Alex is screwed. She’s due at the fae Court of Enchantment in less than twenty-four hours, but she’s not even close to being ready. Her job is hanging by a fraying thread. There’s a new vampire master in town. And several of her werewolf friends have been captured by the Paranatural Task Force.
She’s their best chance for release before the full moon reveals their secret, but the Lord of Enchantment is not someone you keep waiting—even when he happens to be your grandfather. All Alex can do is call in a favor, hope to hell she can survive the plots of the fae court, and hightail it home to salvage her life.
One mistake at court could change everything. . . .
Born and raised in Colorado, L. R. BRADEN makes her home in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains with her wonderful husband, precocious daughter, and psychotic cat. With degrees in both English literature and metalsmithing, she splits her time between writing and art.
Chapter 1
BRONZE DUST AND red buffing compound coated my work
surface, my jeans, and my hands. Pulling down my respirator mask so
it hung over my collarbone like a necklace, I set the Dremel aside and, fingers
clasped, pressed my palms toward the ceiling until my back popped. My stomach
growled, and I glanced longingly at the dregs of coffee staining my empty mug.
Breakfast had been a long time ago. The air in the studio smelled of warm metal
and sulfur patina, and my nose twitched with the warning of an oncoming sneeze.
Sniffing, and brushing the back of my
wrist over my upper lip, I snatched up a polishing cloth to wipe out the
residual red rouge caked in the corners of the bronze queen chess piece. I was
careful to keep my mind clear as I worked, blocking off my emotions so they
didn’t accidentally spill over into Uncle Sol’s Christmas present due to my
magical ability.
That would be a
fine gift. Here’s a fun game full of anxiety and stress that makes
you sick to your stomach when you touch the pieces.
When the queen shone with a mirror
finish, I set her beside her king, ready to lead her army across the cherrywood
chess board.
On one side of the battlefield,
fractal-pattern pawns guarded a court of
frozen snowflakes—all sharp angles
and hard lines—their shapes as bright and clear as their finish.
Across the no man’s land of checkered space, a second army sat, ready for war.
These pieces were dark, stained to an oil-slick finish. In contrast to their
counterparts, the patinaed court swooped and curled with organic curves.
The set was done. One more item checked
off my to-do list, and not a moment too soon. I’d be on my way to the fae
Winter Festival in less than a day. My tutors, Kai and Hortense, had been
cramming almost every waking moment with fae etiquette lessons to help me
survive my debut at the Court of Enchantment. Most of the lessons boiled down
to "Don’t be yourself.”
Standing, I brushed what metal dust I
could off my jeans, then scrubbed my hands raw at the sink in the corner.
I had a box all prepared for Sol’s
gift, kept safe from the studio’s mess in a cabinet off to one side of my work
space. The chess pieces each slipped into individual pockets in two felt-lined
drawers under the board. Once the armies were laid to rest, I set the board on
a bed of bubble wrap, covered it, and tucked
it in. I secured the box with packing tape and scribbled the address for
Uncle Sol’s New York apartment—the closest thing he had to a home—across the
top. Then I cleaned my Dremel, placed it back on its peg on the wall, and swept
up the evidence of my work.
Straightening, I turned a slow circle,
making sure everything was tidy. Thanks to the time-dilation between realms,
this would be the last time I set foot in my studio for at least a week.
Assuming I came back at all.
A colorful sheet hung like a ghost in
one corner of the room, suspended on the copper sculpture it was keeping safe
from my creation process. All the tools were in their places, the kilns were
off, the forge was cold.
Grabbing Sol’s present, I turned out
the lights and locked the studio door. The mid-morning sky was clear but cold,
tightening the skin across my cheeks. Tendrils of mist still huddled in
shadows, close to the ground where the sun couldn’t find them. I breathed deep,
and crossed the clearing to my house.
I set Sol’s package on the breakfast
bar that separated the kitchen from the living room, and glanced at the clock
on the wall.
Crap. I only had thirty
minutes until my shift at the bookstore.
I FLEW THROUGH the back door to Magpie
Books, purse dangling from one hand, keys clenched in the other. I’d stripped
off my dirty clothes, wiped the worst smudges off my face with a damp rag, and
pulled on a clean outfit in two minutes flat. I’d also careened down the
Boulder Canyon like a maniac, so I was only five minutes late for my shift.
