Page 7 of Feral Possession

“Dove Laurent. Age twenty-three,” Bishop stated in his deep monotone. “Admitted to Havenhouse Academy at eight years old. Mother presumed deceased, surrendered by father whose location is unknown. Considered by her instructors to be a difficult student. Assessed as a level nine necromancer.”

Which was fortunate for Dove. If she’d ranked a ten, the Council would have executed her. Council law stated that all faeries must be registered and their gifts monitored. Ages ago, one of her ancestors had nearly enslaved the world. The underworld had a long memory.

Bishop continued, “However, performs at a level three. Said to work far below her potential.”

Marcus stifled a snort. It was as he suspected. The Chosen was useless. Vivian had clearly spoiled the girl.

“Ha, ha, ha.” Dove laughed robotically, casting an awkward glance at Marcus then back at Bishop. “You know, you really shouldn’t believe everything you read. I prefer to think of myself as a free spirit, not a delinquent. Some people just don’t test well.”

Not until challenged. Marcus found himself wondering what it would take to push the daydreaming chit out of her magical bubble.

“At sixteen, paired with Vivian Laurent.” Bishop plowed ahead. “Arrested by mortal enforcement at the age of eighteen for dancing topless in a water fountain. Arrested again in New Orleans for indecent exposure. Also—”

“Well, that’s enough about me,” Dove interrupted. “Seems you’ve read my entire bio, and I don’t even know your name, Mr.…”

“Bishop.”

“That’s it?” She frowned. “Just Bishop?”

“Just Bishop.”

“One word, huh? Like Prince or Pink or Beyoncé?”

“Who?”

“You know. Beyoncé.” She proceeded to sing about seeing someone’s halo.

Bishop pressed a button on the dashboard, and the glass divider slid up.

Dove settled back, huffing a sigh. “Was it something I said?”

Just his luck. Marcus’s Chosen was one of those fill-the-silence types. “You were distracting him from his duties.”

“He does seem dedicated. Gosh, it’s gloomy in here. This window tint is really dark.” She twisted around, peering out the back. “Oh, hey. There’s a car that looks exactly like this one right behind us.”

“Part of my team.” The team keeping her chatty-ass safe.

“Riiiight. Your entourage. Cool.”

Cool? Her vocabulary was astounding.

She fidgeted, picked at the tassel on her oversized tote, then tapped her hand, scanning the space. Knots formed in Marcus’s shoulders, cinching tighter with every tap. Finally, she dug into the depths of her purse and extracted a metallic packet. “Gum?”

Marcus exhaled a growl in answer.

“Suit yourself.” She unwrapped a stick and popped it into her mouth, chomping like a nag chewing cud. “So where are we headed? I have to confess I don’t know much about you. Do you live nearby?”

Didn’t know him? He’d be insulted if she weren’t a mere faerie of little importance. “Steele Towers.”

“Do you lease a space there?”

He ground his molars, the scrape of his enamel squeaking in his ears. Was she being deliberately obtuse to annoy him? He owned the entire high-rise. How was it possible that Vivian, one of the most worldly and sophisticated females he knew, had claimed this creature as her Chosen?

“Is it far?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” Her shoulders sagged. “Well, we could play a game to pass the time. What would you like? Twenty questions?” Again, she rummaged into her bottomless purse. “I’m pretty sure I have a deck of playing cards in here somewhere.”

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