Pia slid an uncertain glance from Rune to Graydon. The two gryphons exchanged a look. In a casual-seeming movement Rune took hold of her arm, silently urging her into a corner while he pressed the door-open button to hold the elevator. Graydon laid a hand on his sidearm.
Hard on the faerie’s heels stormed the gigantic American Indian male Pia had noticed in the group of sentinels greeting Dragos’s return to New York. At six foot four and 250 pounds, with barbed-wire tattoos circling thick, muscled biceps and swirls shaven into short black hair, the Wyr male was no less a frightening sight in broad daylight than he had been at night. His face looked like it had been hewn with a hatchet.
Thunder rumbled in the distance. Graydon’s eyebrows rose. Either not noticing or not caring about their presence, the male charged around the corner. Tricks stepped out behind him and smacked him flat-handed in the back of his head.
The American Indian spun on one heel with blinding speed. He grabbed Tricks by the shoulders and hauled her up so she was nose to nose with him.
Pia made an involuntary noise. Instinct took over and she tried to move forward, to do something to help the delicate faerie. Rune’s hand tightened on her arm, anchoring her in place. He whispered, “Not when there’s thunder in the air.”
What the hell did that mean?
Tricks shouted point-blank into the Wyr male’s angry face, “I’ve had it up to here with your mulish bad-tempered crap, Tiago! I’ll thank you to remember my name is not ‘Tricks goddammit’ or ‘God damn you, Tricks.’ Henceforth those phrases are against the law—when you yell at me again the next one out of your mouth better be ‘Goddammit, ma’am’!”
For one throbbing moment they stared at each other. Then the rage in Tiago’s face splintered. “‘Henceforth?’ ” he said. He started to chuckle. “You’re kidding, right?”
She kicked him in the shin. “Don’t you dare laugh at me!”
He laughed harder, and the ruthless hatchet-faced assassin transformed into a handsome man. “But you’re so damn cute when you’re mad. Look at you. The tips of your ears turned pink.”
As the Wyr male’s anger dissipated the faerie seemed to compress, even vibrate, with deeper fury. “Wrong thing to say, moron,” she snapped. She drew back her fist and planted it in his eye.
Tiago’s laughter hiccupped. “Ow.” He put a hand over his eye and glared at her. “Have all the hissy fit you like—you’re still not leaving New York without a Wyr security detail.”
At some unspoken signal she didn’t catch, Rune and Graydon relaxed. Graydon’s hand fell from his sidearm as Rune let go of Pia’s arm. She glared at him and rubbed the spot, even though he had been quite careful not to cause her discomfort. She followed the gryphons as they stepped out of the elevator.
“Tiago,” Tricks said, sounding severely tried. “First of all, Urien isn’t dead yet.”
“I give it a week,” said Tiago.
“Second,” the faerie continued, “after he’s dead, Dragos and I have already decided there will be no Wyr allowed when I leave. The Dark Fae would never accept the presence of a Wyr force, and if any of the other demesnes even suspect that the Wyr are trying to control the Dark Fae succession, shit would really hit the fan.”
“That’s suicidal,” said Tiago flatly. He crossed his arms, thick muscles bunching. “And it’s not happening.”
“Third,” Tricks continued through clenched teeth, “I’m going to be Queen. It’s the scissors-paper-rock game. Queen trumps Wyr warlord asshole. I get that you’re used to commanding your own army, running around and killing things and doing whatever the hell you want. That doesn’t happen in New York, and it doesn’t happen around me. Get over it or go home. If you have a home. If you even live in a house.”
Tiago scowled. “I live in a house when I have time.”
Rune strode forward, demanding, “When did you and Dragos decide you would leave New York without Wyr bodyguards?”
The faerie threw him a hassled look. “We discussed it this morning.”
Graydon joined the triangle. “Sugar, I think we should revisit that decision. It’s gonna be a hell of a shock when you go public with your real identity. Most people think your whole family’s dead. There’s gonna be some Dark Fae who will feel mighty displaced when they find out you’re the real heir to their throne.”
Tricks slapped her fists over her ears. “We’re not talking about this. I’m not talking.”
