Ink Exchange (14 page)

The Dark Court—like any of the courts—had volition. If Leslie belonged to the Summer Court, things would be different. But she was unattached, and thus fair game for any fey who wanted her. Years ago, Keenan had forbidden his fey from collecting mortals. Donia had made the same ruling when she took the Winter Queen’s throne. The Dark Court, however, had no such compunction. Musicians who were particularly tempting “died young” to the mortal world. Artists retired to
unknown locales. The striking, the unusual, the enticing—they were stolen away for the pleasures of the dark faeries. It was an old tradition, one Irial had always permitted his court fey. If he wanted her for himself, Leslie had no defense.

Niall dropped to his knees in front of his queen. “Let me tell her about us. Please. I’ll tell her, and she will swear fealty to you. She’d be safe then, out of his reach.”

The Summer Queen bit her lip. She almost flinched away from him. “I don’t want my
friends
under my rule. I didn’t want any of this….”

“You don’t know what the Dark Court is like. I do,” Niall told his queen. And he didn’t want Leslie to know. Self-consciously he touched the scar on his face. Irial’s fey had done that to remind him of them every day.

“I want her to be free of all of this.” Aislinn gestured at the fey cavorting in the Rath. “To have a normal life. I don’t want this world to be her life. She’s already been so hurt—”

“If he takes her with him, he’ll hurt her worse than you can begin to fathom.” Niall had seen the mortals the Dark Court had taken into their
bruig
, seen them after they left the faery mound—comatose in mortal hospitals, muttering and afraid in every city, shrieking in sanatoriums.

Aislinn looked across the room, unerringly finding the Summer King where he stood waiting. She bit her lower lip nervously, and he knew she was considering it.

Niall pressed her, “If Irial has decided to claim her, you and Keenan are the only ones who can stop him. I can’t touch him. He’s a king. If you invite her to our court first,
ask her to swear loyalty to you—”

“She’s doing better lately,” Aislinn interrupted. “She seems happier and more herself, stronger. I don’t want to stop that and introduce all of this mess into her life…. Maybe he’s just toying with us.”

“Would you risk that?” Niall was aghast that his queen was being so foolhardy. “Please, my queen, let me go to her. If you won’t bring her to you, let me try to keep her safe.”

Keenan didn’t approach—staying at a distance, making clear that it was the queen who was in charge—but he did speak. “Perhaps there is something to her we do not know, some reason for Irial to pursue her. And if not, Niall would still be there to try to keep her out of his reach, perhaps to distract her so she doesn’t go willingly to Irial.”

Keenan caught and held Niall’s gaze. Although Aislinn could not see it, Keenan nodded at Niall; the king offered permission, consent to act. But Niall still needed Aislinn to assent. “She is
your
friend, but I am…grown fond of her as well. Let me keep her safe until he leaves. Remember how hard it was for you when Keenan pursued you. And she does not See him, not like you saw us.”

“I want her safe from Irial”—Aislinn looked back at Keenan then, staring at the Summer King with some trace of the old fear in her eyes—“but I don’t want her caught up in this world.”

“Do you truly think there’s a choice?” Keenan asked, his voice making clear that he did not. “You wanted to keep your ties to the mortal world. With that come risks.”

“There are
always
choices.” The Summer Queen straightened her shoulders. The wavering in her voice, the glint of fear in her eyes—they were gone now. “I won’t make her choices for her.”

Keenan did not disagree, although Niall knew him well enough to realize that he too thought Leslie’s choices were growing limited. The difference was that Keenan didn’t care; he simply couldn’t involve himself in the life of every mortal who was plagued by a faery. This one didn’t matter to Keenan, not really.

To Niall, however, she mattered more than any mortal ever had. He asked, “What terms, my queen?”

“You cannot tell her—about me or the fey or what you are. We need to learn more before we do that…. If there’s a way to keep her safe from our world, to keep her unaware, we will.” Aislinn watched his face, obviously looking for reactions, trying to gauge the wisdom of her terms.

Niall had centuries of experience, however. He stared unblinkingly at her. “Agreed.”

“You may distract her, spend time with her, but no sex. You may
not
sleep with her. If Irial’s interest is fleeting, you will be out of her life,” Aislinn said.

