Motor City Fae (8 page)

The real problem with failure was that the consequences stretched far beyond the life and powers of a single bard. If Owain’s faction managed to remove Llyris from the throne, all hell was going to break loose here on the material plane. A thousand years ago, a treaty of non-interference had been negotiated between Ric’s people and the newly civilized population of the mortal realm. The Fae had, for the most part, retreated to their own dimension, known as Elfhame, or Underhill, leaving the mortal plane to the humans. The pact had been kept, even during times when the humans had nearly destroyed themselves and their planet with nuclear weapons. Owain, however, was violently racist. In his mind, humans were lesser creatures and should only exist as servants and playthings. If he won the elven throne at the council election he’d managed to call, his first official move would be to revoke the agreement, instigating full-scale war between the worlds of human and Fae. Ric was a selfish, hedonistic bastard, true, but even he couldn’t stand by and watch the destruction of either world. He was too much a part of both.

Meagan stepped back from her easel and frowned. The colors weren’t coming together and it was all Ric’s fault. Instead of the dreamy, mystical landscape she’d been trying to paint, the scene on the canvas held a darker enchantment, the trees reaching and grasping, the misty darkness swirling ever closer to the viewer.
Ugh!

She wiped her hands on a damp towel, stuck her brush in the cleaning jar and turned toward the sliding glass door she’d had installed in one of her downstairs bedrooms. With southern exposure and lots of big new windows, the tiny room made a perfect studio. Normally it was her favorite place to be, her refuge from reality.

Today it made her itchy. With Calc twining around her ankles, she let herself out the back door and onto the sunny patio, smiling as she registered the shabby homeliness of it: cracked concrete, weedy edges and all.

Hard to believe that only a few hours ago she’d been lounging in the sun at a Grosse Pointe estate.

“Mmmrrowww.” Calc seemed to agree that this was where she belonged. As Meagan sat down on the wobbly cement steps, Calc leapt into her lap, settling his bulk with a regal disregard for her opinion on the subject.

Meagan’s giggle sounded cracked, even to herself and she buried her face in the cat’s warm silky fur, blinking her eyes against the threatening tears.

“Figured you’d be painting.”

“Oooh-owww!” Meagan’s startled jump dislodged Calculus, who dug his claws into the skin of her thighs for purchase. Her tiny cry of surprise crescendoed into a yowl of pain.

“Hey, there.” Jase reached out a hand to steady her and lifted the cat off her lap. Meagan blinked up at her neighbor and tenant while Calc stalked off to inspect the nearby trees. One of the greatest joys of Meagan’s life was that renting out the tiny apartment above her garage had gotten her a great neighbor and one of the best friends she’d ever had.

“If you thought I’d be painting, why are you here?”

One advantage of having another artist for a neighbor was that they knew enough to leave you alone while you were working. Usually.

Jase shrugged sheepishly, probably blushing beneath his chocolate complexion. “Just wanted to make sure you got home all right last night.”

“Jase it’s what—four o’clock in the afternoon? I know you sleep late, but…” Her voice trailed off as she really looked at him. “Oh, my. Those are the same clothes you had on last night. Did you
just
get home?”

“Umm-hmm.” Now she knew he was blushing. And grinning.

“Jase, you dog.” They shared a wicked grin. “So how was he?”

“Incredible.” Jase’s dark eyes took on a dreamy expression. “This could be the start of something serious. I’ve never talked so much on a date before in my life.”

“Only talked?” It was hard to keep her voice light and teasing. Happy as she was for Jase, she couldn’t suppress a pang of jealousy.

“Well, maybe a bit more. But we talked for hours.”

Jase settled himself on a nearby lawn chair, leaning his elbows on his knees and his chin on his fists. “There’s something delicious about him, Meagan. Lots of lovely layers and intricacies. Open, yet mysterious.”

“I’m glad. Just, Jase—be careful, okay?”

He traced an
X
across his chest. “Promise.”

“When are you seeing him again?”