Still standing by the elevator, Pia watched the angry quartet in fascination. She didn’t understand everything that had just happened, but it was clear the four of them were tied together with much more than just inter-Elder politics. They were in the middle of a knockdown, drag-out family fight.
She looked around, feeling awkward and quite the outsider. She recognized where they were from the earlier tour. At the end of the hall were large double oak doors, at present propped open. They led to Dragos’s offices.
Overcome with curiosity, she inched down the hall and peered into the inner sanctum to find yet more luxurious appointments and a rampant display of wealth. She sucked in a breath. She didn’t recognize a lot of the artwork she had seen in the penthouse, but she was pretty sure she was staring at a painting by Jackson Pollock that hung directly opposite the open doors.
Dragos stood nearby. He was deep in conversation with a large shaggy young man who managed to look rumpled and somewhat shabby despite wearing an expensive suit. Dragos caught sight of her and he smiled. The warmth of his smile spread through her, and she smiled back.
A moment later his face darkened with rage, the swift transformation so inexplicable and unexpected, she recoiled. He strode toward her and yanked her against his side.
“She’s not alone. We’re here. We’ve got her,” said Graydon from around the corner, behind her. The gryphon had followed her. He stood not five feet away, relaxed but alert with his back against the wall.
She looked around as Dragos glared down the hall. Rune had planted himself several feet farther away. He was still arguing with Tiago and Tricks, but he had positioned himself between them and Graydon and Pia.
The rigidity left Dragos’s body and his expression eased. That was when Pia caught up. She pinched her lower lip between thumb and forefinger. His look of rage hadn’t been for her. It had been for her bodyguards. She said to him, “If I ever make you that mad—again—you will give me a chance to apologize, right?”
He pulled her hand away from her mouth and kissed her swiftly. “You won’t make me that mad again.”
She was all too aware of the young shaggy male’s fascinated gaze. Dusky color painted her cheekbones. She patted Dragos’s arm and murmured, “As long as you believe that, big guy.”
He turned, pulling her with him. “Pia, this is one of my assistants, Kristoff.”
She met the shaggy Wyr’s gaze, which was lit with appreciation. He gave her a shy smile. “Hi.”
Pia’s day brightened. Not everybody disliked her at first sight. She said, “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Take ten,” Dragos said to Kristoff. He led Pia into his office.
Vertical blinds were pulled back from the two outer walls, and the large office was filled with bright, hot, early-afternoon sunlight. She blinked, dazzled. She gestured at the door and said, “I didn’t mean to interrupt. They were all busy talking outside and I thought I would just take a quick peek—”
“They were the ones interrupting. They’re making enough noise to wake the dead,” Dragos said. He punched a button on the wall. With a near-soundless motor purr the vertical blinds closed over the windows, remaining half open but providing some shade from the blinding blaze of light. “Your arrival was a welcome bonus.”
Her attention returned to the windows and the cloudless bright blue sky outside. “We heard thunder?”
He sighed. “Tiago’s Wyr form is the thunderbird. Lightning and thunder come when he really loses it. It’s something to see in battle. Normally his temper is much better controlled,
but everybody’s on edge right now.”
Pia caught sight of the two landscapes hanging on the inner walls. “Oh, these are magnificent,” she breathed. She walked toward them. The aerial landscape effect had been created by a mix of media, with paint, cloth, glitter and beads. The day landscape had a river cutting across the canvas. The night landscape conveyed an impression of towns scattered over a patchwork land. They couldn’t be more perfect for him. She could just see him sitting at his desk and looking at them as he imagined flying overhead, and he contemplated all the parts that comprised the whole. She turned to smile her delight at Dragos. “More patterns.”
His expression lightened with surprise and pleasure. He said simply, “Yes.”
A tapping made them both turn. Tricks stood with a sheepish smile in the open doorway. She said to Pia, “I’m so sorry you had to witness what happened in the hall.”
Grinning, Dragos said to the faerie, “Goddamn, ma’am.”
The faerie’s cheeks darkened. She said, “What, you’ve never said something stupid in a fit of temper?”