Keenan did intervene then. “Don’t start any wars without my accord. She might be important to you and to Aislinn, but I’ll not go to war over one mortal.”

She’s more than just a mortal.
Niall wasn’t sure why that was or if it mattered. He nodded, though.

Then Keenan, half smiling, added, “Just be true to
yourself, Niall. Remember who and what you are.”

Niall almost gaped at his king, but he’d spent too long practicing hiding his emotions. He merely let out his breath. Keenan’s intimations were directly in conflict with Aislinn’s expressed wishes.

He knows what I am. Addictive to mortals, leaving them willing to say or do anything to have another touch, another fix…

Oblivious to this, Aislinn peered down at Niall, shining so brightly that no mortal could’ve faced her without pain. Small oceans shimmered in her eyes; dolphins breached within them, breaking the blue surface. “Those are my terms. Our terms.”

Niall took Aislinn’s hand, turning it over to press a kiss into her palm. “You are a generous queen.”

Aislinn let him hold her hand for a moment, and then she pulled him to his feet and asked, “Why do I feel like I’ve left out something important?”

“Because you are also a wise queen, m’lady.” He bowed his head to her so she couldn’t see his expression.

Then he left the Rath, not wanting to waste precious time to list all of the other terms she could have set upon him: time limits; alliances he could make with other courts and with solitary fey; vows he could make to Leslie that wouldn’t reveal what they were yet would protect her more fully; renouncing the Summer Court to swear to another court for Leslie’s safety; bartering his own person in her stead.

Keenan should’ve spoken some of those into the negotiation. He should’ve bound Niall more tightly.
Why hadn’t he?
He should’ve supported Aislinn’s intent; instead he’d suggested Niall seduce Leslie. Niall could pretend he hadn’t understood the import of Keenan’s words and gesture; Keenan could pretend he hadn’t suggested such a thing. It all added up to a kind of lie, though, a deceit that made Niall uneasy.

C
HAPTER
16

When Leslie woke with the nightmares still riding her, she had that awful first moment of not knowing where she was. Then she heard Seth talking, presumably on the phone since there were no answering voices.

Safe. At Seth’s, and safe.

After stopping in the tiny bathroom, she went out into the front room.

Seth closed his phone and looked at her. “Sleep okay?”

She nodded. “Thanks.”

“Niall’s coming over.”

“Here?” She raked a hand through her hair, attempting to unsnarl it. “Now?”

“Yes.” Seth wore a bemused expression, not unlike the look he’d given her when she had sought his advice at the Rath. “He’s a good…someone you can trust in the important things. He’s close to a brother to me—a
good
brother, not like Ren.”

“And?” She hated it, but she was embarrassed. Just thinking about the fiasco with Irial and Niall made her anxious.

“He likes you.”

“Maybe he
did,
but after what happened—” She forced herself to meet Seth’s gaze. “It doesn’t matter. Ash has been pretty clear about the ‘stay away’ message.”

“She has reasons.” He motioned to a chair.

“Thought he was a good person?” she asked, ignoring the offer to sit.

“He is, but he’s”—Seth toyed with one of the studs in the curve of his ear, a contemplative expression on his face—“in a complicated world.”

Leslie didn’t know what to say. She sat in silence with Seth for a few minutes, thinking over the day, the weirdness. Regardless of Seth’s remarks, she wasn’t keen on seeing Niall, not right now. It didn’t matter, either: she needed her work clothes and they were at home. “I need to go home.”

“Because Niall’s coming here?”

“No. I’m not sure. Maybe.”

“Wait for him. He’ll walk you.” Seth kept his tone casual, but the disapproval of her leaving was there all the same. “There doesn’t have to be strings, Les; he can just be a person to get you safely to where you need to be.”

“No.” She scowled.

“Would you rather I walk with you?”

“I
live
there, Seth. I can’t just not go home or take people with me all the time.”

“Why?” He sounded far more naive than she knew him to be.

Leslie bit back her irritated reply and said only, “It’s not realistic. Not everyone has the good luck to—” She stopped, not wanting to argue, not wanting to be unpleasant when he was only trying to be a friend. “It doesn’t matter why. It’s home for now. I need to change for work.”

