City of Fae (3 page)

“After absorbing your draíocht, I jumped us out of there.” He made it sound perfectly reasonable.

“You jumped us? I didn’t know fae could do that.” What a thought that was. Fae who could appear and disappear at will. They were already twice as strong as us, fast too.

He smirked, probably catching the concern on my face. “They can’t. I’m special. Add it to my exceedingly long list of talents.”

I’d be sure to do that once I’d submitted my story. His devoted fans would love that little tidbit of information, especially if he’d used it to rattle the authorities. The fae weren’t meant to use their abilities in public, like stealing draíocht. If reported, the FA revoked their roaming rights, essentially putting them under house arrest. Was that why the FA were after him? Had he been flaunting his “special” attributes? Clearly, Reign was either looking for trouble or running from it, and I was going to figure out which.

“Risky … ?” I baited.

With a shrug, he pushed off the wall and toured my tiny apartment. “It’s not something I make a habit of doing. It quickly exhausts me.” He paused by the cold fireplace and braced an arm on the mantelpiece, bowing his head. “Have you lived here long?” he asked.

“A year.”

“You don’t get out much?”

“Huh?”

“Your home is sparse.” He gestured at the room. “Cold. No photos. Nothing personal.”

I followed the tracks of his gaze with my own. Sure, my place was functional. A couch, a TV, what else did a person need? I shrugged a shoulder. “It’s a place.”

“Boyfriend?”

“That’s none of your business.” Wasn’t I meant to be the one asking the questions? “You just say what you want, don’t you. You can’t go around asking people personal things.”

“Why?” His eyes sparkled.

“It’s … personal. I don’t know you.”

“We should change that. Ask me anything.”

Finally. “What were you doing on the platform last night?”

“Trying not to die. You?”

“I got fired. That’s why I was out so late. I needed to clear my head.” I stopped myself before I could say too much. “Were you really dying?”

“Yes. We can’t replenish draíocht like you can.” He stooped at the coffee table and flipped through a copy of
Hello
magazine. “I should point out, that in all other areas, I excel.” A soft little curl of laughter escaped his lips as something in the magazine caught his eye. “They always get the facts wrong. If they cared to ask me, I’d tell them the truth. I didn’t sleep with her. I remember her though … Her disgusted expression when I said no.”

“Good for you,” I mumbled. “And the fae with the dagger? The general. Is he dead?”

He straightened, article forgotten, and frowned, ruining the proud lines of his face. “Unfortunately not; the FA are formidable. The general even more so. He’s not someone I’d have picked to piss off.” He rubbed his neck, brushing over the spider tattoo. “At full strength I could beat him, but not as I am. I don’t suppose you’d like to help with that … Share a little more of yourself?” He smoothed his voice, and asked with a purr, “Top me up?”

I dipped my chin and glared. “I’m not one of your doe-eyed fangirls.”

“Didn’t think so.” He’d made his way around my living room and returned to my kitchen to resume his search of the cupboards. “I need food. Do you have anything to eat in this barren place?”

“Wow, you just say what you think, don’t you?”

“It’s a talent.” He opened the fridge. “Among many other extraordinary talents I exhibit. Ask me what I can do with my tongue.”

“No, thank you.”

“C’mon, I see questions burning in your eyes, American Girl. You’re curious about me, about what I can do. I have more talent in my little finger than most humans can exhibit in their entire lifetime.”

“I guess modesty isn’t one of them?”

“This
is
me being modest. If I turned on my charm, you’d forget your own name and beg me to tell you it.”

I rolled my eyes. Arrogant. Smug. He probably had no idea what
real
life was like. Did his stylist pick his wardrobe? His PA probably paid his bills, attended to the mundane so he didn’t have to. Did he have someone stroking his ego 24/7? No, he clearly didn’t need any help with that.

“What job do you do, Alina?”

My thoughts stumbled. I mentally groped for a lie.
Teacher? No, where did that come from? Nanny? Kids—yikes! Think of a normal job and quickly. Zookeeper. Oh, for heaven’s sake
. I couldn’t lie to save my life.

