Beguiled (10 page)

The worst thing about your birthday being December 26? Maggie sighed. It wasn’t the whole Merry Christmas- Happy Birthday-present thing. It was having to go to the DMV in December.

The Department of Motor Vehicles was a trip into the seventh level of hell
anytime
. But in December, people were crabbier than usual, less patient, more harried and in no way happy to be there.

“Deck the halls with thoughts of suicide,” Maggie sung just under her breath as she shuffled forward another half inch.

It wasn’t as if she had all kinds of extra time to devote to this place. And she hadn’t arrived in a good mood, either. Since the night before, when Jasic had appeared in their lives, it had seemed as if her life was unraveling even more than usual. She checked her wristwatch. Already she’d been in line for two hours and she felt as if her feet had become rooted to the dirty, scarred linoleum.

Hundreds of people muttered and grumbled in long lines that snaked and wandered through the building until their constant, low-voiced complaints sounded like white noise. Probably for the best, she told herself, since that rumble of sound drowned out the Muzak version of “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.” One more Christmas carol in this place and Maggie was liable to—well, she couldn’t think of anything dire enough—but it would probably be pretty damn impressive.

A baby cried, an old man coughed so hard Maggie was sure he was hacking up a lung and from somewhere behind her, a woman sneezed like a million times in a row. Goodie. If she ever got out of here, she’d probably leave with the plague. She was going to have to take a bath in her antibacterial lotion just to scrub off all the cooties.

Plus, she thought with yet another glance at her watch, she was hungry. Crabby and hungry and her feet hurt. Not a good combination.

She huffed out a breath and let her gaze slide around the building. There were plastic holly garlands hanging from the ceiling and, sitting on a counter, an artificial, three-foot-tall, white Christmas tree with half of its lights burned out. A couple of the clerks wore sad, limp, Santa hats, and the scent of burned coffee and too many people lay over the room like a thick fog.

Maggie was
thrilled
to be standing in line to renew her driver’s license, because what better place to spend an afternoon? With such an exciting slice of humanity? Yes, she could have taken care of this by mail if she had remembered to send in the damn paperwork. But between becoming Queen of the Faeries and having to defend herself against demons every time she turned around, paperwork sort of got pushed to the side.

“Crap,” the woman behind her muttered as she gave Maggie a solid-enough nudge to send her stumbling into the guy in front of her.

“Sorry, sorry,” Maggie said when the big guy glanced at her with a scowl; then she turned around to look at the woman who was really crowding into Maggie’s personal bubble. At first glance, the woman was fiftyish with straggly gray hair, hard blue eyes and crumbs on her T-shirt. At second glance, she was some kind of demon. The flash of red in those bored eyes gave it away.

“Big deal,” she said with a sniff. “The Queen. You don’t look so tough.”

“Oh, fabulous,” Maggie muttered. Even here? In line at the DMV? “Just what I needed to make this day complete.”

“Yeah, I’m not real happy about being this close to you, either,” the woman snapped. “I’ve got a blister and my back hurts and I’ve been in this damn line so long, I’m about ready to
beg
you to blow some dust on me and finish me off.”

All it took for Maggie to kill a demon was concentrating hard enough to focus the Fae dust that was now a part of her into a steady stream to blow at whatever demon was threatening her at the time. A little Fae dust and boom! Demon explodes, dust everywhere. “Hmmm . . .”

The woman’s eyes went wide. “Never mind,” she blurted just before she sprinted out of line, apparently rethinking that last complaint.

Maggie watched her go and knew that no one else there would see the woman for what she was. People saw exactly what the Fae wanted them to see, which was creepy when you thought about it, because
anything
could be sneaking up on you and you wouldn’t have a clue. Why, if the rogue Fae that Culhane was always warning her about actually took it into their heads to invade this world, the humans wouldn’t have a clue what was happening. And the enemy wouldn’t even have to come in swinging swords. Hell, they could sneakily infiltrate and take over from the inside. Glamour themselves as politicians . . . hmmm.

That thought could explain a lot of what went on in Washington DC.

