Page 31 of Crown of the Fae King

Everly wore a gray jumpsuit and nearly managed to look casual. Urban had gotten the message about blending in, so he wore jeans and a leather jacket instead of his kilt, but people were still going to stop and stare. Wickham’s long hair was bound behind his head, and Kitch had changed into blue jeans but still wore the rest of his black stuff that singled him out as security.

We heard the toilet flush, and a quick minute later, a redhead came out of the hall to join us. Her mass of red curls was anything but inconspicuous. She wore black leather pants, a washed out, brown denim jacket with a button-down shirt beneath, chocolate brown with black, nickel-sized paisley swirls. Urban and Kitch stepped apart to give her space. Her eyes were only half open, but she smiled and nodded. “Morning.”

“Morning,” we repeated.

Wickham nudged me. “Lennon? This is Persephone. Persi, this is Lennon.”

I got an extra nod.

“Ready?” He reached his arms to the sides, put a hand around my waist, and put his other hand on Kitch’s shoulder. Everyone linked arms or held onto each other as if they’d traveled with Wickham before. “Eyes open, aye? There is an alley two blocks away from the scene. Nice and quiet. But we never ken, do we?” He took a deep breath. “Now.”

One second, we were standing in a low-lit living room. The next, we stood outside, in the fresh air. A bunch of hot tourists…and their waitress of choice.

The ground shifted only slightlyunder my feet and someone flipped on the sun. The sky was still a pre-dawn blue, but we could clearly see the buildings surrounding us. Three story modern office buildings with only a few windows lit from within.

I was right. Italy was warm. While the rest of our little band were decked out in leather jackets, I was glad I had only the gray t-shirt and black denim vest. I’d chosen both on a dreary October day, hoping to cheer myself up. Now I wondered if Fate had chosen it for me.

Everyone stepped out of our would-be prayer circle, all on alert. Kitchens had one hand in his jacket pocket, which made me guess he held a weapon of some kind. Urban didn’t bother hiding the sheath on his belt out of which protruded the small black hilt of a knife. The snap that might hold it in place now dangled at the end of a thin black strap.

I guess we’re ready to rumble, I thought. The adrenaline in my blood felt like excitement and not fear. After all, if I could face down Andy Weaver, I could handle just about anyone. Besides, if some Fairies showed up and started kicking our butts, Wickham could probably buy them off with a few gems banging around in his pockets.

Everly looked calm and elegant as always.

I reminded myself that people had been killed here. There was real danger. And this Twilight Zone I’d stepped into wasn’t something I could escape when the episode was over. I was an Uncast. My eyes were open. But it was Hank that had opened them, not Wickham.

I watched the others as we moved down the alley toward the street. They circled me, protecting all but my back. I realized I was probably the only one not wearing a weapon, and wondered if that was the reason. It couldn’t just be my status as an Uncast, because Everly was one too, and she was out front, leading us all.

At the street, we gathered just long enough for Wickham to break us into three groups. Urban and Kitch crossed the street. Wickham and the redhead went ahead, and Everly was stuck guarding me.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ve fought these bastards before, twice. If we meet one, remember, they like to talk. You distract them, and I’ll do the rest. Just stay beyond the reach of their claws.”

I stopped walking. “Claws?”

She laughed, so I thought she was just pulling my leg and started walking again.

Italians, it seemed, were not early risers. A handful of cars passed, a few dozen people hurried in different directions, only some of whom had the time to stop and gawk at the half a dozen police and emergency vehicles blocking the narrow road. Only a few drivers seemed put out by the sudden need for a detour.

I tried not to watch Urban across the street. Just the way he walked was…magnificent. I guess that made he and Everly a perfect pair. Then I started noticing others noticing the big Highlander. A couple of old women leaned over their balcony, watching and pointing at him, as if they didn’t trust their own eyes.

A wolf whistle came from another balcony, a shrill wakeup call that reminded me I wasn’t quite awake yet.

Ahead of us, Wickham took the redhead’s hand, and they joined a small mob of onlookers gathering at the edge of the red and white police tape. Urban and Kitchens moved further down and joined another group of gawkers.

I wrapped my arm around Everly’s and walked closer. “So…is Persephone Wickham’s wife?”

She laughed. “They’re just blending in. His wife is Ivy. They have three small boys. He’s hidden them away until this is over.”

“So they’re not dead?”

“They’re not.” She didn’t seem surprised by the question, but she didn’t elaborate.

“So he does expect this to end? He made it sound like I’ll never go back to my old life.”

“Oh, it will end all right. One way or the other.”

We stopped short of the cross street, backed up against a stretch of empty wall and watched from there. Though she appeared casual, Everly was constantly scanning the crowds, the streets, the buildings.

We were the rear guard. I tried to hold up my end by watching for monsters, though I didn’t know if we were expecting zombies or something out of a swamp. I wouldn’t be surprised by anything at that point.

---