Threescore & Tequila (Toil & Trouble Book 4) Page 9

  “Sadly enough, you’re wrong.”

  The desolate look in her eyes sends a shard of confusion and guilt into my gut. “Trust is you keeping secrets left and right?”

  “Oh, furface. Everyone has secrets. Trust doesn’t mean telling someone every damn thing. It’s having hope that they’ll accept the things you can’t say. That they’ll understand when the time comes.”

  And I hadn’t understood at all.

  I hadn’t even tried to. I feel sick.

  She swore things would never work between us. I swore that they could. I set out to do everything in my power to make her believe it, to convince her that she was mine and that I was hers. And just when she was beginning to see things my way, just when she needed me the most, I yanked the vision away.

  Jett was right to call me cruel. She hadn’t told me she loved me, she’d shown me.

  And I had blown it.

  “It’s more complicated than that.” I swallow past the guilt. Past the fear.

  “Is it?” Her gaze is shrewd. “And you follow these rules of yours, do you? You’ve told me every little secret in your life that may affect me or our relationship together?”

  I don’t move but my heart clenches once, like someone is squeezing it in her hard little fist. “Jett . . .”

  “No. I don’t want to go down this road again. I won’t. This is goodbye, Stephen. From me to you.”

  “No.” I reach for her, appalled at the fear that snakes down my spine. She means it. “Stay. Talk to me.”

  She whirls, knocking my hand aside, going from resigned to furious in a heartbeat. “Fuck this and fuck you. I’ve got work to do.”

  She pulls the sword from its sheath in a motion so fluid and gorgeous it damn near makes my heart stop. I’ve always had a thing for strong women, but Jett takes it to a whole new level. That lethal crystal point hovers an inch from my nose. Looking into those lapis eyes, I have no doubt that she’ll use it.

  I lift my hands but refuse to step back.

  “I’ll come with you then,” I plead. “Whatever you’re doing, it couldn’t hurt to have a shifter along.” And we could continue this conversation, because she has a point about trust. More of one than she could possibly understand. Or maybe she could.

  Maybe her better than anyone. It hits me now, loud and clear. I should have told her my secret ages ago. I told myself I needed her trust first, but the truth is, I was scared to give her mine.

  “I work alone, Stephen. You’d only be a distraction.”

  I open my mouth to protest, to tell her everything, but she’s already gone.

  Immediately, I reach for the photo Seph gave me. The fairy dust is gone. Only a few grains sparkle against the back and they fall away when my fingers touch them. Fuck.

  Where’s a fairy when you need one?

  12

  I smell a rat. Or a sister. Sometimes they’re one and the same. Stephen reeked of magic. Fairy, mostly, but there was something else there, too. Something witchy.

  Goddamn it.

  I don’t need this distraction. I stomp up the hill, refusing to think about Stephen or the look on his face even though my hands are shaking. Taika was expecting an update on Julie yesterday. She wasn’t freaking out yet—dryads aren’t exactly the mad-as-hops type. Not like naiads or, gods forbid, nymphs. They’re what you could call ‘grounded.’ As such, it normally takes a lot to disturb their calm. But last night, Taika was shaken. She felt something, something that makes her think her friend is dead. Considering dryads are pretty good at sensing that sort of thing, I’m shaken, too.

  For all I know, they’re all dead. I haven’t heard a peep from Merry since our tête-à-tête during the Council meeting.

  Well, that’s about to change.

  I bang the hilt of my sword on the side of the rock, the crystal singing out into the bright morning light, light that glints off the harbor far below. “Come out, you little bastard. Enough stalling. I want an update.”

  To my surprise, he shows almost immediately, looking disheveled. Very disheveled. “Were you getting it on with the missus?” Gnome sex. Dammit. Now I’ve got images in my head.

  He raises an eyebrow, straightening his hat. “There is no missus. Not all of us do the mating thing.”

  “Witches don’t mate.” I glare at him. Merry laughs as he sits down on a big flat rock to tug his boots on. Obviously getting some has put him in a better mood.

  “Tell that to your bruin. He looked pretty pissed when he saw us chatting last week.” He shakes his head, looking bemused. “Bears around here do seem to have a soft spot for witches.”

