The Soul Stealer (23 page)

She wasn’t used to having to work so hard to get his attention. What could possibly be so interesting? She rolled her eyes when she realized which rock star had him transfixed to the screen. “Not you, too. Lani blasts his music in the shop, and I always have to change the station. What is so great about Andrew Le Fey?”

Hunter’s head whipped around, and his eyes bored into hers. “What did you say his name is?”

“Andrew Le Fey. Why?” But Hunter’s attention had already gone back to the television screen. “I just don’t understand what’s so great about him,” she said more to herself than to Hunter. “I mean, he’s got a great voice and all, but the makeup and glitter are just a little too much for me. Can you imagine how much he spends on silver glitter or eyeliner? And look at his hair. It’s practically glowing. I wonder what he puts in it to make it look that way?” Malia shook her head but then started tapping her foot to the sound. His music really was infectious, she had to admit, and he could hit notes that most male singers couldn’t. His falsetto voice mixed with a rock dance beat was his trademark and had sold millions of records.

Hunter went to the computer, where his fingers flew over the keyboard. The driven look on his face frightened Malia a little, so she went to the table and peered over his shoulder. He was searching through background information and articles about Andrew Le Fey, reading so fast she couldn’t keep up.

“He’ll help us,” Hunter said as he started to look through photos of the rock star online.

“Yeah, right. Why would he help us?”

“He will,” Hunter said with a nod.

“Okay, first of all, he’s more famous than. . . well, than anyone else, so he probably has full-on security with him at all times, even if you could figure out a way to get near him. And second, why in the world would he help us?” Malia snickered. Hunter just didn’t understand how this world worked, or that he wasn’t from a rich, powerful family here, so people like Andrew Le Fey wouldn’t give him the time of day.

He turned his violet eyes to Malia and gave her superior look. “He’s from my world, and he’ll know who I am.”

“How do you know he’s from there?”

“Because he’s a faery. I can tell by just looking at him. Besides Le Fey means The Faery.”

She almost laughed again, thinking Hunter was joking, but looking into his eyes, she saw a deep seriousness. “A fairy?” she asked, just to make sure she had heard him correctly. “Like Tinkerbelle? No, I think his name is making a reference to his sexuality or lifestyle, or something like that.” Malia patted Hunter’s shoulder and went back to eating out of the carton.

“Yes, a faery—the last of the magical beings who walk the Earth. Other species, such as elves and leprechauns, have been wiped out for various reasons, but there are still some faeries left. Many have come here so they can live in freedom and not be hunted down, posing as humans. And he’s one of them.”

He’s serious, Malia realized. She stopped eating and sat down on the bed with a thud. So many beliefs she’d had since childhood had been discarded since she met Hunter. But to believe mythical creatures actually existed was a little too mind boggling. “A fairy?” she asked again in disbelief.

“It’s pronounced fay-ree, and no, they’re not like Tinkerbelle,” Hunter answered with noticeable irritation. “I don’t know where that stupid image of a small pixie with wings came from, but it’s far from the truth. Faeries are a tall, majestic race, with broad shoulders and fine bone structure. They’re ethereal, free-spirited, and very creative, although perhaps a bit unpredictable. Andrew Le Fey is a faery. Many of your movie stars and celebrities are. They have a magnetism that the human race doesn’t. Humans can’t resist them.” There was a bit of disgust in his voice.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say something offensive. It’s just in my mind faeries are small cartoon characters.” She took a deep breath. “Magical creatures are a part of our culture, but through books and movies. Not in reality. It’s a bit shocking to think they actually exist.”

“Why do you think they’ve been in books and movies?” Hunter said. “Obviously, they actually exist. Most in your reality have learned to hide in plain sight, not reveal their true self. Long ago, your world persecuted anyone with magical powers, so the faeries here learned to blend in like humans, and even suppressed their powers until their offspring no longer knew how to use magic. But that doesn’t mean they aren’t real.”

Malia didn’t respond but just looked at him, wondering why he had become so defensive.

Hunter closed his eyes for a moment. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be terse,” he said in a more normal, smooth voice. “It’s just that they’ve been persecuted and slaughtered in my world for no good reason other than because they’re magical, and their bodies produce by-products that have strange effects on humans. There have been mass murders of faeries, and the dust of their cremated bodies has been sold at great profit because it’s a drug more addictive than heroin or opium.” Hunter hesitated for a moment. “It’s a horror in my world that has to be stopped, just as slavery had to be stopped in your country, or Hitler had to be stopped in Europe.”

“I didn’t mean to be insensitive.” She went to him and put her arms around his shoulder and kissed his neck, wondering at the pain she had seen in his eyes.

