Author: Kalayna Price

Falin stood in the street, his gun level. A pair of unmoving legs hung out the door of the van. I couldn’t see the other fae.

“These are iron bullets,” Falin said as he stepped toward the van. “So unless you want to end up like your friend, start talking.”

Cars on both sides of the street slowed.

A crow’s cry-laugh floated up from the bowels of the van, permeated the street. It drew an involuntary shiver from me.

“You’ll be doing more explaining than me, I think,” the fae said.

A black station wagon stopped, the woman inside craning her neck. The car behind her stopped as well. A man in that car pulled out a cell phone.

Clearly the glamour veil had dropped.

I slouched in the passenger seat, hiding from the prying eyes. Over the rim of the dash I saw Falin running for the car, his gun holstered.

He vaulted the door, twisting in midair to land in the driver’s seat. In another situation, I might have been impressed. I swallowed around the lump in my throat, trying to make room for air. Falin threw the car in gear.

It lurched into motion, and he swung a hard U-turn. My shoulder slammed into the door, and my already ragged breath burst out of me. Scrambling back into the seat, I clawed for the seat belt.

We swerved around the stalling traffic, and then Falin gunned it, going from twenty to sixty faster than I could blink. I twisted to glance back. The van jetted into motion, disappearing around the corner.

It was a long few minutes before my heart stopped pounding in my throat and I was able to speak.

“They tried to kidnap me.”

Falin glanced at me from the corner of his eye but didn’t say anything.

I looked up at him. “You shot him.”

Still he said nothing.

I cleared my throat. “Shouldn’t you, like … call it in and secure the scene? You shot someone.”

Falin slammed on the brakes and spun the wheel.The car turned hard, tilting on two tires. I gripped the door, my knuckles white.

“What the hell is your problem?” I screamed as the tires jumped the pavement.

Falin straightened the car. “Most people say thank you when rescued.”

I gritted my teeth, swallowing the scream bubbling in my chest. He swung the car into an empty grocery store parking lot and darted into a parking space. He pulled the emergency brake, and the car screeched to a stop.

Falin turned before the momentum of the stop snapped us forward. His gaze traveled over me, assessing, and his lips twisted in a grimace.

He leaned across the seat and fished through the glove compartment. Tugging out an unmarked red box, he sifted through the contents and pulled out an adhesive bandage the size of my fist.

“For your forehead.” He dropped it in my lap, then leaned between the seats for something on the back floorboard.

I picked up the bandage. A faint tickle in the back of my mind warned me of the inactive charm.The dormant spell wasn’t strong enough for me to feel what it did, but it was on a bandage, so probably it aided healing in some way. I lowered the visor and flicked open the vanity mirror.

Only a few of the stitches had split, but I had small jagged tears where they’d pulled before snapping.

Removing the paper from the back, I pressed the bandage over the wound. My blood activated the spell, and warmth spread over my forehead, easing the sting of torn flesh. Not bad.

Falin straightened, a white oxford shirt in his hand.

He tossed the wrinkled shirt in my lap, followed by a pack of wet-wipes that read G’S WINGS. “Change out of the bloody top.”

I glanced at my tank. It was spattered in small red blotches. Great. I’ll never get the blood out. I tugged it away from my skin. Oh yeah; I was damp from more than sweat. I cringed. Two days in a row I’d ended up covered in blood that wasn’t mine.

I reached for the door and considered the grocery store facade. No signs, no lights—abandoned. Great—no chance of a bathroom there. I glanced back over my shoulder. Falin was cleaning his gun and not paying attention to me.

Well, hell. I tugged the tank over my head.

In the other seat, Falin made a half-choked sound.

Guess he was paying more attention than I thought. Not that it mattered.

“Your timing, while opportune, was a little too convenient,” I said, tearing open the foil on the wipes.“You’ve been following me.”

Falin didn’t answer.

The wet-wipe was cold, but I mopped up my chest and stomach even though I couldn’t see any blood.Then I shrugged into the oxford. It was too big. I buttoned the two buttons between my breasts and tied the tails at my stomach. It was the best I could do.

When I turned, I found Falin staring at me. He cleared his throat and dropped his eyes. He held out his hand.

With a sigh, I handed over my tank. I guess it was evidence now. The police still hadn’t returned my clothes from yesterday. If I keep this up, they’ll have my whole wardrobe in little paper bags.