  I blink. But for once it’s not Stephen I’m thinking of.

  Soft spot. Witches.

  I never considered who might be hunting witches besides my father’s disenfranchised minions—and somebody I know to be dead. I’ve been pushing away thoughts of Lev since this case came up, trying not to let my past cloud my judgment. But now I am wondering if that has only made me miss the obvious. Something I would’ve considered ages ago if only I had faced my fears instead of avoiding them.

  Fucking Christ, we need to hurry.

  “I’ve changed my mind. I want more than an update. I need you to take me inside the tunnels. Now.”

  “Jett—”

  “Merry.” I tamp down on the urge to draw my sword. Force and intimidation won’t help here. “I think I can save them. But I have a feeling I’m running out of time.”

  He’s quiet for so long my chest starts to tighten and my breath comes short. When he gets to his feet, I think he’s going to disappear back into the tunnels. Instead, Merry lifts a hand and motions for me to precede him. “Don’t make me regret this, witch.”

  I don’t reply. Because if my hunch turns out to be true, the only thing I’ll have to regret is not acting sooner.

  13

  It’s not easy to find a fairy when you actually want one. Particularly this one. Thankfully, one call to Jack Frost got her to come to me. We’re sitting at a corner booth in T&T while Seph glances at us curiously between slinging drinks. It’s Monday afternoon, a whole damn day since I last saw Jett. I’m going nuts.

  She isn’t at Bad Reputation, I already checked. The closed sign ensures no one else is, either. She isn’t answering her cell. Seph swears she doesn’t have a clue where her sister is. Apparently, Jett takes off a lot these days. And according to Seph, if I pissed her off, it could be weeks before anyone sees Jett again.

  Yeah, fuck that. Hence the fairy in front of me.

  Rochka is drinking from a shot glass full of dandelion wine, using both hands as she smirks at me over the rim.

  “I need a favor,” I say slowly.

  “Do tell.” She looks at me and flutters her eyelashes. “Especially if it has to do with doing you.”

  I have no patience for this crap today.

  “What exactly do you think is”—I can’t help but sputter—“possible between someone your size and someone mine?”

  She winks at me. “I don’t know, but I’d sure like to find out.”

  I stare at her until her lips start to twitch. Then the fairy cracks up entirely, laughing so hard she’s zipping through the air above the booth seat like a just-popped balloon. She sounds the same too, a high-pitched screech of mirth that tickles the insides of my flushing ears.

  “Your fucking . . . face!” she gasps. “Oh my god, that was precious.”

  I’m not amused. Not much, anyway. “I need you to renew this spell.” I slap the photo strip Seph gave me on the table. Her eyebrows go up.

  “That’ll cost you.”

  “I figured. What do you want, Rochka?”

  She doesn’t even have to think about it. “Pictures.”

  “Of what?” But I have a feeling I know. Fairies are such perverts.

  “You and your bruin buddies. Naked ones, natch. I wanna make a calendar. I’m not the only fairy with the hots for bears, you know.”

  I groan. “Isn’t there something else I co
uld get you?”

  “Nope. Pics or piss off, Your Royalness.”

  I frown, mulling it over. I can’t see Dominic having a problem with this. He has no shame and suffers from an exhibitionist streak. Ajax would say no if it was left up to him, but I have a sneaking suspicion that if I mention it to his woman, she will get a kick out of it. Syana is evil like that. I also know one or two other bears with enough of a sense of humor that they might get on board, especially if it’s their king that’s asking.

  “No full frontal.”

  She pouts. “Okay, but I want some bare ass. Get it, bear ass?”

  I roll my eyes. I’m going to go deep into debt on this one. But if it nets me one elusive witch . . . “Fine. You’ve got a deal.”

  “Swear?”

  “I swear, dammit.”

  The fairy shakes her head as I hand over the strip. She flips it over and traces her finger up and down along the back. A second later, a silvery powder is drifting through the air from the fairy’s shimmering violet wings. Rochka blows lightly and it obediently covers the surface. She shakes it off and hands it to me. A swirling sparkly pattern is left on the back, slightly rough to the touch.

