Copper Girl (9 page)

Not that any of this heir and consort nonsense mattered. The few men who’d ever been serious about me hadn’t stayed that way for long, as evidenced by my unworn lingerie and single occupancy apartment. As much as I wanted Micah to be different, past experience had me a bit too jaded to be picking out baby names just yet.

The water ran cold, as sure a sign as any that my shower time was over. After I toweled off and ran a comb through my hair, I pulled on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, and then padded barefoot to the kitchen in search of food. I hadn’t eaten all day, except for a few stale pretzels I’d found stashed in my desk, and my rumbling stomach refused to be ignored any longer. I’d hardly made any headway when I heard a knock at my door.

Who could that be?
All my friends were at The Room, my rent was paid up, Mom never came over without calling first, and Sadie was in the middle of a semester. I squinted through the peephole, and to my utter horror saw Micah standing in the corridor.

“Did anyone see you?” I whispered, after I threw open the door.

“Of course not,” was Micah’s indignant reply. “I thought you would prefer it if I knocked.”

He looked hurt, and I felt like an ass. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have greeted you that way. Start over?” Micah nodded, then I shut the door. Playing along, he knocked again.

“Micah,” I said with a smile, as I opened the door. “I am so glad to see you.”

“My Sara,” he greeted me, his bemused smile having returned.

“Was that better?” I asked.

“Much.” As I invited him inside, I noticed his clothing. Instead of his usual suit of pale leather he wore a soft ivory shirt that laced up the front, tailored black breeches, and tall black boots. His puff of silvery hair was neatly restrained at the nape of his neck, and an ornate sword hung at his side. Yeah, my elf was pretty hot. “You are dressed very nicely.”

“And you are dressed like a man, yet again,” Micah observed. I sat cross-legged on the couch beside him, something else he clearly didn’t approve of.

“I can dress however I like in my house,” I declared. “Did you pull out the formal attire for me?”

“You are worthy of far more than a few bits of fabric,” he said, catching my hand and pressing it to his lips. “I am dressed so for my audience with my mistress, the Iron Queen.”

“What did she say?” I gasped.

“She will hear your petition.” Relief washed over me, and I flopped back against the couch. “She did not guarantee aid,” he warned.

“I know.” I sat up, and looked into his silver-gray eyes. “For nearly half of my life, I’ve tried to find out what happened to Max and Dad. Even though this is only a step, it’s still the closest I’ve ever come.” I leaned forward and took his hands. “Micah, I don’t know how I will ever thank you.”

“You are most welcome, my Sara,” he murmured, squeezing my hand.

“We should celebrate.” I sprang up from the couch and returned to the kitchen. In my world, good news was best served with a side dish of alcohol and food. I emerged in a few moments with two glasses of wine, balanced on a tray, alongside a block of cheese, some crackers, and a few apples. I set everything down, realized I had forgotten a knife, and returned to the kitchen, swiping the bottle of wine and some honey on the way.

“Eat,” I ordered, once the apples and cheese were sliced. “And put honey on it; it’s so much better that way.” Micah sampled a bit of cheese, and nearly spit it out.

“You eat this on purpose?” he demanded, after a big gulp of wine.

“It’s the only cheese I can get right now,” I said apologetically. Real cheese was contraband, though it sometimes showed up at the Promenade bearing outrageous price tags. Food was highly regulated in this day and age, and almost everything we ate had to be inspected by Peacekeepers. Since the government no longer trusted natural items, this meant a lot of factory-processed foods and tasteless vegetables grown without soil or fresh air. Ironically, we still had full access to harmful things, such as alcohol and cigarettes, but possessing too much sun-ripened fruit could put you on the watch list. “I know, it’s not as good as real cheese.”

“You are a woman of contradictions,” Micah said, shaking his head as he assembled slices of cheese atop the apple. I leaned forward and liberally doused them with honey, hoping to mask the rubbery flavor.

“Contradictions? How is that?” I asked, licking honey from where it had dripped onto my wrist.