Falin propped open his door and dug a lighter out of his pocket. Without a word, he held the lighter under my tank.

“Hey! What do you think you’re—”

The tank caught fire, filling the air with the scent of burning fabric.

I jumped out of the car. “You’re crazy.” I slammed the door. “What kind of cop are you? You shot a guy, fled the scene, and now you’re destroying evidence. I should call nine-one-one.” Except I couldn’t. My phone was gone.

I tugged my purse strap higher on my shoulder and glanced around the empty parking lot. What was I supposed to do now? I stomped toward the street.

The convertible purred behind me, starting up. Gravel crunched under the wheels as Falin eased up beside me.

“I told you to stop attracting attention to yourself.”

I blinked at him. What, pray tell, had I done to attract attention to myself? Well, except possibly reveal the existence of a really nasty spell that looked way beyond standard witchcraft. But since then? Okay, since then I’d investigated the site where a body switch had occurred.

Oh yeah, and possibly visited the home of the latest victim.

I cringed and kept walking.

“What did you tell the governor’s daughter?” Falin asked, still crawling the car forward to keep pace with me.

“Casey had nothing to do with this.”

“You don’t find it the least suspicious that you were attacked minutes after leaving the governor’s house?”

Yeah. I did. But I wasn’t about to tell him that. Since my conversation with Roy, I was running on suspicions and questions. I guess I could have told Falin everything I knew and thrown his case wide open—as if he’d actually believe me—but what if my suspicions were wrong?

I didn’t want to know what my father would do if I embarrassed him by falsely accusing him of dark magic.

Besides, trying to explain my involvement might bring to light the deep dark secret that the esteemed Humans First Party member shared chromosomes with me, and my father had spent a lot of money—and if it were anyone else, I’d believe that binding oaths of silence were involved—to keep our relationship quiet.

When I didn’t say anything, Falin rolled closer, angling his wheels. “Get in the car.”

“I’ll walk, thanks.”

“Get in the car.” He leaned over, opening the passenger door so it swung out to block my path.

I looked at him. The setting sun had turned his hair an eerie red, and the falling dusk did little to soften his face. He cocked an eyebrow and pointed to the seat.

He was dangerous.

He’d just saved my life.

I wavered, torn, and he smiled. It wasn’t much of a smile, but it transformed his face, softening the edge that made me want to shy away and hide. I do need a ride.

I climbed into the seat.

“I’ll take you to report your stolen car,” he said once I shut the door.

“And the kidnapping?”

“Just the car.”

Crap. He’d shot a fae. To rescue me. And he didn’t want me telling anyone. I glanced back at the smoldering pile that was all that was left of my tank top. What kind of detective is he?

Chapter 8

The morning paper had a large picture of me on the front page. It must have been taken the second I realized the recording had been released because I had a rather stunned “oh shit” expression. Not flattering.

I folded the paper and tossed it on the counter, pausing to rub the scratches on my shoulder, which still ached. It was early afternoon, and so far I’d left the house only to take PC for a quick, and very tense, potty break around the backyard. Part of me doubted that the fae who’d tried to abduct me would try anything with a half dozen news vans around, but the other half of me—the paranoid side, which probably included my survival instinct—kept reminding me the first attempt had been on a busy street.

So, I’d stayed inside. With the blinds closed. And the doors warded. I’d even locked the door on the inner wall that separated my loft from the stair to the rest of the house—and I never locked that door. Now the biggest problem came down to one simple fact.

The pickle was gone.

The fridge was officially empty, and I’d fed PC the last bit of his kibble for breakfast. If Casey’s thirty-two dollars and I didn’t make it to the store soon, PC and I were going to be very hungry.

“What do you think I should do?”

PC looked up from his pillow, confirmed that I didn’t have food, and then closed his eyes again. I sighed. PC hadn’t been a fan of our breakfast pickle.

“Okay. I’ll go out.” But I didn’t move. This is ridiculous.

I can’t hide forever. I stood, but my feet felt heavy, and my knuckles were white where I gripped the counter.

Get a hold on yourself, Alex. I took a deep breath and pried my fingers from the counter. It’s just the grocery store.

I grabbed a head scarf and huge sunglasses out of the bottom drawer of my dresser, then examined myself in the mirror. I look like I’m trying to avoid the paparazzi.

If only the press were my major concern. I’d started to close the drawer when a bit of dark leather caught my eye.