Faefever
Page 13
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
No, I was quite certain all of that would only alienate a man I was hoping might prove a valuable source of information.
So I offered him a colorful bouquet of lies, and made a new date with him for tonight.
By the time I left to go see Christian, Barrons still hadn’t put in an appearance, and I was glad. I wasn’t ready to face him yet.
As I locked up the bookstore, I scanned the Dark Zone. Three Shades toed the edge of the light. The rest slithered and slid in the shadows. Nothing had changed. Their prison of darkness still held.
I turned briskly to my left and headed for Trinity College, where Christian worked in the Ancient Languages Department. I’d met him several weeks ago, when Barrons had sent me to pick up an envelope from the woman who ran the department. She hadn’t been there, but Christian had.
Then we’d run into each other a second time, a week ago, in a pub, where he’d stunned me by telling me he’d known my sister, and even knew what she and I were. Our conversation had been rudely interrupted by Barrons, who’d called to warn me Hunters were in the city, and told me to return to the bookstore. I’d been planning to call Christian the next day and find out what else he knew, but on my way home, I’d been cornered by Hunters and abducted by Mallucé and, needless to say, I’d had my hands a little full battling for my life. Then, the other night, the debilitating appearance of the Sinsar Dubh had prevented us from meeting again. I was anxious to find out what he knew.
I pushed my curls back from my forehead and fluffed them with my fingers. I’d dressed up again tonight, wound a brilliant silk scarf through my hair and tied it, letting the brightly colored ends trail over my shoulder, and drape softly in my cleavage. I was nothing if not determined; at least twice a week I would wear bright, pretty clothes. I was afraid if I didn’t, I’d forget who I was. I’d turn into what I felt like: a grungy, weapon-bearing, pissy, resentful, vengeance-hungry bitch. The girl with long blond hair, perfect makeup, and nails might be gone, but I was still pretty. My shoulder-length Arabian-night hair curled flatteringly around my face, complementing my green eyes and clear skin. Coupling red lipstick with my darker ’do made me look older, sexier than I used to.
I’d chosen clothes tonight that hugged my curves and showed them to their best advantage. I was wearing a cream skirt, with a snug yellow sweater in honor of Alina (beneath a short, stylish, cream raincoat that concealed eight flashlights, two knives, and a spear), high heels, and pearls. Dad said the day they’d picked us up from the adoption agency, Alina had been dressed like a sunbeam, and I’d been a rainbow.
Alina.
Her absence in my life was so painful that it was a presence. Grief still kicked me awake in the morning, kept me company all day, and crawled into bed with me at night.
Dublin was a constant reminder of her. She was here in every street, in the face of every young coed who had no idea what was walking right alongside her, masquerading as human. She was laughing in the pubs, and dying later in the dark.
She was all the people I couldn’t save.
I skirted the busy craic-filled streets of Temple Bar and headed straight for the college. Last night I’d walked through the heavily trafficked tourist zone that boasted over six hundred pubs, but tonight I was in no mood to be reminded that there were only two known weapons that could kill Fae and hundreds, if not thousands, of Unseelie in the city. My encounter with the Sinsar Dubh had sobered me. The sheer evilness of the thing had served as a grim reminder that, although I might have recently triumphed in an against-all-odds type of situation and walked out of it stronger, there was worse in store for me yet.
When I arrived at the office that housed the staff of the Ancient Languages Department, Christian met me at the door, looking young, hip, and hot in faded jeans, rugged boots, and a sweater, his long, dark hair pulled back at his nape in a leather thong. He gave me a charged, appreciative look, making me glad I’d taken care with my appearance. A woman likes to know her efforts are paying off.
He took my arm and suggested we go somewhere else. “They’re discussing the budget,” he advised in a deep, husky brogue, adjusting his stuffed backpack over a well-muscled shoulder.
“Don’t you need to stay?”
“Nah. Only full-timers have to suffer the meetings. I’m part-time.” He flashed a killer smile that made me stand up straight. Christian was the kind of good-looking that hit you over the head, made you keep stealing second and third glances at him: the five-o’clock shadow on the strong jaw, the broad shoulders, the flawless dark skin, and the striking tiger-eyes. There was an easy grace to his long-limbed body that hinted at maturity beyond his years. “Besides, it’s not a place I’m comfortable talking, and we’ve a great deal to talk about, lass.”
I hoped that meant someone was finally going to tell me something useful about my sister. He led me to a windowless study room off a vending area in the nearly deserted basement of the building. We settled into folding metal chairs, beneath the hum of fluorescent lights, where I imagined Alina might have sat and studied a time or two. I wasted no time asking Christian how he’d met her. I wondered if he’d been one of the boys she’d dated when she’d first come over, before she’d been brainwashed by the Lord Master. I sure would have. In another life. A normal one.
“She came to the ALD, looking for someone to translate a page of text.”
“What kind of text?” I thought instantly of the Sinsar Dubh.
“Nothing I could translate. My uncles couldn’t, either.”
I assumed his uncles were linguists and said so.
He smiled faintly, as if amused by the question. “They’re historians, after a fashion, knowledgeable about antiquities and such. I’ve never stumbled across a text they couldn’t translate.”
“Did you ever find out what it was?”
“My turn, Mac. I’ve a few questions of my own. What happened to you the other night? Why’d you cry off?”
“I told you. My dad called, and we got to talking about Mom and how she’s getting worse and I lost track of time. Then, by the time I got off the phone, something I ate for dinner wasn’t agreeing with me and I felt so sick I just went to bed.”
“Nice try,” he said dryly. “Now tell me the truth.”
“I just did.”