“Tonight. He’s playing at the club again, though this time without your friend Ric fronting the band. Which brings up the next subject. Judging by the gloomy expression, I’m assuming your date didn’t go too well. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Try pulling the other one, sweetheart. I know fine and this isn’t it. He didn’t hurt you, did he?” Jase’s friendly expression hardened and suddenly he looked every inch of his six-foot muscular frame. When he wasn’t working with clay, he was usually working out on the equipment he’d set up in the lower part of the garage.

Her friend’s big-brother protectiveness brought a smile. “No, you don’t need to go beat him up. He didn’t really
do
anything, it turned out he had ulterior motives.”

“Explain.”

She did. Collapsing back against the sun-warmed aluminum screen door, she spilled it all, the attraction, the house party and finding out he was some sort of investigator looking for an adopted child. The only parts she left out were Greg’s veiled hints about “sides,” and “bad things going down.”

“So he must have known you’d be at the bar last night.”

It sounded crazy when he said it out loud. “I don’t know how he could have,” she admitted. “Even I didn’t know I was going to be there till the last minute.”

“You said he asked about your adoption?”

“Not really. Greg did, actually, when he drove me home.”

“You had a fight at this party and he had his friend drive you home. Then the friend asks if you were adopted. Have I got that right?”

“Right,” she admitted. Somehow it sounded even crazier when he said it out loud.

Jase continued. “But you blew him off? Why? I thought you were trying to find your biological parents?”

She had been, on and off. Since the death of her adoptive mother a year earlier, she’d felt so adrift and alone that she’d started a search, though an admittedly half-hearted one.

“Don’t you want whatever information he has?”

She did, but it was hard to explain. “It’s just…” She looked away from Jase, fighting back tears she didn’t want him to see. “You know how you said that George could be the one, right? Up till about two hours ago, I was having those same thoughts about Ric. Then it turns out he was using my attraction to get close to me. It hurts.”

His warm hand rubbed her shoulder in a soothing massage. “I know it does. But it also makes no sense. Seems like all he had to do if he wanted to find out about your adoption was ask. He could have done that at any time. Sounds like maybe you were messing with his head as much as he was messing with yours.”

“Probably having a hard time deciding whether to do the job or get laid.” She tried and failed to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

“Could be. Us guys are pretty stupid critters when the hormones get messed up with the thinking process.”

“Don’t even think about defending the rat!”

“You know better. I’d still be happy to go beat him up for hurting you, but I do think you should talk to him.” He held up a hand when she swirled to glare at him. “About the adoption stuff. Find out what he knows about your biological family. Then I’ll hold him while you slap him silly.”

That was a good plan, she had to admit. If he knew something about her origins, she owed it to herself to find out. She let out a breath. “Okay. I’ll call him.”

“Good girl.” Jase leaned over, dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “Now I’m going upstairs to shower and change. I’ll also see what the cards have to say about all this mess. You call me if you need me, you hear?”

“Yes, sir.” She smiled again, for real this time. “I love you, Jase. Thanks for everything.”

He unfolded himself from the chair and patted the top of her head before walking toward the garage. “Love you too, sweetie.”

Heaving a sigh, she stood, walked back into the house and picked up the phone. Ric’s card still lay on the kitchen counter, only inches from where they’d nearly made love early that morning. She picked it up, sucking in a breath as the memory of his touch seemed to radiate from the pasteboard and assail her.

Hands shaking, she dialed the phone, mentally trying out her words as she did. She had to get this right, had to stay tough, stay in control.

“Hi there, you’ve reached my voice mail. Since I’m sure I’ll want to get back with you, please leave a message after the beep.” His sexy, glorious voice was flattened into detached technological coolness.

Meagan closed her eyes, counted to three and spoke into the phone, hoping she managed a coolness of her own. “Ric, this is Meagan Kelly. I guess you were right, we really do need to talk, so please get back to me when you get the chance.”

She switched off the phone, slid down into a chair and laid her face across her arms on the table. There was one thing you could say about the whole mess, she mused.

Today couldn’t possibly get much worse.

“What do you mean your people fucking lost him?” Ric shouted into the cell phone, still slouched in his Jag, watching the front door of Meagan’s house. Six empty coffee cups littered the floor of the passenger seat and another, newly empty, was clutched in his hand. Absently, he crumpled the foam cup and conjured a replacement.

