“You need to stop hiding and go downstairs.” Shayla stood in the doorway to Lily’s bedroom. Her long graying hair fell neatly over her shoulders instead of being bound into some kind of twist or held captive under one of her innumerable scarves. An elegant dress, no doubt by a runway designer, made her look like the lady of the house rather than Lily’s caretaker, assistant, governess, whatever-her-title-was-now.
“I know. I just don’t
want
to. Daidí knows I don’t like parties.”
Shayla’s entire attitude switched from sweet to stern. “You’re being
honored
. Act like it.”
Lily couldn’t meet Shayla’s eyes.
“You will put a smile on that pretty little face of yours and march yourself down there,” Shayla continued. “You’ll go thank your father for the party, and you’ll smile at the
guests, and make a point to say hello to that Morris boy that’s going to sing.”
Despite herself, Lily smiled. Creed Morrison was in every tabloid, toured worldwide, and was even in a movie. As if being a rock star wasn’t enough, he had to add acting. He had been her fantasy since she’d seen her first photo of him—and now he was here in her home.
“Morrison,” she said. “His name is
Creed
Morrison
, Shayla.”
Shayla waved her hand dismissively. “Whatever. Creed. Morris. Unless he is in one of those musicals your father gets me tickets to see, I don’t care.” She came over to stand in front of Lily and fussed with her hair, pulling at the curls, unpinning and re-pinning it in several places as she spoke. “What matters, Lilywhite, is that Nicolas brought the boy here to sing for
you
. So go be charming.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Lily leaned in and kissed Shayla’s cheek before heading toward the door. Once she was sure she was out of reach, she teased, “Maybe you ought to come down too and check on Daidí. Make sure he’s not under siege from one of the fripperies.”
“Your father can handle himself just fine with those girls,” Shayla said.
“Come on. For me?”
“Hmph.” Shayla didn’t bother arguing further. She went on in front of Lily, effectively buying her a few minutes of peace.
Shayla was the closest thing to a mother that Lily had.
Shayla and Daidí both swore that there was nothing romantic between them, but Lily kept hoping. Her mother had been gone for twelve years, and Shayla had filled her vacant place. They certainly functioned like a family. Shayla raised Lily when Daidí was off on business trips, and she looked after both of them when he was home.
Slowly, Lily walked through the hall, hating that she had to wear shoes, even though the tiny sandals were nothing more than a few strips of leather. She’d learned to tolerate shoes, but heels still made her feel wrong. Feet were meant to touch the earth, the floor, the sea. They weren’t to be locked away in prisons of leather or fabric. Sandals were the closest to normal that Lily had found, and tonight—surrounded by people—she needed the comfort of nearly bare feet.
At the top of the great staircase, just out of sight, Lily paused to smooth down the skirt of the dress she’d been given to wear. It wasn’t as fancy as Shayla would like, but the pale-green dress made especially for her was as flattering as any dress could be. An asymmetrical neckline and fitted bodice topped a skirt made up of layers of some sort of delicate material. Tiny stones sewn into the layers caught the light and shimmered as she moved. Lily didn’t have the heart to ask if they were real gems or not. It was easier to avoid an argument if she didn’t know. She’d already lost the fights about her bracelets. Obscenely expensive diamonds and emeralds dangled from her wrists and ears.
The short blade that Lily had sheathed in a hand-sewn
leather holster under her ephemeral dress was real too though. Its weight made her feel secure despite the glittering facade. Lilywhite’s blade was a double-edged dagger that had been handcrafted for her. She wasn’t eager to use it, preferring the tidiness of her longer blades, but she could never be truly unarmed.
For all of her father’s protections, he’d also taught her that she was ultimately responsible for her own safety. The party was at her home, and the guests had all entered through a metal detector
and
been patted down, but she was the daughter of the head of one of the most successful criminal organizations in the world. That meant that, even here, she was armed.
Lily rounded the corner and started down the stairs. Her father looked up at her, and the pride in his face made her feel guilty for delaying. He smiled at her, and she knew that she’d been wrong to stall. Mingling at the over-the-top birthday party that Daidí insisted on this year was a little bit beyond terrifying, but he wanted to celebrate her birthday, so celebrate they would. These events layered civility and elegance onto their often violent world, and Lily knew well that the layer of softness was important—not just for how others saw the underworld, but for how the demimonde saw itself.