“You live in a hovel, eating this slop your elders force upon you. You have more power than ten mages, yet you pretend to be a weak girl.” Silver eyes narrowed over the rim of his wineglass, taking in all that was me. “No one truly knows the depth of you, is that right?”

“I don’t live in a hovel,” I protested. My apartment was small, but it was nice. And very clean.

“I meant no insult,” he amended. “I only believe you worthy of a far more comfortable abode.” I smiled, since how could I argue with that? Micah caught a lock of my hair between his long fingers. “I wish you hadn’t made your hair the color of mud.”

I grinned wickedly, drained my wineglass in a very unladylike manner, and balanced the stem between the soles of my feet. Micah either understood what I was about to do or was content to wait, since he said nothing as I flipped my hair forward and began running my fingers through it. After a moment, a single drop of brown goo splashed into the bowl of the wineglass, and then another. It was slow to start, but in a short time I’d squeezed the dye from my hair like so much water.

“One of the few tricks I can do,” I explained, as Micah wrinkled his nose at the ammonia-scented chocolate liquid. Laughing, I set the wineglass on the coffee table. One of the many things the Mundane World has forgotten about Elementals is that we can wield many forms of magic, not just the spells linked to our elements. I still remembered, all too vividly, the time I’d accidentally dyed my hair green and willed the offending color as far away from me as possible; it turned out that the farthest I could send it was splattering onto my mother’s white tile floor. At first, I had been amazed that I could accomplish such a feat, then I had feared for my life if Mom ever walked in on such a mess. After an afternoon spent on my hands and knees, using harsh bleach to scrub away the evidence before Mom—or tattletale Sadie—caught me, I was always careful to keep a bowl nearby.

“My true Sara is at last revealed,” Micah approved. “Never obscure this lovely shade again.” My cheeks warmed; as I ducked my head, I caught sight of something on his face.

“You have honey on your chin,” I explained, as I leaned forward to wipe it away.

“Do I?” He dipped a finger in the jar and quickly dabbed honey on my lower lip. “So do you. Here, let me.” Then, I was in Micah’s arms as he gently licked the sweet, sticky stuff from my lips. “I wonder if there’s any more.” He explored my chin, my neck, and the sensitive spot behind my ears, before returning to claim my lips. I must admit, he was quite thorough.

I pulled his shirt up and over his head, feeling those amazing silver streaks and curls across his shoulders and broad back, and was rewarded with more fervent kisses. Micah’s mouth traveled down my neck to the edge of my shirt and snaked down my body to caress my belly. He inched the thin cotton upward, taking the time to thoroughly acquaint himself with all he revealed. Slowly, as if asking permission, his hand traveled around to stroke my mark. When I arched my back he smiled, and I felt a gentle tug at my waist.

For the second time that evening, a knock sounded at my door. “Ignore it,” Micah all but commanded, his voice muffled by my breasts. Then the unmistakable voice of Juliana H. Armstrong wafted through the reinforced steel, and I sighed.

“I can’t. She’s persistent.” I sat up and wound my hair into a messy knot, then pointed toward the bathroom. “You. Hide.”

“I do not hide,” he said, with a peevish tone worthy of having been asked to empty a litter box.

“Micah—”

“She will not know me for what I am,” Micah stated as he pulled his shirt over his head. Juliana’s pounding grew more insistent, so I had to trust him.

“Yes, dear?” I asked, as I opened the door.

“The Room was lame, so I thought I’d see what you’re up to.” I resisted the urge to point out that The Room was always lame, just as the grass is always greener in your neighbor’s yard, and the sky always bluest while you’re working. Then my heart was in my throat as Juliana walked past me, only to halt when she saw Micah. I followed her gaze, but I didn’t see an elfin lord. Instead, there was a man with close-cropped brown hair and round human ears seated on my couch. His billowy ivory tunic and dark breeches were gone, replaced by a white button-down shirt and jeans. But the features were still his, and the twinkle in his suddenly brown eyes as he raised his glass in greeting was undeniably Micah’s.