“Shall I ask an easier question? I know it must be difficult to have a celebrity of my caliber standing in your flat. I’m afraid I forget the effect I have on your kind.” He threw a playful look over his shoulder, the kind of look that shouldn’t be used in public; a private sideways glance, laden with salacious intentions. It was real. It might even have been the first real look he’d given me since we’d met. And it occurred to me that Reign knew exactly what stereotype he played to, and he played it well. It was an act. All of this. The swagger, the ego. A stage act, designed to disarm and play on my preconceived ideas. I’d fallen for it, played right into his hands. Deeper, behind the teasing, the quick wit and cheap smiles, Reign was something else, someone else. Oh, he was so much smarter than I’d realized. He’d shown me a glimpse of the truth in that look. So I gave him a little truth in return. “Reporter,” I replied, clearing my throat. “Well, sorta … I was an assistant with the
Metro
, but … that’s over with. Austere times; the Internet squeezing out the press, blah-blah …”

He stilled and for a few seconds I wondered if I was about to witness a less-than-charming side of Reign. Swinging the refrigerator door closed, he turned the full weight of his stare on me. “You’re a reporter?” He chuckled and raked his hands through his hair. “Of all the people. ….”

“Ex-reporter.”

His eyes narrowed in a decidedly unfriendly way. “So, you’ve read all about me. You think you know me, don’t you.”

“I know enough. You’re the lead singer from that band … Oh, what’s its name? Touché?”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re clearly incompetent. I can see why they fired you.”

I clicked my fingers. “Tatiana?”

His brow arched. “Is this your attempt at humor?”

I’d rattled a fae, and I liked it. “Well, you’re not
that
famous.”

“Tell that to my agent. It’s
Touched
.” He made a dismissive
pfft
noise. “Don’t get any ideas, American Girl. I am not your story. I have enough to deal with without you selling my secrets to the tabloids.”

“Are there secrets?” I picked at a nail, feigning disinterest.

“I’m in your pokey flat, in the asshole of nowhere, when I should be wrapped between silk sheets in Kensington, accompanied by a fine redhead, mentally preparing for my concert at the end of the week. You’re the reporter; you figure it out.” He looked at me hard, drilling his stare into me, daring me to rise to the challenge.

Yes, there really were secrets. But while he might look relatively harmless, he wasn’t. Seductive, mysterious, aloof, and any reporter would give her right arm for the inside scoop on Sovereign, lead singer of Touched. He knew it too, hence the hard-as-nails stare.

“Will you sell me out?” he asked, working his jaw around a bite of anger.

“Nothing really happened.” Yet. “What’s to sell?”

Several knocks rapped against my door. I flicked my gaze to it, then back to Reign, who certainly didn’t look any more pleased than he had a second ago.

“Miss Alina O’Connor? Could you open the door please? It’s Detective Andrews and Detective Miles, from the Metropolitan Police.”

Reign invaded my personal space with all of his overt faeness. If I’d had time to react, I’d have pushed him away, but before I could blink, he bowed his head and whispered against my cheek. “You think you know me. You don’t.” I planted my hands against his chest, but his words locked me down before I could push. “You believe you know what’s happening here. You don’t. This isn’t my story Alina, it’s yours.” The thin veil of air between us wobbled, rippling my focus, and then snapped back into sharp clarity, minus Reign’s looming black-clad presence. He’d vanished, leaving the ghost of his words whispering in my ear.

The detectives knocked again. “Miss O’Connor? It’s in your best interest to let us in. It’s regarding the fae-at-large you were seen with yesterday evening.”

Fae-at-large?
Damn it, Reign.
What was I supposed to say to the police? What the hell had Reign meant when he said I didn’t understand what was happening? What exactly had he done? I steeled myself with a few deep breaths, repeated the mantra “I have nothing to worry about” in my head, and, plastering what I hoped to be an innocent smile on my face, I opened the door.

The plainclothes detectives made themselves at home, accepting my offer of coffee as they settled on my two-seater couch like crows on a gate. Due to an unfortunate habit of appearing guilty, even if I hadn’t done anything wrong, I kept my back to them as I fixed their drinks, chewing on my lip.
You believe you know what’s happening here. You don’t. This isn’t my story, Alina, it’s yours.
Reign’s words rattled about my head.

“Do you know much about the fae, Miss O’Connor?” Detective Andrews asked in a syrupy voice, which neither peeked nor dropped. The type of voice designed for radio. A
trust-me
voice.