  “There. Go find the bitch while I go shopping for a decent camera.”

  I get to my feet, about to head to the hallway where I can safely disappear without the humans freaking out, when Ajax enters the bar, looking grim. Several humans back away as my second’s eyes travel over them. It’d be amusing if I wasn’t getting the distinct impression something is very, very wrong. He heads my way immediately, the connection between us humming. I’m surprised I didn’t feel it before now. Syana is behind him, her lips pressed together as she veers off and heads for Seph.

  “What’s up?”

  He shakes his head, his voice low and quiet. “You need to come home. Now.”

  So why didn’t he just let me know via our mental link? Why come all the way to T&T in person and—

  I notice Seph looking at us, her eyes narrowed. My second is looking back at her, a curious expression on his face. I put my hand on his arm. “Ajax?”

  “It’s the Russians.” He doesn’t have to elaborate. I know instantly who he means. The Mikhailovs. The ruling family of Russia is the kind of old school royalty I’m not. They’re a bruin offshoot of the ancient monarchies of the Old World, which include the Firebird Prince, among others. They’re also Georg’s distant cousins. In our world, they’re sort of like the Windsors, elite and world-famous but not nearly as benevolent as their human counterparts.

  “What about them?”

  “They’re on their way to the Den, Stephen. Landed in the Cities a couple hours ago.” His voice is still quiet, but considering we don’t need to speak at all, I’m puzzled. Especially since his eyes never leave Seph, who I am sure can hear every word. I don’t get his tension. A visit by the Russian nobility is not a huge surprise. I’ve been expecting an envoy since Georg died.

  The only odd thing is that they didn’t announce their arrival days ago. Then Ajax drops the bomb he’s been cradling so carefully. “Agatha is with them. She’s demanding recompense.”

  Ah, shit. “For?”

  Finally, his gaze swings back to mine. “What else? Georg’s death. She’s blaming the witches. And she wants blood.”

  There is a tinkle of glass as Seph drops the bottle she’s holding. Jack Frost appears behind her from out of nowhere, his eyes like ice as they meet mine.

  “The Russians don’t rule here,” I say quietly.

  “Yes, but you know the law as well as I do. You have to consider their request. And if you refuse . . .”

  He doesn’t finish the sentence, but he doesn’t have to. I’ve had my crown for less than thirty days and it looks like I’m already going to have to fight to keep it. I tuck the picture of Jett back into my wallet.

  “Let’s go say привет.”

  14

  We’ve been in the tunnels for almost a day. It’s too dark, too warm, and I’m starving. Gnomes can navigate in here like homing pigeons on speed, but tracking is different. Merry is taking his time.

  My magic is wonky underground, so I’m not a great deal of help. If it weren’t for my sword, I’d feel naked in this pit. I didn’t even take the time to grab appropriate spellwork, though I used the extra parchment and charcoal I always carry to create a couple of things that might come in handy before we descended.

  “Where the hell are we now?”

  “Somewhere along the northern German border,” the gnome says, too preoccupied to catch my shudder. He looks up at the rough-hewn ceiling, sniffing the air. “I swear this is the way we should go.” But Merry looks unsure and pissed about it.

  I don’t blame him. Gnomes have better senses underground than anyone but shifters, but the coppery scent fills the tunnels. Distinct, but also as difficult to pin down as smoke. It’s hard to figure out the direct path. Our kidnapper obviously backtracked multiple times. My stomach growls loudly. Not for the first time.

  Merry looks over his shoulder and shakes his head. A few paces later, he knocks on the cavern wall. Instantly, the outline of a blue star appears. The symbol of the gnomes. He taps it again and it obligingly pushes itself out of the wall, almost like the lock on a safe. With a flick of his wrist, he sends the star spinning. Something clicks, then a compartment opens.

  It’s a larder. There are probably hundreds like it down here. Maybe thousands. Bless the gnomes and their paranoid ways.

  Seconds later, my hands are filled with a long, crusty baguette and a wheel of hard yellow cheese. Merry’s got a bottle of wine in one hand, a corkscrew and a knife in the other. He sets them on the ground and pulls a red wool blanket from the larder before slamming it closed.