“Never,” said Dragos. He snagged Pia’s wrist and pulled her with him as he leaned back against his desk. As she settled at his side, he drew light circles on her back.
Pia coughed. He looked at her. She muttered behind her hand, “Big roar, last week?”
His fingers slid under the hem of her shirt, and he pinched her. Pia jerked upright and huffed at him.
Preoccupied with her own sense of grievance, Tricks didn’t notice their byplay. She said, “Dragos, you’ve got to do something. Tiago’s giving me fits.”
“Clearly,” said Dragos.
Tricks scowled. She told Pia, “I’m great friends with all the other sentinels, but I barely know this guy. He’s always off somewhere fighting things. Over the last two hundred years we’ve had maybe a dozen conversations whenever he’s been called back to New York. Suddenly he’s seething and snarling around the place, thinking he can tell me what to do?” The faerie turned to Dragos. “He’s a junkyard dog. He shouldn’t be allowed in the house. Would you please send him back to South America?”
“The South America contract is unimportant. I canceled it a half hour ago,” said Dragos. “We’re pulling the rest of the troops home.”
Tricks’s slender shoulders sagged. She wore the expression of someone watching her life crash in pieces around her. Pia’s mouth slid into a sympathetic pout. She knew just how the faerie felt.
Tricks gave her a grim smile. “How about some alcohol with lunch?”
“Sounds good to me,” said Pia.
FOURTEEN
Pia and Tricks said good-bye to Dragos and left his offices. In the hall, Graydon and Rune were talking to Tiago. Tricks ignored the trio as she sailed past them. Tiago glared after her. The handsome laughing man Pia had glimpsed so briefly was once again supplanted by the hatchet-faced assassin. Pia matched the faerie’s shorter stride and kept her expression scrupulously neutral.
Tricks took her down to Manhattan Cat, the restaurant on the ground floor. “It’s owned by a Wyr-fox, Lyssa Renard,” the faerie said as they walked across the crowded lobby. “Lyssa’s a bit of a snobby bitch but she does know her food.”
“I’ve heard of the restaurant,” Pia said. She caught a glimpse of Rune and Graydon keeping pace a few feet away, their eyes constantly roving over the crowd. “It’s gotten some decent reviews.”
“You’re a vegetarian, right?” Tricks pushed the restaurant door open. “Of course, there’s a lot of dead animal and fish on the menu, but there are also some good salads and a few tofu dishes I like. Best of all, they stock this 2004 Piesporter that makes me crazy. You like white wine?”
“Absolutely.”
“A girl after my own heart.” Tricks turned as the hostess, a dark, slender young Wyr-cat with slanted eyes, approached with menus and a smile. “Hi, Elise, I’m sorry we’re late.”
“No problem, Tricks,” said the hostess.
The restaurant’s decor was simple and sleek, featuring dark wood, white linen tablecloths and fresh flowers. Every table was filled, and while one or two people called out a greeting to Tricks, most of the occupants paid no attention to them. The sounds of conversation and cutlery accompanied them as the Wyr-cat led them to a small private room at the back that was, Tricks explained, on permanent reserve for Cuelebre executives.
There were three tables in the empty room. After letting Pia precede them, Tricks stopped in the doorway. She said to Elise, “We’ll have two orders of the tofu stir-fry, a bottle of the Piesporter and no men allowed.” This was thrown at the two gryphons who were hard on their heels. Elise nodded with a smile and slipped away.
“Aw, Tricks, come on,” said Graydon.
“No,” said the faerie. “You know this room. You know there’s only one way in or out. And you know she’s with me. Deal with it.”
Tricks slammed the door in their faces. Pia started to laugh. “There’s nowhere for them to sit out there,” she said.
“I know. I’m still mad at them. Besides, these walls are soundproofed. You know, supersensitive Wyr hearing, corporate secrets, confidential business lunches and all that.” Tricks grinned. “That means you and I get to have some girl talk.”
Pia wasn’t under any illusions about what she had witnessed. The faerie’s utterly fearless confidence around the Wyr sentinels was based on two hundred years of residence with them. They were dangerous, powerful men and Pia was going to have to carve out her own way with them. Still, it was heartening to see they had a soft side.