A sudden draft of cold settled over Maggie, making her shiver and look around for whatever was causing it. There wasn’t a draft and the air-conditioning wasn’t turned on, so where was the cold air coming from? The temperature continued to drop, though it looked like only she felt it, despite the fact that her upper and lower teeth were clicking against each other so loudly, it sounded as though she had a set of castanets in her mouth.

But the cold was more than just icy. It was desperate. Lonely. Heartbroken. Her body sagged beneath the weight of the onslaught of despair and
that’s
when she realized what was going on.

There had to be a Gray Man nearby.

God! Had every demon and Fae in Otherworld waited until she was trapped in this endless line to come and make a try for her?

Maggie’s stomach knotted and fear, thick and sludgy, pumped through her veins. She’d seen a lot of creepy things since discovering this whole new world a few weeks ago. But the Gray Man was way up there on the creep factor ladder.

A rogue Fae, the Gray Man was mist. Fog. Long, snaking tendrils of icy sensation that sapped away any hope or joy or happiness a person had, eating away at their souls like acid dripped onto bone. They reveled in the despair they caused and sucked whatever light they could from their victims before leaving them empty husks. Soulless humans who would never again smile or feel or love.

Shivering, Maggie scrubbed her hands up and down her arms and slid her gaze around the milling people. He was watching her and when she spotted him, he smiled.

To anyone else, he looked like an elderly bookworm. A round, bald head, wire-rimmed glasses and an ill-fitting suit with a lopsided bow tie. His glamour reeked of innocence, vulnerability. Which no doubt helped him in trapping prey.

The line inched forward again. Maggie had only five people in front of her now. She should be at the counter by March.

“What’re you doing here?” she asked, glaring at the Gray Man in disguise.

“Came to see you,” he said, and when he spoke, the temperature dropped again. Damn it.

She couldn’t exactly blow Fae dust on him to kill him. He
was
Fae. She could have used the nifty trick of shooting lightning bolts out of her fingertips, but that would probably be noticed here at the Department of Motor Hell. So instead, she glared at him, gave him her best, I-am-Queen-so-back-the-hell-off stare and said, “Go away. Can’t you see I’m busy?”

“I know you killed one of us,” he said in a whisper of sound.

Yeah, she had. A couple of weeks ago. Down by the lighthouse, and it hadn’t been easy. But she’d done it, with those lightning bolts that she really wished she could let loose right about now.

Maggie leaned over and said in a hushed tone, “He came after me and if you don’t get lost, I’ll give you the same right here.”

“We’re going to kill you,” he said, and finally, the guy in front of Maggie reacted. He jerked a look at the Gray Man, looked like he might bolt, then changed his mind, unwilling to give up his place in line. She so understood.

“You know what,” Maggie said with a sigh, suddenly tired of all the nuttiness surrounding her. “If you’re gonna kill me, just do it already. Anything’s gotta be better than spending the rest of my freaking life in
line
.”

“Step away from the Queen.” A new voice. Commanding. And completely female.

“What?” Maggie looked to her left. A tall woman in jeans and a black sweater walked up. She had a hard look in her silver eyes and her waist-length brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail from her sharp, elegant face. Fae. Those silver eyes were a dead giveaway, even if the woman hadn’t been tall and gorgeous.

“Hey,” the Gray Man protested with a glare, “I didn’t do anything to her. Though I could. I’m just standing here.”

“Stand somewhere else,” the woman said, and waited until the bookish looking little Fae backed away and wandered off somewhere.

Poor bastard would now have to go to the end of the meandering line and probably wouldn’t get to the counter before summer.

“Thanks,” she said to the Fae. “But what’re you doing here?”

“Majesty,” the woman said, with a bow of her head.

“Cut that out, okay?” Maggie hissed the order, hoping no one else had heard the whole majesty thing.

The Fae female frowned, then glanced around at the people crowding the old building. “You should not be unprotected. Where is your warrior?”

Apparently, gossip was alive and well in Otherworld as much as it was here. There was no doubt in Maggie’s mind that the woman was referring to Culhane. But talking about him as if he were a toy poodle on a leash was so out-there, Maggie almost laughed. If Culhane
were
to be a pet, he’d be more like a Rottweiler.

