Once the widow went inside, Eli walked away and grabbed a first aid kit from his car. I swear he bought them in bulk lately. “Let me see your throat.”
“I’m fine.” Dried blood made me look a little garish, but I could feel that it wasn’t oozing much now.
Eli opened the kit, tore open a pouch of sani-wipes, and stared at me.
“Just tired. Sunlight.” I gestured at the bright ball of pain in the sky. Midwinter might be coming, but the sun was still too bright for my comfort.
“Geneviève . . .” He held up a wipe. “May I?”
I sighed and took off my jacket. “It’s not necessary.”
“I disagree.” He used sani-wipes to wipe away my blood as I leaned on the Cadillac, ignoring the looks we were getting from pedestrians. Maybe it was that he was cleaning up my blood, or that he was fae—or maybe it was that there were people yelling from the trunk.
Either way, I wasn’t going to look away from Eli. I couldn’t.
Obviously, I knew it should not be arousing to have him clean a cut in my neck from grave shards because someone was firing bullets at me, but . . . having his hands on me at all made my heart speed.
“Would you like to take the car and leave?” Eli was closer than he needed to be, hips close enough that it would be easier to pull him closer than push him away.
“And go where?”
He brushed my hair back, checking for more injuries. The result was that I could feel his breath on my neck. “Drive to my home and draw a bath or shower. I’ll stay here and . . .”
“Tempting,” I admitted with a laugh.
He had both a marble rainfall shower and the largest tub I’d ever seen. It came complete with a small waterfall. I admitted, “I’ve had fantasies about that waterfall.”
“As have I.”
I pressed myself against him, kissed his throat, and asked, “Ready to call off the engagement?”
He kissed me, hand tangled in my hair, holding me as if I would run.
I’d sell my own soul for an eternity of Eli’s kisses if I believed in such bargains, but I wouldn’t destroy him. Being with me wasn’t what was best for him.
When he pulled back from our kiss, he stated, “Geneviève . . .”
I kissed him softly. I could say more with my touch than with words. I paused and whispered, “You can have my body or this engagement. Not both.”
He sighed, but he stepped back. “You are impossible, Geneviève Crowe.”
I caught his hand. “It doesn’t have to be impossible. We’re safely out of Elphame now. We could just end the enga--”
“I am fae, love. I don’t lie. I don’t break my word.” He squeezed my hand gently. “I gave you my promise to wed. In front of my king and family. I cannot end this engagement.”
We stood in silence for several moments. Then he held out his keys, and I took them.
“Meet me at my place. Maybe we can spar,” I offered.
Eli pulled me in closer, kissed both of my cheeks, and said, “I will accept any excuse to get sweaty with you.”
“Same.” I hated that this was where we were, but I wasn’t able to change who or what I was. Neither was Eli. He had a future that I wanted no part of, and I felt a duty to my city and friends. We had no future option that would suit both of us. I’d be here, beheading draugr and trying not to become more of a monster, and he would return to his homeland. There was no good compromise.
Chapter Two
After the weirdness of handling the Cormier situation, life resumed normalcy. I was still unnaturally tired, still engaged, and still not getting any loving.
What passed for normalcy in my life was overrated.
The work part, at least, was a welcome lull. This was an annual tradition. I tended to think of it as the pre-holiday calm. By January, it would be hectic. Mid-Winter was always when I had the most downtime, but during the end of year holiday people would start deciding death was overrated and hunting down draugr for a shot at eternal life on Earth instead of natural deaths. I wasn’t sure if it was depression, greed, or sentimental holiday moods.
Mine was an odd job, but I didn’t ever want to give it up. I wasn’t immune to draugr venom, but I was stronger than humans and could flow as fast as the draugr could. I had advantages, and I felt duty-bound to make use of them.
Tonight, I was enjoying a night out with my closest friends. Draugr weren’t all trapped by sunlight, but the newly-infected, bite-first-think-never ones were. I tended to think that was a good excuse to stay in the bar until dawn’s light
“Yule? Chanukah? Christmas?” Sera was holding up pictures of formal dresses. “Did you discuss it? Which are you celebrating in Elphame? I know Mama Lauren has usually had dibs on Chanukah. Do we call one? Or do we wait on Eli?”
Jesse and Christy said nothing. They exchange a look that spoke volumes. No one expected my first holiday season as the future queen of Elphame to go smoothly.
Running away to Elphame as if I could be fae wasn’t an option for more reasons than just my issues with Eli—which was why I was livid when I received a beautiful handwritten summons to celebrate “the holiday” with the king of the faeries. Eli’s uncle seemed to think there was one holiday. As a Jewish witch with Christian friends, I could guarantee that there were at least three of them on my social schedule.
The four of us were enjoying a night off at Eli’s bar, the oddly named Bill’s Tavern. No one called Bill had ever owned or been employed here, but whenever I asked “who is Bill,” Eli simply laughed.
Fae humor confused me sometimes.
I still had my weapons, but that was like saying I still had on trousers. It would be weird and uncomfortable to go out for the night without them. One sword, two guns, and a dagger if I needed to draw my blood. It might seem odd, but my blood was my best weapon. One loyal army of the dead trumped most conventional weapons.
Christy, whose job was mostly pool-hustling—often here--wasn’t working tonight either. She and Jesse were sort of hand holding, but not being all couple-y in an obnoxious way. Sera was scheduling our lives. It was her thing. One of them, at least. She was why we were out tonight, too. She was our glue.
“I have received a summons from the king,” I said.
“You’ll need another dress,” Sera said, as if dresses were the priority not the fact that some old dude had summoned me like I was his subject.
“That’s what you got out of this?” I met Sera’s gaze.
“Maybe we should get a couple of them.”
“Or not,” Jesse muttered.
“She cannot go before the king of Elphame in jeans.” Sera gave us all a look, one that meant she was debating smacking one of us upside our heads. “Which holiday did he invite you for?”
“The holiday, as if there is only one.” I was starting a list of grievances against the faery king—starting with the fact that he insisted on referring to me as “death” or “death maiden” and rolling right up to the moment. Honestly, the only thing I liked about him was his nephew, Eli.
Sera sighed.
In a game of chess, she’d be the king—maybe the queen. It varied. Christy was a bishop, influential and strong. She was impervious to Sera’s quelling look and spoke her mind. Jesse was the Rook, the castle. He was home. Steady in whatever way we needed. And I was either a knight or a pawn, depending on the moment. I’d like to be a knight, but lately I felt like I was being played.