Lunch came quickly. The waiter propped the door open as he served them. Just outside Rune leaned against a partition opposite the door. He sucked a tooth and regarded them with narrowed eyes until the waiter left and shut the door behind them.
Some impulse had Pia say, “They’re worried about you. It’s clear they’re going to miss you when you leave.”
Tricks’s grin slipped. “I’m going to miss them too.”
Was that a wet glitter in those pretty, overlarge, gray Fae eyes? Pia looked away as she took a seat. “I’m sorry,” she said. “That was pretty personal. I didn’t have any right to say anything.”
Tricks slipped into a chair beside her. “It’s okay. You’re right.” Pia’s gaze slid sideways. She watched as the faerie flexed delicate hands and looked at them. “They’re such good guys, Pia. Even that crabby mountain Tiago. Every last one of them would take a rain of bullets for you.”
“Well,” Pia said in a gentle voice, “they might take a rain of bullets for you.”
“Oh no.” Tricks looked at her, eyes wide. “I mean, yes, they would take them for me. Without question. But they would take them for you too, just because Dragos wants you safe.”
Damn, the faerie’s sadness was making her own eyes prickle with tears. “I think I know some of what you’re going through right now,” Pia said. “Not the impending Queen stuff. That’s way out of my stratosphere. But the other stuff.”
“You mean the end of life as you know it?”
“Yeah, that.”
Tricks gave a sudden giggle. “How’d we get so downtrodden? We haven’t even finished our first glasses of wine.” She picked up her glass and clicked it against Pia’s. “Salut, new friend.”
Pia picked up her glass. “Salut.”
Tricks knocked back her wine. “Now for the good stuff. Gossip! You need to know who is lying, cheating, backstabbing, revenge-seeking, who-done-who-wrong and who is just plain hard to get along with in this place. I’m here to give you the road map every girl should have before she starts working in this loony bin.”
Hungry, Pia forked some stir-fry into her mouth. She remarked, “It sounds like I need a flowchart.”
The faerie gasped. “Beauteous. I need a pen.”
Pia watched her pat the pockets of her silk suit, then trot to the door to flag down a passing waitress. Tricks returned triumphant. She started to scribble on the white tablecloth, drawing circles and arrows bet
ween names as she chattered. They finished their lunch. The waiter came and left with their plates. More wine flowed.
Sometime later Pia rubbed her nose. She looked at her empty wineglass, then at the empty bottles on the neighboring table. She squinted at her new best friend, who listed to one side in her chair. “What is your name again?”
The faerie snickered. “It’s gotta be on this chart. I’m sure I wrote it down somewhere.”
Pia looked over the dense black scribbles that covered the tablecloth. “We were going to talk about something. Weren’t we?”
“Sure we were. You’re going to take over my PR job.”
“Okay.” She nodded. It was the perfect solution. Of course it was.
But wait. There was something she needed to remember about that. Doubts, other considerations, deadly good reasons why she shouldn’t accept. There was something. . . .
Something that twinkled in the air, a feminine Power so light and delicate and effervescent she only just noticed it, after hours of sitting saturated in its presence.
Her best friend was writing something down. T-r-i-c-k-s. The faerie drew hearts and flowers around the word as she hummed to herself.
“Tricks,” said Pia.
Tricks looked up from the doodling, tongue between her teeth.
Pia put one elbow on the table, her chin in her hand, and smiled at the other woman. “Is your Power by any chance related to charm or charisma?”
Tricks scratched the tip of one ear. “So what if it is?”
“I don’t think I should say yes to anything you ask me while we’re in the same room together and I’m drunk, that’s all,” Pia said.
One of Tricks’s eyelids lowered to half-mast, a crafty, unrepentant look. Then the faerie grinned, and sunshine and happiness burst into the room. “Oh, pfft!” she said.
The afternoon descended into early evening. Dragos, Kristoff and Tiago watched the evening news in Dragos’s office. Kristoff stood with an arm wrapped around his middle, one hand covering the back of his neck. Tiago stood with his feet planted apart, arms crossed. Barbed-wire tattoos flexed as his biceps clenched.