I was betting on the latter.
I studied the stranger more closely—he looked like the lead singer in a bad rock band. He even had the pinkish tint in his eyes, as if he were nursing a hangover from the night before, or probably still a little drunk. For clothing, the male wore a leather jacket and dark jeans. His blond hair was the sort of color that had obviously come from a box. Tattoos peeked out from beneath his sleeves. He was appealing, in a grungy sort of way.
Spike, I thought blearily. He looks like Spike from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Prettier, though.
The comparison almost made me smile… then I realized that Spike Wannabe wasn’t bound or secured to the wall. Ice-cold fear trickled through my veins. Suddenly I felt more awake. Alert. I didn’t know this person, and Belanor had put him in here for a reason. I was weak and vulnerable.
“You don’t need to worry about that happening. I’d rather stick my finger in an electrical outlet.”
The sound of his voice made me jump. My new cell mate spoke with a British accent, further strengthening the mental image of Spike. He still hadn’t opened his eyes. He certainly seemed too calm to be a prisoner of the Seelie Court.
A beat later, I processed his words. I felt my eyebrows furrow. Was I that obvious, or had Belanor stuck another “gifted” cousin in the same room as me? What was his game here?
“And I should just believe you?” I said, striving to sound neutral.
The male lifted his head, his lips puffing out on a sigh. He finally turned his face toward me, and I saw his eyes were brown. Not dark, like Finn’s, but something lighter. Like autumn leaves just before the snow arrived. “You should, because I’m asexual as fuck, and I’d have to be a complete tosser to lie about something like that.”
God, I wanted to believe him. Having an ally in this place could change everything, not to mention ease the constant weight of feeling so alone. But trusting the wrong person in my world could get you killed.
“Who are you?” I asked. I kept my gaze riveted to his face as I waited for an answer; even skilled liars had a tell.
The stranger had closed his eyes again. But now his posture wasn’t quite so relaxed. “My name is Gil,” was all he said. He didn’t ask for my name.
His behavior was unnerving. Why wasn’t he asking me any questions? Theories went around like flurries inside my mind. Maybe Gil had been here for so long that he wasn’t fazed by cell shifts anymore. Or maybe he was using his abilities on me at that very moment, sliding through my psyche like a snake in the grass.
Fear gripped me by the throat, making me sound more curt than I meant to. “Nice to meet you, Gil, but that doesn’t answer my question. Who are you, and why are you in this cell?”
“I’m as clueless as you are, sweetheart,” he said tightly. “I was walking down an alley in London, and I heard something come up from behind a second before I got knocked out.”
“If you’re a prisoner, then why didn’t they put you in scrubs?” I challenged.
“Jesus Christ, I don’t know, human. Why don’t we ask the nice kidnappers next time we see them?” Finally looking agitated, the stranger lifted his head and patted all his pockets, as though he were searching for his wallet or the car keys.
If he was working for Belanor, he was one hell of an actor.
The aggravation in his expression matched the reaction I’d seen in Peek’s eyes. That was twice in twenty-four hours I’d managed to annoy someone, I thought. It was one more side effect of becoming human, no doubt. As a Nightmare, even when I pissed someone off, there was always that underlying desire. It was difficult to truly dislike a person who made the pleasure center of your brain light up every time you looked at them.
At least I’d learned one thing—I wasn’t in a cell with another human. The way Gil had said the word was revealing enough.
The confirmation that he was Fallen made my distrust rise higher. Silence swelled around us, slightly suffocating. I didn’t know what else to say. How else I could test Gil to discern whether he was telling the truth. I thought about taking advantage of the music’s continued absence and trying to rest some more, but I knew I’d never be able to fall asleep with this stranger in the room.
“The tattoo on your hand,” I ventured, glancing at it again. I couldn’t see much, only a glimpse of lines and colors, but it was obvious they formed the tip of a bird’s wing. “It’s… really beautiful, actually.”
“You can see my tattoo?” Gil was suddenly looking at me with much more interest than before. I saw his eyes dart to my ears and my hands. Those were the first places Fallenkind looked when they met another creature of the shadow world. We were so few and scattered, most of us hidden amongst humans. It was instinct to take note whenever your paths crossed. To learn the species. To gauge the threat.
When Gil found nothing to give me away, he raised his gaze to mine and said, “What are you?”
Strangely enough, the fact that he asked made me like him more. This still didn’t mean I believed him, though. I felt my eyes narrow. “You first.”
A grin touched Gil’s lips. It wasn’t quite as mischievous as Laurie’s smile, I caught myself thinking. There was something darker about this male. More… hard-edged. The stranger tilted his head, making his gelled hair glint in the fluorescent light. His tone was contemplative as he said, “You know, I’m a gambler. I’ll give you three guesses, and if you guess correctly, then I’ll tell you. But if you guess wrong, you have to stop talking for the next hour.”
I didn’t hesitate. I wasn’t sure why, considering bargains never went well for me, but my instincts were drawn to Gil. “Deal,” I said. Then instantly, “Are you a shapeshifter?”
“Nope.”
“Warlock?”
“Incorrect.”
Shit. Only one more guess left. I withheld the next species I’d been about to say. Why did the stakes feel higher than they actually were? The stillness in the room was so noticeable that it was like a spell, thickening and hovering in the air. I studied the gleam in Gil’s eye and realized I was playing right into his hands. He didn’t expect me to figure it out.
Ignoring the cloud of weariness around my thoughts, I considered Gil like a puzzle, peering at all the pieces.
You can see my tattoos? he’d asked. There was obviously something significant about them. He’d looked at me as if I had surprised him. Not many people could see that ink on his arms, then. What made the ones that did different? Did you need to be a certain… species?
When I first awoke and worried that he’d assault me, Gil had known exactly what I was thinking. You don’t need to worry about that happening. I’d rather stick my finger in an electrical outlet. That was what he said. I’d assumed he made a perceptive guess, based on my body language or something in my expression.
My vision tunneled. What if he’d detected my fear with other senses?
“Are you… a Nightmare?” I spoke in hardly more than a whisper. The guess felt right the moment I said it out loud.
Gil was silent. I waited impatiently, but he just kept looking at me with an appraising expression. Doubts began to creep in. I started finding flaws in my theory. Doesn’t fit, an inner voice argued. He would’ve needed to touch you.