  We’re sitting on the blanket, chowing down, when he gives me a sidelong look.

  “So, what’s really going on between you and Krueger?”

  Maybe it’s because I owe him or because it’s dark. I find it’s always easier to share secrets in the dark. Or maybe I’m trying to put off what I’m afraid we’ll find waiting at the end of these tunnels. Whatever it is, Merry looks just as shocked as I am when I answer him.

  “Nothing is going on. Not anymore.”

  He doesn’t say anything, just rolls his eyes.

  “Okay,” I say grudgingly. “Maybe there was something, but that’s done now. Like you, he has a big problem with what I did to Seph.”

  Merry takes a swig of wine, his eyebrows raised. I sigh.

  “I get it that it’s a hard pill to swallow, okay? I just didn’t think he’d choke on it when he heard why.”

  “Disappointed you, did he?”

  “I guess he did.” That’s putting it mildly. As much as I worried and made myself sick about what Stephen would do when things came out into the open, way down deep inside, I believed he would forgive me when he heard the truth. Oh, I knew he’d be mad. I knew it would be god awful, but like I told Stephen, I had trusted him.

  Different bruin. Same mistake.

  Stupid girl.

  I take another drink of wine.

  Merry is watching me through the dusty gloom. “Did you ever consider that you hurt him?”

  I close my eyes. “Every day.”

  “Why you?” he finally says, his voice sharp.

  “Huh?” My eyes snap open.

  “You’re not the oldest, Jett. Ana is. Why didn’t Oriane put that shit with Seph on her instead of you?”

  I blink at him, confused and a bit sick. Merry has never shown the least interest in why I did what I did, only that I did it.

  “Just because you pissed me off doesn’t mean I’m a total asshole,” he says grudgingly. “I know you didn’t whack your sister on a fucking whim. But seriously, there had to be another way.”

  “There wasn’t.”

  “Because your mom said so.”

  “Yes.”

  “Fine.” He shakes his head, letting me know he still doesn’t buy it. “But why you?”

&n
bsp; I smile, knowing it’s a bitter one. “Because I am the only one who wouldn’t question her.” But that’s not the only reason, is it? I ignore the sadistic whisper in my head, taking another slug of the wine to drown it out.

  “I thought that might be it,” he says quietly, tearing off another piece of bread. “Why is that?”

  I study the ceiling. “Because I know better than any of them what happens when I don’t listen to her.”

  “You don’t strike me as the obedient type.”

  “Oh, I wasn’t. Back in the day, I was quite the hellion.”

  “I’m sensing a story here.” Merry leans forward. “What happened?”

  “I met a man.”

  “Sounds a bit clichéd for you.” He laughs and takes another swig of wine.

  I lower my head to give him a level stare. “He turned out to be a murderous, psychopathic shifter with aspirations to rape and torture who wanted to steal my magic and destroy my family.”

  “Holy fuck.” Merry sputters out half his wine all over his pants. “Jett, I—”

  “He didn’t succeed, not on the rape part anyway.” I don’t tell him how close it was, though. Merry doesn’t need the details. And I sure as fuck don’t need to relive them. My nightmares grant me that horrific honor often enough. “But the torture part sucked.”

  Even now the memory of pain makes my fingers curl into fists. I draw my knees to my chest and swallow down the burn. I’ve never told anyone how bad it was, thinking that if I kept the whole incident sketchy and brief, I could leech away some of the power of those memories. But it doesn’t work.

  I’ve been able to ignore the stone walls up until now, their similarity to my two weeks in hell, but now they are closing in on me. The salty-rotten smell of the sea seems to wash over me, the roar of waves against rock incessant in my ears.

  “Who was he?” Merry’s voice brings me back.

  “Minor royalty,” I say evasively, wrapping my arms around my knees. I try to push away the images, but they come anyway: Lev, the first time I saw him. This big towheaded bruin with whiskey-colored eyes. I was a month from my twentieth, hops forward in time aside, and the constraints of Victorian London were making me stir-crazy.