As she walked down the stairs, she could hear soft music in the ballroom. Soon, Creed Morrison would sing, but right now, a chamber orchestra played classical music that wove around the spaces between conversations. Servers
circulated with finger foods and drinks. Usually, Lily stayed at her father’s side when she had to attend these sorts of things. Tonight, though, Daidí insisted that she talk to people her own age—other than just her friend Erik.
Erik was there, of course, but for Lily’s seventeenth birthday celebration, Daidí had invited all of his associates’ children, and he’d hired her favorite singer. It was perfect on paper, but Lily didn’t mingle with people her own age. She could escort Daidí to parties, play hostess of the manor as needed, make small talk with the leaders of the underworld, but around other teenagers—even those groomed in the odd etiquette of their society—she felt awkward.
And Creed Morrison? How, or even
why
, her father hired him for her birthday party was a mystery. He was only a year older than her, but he was already an international phenomenon. If he wanted to, Creed could have dropped out of school entirely. He’d never need the things that were taught in the classroom—any more than she would. Her curriculum consisted of drug routes, interrogation methods, and old family hierarchies.
Those lessons left her ill equipped for casual conversations, but they would be essential if she took over the family business. The social part didn’t come naturally to her. It never had, but she’d never be much of an asset to Daidí if she couldn’t handle her peers.
Smile firmly affixed, she descended the stairs until she reached the landing. Daidí stayed where he was, talking to one of the growers from the South Continent. As she walked
through the black-tie crowd, Daidí’s associates smiled and wished her a happy birthday. Their children were a little less practiced in their false magnanimity, but they were far more polished than they’d been the last time Daidí had to insist on their socializing. Being Nicolas Abernathy’s heir apparent
and a
daughter
meant that people her own age weren’t sure what to do with her.
Several boys nodded at her. The girls, however, kept their eyes carefully averted. Lily wasn’t like them. She wasn’t a bartering chip that would be used to strengthen ties to other organizations, nor was she sheltered from the ugliness of her father’s job. The boys acknowledged her, even though they weren’t sure if they should approach her as a potential date or as a future colleague. The one exception was her friend Erik. They’d shared a few kisses now and again, but under threat of retribution if any word of it was spoken.
Daidí knew, of course, as did Shayla, but they also understood that Erik didn’t occupy her heart. Instead, she fantasized about Creed Morrison and Zephyr Waters—celebrity darlings she suspected of sharing her same hidden, and illegal, heritage. She’d studied them in the magazines, but she’d had no intention of ever meeting
them. That was part of their appeal. Having one of
them
here was not something she knew how to address.
Daidí didn’t mean to upset me.
As she did with everything confusing in life, Lily thought through the Abernathy Commandments until she found her answer:
Commandment
#9: Be kind to those who deserve it.
Her father deserved her kindness.
As she walked toward her father, her step was measured, and her smile was convincing. She might be filled with anxiety, but no one would know.
The crowd was manageable. Everything was okay. She could succeed at this if she thought of it like a regular business gathering.
She straightened her shoulders and sailed through the crowd—until Creed Morrison stepped into her path, stopping her advance, leaving her uneasy in a way no one ever had.
Creed had the beautiful dark complexion of the Seelie fae. The fae long thought to be both
kinder
and
better
were those whose skin was sun-burnished. Creed’s skin had the telltale signs of fae heritage, but Creed’s human father was African American, so Creed had a human excuse he could use to explain his Seelie-dark skin. Lily shared his heritage, but she’d inherited her father’s pale skin instead of her mother’s dark skin. Not all of the fae-blood were able to pass as human, not like Lily was.
“Lilywhite,” he said. She’d heard his speaking voice, listened to interviews for hours actually, but hearing her name from his lips made her unable to reply.
She nodded.
Abernathy Commandment #2: Be yourself.
“I looked for you before the crowd arrived,” he said, as if they were friends.