“I’m just fine on my own, thanks, and besides, Culhane’s not
my
warrior and”—Maggie looked at her—“who’re you?”

“Forgive me.” The elegant brunette dressed like a biker chick inclined her head again. “I am Ailish, secondary commander in your guard.”

Guard. The palace guard. The female security force who used to work for Mab and who now worked for Maggie. She didn’t really know any of them very well and couldn’t remember having seen Ailish before. But then she hadn’t actually spent much time with the Fae females, since she spent as little time as possible in Otherworld altogether. And in spite of everything, a small twist of guilt tugged at her insides.

She hated to admit, even to herself, that Culhane was right, but she did have commitments in the Fae world and she should be paying closer attention to them. Especially since every Fae and demon in the world seemed to be seeking her out for a little one-on-one time. Which, at the moment, made Maggie really glad to see one of her personal guards show up. With Ailish at her side, fewer demons and Fae would be willing to bother her.

Still, she had to ask. “What’re you doing here?”

The line inched forward. Hallelujah. One less person between Maggie and freedom.

“I came to speak to you on behalf of my sisters,” Ailish began, keeping her voice low enough that even the guy in the next line making eyes at her would have had a hard time hearing. “We want you to know that we’re happy guarding the palace.”

“Oh, that’s good.” Maggie nodded, pleased to hear that at least
one
faction in Otherworld was happy enough.

“But we want more.”

And, here we go, Maggie thought tiredly.

“We want to fight,” Ailish whispered.

“You already do, don’t you?”

Ailish frowned and waved one hand as if dismissing anything they had done to date. “We do, when our Queen or the palace is in danger. Small skirmishes all, though we have been trained for generations to be worthy of more. We do appreciate that you, Majesty, are much easier to serve than Mab. The former queen could be quite the—”

“Bitch?” Maggie offered.

Ailish smiled and nodded. “As you say.”

“Well, thanks for saying I’m better than Mab, anyway.” She smiled and moved forward again. Only two more people ahead of her. Barring earthquake, fire or swarms of locusts, she might just make it to the counter and live through the day.

“Oh, you are better,” Ailish said. “That is why we come to you with a request.” She lifted her chin and waited until Maggie’s attention was fully on her again before continuing. “We wish to be warriors. We want to take our rightful place in the Warrior clan. We are good fighters all, and only the females can fly. We could be a help in major battles.”

“True,” Maggie said thoughtfully. If nothing else, Ailish was helping distract her from the misery of being in line. But she was also making Maggie think. Why wouldn’t the males be happy to have some
flying
warriors added into the mix? Seemed like a great idea to her. A little aerial combat could really come in handy in a big fight.

Ailish frowned at a man as he moved in too close to her and he instantly scuttled backward. Looking to Maggie again, she said, “The warriors refuse to have us. But if the declaration came from their Queen, they would have no choice but to accept us as sisters.”

Well, Maggie had known going in that there was unrest in Otherworld. Hadn’t Culhane told her even before her battle with Mab that the males were treated as second-class citizens—but for the warriors? He’d told her that a war was brewing between the males and females and that it would be her job to prevent a civil war. She’d been avoiding the whole problem by avoiding sitting on her throne too often.

Yes, that made her sound like a big coward and in a way, she was willing to admit that’s exactly what she was. Maggie didn’t know the first thing about being a queen. About ruling an entire
world
. What if she made the wrong decision? What if something she did only worsened an already bad situation? But if she was going to be Queen—and frankly, she hadn’t found a loophole yet, so it looked as though she was stuck with the job—then maybe it was time to start making those tough decisions and just trust her instincts. Do the best she could with what she had.

Isn’t that all anyone could do?

“You know what, Ailish?” Maggie said thoughtfully as she prepared to make her first major proclamation as Queen. She knew damn well Culhane wasn’t going to be happy about this, but he’d simply have to deal. “You’re right. You guys would be a good addition to the Warriors.”

The Fae woman’s face lit up and a brilliant smile crossed her face. “My Queen, if you allow this, you will earn the eternal loyalty of your palace guard. We will fight to the end of time to protect you,” she said, her voice getting louder and more vehement. “Your slightest wish will be seen to. You will have our devotion, our allegiance, our—”