“The boy?” Juliana asked, with a sidelong glance.

“The boy,” I confirmed. “Juliana, this is Mike.”

They exchanged nominal pleasantries, and then Juliana’s gaze swept to the table. Her brow wrinkled when she saw the wineglass full of dye, but she didn’t ask about it. Thank. Freaking. God. Taking a hint for perhaps the first time in her life, she apologized for barging in unannounced. As she turned to leave, she snatched a lock of my hair.

“Love the color,” she said. “When did you do it?”

“After work,” I said. It wasn’t a lie, so it came easily. “Mike asked about my natural color, and here it is.”

“Mmm. Well, talk to you later.” With that she was gone, and I slumped against the closed door. Cold sweat broke out across my body, and my heart beat in an irregular tattoo.

“That was the most nerve-wracking two minutes I’ve ever spent,” I mumbled. I looked up and saw Micah, once again in all his elfin glory.

“She is not your friend,” he stated.

“What? Juliana is the best friend I’ve ever had!”

“She lies to you. The deceit swirls about her, black, like poison.” I considered Juliana’s earlier interrogation after my late arrival at work, and now she’d just popped up here. She’d never dropped in before, no matter what she was out doing. Not to mention the way she’d tried to barge into my room after my dream with Micah. I know, I screamed, but my life has given me ample fodder for nightmares. Based on the hundred or so times she’d slept over, there was no way that had been the first time she’d heard me call out in my sleep.

Worst of all, her weird behavior had started a few days ago, the day after I’d met Micah.

I shook my head, unwilling to deal with such implications at the present moment. I had more important matters before me, specifically the matters of Max and Dad. “When can we see this queen?” I asked.

Micah cocked his head to the side, as if listening to a chime in the distance. “If we leave now, we will arrive in time for her next audience.”

“All right.” I pushed myself up from the door, at once determined and terrified. And I was grateful, both for Micah’s help and his calm, reassuring presence. “Let’s go.”

After a long, tedious discussion centered upon what was and was not appropriate attire for a woman
(basically, Micah disapproved of my entire wardrobe, using such words and phrases as “mannish” and “not worthy of my consort”)
, Micah and I climbed into my car and drove toward my employer’s parking lot, the closest location where the veil was thin. I was wearing the nicest dress I owned, an emerald-green sheath that had made occasional appearances at weddings and other formal events. The neckline was much lower than I usually dared, and it showcased Micah’s token against my d6colletage, which were both factors in his approval. I’d decided to wear my hair up, and ever-helpful Micah had worked the bits of copper wire and malachite left over from his cuff into elegant combs. A girl could get used to this.

What I could not get used to was Micah’s human illusion, Mike. Every time I glanced toward the passenger seat I was startled by the sight of a strange man in my car. Of course, he really was still a stranger to me, wasn’t he? Why was I letting him call me his consort? Of all the things I wanted in my life, a husband, no matter what he was called, wasn’t one of them, and neither were children. Was I only going along with him to find out what had happened to Max and Dad? If so, then I was a terrible person. A terrible person who needed to end this now, before it spiraled further out of control.

As if he knew I was thinking about him, Micah slid his hand onto my knee and squeezed. Instantly, I felt his heat slowly spread throughout my leg. The attraction between us was strong and undeniable, but I still couldn’t let myself trust in it. Blame my past if you will, but I kept expecting to find out that Micah was using me.

These fears of mine weren’t entirely irrational, and neither were they without precedent. Past boyfriends, employers, and even one of my college professors had tried to influence me, a Raven fledgling. Neither my identity nor my parentage has ever been a secret—I mean, my last name
is
Corbeau—though it’s not something I usually brought up. Still, many had sought to gain my favor, only to be disappointed when I’d informed them that I
had
no power to speak of. Invariably they left me, apparently having forgotten the heartfelt promises they’d made a short time before.