“No, you didn’t. You’re lying. I hear it in your voice.”
So I offered him a colorful bouquet of lies, and made a new date with him for tonight.
By the time I left to go see Christian, Barrons still hadn’t put in an appearance, and I was glad. I wasn’t ready to face him yet.
As I locked up the bookstore, I scanned the Dark Zone. Three Shades toed the edge of the light. The rest slithered and slid in the shadows. Nothing had changed. Their prison of darkness still held.
I turned briskly to my left and headed for Trinity College, where Christian worked in the Ancient Languages Department. I’d met him several weeks ago, when Barrons had sent me to pick up an envelope from the woman who ran the department. She hadn’t been there, but Christian had.
Then we’d run into each other a second time, a week ago, in a pub, where he’d stunned me by telling me he’d known my sister, and even knew what she and I were. Our conversation had been rudely interrupted by Barrons, who’d called to warn me Hunters were in the city, and told me to return to the bookstore. I’d been planning to call Christian the next day and find out what else he knew, but on my way home, I’d been cornered by Hunters and abducted by Mallucé and, needless to say, I’d had my hands a little full battling for my life. Then, the other night, the debilitating appearance of the Sinsar Dubh had prevented us from meeting again. I was anxious to find out what he knew.
I pushed my curls back from my forehead and fluffed them with my fingers. I’d dressed up again tonight, wound a brilliant silk scarf through my hair and tied it, letting the brightly colored ends trail over my shoulder, and drape softly in my cleavage. I was nothing if not determined; at least twice a week I would wear bright, pretty clothes. I was afraid if I didn’t, I’d forget who I was. I’d turn into what I felt like: a grungy, weapon-bearing, pissy, resentful, vengeance-hungry bitch. The girl with long blond hair, perfect makeup, and nails might be gone, but I was still pretty. My shoulder-length Arabian-night hair curled flatteringly around my face, complementing my green eyes and clear skin. Coupling red lipstick with my darker ’do made me look older, sexier than I used to.
I’d chosen clothes tonight that hugged my curves and showed them to their best advantage. I was wearing a cream skirt, with a snug yellow sweater in honor of Alina (beneath a short, stylish, cream raincoat that concealed eight flashlights, two knives, and a spear), high heels, and pearls. Dad said the day they’d picked us up from the adoption agency, Alina had been dressed like a sunbeam, and I’d been a rainbow.
Alina.
Her absence in my life was so painful that it was a presence. Grief still kicked me awake in the morning, kept me company all day, and crawled into bed with me at night.
Dublin was a constant reminder of her. She was here in every street, in the face of every young coed who had no idea what was walking right alongside her, masquerading as human. She was laughing in the pubs, and dying later in the dark.
She was all the people I couldn’t save.
I skirted the busy craic-filled streets of Temple Bar and headed straight for the college. Last night I’d walked through the heavily trafficked tourist zone that boasted over six hundred pubs, but tonight I was in no mood to be reminded that there were only two known weapons that could kill Fae and hundreds, if not thousands, of Unseelie in the city. My encounter with the Sinsar Dubh had sobered me. The sheer evilness of the thing had served as a grim reminder that, although I might have recently triumphed in an against-all-odds type of situation and walked out of it stronger, there was worse in store for me yet.
When I arrived at the office that housed the staff of the Ancient Languages Department, Christian met me at the door, looking young, hip, and hot in faded jeans, rugged boots, and a sweater, his long, dark hair pulled back at his nape in a leather thong. He gave me a charged, appreciative look, making me glad I’d taken care with my appearance. A woman likes to know her efforts are paying off.
He took my arm and suggested we go somewhere else. “They’re discussing the budget,” he advised in a deep, husky brogue, adjusting his stuffed backpack over a well-muscled shoulder.
“Don’t you need to stay?”
“Nah. Only full-timers have to suffer the meetings. I’m part-time.” He flashed a killer smile that made me stand up straight. Christian was the kind of good-looking that hit you over the head, made you keep stealing second and third glances at him: the five-o’clock shadow on the strong jaw, the broad shoulders, the flawless dark skin, and the striking tiger-eyes. There was an easy grace to his long-limbed body that hinted at maturity beyond his years. “Besides, it’s not a place I’m comfortable talking, and we’ve a great deal to talk about, lass.”
I hoped that meant someone was finally going to tell me something useful about my sister. He led me to a windowless study room off a vending area in the nearly deserted basement of the building. We settled into folding metal chairs, beneath the hum of fluorescent lights, where I imagined Alina might have sat and studied a time or two. I wasted no time asking Christian how he’d met her. I wondered if he’d been one of the boys she’d dated when she’d first come over, before she’d been brainwashed by the Lord Master. I sure would have. In another life. A normal one.
“She came to the ALD, looking for someone to translate a page of text.”
“What kind of text?” I thought instantly of the Sinsar Dubh.
“Nothing I could translate. My uncles couldn’t, either.”
I assumed his uncles were linguists and said so.
He smiled faintly, as if amused by the question. “They’re historians, after a fashion, knowledgeable about antiquities and such. I’ve never stumbled across a text they couldn’t translate.”
“Did you ever find out what it was?”
“My turn, Mac. I’ve a few questions of my own. What happened to you the other night? Why’d you cry off?”
“I told you. My dad called, and we got to talking about Mom and how she’s getting worse and I lost track of time. Then, by the time I got off the phone, something I ate for dinner wasn’t agreeing with me and I felt so sick I just went to bed.”
“Nice try,” he said dryly. “Now tell me the truth.”
“I just did.”
“No, you didn’t. You’re lying. I hear it in your voice.”