Hunter sighed. “Anyway, I know if I can get to Andrew Le Fey, I can get his undivided attention. And he might have a network of Otherworld transplants who would be willing to help us hide or get enough money to live off for awhile.”

“Otherworld?”

“That’s the name of the secret kingdom of the faeries, their forest world.”

“That’s funny,” Malia said, looking into Hunter’s eyes. “Because that’s the name of the nightclub Andrew Le Fey owns here in Los Angeles. Everyone has heard of it. It’s quite the hotspot among young Hollywood celebrities.”

They looked at each other for a moment, and then Hunter nodded with determination. She knew what he was thinking, and it was impossible.

“Hunter, even if Andrew Le Fey is in town and hanging out there tonight, you won’t be able to get in. No one can, unless you’re on a guest list, or one of the A-list Hollywood celebrities. And neither of those apply to us.”

“I’ll get us in,” Hunter said as he stood.

“Not dressed like that you won’t,” Malia said with a shake of her head. “We don’t have the right kind of clothes to be let in by a
very
selective doorman. All we have are jeans, T-shirts and leather jackets. Actually not a bad combination. But even if the doorman thinks one of us is hot, he’s not going to let us in. We’re not celebrities!”

“Oh, yes, we’ll get in,” Hunter said, lacing up his hiking boots. “Hurry up! We need to get going!” He walked toward the door.

“Hunter, this is insane. Even if you can get past the doorman and see Andrew Le Fey, why would he help you?”

Hunter stopped and leveled his luminous eyes at her. “Because my mother was their queen. And I am their prince—the last of an ancient royal lineage. There’s a famous legend about the last Faery Prince and how he saves his kind and frees them from persecution. They think I’m that prince, which is why Father locked me up from the time I was a boy . . . to keep her family from stealing me away to the Otherworld.”

H
unter pulled Malia along the street, almost running the two blocks to the club known as Otherworld. Already, the line of people hoping to get into the hottest nightclub in West Hollywood stretched around the corner. She couldn’t feel her feet, and most of her body was numb—probably symptoms of the shock that overtook her after Hunter’s announcement of his heritage in the hotel room. They hadn’t spoken since then. Malia wasn’t able to form words, and she was having trouble breathing. Hunter was on a mission, too driven by his need to speak with Andrew Le Fey to stop long enough to talk to her.

She wasn’t upset that Hunter was a magical being and not completely human, which really wasn’t too surprising considering his special abilities, but the entire situation had finally hit home. She was involved with someone from another world, and not necessarily a human, because she wasn’t sure faeries were people exactly—from another world. And while she had known he was from another reality for a few days already, only now was it sinking in. Nothing in her world was as it should be. The rules had changed—all of them. Malia wasn’t sure which way was up anymore, so all she could do was follow Hunter in a daze, or commit to a full breakdown of emotions.

She was trying to cover up her pending hysteria, but she was sure Hunter had noticed it. He hadn’t looked in her direction since they left their room, and he avoided contact with her, except to grab her as they flew to West Hollywood and to pull her through the streets to a nightclub.

There was a long line outside the club. Hunter didn’t stop at the end of the line but walked right up to the roped off front entrance and stood there, waiting for the doorman to notice him. The beefy doorman was dressed in an expensive-looking suit and had a wireless phone earplug and a clipboard. He glanced toward Hunter and Malia with disdain, then turned his back on them. Malia’s eyes darted around, stopping on various people in line. People at the front of the line looked at her and Hunter with annoyance. The muffled sound of Andrew Le Fey’s music came through the thick red curtains that covered the doorway.

“Let’s go,” she whispered to Hunter as she put her hand on his arm.

He pulled away from her and tapped the doorman on the shoulder. “Excuse me, but I need to see Andrew Le Fey. Is he here tonight?”

Her heart stopped, and she could feel her face grow hot.

The doorman looked her up and down and then narrowed his eyes at Hunter, who didn’t blink under the scrutiny.

“Andrew Le Fey please?” Hunter asked again.

And then he did something too bold to comprehend. Hunter sprinkled something sparkly between his forefinger and thumb over the doorman’s wrist, and put his hand on the man’s arm. Fury came into the doorman’s eyes as he realized Hunter was touching him.

Malia was about to bolt, run down the street to find a policeman who could stop the doorman from beating Hunter unconscious, but then she noticed the confused look that came to the man’s face. Then a miracle happened: Confusion turned to compliance. “What did you say your name is?” the doorman asked, scanning the guest list for the evening.

“I’m not on the list. I’m a family friend. Please let Andrew Le Fey know that Hunter Oberon is here to see him.”

