumed it was hers.”

“Bloomin’ faeries,” he mumbled.  “Incapable of discretion, every last one of them.”

I frowned at him.  “I take it that means you’re the one who told Lorien about Balthus.  You know she only told me because she’s trying to help with the whole death djinn thing.  Besides, I thought
you
were half-faerie.”

“I’m half-sidhe; Lorien’s a sprite,” he corrected flatly.  “And as it happens, I did tell that little loud-mouth why Balthus was arrested.  In confidence.  And only because she’s been a pint-sized pain in the ass about it all week.”

I smiled.  “She can be very persistent.”

“That’s an understatement,” he muttered.

“She says she’s been researching death djinn contracts.  And that there’s no record of anyone ever getting out of one,” I added with a grimace.

A look of regret passed across his handsome face.  “I’m truly sorry, Sydney.  I wish I could help you…”

My eyes widened at his choice of words and he stared at me for a moment before a slightly queasy look overtook him.

“See how easy it is to slip up?” I asked with a despairing laugh.

His tanned, symbol-entwined arm moved toward me, as if he wanted to touch me, but he pulled back at the last moment.  Something within me strained toward him, disappointed that he’d changed his mind.

The silence went on for a beat too long and I cleared my throat.  “What kind of tattoos are those?” I asked to fill the void.

He glanced down at his arms, flexing his muscles so that they shifted smoothly beneath his skin, giving the intricate designs a life of their own.  “Ancient Celtic runes and symbols of power and protection.  A gift from my sidhe kin, who’ve passed down the art from generation to generation.”

“Cool,” I breathed.  “Can they really protect you when you’re in danger?”

“That they can—and have many a time,” he added with a grin that ignited sparks in his eyes and sent my heart into a quicker rhythm.

“What’s that one?” I asked, pointing to a particularly striking design high on his thick upper arm.

“Ah, that’s one of my first and one of my favorites,” he answered with a nostalgic smile as he pushed up the edge of his sleeve so that the inking was fully visible.  “It’s quite a traditional design, and very powerful—it’s called an Aegishjalmur.  It gives its bearer protection and irresistibility in battle.”

I think it’s giving you irresistibility in more than just battle,
I thought.

“It’s beautiful,” I whispered aloud, reaching forward to trace it with my forefinger before I realized what I was doing.  A shock of electricity passed between us and for a split second the tattoo glowed red through the black ink, bathing my palm in heat.

I jerked my hand away and anxiously met Sparrow’s eyes.  They blazed a radiant sapphire.

“I’m sorry,” I said uncertainly.

“It’s alright, Sydney.”  He took a deep breath.  “You did no harm.  As I said, they’re powerful symbols.”

I gave him a tentative smile.  He slowly returned it, making my stomach do queer little flips.  He looked away and took a swallow of his coffee.  My mind raced along with my pulse.  I was achingly attracted to him.  But I couldn’t allow that to get in the way of the more important fact that I needed his help. 

“I was thinking,” I began cautiously, “if Balthus really has been stealing unaligned souls, maybe there’s a way to cancel my contract by getting him discredited.”

Sparrow gave me a considering look.  “It might be possible,” he admitted.

My heart leapt, but his next words dampened my enthusiasm.

“I don’t want you to get your hopes up, though.  Lorien’s right, there are no recorded instances of a death djinn contract ever being cancelled.” 

I opened my mouth to protest and Sparrow held up his hand.  “Impatient little witch,” he taunted.  “I wasn’t finished.  There are extenuating circumstances in your case.  If I can prove that Balthus has been trading in unaligned souls, I can make a good argument that some, if not all, of his existing contracts should be nullified—especially an uncompleted one like yours.”

He paused, as if deciding whether to say more, and his eyes turned serious.  “But you should know that, so far, I’ve only discovered the one unaligned soul in Balthus’ possession.  He insists that he won it from a goblin during a game of dice, and that it appeared to be aligned when he received it.”

I gave him an incredulous look.  “Now you’re telling me that there are
goblins
, and that they gamble with death djinns using human souls as currency?  And that’s
legal
?”

Sparrow sighed.  “I’ve never endorsed the soul trade, Sydney.  But as long as the human receives some sort of payment in return and their soul remains aligned, it’s considered legal. The official position of the Seelie Court is that if a human wants to sell their soul for fortune, fame, protection…whatever it may be…that’s their business.”  

I shook my head in consternation.  “How can you tell the difference between an ‘aligned’ soul and an ‘unaligned’ one?”

“Aligned souls are still connected to their human host in some manner.  Unaligned souls have been ripped completely free of their host.”

Sparrow exhaled wearily.  “And a human cannot survive for long once their soul has been completely cut free.”

My eyes widened.  “Is that what happened to the girl upstairs?” 
The one who looks so much like me,
I thought, but didn’t say it.  “Is she going to die?”

He gave me a measured look and the sorrow in his expression was answer enough.

“Christ, Sparrow!” I whispered.  “And you think Balthus did that to her?”

His jaw tightened.  “Balthus swears he’d have no use for an unaligned soul, and that hers must have been tampered with to make it appear aligned.”

“And you believe him?” I scoffed.  “How could he not know?  Wouldn’t he have figured it out as soon as he realized there was no human host for him to boss around?”

His lips turned up in a derisive twist.  “He says he only had the soul for a few days and that he stuck it in his vault and hadn’t bothered to check in with the host yet.” 

Sparrow drained his cup and his gaze turned considering.  “There
are
minute traces of magic on the soul.  We haven’t yet discovered what that magic was designed to do, but if the soul appeared aligned when he received it, whatever made it appear that way has clearly worn off now.”

“You really think it’s possible that he didn’t know?” I asked.

Sparrow was quiet for a moment.  “I don’t believe that Balthus can be trusted,” he said finally, “so it makes it difficult to gauge whether there’s any truth to his story.” 

I worried the corner of my lip between my teeth as I tried to assimilate everything Sparrow had said and find a way to make it work to my advantage.  “I need to talk to him again,” I muttered with a soft shake of my head.

“Pardon?” Sparrow said incredulously.

My eyes flew to his.  I hadn’t realized I’d spoken aloud, but I wasn’t taking it back.  It was the only way I could see to move forward.  “I said I need to talk to Balthus again,” I repeated, working to keep my voice confident despite my apprehension.

“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea, Sydney,” Sparrow replied.

“Balthus and I have a connection,” I pressed.  “You said it yourself at the hotel that night—I’m two thirds his already.  I want to hear what he has to say.  I
need
this Sparrow.  I can’t just sit by and wait for your investigation or Lorien’s research.  Meanwhile, if I screw up and say the wrong thing, I lose my soul forever.  You saw how easy it is to say that word by accident.”