“A little. The usual.” A tingling skittered up my right arm, giving me another excuse to silently curse Reign.

“Been in London long?” Andrews’s partner, Detective Miles asked, his cockney accent spikey in comparison. He jerked his head, birdlike, and narrowed his beady eyes on me. Miles had to be twice as old as his partner, maybe late forties, and yet the much younger Andrews commanded the authority in the room. Perhaps it was how Andrews sat, as though hanging on my every word. He looked at me in that raw way cops do, reading everything, assuming nothing. His eyes held a steady intelligence, warning me not to test him.

“A year,” I replied.

Miles dipped his chin and rummaged inside his oversized coat, before plucking free a pen and notepad. “A year, huh … You’re American? Are there many fae in the US?” He didn’t look up, and didn’t seem to care much for the answer.

“Some.”

Andrews blinked, and for a few moments we held our gazes before he scratched at his chin and cleared his throat. “What do you do, Miss O’Connor, for employment?”

I told him, neglecting to mention my recent departure, and peeked over my shoulder while pouring hot water into their cups. Miles scribbled something on his pad in tight chicken-scratch marks. “Is there something I should know?” I asked. “You mentioned about this chat being in my interest?”

Andrews shifted forward and cleared his throat. “You were at Chancery Lane Underground Station last night?”

“Yeah.” I handed their coffees over. With nowhere to sit, I loitered around the kitchen bar, trying not to fidget, but the more I fought to stay still, the more I wriggled. I really had no reason to worry.
So why is it getting hot in here?

“You saw the fae known as Sovereign?”

How much to tell them? How much did they already know? “I helped a guy onto a train, if that’s who you mean?”

“You didn’t recognize him?” Andrews asked, tasting his coffee and wincing.

“Sure. He kinda stands out—”

“Did he touch you?” He placed his coffee down and pushed it forward, like poking roadkill.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s a simple question,” he said easily, but the answer wasn’t simple. If the detectives knew Reign had touched me, skin-to-skin, they’d assume I was tainted by the fae. Marked. And my words wouldn’t be trusted.

“I helped him up, so yeah, I guess.”

He scratched at his chin and settled his astute gaze on me once more. “Miss O’Connor, you do know not to touch the fae?”

He wasn’t much older than me, and yet I bristled, feeling as though I was being chastised. “Yes, I know that. I didn’t touch his hand, or anything, just his sleeve.” The lie came easier than I’d expected. I crossed my arms and attempted to smile sweetly while my palm itched. Andrews gave me a neutral, nonjudgmental, innocent-until-proven-guilty look. I bet he still looked as genial and unruffled when he slapped the cuffs on the bad guys. I pushed a lock of hair away from my face. “I just helped him up; it’s not a crime.”

“Uh-huh.” He glanced at his partner who continued to scratch his way through the paper. “Did you linger at Chancery Lane Station long?”

Wow, his questions cut like knives right to the heart of the matter. No small talk from him. “No, a few minutes. Just until the next train came in.”

“You didn’t explore the station?”

There’s not much to explore,
I thought. Where on earth was he going with this? “No. We got on the next train, traded a few comments, and I got off. Why would I
explore
the station?”

“Were you aware there are some disused tunnels adjoining Chancery?” Andrews asked, ignoring the sideways glance from his partner.

“No, I’m not an engineer. What does this have to do with anything?”

“Where exactly did you get off?” Andrews pressed, not in the least perturbed.

“Huh?”

“Where did you disembark the train, Miss O’Connor?”

I blinked: if he was trying to confuse me, he was doing a damn good job. “Mile End. Look, should I be worried? I haven’t done anything wrong.”

He blinked, gave me a second to think he’d let me have room to breathe, and then asked, “Did you touch your card out?”

“My what? Oh, my travel card. Um, well, yeah, of course I did. I mean, I must have.” If they checked, they’d know I hadn’t. My shoulders bobbed in a shrug. An awkward silence descended. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“We’re not implying that you have. These are just routine questions while we try to establish a timeline of events.” Andrews blinked, so unassuming. “Did Sovereign say anything unusual?”

I swallowed. The entire conversation with Reign in the train car had been unusual, from fate to mistakes. “I, uh … No, small talk mostly, ya know, the weather.” The British liked talking about the weather, so he’d buy that.