Shoving my belongings into a locker in
the back room, I pushed through the employee-only door to the store proper and
jogged up an aisle of bookcases toward the front.
Dozens of people were perusing the
shelves, arms piled high with popular titles, and the front door jingled
constantly with the flow of holiday traffic. The scent of pine and cinnamon
mixed with the smell of books and coffee. A row of over-stuffed stockings hung
on one wall, each embroidered with an employee’s name. Mine was third from the
end.
Kayla stood by the register. Her
platinum blond hair was pinned back from her face with two tiny silver clips.
She wore her usual high-collared, ankle-length dress to hide the gossamer pixie
wings she’d once shown me. I licked my lips, recalling the heady sensation
caused by the magical dust that came off those wings.
"Hey,
Kayla. Sorry I’m—”
My apology stalled as my gaze shifted past Kayla to the café area and a knot
lodged in my throat.
Standing at the counter was an agent of
the Paranatural Task Force—PTF
for short. He wore blue jeans, brown boots, and a button-up shirt with a beige
plaid pattern, nothing to mark him as a PTF agent, but I’d recognize Benjamin
O’Connell anywhere. Hard to forget a man who’d sworn to ruin your life.
Especially when he had the means and authority to actually do it.
Clenching my fists, I continued past
the register, ignoring Kayla’s furrowed
brow. I stepped up to O’Connell. "What are you doing here?”
O’Connell raised one eyebrow. "Getting
a coffee.”
I crossed my arms. "Why here?”
He shrugged. "Why not?”
Emma, the barista, pulled a lever on
the copper machine behind the counter and a hiss of steam poured out. She
jingled as she worked, her many chains and piercings clicking with each motion,
but her usual perkiness was absent. Her shoulders sagged, and when she turned I
saw dark circles below her eyes.
Last month, Emma took, and passed, the
test to become a practitioner—a
rare human who could use magic. She’d also convinced a local healer named Luke
to take her on as his apprentice, which would explain her glazed expression. I
knew from experience that using magic was exhausting.
I inched closer to O’Connell and
pitched my voice lower. "What do you want?”
"I
was worried you might get lonely after I saw the list of potentials brought
in this morning.”
My heart stuttered, and my mouth went
dry. Potentials were people reported for exhibiting magical behavior. They
were rounded up, dragged to the nearest PTF facility, and tested for paranatural
abilities. I’d seen firsthand how brutal PTF tests could be, and the consequences
of failing... I was just lucky my ability to handle iron protected
me from suspicion, since that was the main way they tested for fae heritage.
Not all my friends were so lucky. If he’d gotten his hands on any of them....
I swallowed the sour taste in my mouth.
"Gonna
take all day to get them processed.” He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck—the picture of an overworked employee
just trying to get through the day. "Then there’s the testing. Could be days.
Weeks maybe, backed up as we are.” He leaned toward me like a friend sharing a
secret. His nearness made my skin itch. "We’ve been up to our eyeballs in
suspicion reports since the election results came in.”
Colorado’s governor-to-be, Gary
Anderson, had run a Purity campaign, aligning himself with the extremist group
that endorsed wholesale slaughter of anyone with a drop of magic in their
blood. I’d already noticed several disturbing changes around town, like iron
bead curtains hanging in doorways, anti-fae stickers in storefronts, and a
recent call for magical-segregation in schools.
News that the number of reports had
risen since the election wasn’t surprising, but it was disturbing. The
same thing happened right before the Faerie Wars broke out, when tension
between the humans and fae had been at its highest. I shuddered to think how
much worse the situation was going to get come January, when Anderson was
officially sworn in.
"I guess between
the halfer,” O’Connell cut his eyes to Kayla, "and the
witch,” he nodded toward Emma, "you’ve got all the company you need.” He
smiled. "For now.”
Emma set a to-go cup on the counter and
O’Connell stepped away from me to grab it. He lifted the steaming container to
his lips, hissing when the hot liquid hit his tongue. Then he raised his drink
in salute and walked out the door.
"Hey,
Alex.” Emma smiled. The steel ring in her lip glinted. "Want your usual?”
I set my hands on the counter, leaving
sweaty smudges on the glass. "Was that guy bothering you?”
She frowned. "No. Why?”
I shook my head
and walked back the way I’d come. Passing Kayla, I said, "I need to
make a phone call,” and hustled back through the "employees only” door before either
of my coworkers could do more than blink.