In the tuxedo- and gown-filled room, Creed’s jeans,
T-shirt, and boots were very out of place. The art etched on his skin stood out, more because it was visible than because it existed. He was far from the only person in the room with tattoos, but his weren’t hidden under sleeves or jackets. Creed Morrison demanded attention. It was a well-documented—and oft-photographed—fact. She’d read every article on him, clipped pictures from magazines and filed them away. It wasn’t an obsession; actually
speaking
to him was the last thing she wanted. She had suspected that he was fae-blood and wanted to understand how other fae-bloods lived. Now, seeing him in person for the first time, she
knew.
Now, he was here, and he was
exactly
what she suspected—and she wanted to flee.
She fidgeted with one of her bracelets, twisting it around her wrist, staring at the glittering green stones. “Had you needed something, Mr. Morrison?”
“Creed,” he stressed.
“Creed,” she repeated quietly.
He smiled and said, “I wanted to wish you happy birthday before I sing.”
Again, she nodded. This time, though, she looked up—and wished she hadn’t.
Creed was watching her with an utterly inappropriate intensity. If her father saw, he’d toss Creed out the door, despite the obscene sum he’d probably paid for his presence. Lily felt like her skin was electrified everywhere his gaze fell. She’d felt a tingle of recognition a few times when she’d seen other fae-bloods, but not like this.
Nothing
had ever felt like this.
“I didn’t know you did these sort of things,” she finally managed to say.
“Talk to beautiful girls at parties?”
“No. Sing for hire at parties,” she corrected him.
“I don’t.” He smiled, and she wondered how anyone ever thought he was anything other than fae-blood. He radiated energy. Maybe it was harder for people without fae ancestry to see it, but she’d glimpsed it even in photographs.
Lily resisted the urge to match his smile with one of her own and added, “Incidentally, flattering me is pointless. The sons of Daidí’s associates all try it to curry favor with him. I’m immune to praise.” She met his eyes, reminding herself who she was, reminding them both that she was not the shy creature she felt like in that moment when she’d first seen him. “The no-one-else-matters gaze is a nice touch, but Daidí hired you to perform. Tonight will be the beginning and the end of your contact with the notorious Mr. Abernathy, no matter what you do or say.”
“What if I want
your
favor?” Creed asked as he took a drink from a tray that a waiter held out to both of them.
Lily gave him a derisive smile, but said nothing.
Once the waiter was gone, and they were again alone in the crowd, Creed continued in a low voice, “You’re a hard girl to get to meet, Lilywhite. I took this job specifically to meet you. No publicity. No one outside of the guests here right now even knows I’m doing this.”
“Fantasies of the crime lord’s daughter on your arm to add to your image?”
Creed laughed. “Not quite.”
“I might not believe everything I read, but I’ve seen enough photos of you with different girls to know that you have two types: ones who add to your reputation and ones who are simply . . . unusual. I’m guessing your interest in Nick Abernathy’s daughter is about a fifty-fifty split between intrigue and business.”
Creed shook his head. “What if it isn’t Nicolas Abernathy’s daughter I wanted to meet, but
Iana
’s?”
Lily stilled. No one talked about her mother. It simply wasn’t done. Daidí’s considerable reputation for cold vengeance prevented it. “Those are dangerous words.”
“For people of
our
heritage, there are a lot of dangerous words,” Creed murmured as he leaned close and brushed a kiss on her cheek.
The feel of his skin on hers resonated through her body like she was a vessel for nature itself. If Creed Morrison’s words hadn’t confirmed that he was a fae-blood, his touch would have.
When he leaned back, he paused as if the contact had jolted him like it had her, but then a heartbeat later he was kissing her other cheek and saying, “If you want to talk privately later, I’d like that.”
Lily realized that he was pressing a small card into her hand. She curled her fingers around it so it wasn’t visible to anyone when he stepped back.
Whatever angle Creed Morrison had, Lily couldn’t risk honesty with him. The world was divided: humans made up most of the population, fae-bloods—those with any degree of fae ancestry—existed in secret in the human world, and true fae lived in the Hidden Lands. Possessing a drop of fae blood was enough to result in imprisonment within the human world, but the alternative was to to seek entrance to the Hidden Lands, to turn away from humanity. For many fae-bloods, it was safest to simply pass as human. The war carried out by the Queen of Blood and Rage meant that
any
of her subjects were considered war criminals by the human courts, even those who had not sworn fealty to the faery queen—or even met her.