Today, even caffeine, a potent drug to one of his kind, wasn’t helping his mood. He wished he hadn’t given up cigarettes years ago. They weren’t going to kill him, after all. He’d done it out of concern for the humans around him. Well, that, plus he had to admit, the smell was disgusting. “I thought your people were
good
at their jobs.”

“They are good,” Aidan growled, as pissed as Ric had heard him in years. “But so is Owain. Just go talk to the girl, all right? Use a spell if you have to.”

Ric started to snarl an answer, mostly profane, when he heard a loud knock on the window beside him. He jumped, this time succeeding in spilling the steaming hot coffee all over his lap. He swore as he pressed the automatic window switch.

Meagan’s friend Jase stood outside the car with arms crossed over his chest and a menacing look on his face.

“Do I need to call the cops?”

“Why?” Busy mopping coffee off his singed privates, Ric wasn’t following the mortal’s train of thought.

“Stalking is illegal in this state.”

“Fuck me.” After tossing the pile of napkins he’d been using to the floor, Ric banged his forehead against the steering wheel. “I’m not stalking her; I’m trying to protect her.”

Better to have her friend on his side, if it came down to it, even if that meant Ric had to say more than he probably should. Llyris could always wipe the mortal’s mind later. “If she is who I think she is, she could be in danger. It’s complicated.”

“This has to do with her biological parents?”

“Yes.”

“Are you some kind of cop?”

“Not professionally.” Not for any authority in this world, anyway.

“Then how did you get involved?”

“I’m a friend of the family. They asked me to do what I could to help find their missing heiress.” That much was completely true, though not truly complete.

“Heiress?” Monroe’s dark eyes widened. “There’s money involved?”

Ric nodded curtly. “Money, land, power.”

“And somebody stands to lose if the missing heiress shows up.” He wasn’t stupid, Ric thought. For an artist, Monroe had a pretty quick grasp of the real world.

“That about sums it up.”

“Come on.” Monroe opened the door of the Jag, motioned Ric outside. “You two need to talk. I’ll make sure she lets you in the door.”

Ric followed, nodding his thanks.

“One last thing, Thornhill.” Right in front of Meagan’s door, Monroe halted. “Hurt her again, they won’t find enough parts to identify your body.”

Ric nodded. Oddly enough, he wasn’t offended. He’d have thought less of Jase if the artist hadn’t warned Ric off. “Understood.”

Monroe studied him for a moment, seeming to weigh his sincerity. He rang the bell. “You keep her safe, now. This is Detroit. I know enough people to make you disappear for good.”

Yeah, like George Novak alone
. Though he bet Monroe didn’t know all of his new boyfriend’s secrets yet.

All levity fled the instant Meagan opened the door.

She’d been crying, he noticed immediately and he fought down the urge to skewer someone. The man who’d made her cry was him and that knowledge cut deeper than any sword.

Ric detected the surface layer of Monroe’s thoughts and knew he planned to stay and support Meagan during the upcoming conversation. He sent a small surge of magical energy toward Jase, a tiny compulsion. He didn’t need an audience and neither did Meagan.

“I found him pulling into your drive,” Monroe lied, jerking a thumb toward Ric. “Figured you two have some things you need to talk about.”

Meagan nodded and held open the screen door. “Come on in, Ric.”

Ric entered, nodding his thanks to Monroe, who turned and walked down the driveway toward the garage. Ric followed Meagan into her kitchen and took the seat she gestured to at the table, though he would have preferred to stand. He probably should be on his knees, he thought, struggling to control the unfamiliar sensation of guilt.

What was it about this woman that made him feel things he’d never before experienced?

He waited until she’d taken the seat across from him and looked up into her eyes. Their green depths brimmed with pain and distrust. “Where would you like me to start?”

She shrugged, obviously trying for a nonchalance she couldn’t quite achieve. “The beginning, I suppose.”

He expelled a short bark of laughter. “Hell, Meagan, even I’m not sure where this whole clusterfuck began.”

He raked his fingers through his hair. “Look, some of what I’m about to tell you is going to seem awfully farfetched. Please promise that you’ll listen first, hear me out, before you toss me out on my ass.”