Yanking open my locker, I grabbed my
cell phone and stood with my finger over the contacts icon. Did O’Connell
really have one or more of my friends? Or was he trying to trick me into giving
someone away? Could he have bugged my phone?
I frowned. The CSI shows on TV always
talked about cloning cell phones, but people had to steal the phones first. And
even the PTF needed a warrant for a legal phone tap...
I scrolled through entries, wondering
who was most exposed.
My first thought when O’Connell hinted
a friend had been taken was of Kai. But O’Connell wouldn’t have called him a
potential. Kai was a fully registered fae, living at my house on a visa granted
by the PTF. Plus, O’Connell had already dragged Kai in for extensivetesting.
I shivered, recalling the way Kai had
screamed during those tests.
No. Kai was safe. As safe as a fae
could be, considering the growing influence of Purity.
But James—a vampire hiding in plain
sight—was definitely not safe. O’Connell knew we were friends, and potentially
more. Our complicated relationship status had come under close scrutiny when
James was investigated for murder. I’d since slammed the brakes on dating, but
the jolt of dopamine and the way my body tightened whenever he was around made
it painfully clear that my heart and my head weren’t on the same page.
I pressed the call button. As soon as
the line connected I asked, "Where are you?”
"The
nest.” The sound of James’s voice loosened some of the ropes of tension squeezing
my chest.
I rubbed my forehead, fighting back a
headache. James had spent the better part of a week preparing for the arrival
of a new master vampire—some
woman named Victoria—who’d
claimed ownership of the Denver area nearly as soon as we’d put the old master
down. How she’d known about the vacancy so fast was anybody’s guess, but she’d
come to town two nights ago.
"You’re
all right?” I asked. "No... problems?”
"I’mfine.” Worry crept into his voice, stretching his syllables. "Has something
happened?”
"It’s
nothing. I’ll see you at dinner tonight.” I disconnected before he
could press me for more information. If he wasn’t O’Connell’s prisoner I didn’t
have time to waste chatting with him, and the last thing he needed while
dealing with a new, powerful vampire was to be distracted.
I scanned through my remaining
contacts. Some names were missing, like Chase and Jynx, the shifter siblings
crashing at my house, and Hortense, the tutor sent by my grandfather to fill
the gaps in Kai’s lessons. They were all full fae, and I had no way to contact
them except face-to-face, but Chase had been a snoring ball of gray fur at the
end of my bed when I left for work, and Jynx had been watching television. I
bit my lip. I couldn’t imagine Hortense being careless enough to get caught by
the likes of O’Connell.
That left the wolves. I knew several
members of the local werewolf pack, thanks to my recent exploits, but I didn’t
have all their numbers. One number I did have was Marc’s. As the leader
of the pack, he was sure to know if any of his members had been picked up by
the PTF.
The line rang... and
rang. No answer.
I took a deep breath. No reason to
panic yet. Maybe he was just in the shower. Scrolling further down the list, I
clicked the entry for Oz, a pack member I’d actually known before I discovered,
rather violently, that werewolves were real.
The line rang. I bit my lower lip, my
heart rate starting to climb. No answer there either.
I didn’t have a direct line to Sarah
Nazari, a werewolf detective with the Boulder police department. And Sophie—my human friend turned werewolf the
night we both learned they were more than just stories—had her phone privileges revoked after
sneaking out to go clubbing and nearly shifting in a building packed tight with
tasty mortals.
I thumped my cell phone against my
forehead. A couple missed calls was hardly conclusive, but my gut told me
O’Connell had gotten his hands on some or all of the werewolves. Waves of dread
rolled through me. I had to know for sure.
Lifting the phone one more time, I
called Maggie. A month ago, talking to Maggie would have been the most natural
thing in the world. Now, the prospect made my insides writhe. Maggie was one of
my few remaining human friends, and the only one I’d managed to keep completely
out of the craziness my life had become. But my secrets had driven a wedge
between us, and I wasn’t sure how to bridge that gap.
Before I’d walked into the near-certain
death of Merak’s nest, I’d written a letter to Maggie explaining everything and
apologizing for keeping her in the dark, just in case. I hadn’t died. I also
hadn’t given her the letter yet. I’d stuffed it in my nightstand drawer, too
afraid to face the fallout of laying my secrets bare, especially as the gulf
between us grew larger.
"Alex?”
Maggie’s voice was sharp. "What’s wrong?”