The doorman nodded and tapped a number on his cell phone. He spoke into the wireless earpiece for a moment and waited, all the while keeping his eyes on Hunter. Next, the doorman snapped a photo of Hunter with his cell phone and texted it to someone, and then they all waited for a long minute. Finally, the doorman answered a call and nodded, wrote something down on the guest list, and opened the rope gate for Hunter and Malia to enter.

“You have entrance into the club whenever you like, but I’m not sure Mr. Le Fey will see you. If he wants to, someone will get you from the main room, which is up the flight of steps.” The doorman parted the red velvet curtain and pointed the way up the stairs.

Hunter nodded as he and Malia entered the dark stairway.

Malia felt claustrophobic as she walked up the dark, red velvet stairs. The music became louder with each step, and the air was stifling with the heat of sweating bodies as they neared the top. Hunter took her hand and started to push his way through the crowd, but he still didn’t look at her. It felt reassuring to have his hand in hers, though. Contact with Hunter was always electric, even if he’d turned away from her every chance he got in the last hour.

It was dark, but strobe lights flashed to the beat of the music, and everywhere there were people dancing in the big, warehouse-like room. There were some tables and chairs along the sides of the dance floor, but mostly the club was open space, with an occasional elevated box that anyone could climb on top of if they wanted to be a dancer on display above the crowd. Many took the opportunity. The rafters were decorated with furry branches, and the pillars holding up the ceiling looked like tree trunks, creating a forest effect throughout the nightclub. Twinkling lights flashed in some of the branches like fireflies, or small, winged pixies, Malia thought, but she didn’t dare say that out loud.

Hunter made his way through the crowd toward the long, purple bar along one side of the club. The male bartenders were shirtless, dressed only in tight jeans, and all had shoulder-length hair and great physiques. Malia stared at the sight and then looked around at the crowd, noticing for the first time that most were men, and many were in pairs or dancing in groups. Lots of appreciative looks were cast toward Hunter, which made her feel anonymous, especially since he still wouldn’t look at her either.

He ordered two club sodas, which made the bartender smile even broader at Hunter. Malia took the drink Hunter held out to her and tried to catch his eyes with hers, but he looked away again into the crowd. She swallowed as a lump formed in her throat. She hated feeling distance from him, especially since he was right there next to her. He had seen the shock on her face and had probably read her thoughts in the hotel room. Malia hoped they would soon have a moment to talk about it. Right now, the noise in the club and the pounding music made conversation impossible.

They stood there, waiting, not sure what would happen next, if anything. Then a roar went up in the crowd and everyone turned toward a balcony high up in a corner. The music stopped and a spotlight lit up the balcony. Double doors opened and two young men came out. Both were dressed in sparkling leather pants and jackets, and their jet-black hair was teased and spiky. The roar in the room increased to unbearable decibels.

“Hey kids!” Andrew Le Fey said with a hidden microphone. “Are you having fun?”

The crowd clapped and screamed in answer.

“Maybe I’ll come down there and party with you,” he shrieked in his signature falsetto voice, sending the crowd into a frenzy. He put his arm through the other young man’s arm and waved to someone down below the balcony in a feminine manner.

Andrew Le Fey turned to go back into his private room, but as he did he glanced at the spot where Hunter and Malia stood. For just an instant, it seemed he could see them, even though that was unlikely in the dark, crowded nightclub. But Malia felt his eyes rake over her. Hunter stood as still as a statue, never taking his eyes off that corner balcony.

After Andrew Le Fey made a dramatic exit, she turned to Hunter to see if they could leave to have a conversation somewhere, but he shook his head, silencing her before she said a word. Soon a tall, broad-shouldered, slim-waisted woman with long black hair came toward them with fluid movement that was more like floating than walking through a crowded nightclub. People parted to make room for her. She was dressed in tight black clothes that showed off her perfect form. Malia looked down at the woman’s leather boots and wondered how she could walk with such effortless ease on six-inch stiletto heels.

“Welcome to the Otherworld, Your Grace. Andrew will see you now,” she said to Hunter in a sultry voice. The woman made a slight bow toward him, but treated Malia as if she didn’t exist. “Please follow me.”

Malia was intrigued by the reverence the woman’s voice held for Hunter, but he didn’t seem to notice, or care. He followed her through the crowd to a private elevator, still holding Malia’s hand. The woman unlocked the elevator with a key and ushered them inside. She stood still with no expression on her lovely, pale face while the elevator climbed to the second level. When the doors opened, they stepped into another crowded room, only this time the faces were all very familiar because Malia had seen them all on movie and television screens.

“It’ll be just a moment. Please wait here,” the tall female faery said to Hunter before disappearing behind a door. He looked around, not recognizing anyone but knowing they were probably all famous for one reason or another. They were too busy drinking and laughing in various corners to notice him or Malia standing there.