“Maybe Ash has clothes here that—”

“They wouldn’t fit me, Seth.” She stood up and grabbed her bag.

“Call me or Ash if you need anything? Put my number in your cell, too.” He waited until she pulled out her cell, and he recited his number.

Leslie punched the digits in and slipped the phone back into her pocket. Forestalling any more objections, she said, “I need to go, or I’ll be late for work.”

Seth opened the door and stared out at the empty rail-yard. It looked as if he waved at someone, a sort of ‘come here’ gesture, but she saw no one.

“Are you all eating ’shrooms or something, Seth?” She tried to make her voice teasing, not wanting to fight, not after he’d shown her such kindness.

“No ’shrooms.” Seth grinned. “Haven’t licked any toads, either.”

“So the staring off into space thing everyone’s doing?”

He shrugged. “Communing with nature? Connecting with the unseen?”

“Uh-huh.” Her tone was sarcastic, but she smiled.

In a brotherly gesture, he put a hand on her shoulder—not restraining her but holding on to her firmly. “Talk to Ash soon, okay? It’ll make a lot more sense.”

“You’re freaking me out,” she admitted.

“Good.” He gestured toward the edge of the yard again and back at her. “Remember what I said about Irial. Get away from him if you see him.”

Then he went back inside his train house before she could think of what to say.

When she walked into her house, Leslie wasn’t really surprised to see the grungy crowd in the kitchen with Ren.

“Baby sister!” Ren called in a way that told her he was in the up part of his high.

“Ren.” She acknowledged him with as friendly a smile as she could muster. She didn’t look long at the people with him. Not for the first time she wished there were an easier way to determine whether they were just getting-high friends or if one was a dealer—not that it mattered. When people were high, they could be unpredictable. When they weren’t high but jonesing for whatever they used, they were worse.

Her brother complicated things by dabbling with too many drugs and therefore too many circles of druggies. Today, though, there was no need to guess what they were using: the sickly-sweet smell of crack filled her kitchen the way the scents of home-cooked meals once had.

A skinny girl with lank hair grinned at Leslie. The girl
was sitting astride a guy who didn’t seem to be high at all. He didn’t share her pinched look, either. Without looking away from Leslie, he took the pipe out of the scrawny girl’s hand and put the girl’s hand on his crotch. She didn’t hesitate—or look away from the pipe he held out of her reach.

He’s the one to fear.

“Want a hit?” He held the pipe out to Leslie.

“No.”

He patted his leg. “Want a seat?”

She glanced down, saw the skinny girl’s hand moving there, and started to back away. “No.”

He reached out as if to grab Leslie’s wrist.

She turned, ran up the stairs to her room, and closed the door against the laughter and crude invitations that rang through her house.

Once she was ready for work, Leslie slid open the window and slung a leg out. It wasn’t a huge drop, but when she landed wrong it hurt pretty badly. She sighed. She couldn’t waitress with a sprained ankle.

I could go back in, just run down the stairs and out.

Carefully, she dropped her bag to the ground.

“Here goes.”

She sat with both legs dangling from the window, then twisted so her stomach was on the wood and she was facing the house. Slowly she backed out, bracing herself with her feet on the siding and gripping the wooden
window frame with her hands.

I hate this.

She pushed off, bracing herself for the impact. It didn’t come. Instead she was caught in someone’s arms before she touched the ground.

“Let go of me. Let
go.
” She was facing away from the person who held on to her. She kicked backward and made contact.

“Relax.” The guy holding her lowered her gently to the ground and stepped back. “You looked like you could use help. It’s a big drop for a little thing like you.”

She turned to face him and had to crane her neck to see his face. He was an utterly unfamiliar older man, not grandfather old, but older than most of the people who hung around Ren. He had a different look, too. Heavy silver chains dangled from both of his wrists. His jeans were faded and ripped in the calves to reveal the tops of scuffed combat boots. Tattoos of zoomorphic dogs covered his forearms. She should be afraid, but she wasn’t: instead she felt still, calm, like whatever emotions churned inside had ceased to connect with the world around her.