The desire to run home and hide under my bed was overpowering. I wanted to cover my eyes and bury my head in the proverbial sand, but I knew that would accomplish nothing. There was nowhere I could hide—nowhere I could run—that was beyond the reach of Havik and the eye of the vampire cadres. Only the Fae existed outside their control. Desperate as I was, I still wasn't about to sell myself into the service of one of the Courts.

I was a coward, not suicidal.

So, though I shook with dread and my intuition blared warning, I drove Sibbie to her apartment to drop her off, then started toward the west bank. Night had fallen fully by then, meaning all those who woke with the dusk were out in force, followed by the deluge of tourists and thrill-seekers. The magic fugue hung thick over the jammed streets, the neon lights as vivid as a noonday sun piercing the haze.

I inched my way through the blaring horde of traffic to reach Nera Court, and by the time I cycled through its distinguishing roundabout, there wasn't a parking spot to be found in any of the accessible lots. The preternatural swamped the street, the malaise of their magic and emotions drifting in the open car window enough to give me a headache. The air smelled of violence and anticipation, hunger and desire. 

I ended up parking at the tail end of a fire lane in one of the less frequented alleyways, praying the area's obvious disuse would spare my poor car from any unwanted attention. On the phone, Havik had said to meet him at the shop in an hour. It'd been almost two hours by now, but there was nothing I could do about that. The vampire hadn't called back, so he was either waiting still—or was busy planning my torture. 

Maybe both.

With one hand on my bag, I jogged through the evening crowd, trying to remember the right twists and turns to take through the dense byways. The magic was so thick in the court I could feel its physical pull, parting like a gossamer veil, though the feather-light touch of it dragging on my skin remained. Just once, I pushed through a spot of violence so fresh it took my breath away—but I kept moving, not stopping to see what crime I had narrowly avoided becoming involved in.

There was always violence in Roccia Nera—violence, crime, feeding, and death. Maybe I could reach out and stop what I saw happening, but doing so would simply reveal my identity, not stop the violence. I'd be locked up and killed, and maybe it was cowardly to think so, but I valued my own life more than I did any ideals of justice or the safety of a dimwitted tourist canoodling with a hungry vamp in a backstreet.

I didn't like the violence, but I couldn't stop it.

Soon, I found the right lane. I had only to search for the rumbling storm of the Fae's magic and head in its direction. Two vampires waited at the white alley's mouth, one lounging against the building's wall in a puddle of sullen darkness while the other sat cross-legged on the ground with a cellphone in his hand.

They were Havik and the younger, auburn vamp who'd chased after me at Alfie's house. I almost didn't recognize the former: he wore the simple, unadorned outfit of an upscale waiter instead of his normal waistcoat and cravat. The modern clothes looked strange on the vampire, as if he were a piece of old artwork stripped of his gaudy frame, left ragged at the edges. Judging by his restless shifting and subtle grumbling, Havik wasn't fond of the look either.

That was just too odd to understand. First, his daughter goes missing, next his café was taken over. Now Havik was a waiter?

"Um...." I approached the two, fervently tucking my sharp ears into my lopsided braid. "I'm, uh, here." 

Havik's keen eyes snapped to me and he smirked from his great height, tossing a hand toward the sliver of moon visible through the court towers. "You're late, Ms. Winters." 

"Traffic," I quipped, doubling my grip on my purse. "I was across the county." I looked at the vampire on the ground, expecting hostility after I helped Alfie nearly tear his head off, but the auburn vamp only simpered and nodded once in my direction before returning his attention to his phone. He had a stern face, his eyelids bruised under dark brows, his full lips tilted in a permanent frown. I tasted his emotion, but it was calm, unaffected. It was odd, and yet I couldn't help but feel a smidgen of respect for his reservation. 

"Telavar," Havik addressed the auburn vamp. "Ms. Winters and I will return shortly."

"Yes, sir." 

With a brief, mocking bow, Havik waved me forward and I walked before the vampire with great reluctance. The shops surrounding the lane were closed, empty of their witchy residents. I watched Havik trail in my shadow, feeling the weight of his attention settle on the back of my neck. 

"So..." he drawled as we walked, his footsteps tracing my own. "This is what your full-cooperation looks like? Arriving over an hour late?" 

"I told you, there was traffic." The alley was short, the turn that would take us to the shop just ahead. I was relieved this nightmare would be over soon. "You know what traffic in the city is like at night."

"Do I?" 

I didn't respond. Technically, the vampire wouldn't have anything to compare the traffic against, would he? It wasn't like he went out driving during the day. In his perception, the west bank was always crowded.

Havik's cold fingertips ghosted over the nape of my neck as he dipped his fingers into my sweater and adjusted the collar. Spooked, I jumped forward with a small yip of sound—and Havik jumped after me, sighing with reproof. It was then that I realized the vampire was using me like the prow of a ship to break the bluster of the Fae's magic.