“Be on guard,” he whispered to Malia. “Le Fey is probably quite charming, but very deceitful. Most of his kind would rather lie to your face than tell the truth.”

“Oh, really?”

The sarcasm in her voice was obvious, and her beautiful eyes burned into his, but he still couldn’t look at her. He had seen the shock on her face in the hotel room when he confessed everything. It had just spilled out of his mouth, and now he regretted it. He closed himself off from reading her thoughts; he didn’t want to know. It was too painful to look at her, knowing how much he was deceiving her.

The dark-haired female came back through the room and stopped before him. “Andrew requests a private meeting with you,” she said with a pointed look at Malia. “He doesn’t want to guard his words.”

Hunter glanced at Malia, unsure if he should leave her alone. Anything could happen once he left the room, and the female faery was not to be trusted, he was sure of that. Malia’s hand tightened around his. Just as Hunter was about to refuse, the young man who had been on the balcony with Andrew Le Fey walked up to them with a friendly smile. Up close he looked younger, and his eyes showed sincere kindness. He was human, and a bit stupid.

“Hi, I’m Pablo, Andrew’s boyfriend. He wants me to make sure you’re having a great time at his party while he talks to your boyfriend,” he said to Malia with a smile. “So, who would you like to meet first?” Pablo put his arm through hers and gently pulled her away.

Hunter was about to grab Malia, not wanting to let her out of his sight, but then their eyes met and he could see she would be fine. Malia was intrigued by the promise of meeting movie stars. Le Fey’s assistant waited, staring at him with calm patience. He nodded to her, so she turned and led the way through the doors. His dagger was lodged against his hip, where he had stuffed it into his pants. It was reassuring to know it was there.

She opened the doors and then closed them behind Hunter, leaving him alone in a dark hallway. He had no choice but to walk down the hallway and into a dimly lit room decorated with plush furniture and a bar in one corner. One side of the room was all glass that looked over the nightclub. No one could see in from down below, but anyone in the room had a bird’s-eye view of what was going on downstairs. Hunter didn’t see him at first, but he could feel a strong presence. It was the essence of a very old and powerful faery. He had felt such a presence before, the last time he had been with his mother.

Andrew Le Fey came out of the shadows, gliding across the floor to kneel before Hunter. “My prince, I am at your service,” he said in a deep voice with a bowed head.

Hunter soaked in every detail of Andrew’s appearance, realizing how much he had missed being with his own kind. Andrew’s jet-black hair was teased and spiked in all directions and had a bluish glittery tint. He wore a lime green sequined jacket that fell to his knees, black leather pants that seemed to be painted on, and lots of jewelry wherever Hunter looked. Andrew didn’t wear a shirt under the jacket, instead showing off his muscular chest and abdomen. His face had no lines and his pale skin was smooth and clear, defying his age, which Hunter guessed was probably more than two hundred years. And when Andrew looked up, his eyes were a crystal clear blue offset with black, glittery eyeliner—the eyes of a well-traveled magician.

“Please, get up,” Hunter said, stepping back, uncomfortable with such a majestic being kneeling before him.

“As you wish, Your Grace.” Andrew stood slightly taller than Hunter. “May I pour you a brandy?”

“No thank you. I don’t drink.”

“No, I wouldn’t think you would,” Andrew said with a sly smile. “It can have a nasty effect on humans.”

Hunter narrowed his eyes at Andrew; he had just insulted Hunter purposely.

“Forgive me, Your Grace. I should speak to you with more deference. It’s just a bit shocking to see you here, and you’re something of an enigma. On the one hand, you are my prince, indeed. And on the other, you’re the son of Rand Blackthorne, murderer of my people.” Andrew’s eyes took on the color of ice when he spoke of Hunter’s father. “And yet, you call yourself Oberon, king of the faeries, which gives me some hope that you’re here to fulfill your legacy, at last.”

“Then you will be disappointed, because I have no intention of trying to live up to an ancient faery tale. But I am no longer a part of the Blackthorne clan, either, which is exactly why I came to you. I have recently escaped my father’s assassins and am in need of assistance to hide from them.”

Andrew chuckled and poured himself a brandy at the bar. He looked Hunter up and down as he sipped the amber liquor. He tossed his head to the side and smiled at Hunter in a flirtatious way. “How very interesting. And how like your mother you are,” he said in a deep voice that sounded almost as if it echoed.

Hunter’s throat felt constricted. “You knew my mother?”

“Not very well, but I admired her from afar at court for some years while I was involved with one of her cousins. Bradly was his name, I believe,” Andrew said with a frown. He shrugged. “Who remembers these things after so much time has passed? It was way before you were born, which was what . . . forty years ago?”