"Is that why you dragged me out here?" I demanded, spinning on my heels to face him. Havik was so tall I had to crane my neck to properly glare, and I was suitably cowed by the sheer size of the man. "To—what? Be your shield?"

"Of a kind." The vampire took hold of my shoulder and turned me with minimal effort. "Get on with it, Ms. Winters. If your lead bears no fruit, I have other places to search before the dawn."

Perhaps I was being a touch insensitive. I may've dislike vampires, but the man's daughter was missing and he was clearly desperate to find her if he was asking me to search. Grunting, I continued to the store at the end of the lane while the master vampire kept one step behind. It was almost a relief to step over the threshold and put distance between us—until I realized who sat behind the shop's front counter.

The Fae I'd sensed on the second floor earlier that afternoon had replaced the freezing human at the register. I had hoped the human would still be here, and that maybe—maybe—the Fae's presence would be avoidable. Unfortunately, it seemed I was doomed to disappointment as the Fae lifted his head from his book and looked us over.

Around him, the magic whirled in a thick tempest, its force enough to pull ripples from the drape hung over a picture behind him while a plant on the counter trembled. I eyed the Fae, frowned, and tempered my talent's innate wandering to see both of the guy's faces. Outwardly, the Fae projected a glamour, which was similar to how vampires could pull shadows to alter another's perception of them. Similar, but not the same.

The glamour was difficult for me to view, given my peculiar ability, so I had to concentrate to see the creature's public face. He appeared to be Seelie in the disguise, his wavy hair curling about his winsome face like molten gold, his body clad in fine vestments of silk and crushed velvet. He was floating cross-legged, level with the counter's lip, and seemed to glow with light. Strange choice in glamour, but I wagered the tourists got a kick out of it.

Inside the disguise, the Fae was definitely Unseelie, not Seelie. His natural hair color was a bluish-black, shaved on the sides of his head while the rest was swept forward in an edgy fringe. Several silver studs marched the line of his pointed left ear while the diamond heads of the snake bite piercing on his lower lip gleamed in the light. The teeth in that mouth were decidedly sharper than a human's—than a vampire's, too, and he was sitting on a stool, not floating. His clothes were shabby in comparison to the threads he'd chosen for his disguise, and he was paler and willowier than the glamour suggested, though that was typical for Unseelie.

It was an impressive façade, strong and maintained with ease. One of the best I'd ever seen.

In truth, it was easy to mistake one of the Dark Fae, sometimes called Darklings, for a vampire at first glance—but only a fool would think them the same thing. Vampires were terrifying and bloodthirsty, but they'd been human once. They understood human morality, even if they decided to ignore it most of the time. The Fae weren't human, weren't mortal, and didn't understand them, nor did they care to. They operated on a whole different ethical spectrum and had strict traditions that could baffle even the keenest Fae expert.

You could piss off a vampire and he may kill you. You could say the wrong word to a Fae, and you might find yourself enslaved to him for eternity.

The Unseelie looked us over, gaze lingering on Havik. He sighed as he looked down and turned a page in his book.

"I don't serve your kind, vampire."

Havik sneered as he stepped nearer, swatting aside a hanging gris-gris and a loop of Catholic beads. The space seemed impossibly small with the looming vamp inside. I was wedged between him and an overburdened shelf of worthless curios.

"I'm looking for a cadre member. She appears to be in her late teen years, dark-haired, roughly a hundred and sixty centimeters in height."

The Fae shrugged. "Sorry. Fresh out."

Havik didn't appreciate the joke. His jaw ticked and his gilded eyes flashed with menace. "You attacked a vampire and dragged them to this charming little junk pit of yours."

I blanched. What the hell! I silently protested, my lips pressed into a firm line. Why does he have to be rude with me standing in the blast zone?!

"I did," the Fae admitted, a small smile on his face as he kept on reading. "Not the one you seek."

"Show me."

The Dark Fae denied Havik, and the vampire began firing another volley of well-chosen insults for the Unseelie to brush off like drier lint. I remained silent, fighting the urge to slink out the door. The stupid bell chiming would give me away.

"Hey, vampire," the Fae interrupted, his voice slow and languorous as if this was just a casual encounter for him. The glamour persisted, displaying the same serene, placid creature, but the Fae beneath was grinning with those sharp incisors and bicuspids in full view. "Wanna buy a painting?"

"What?" Havik's rant was derailed mid-thought, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Of course not."

"Are you sure?" He reached behind himself and coiled his narrow fingers through the bottom of the black drape slung over one of the hung frames. "I think you'll like it."

"I don't—."

The Darkling pulled on the drape and it slid free of its mooring. Under the covering, the painting was smaller than I'd thought it be, surrounded by a simple frame of wood and done with a basic, almost amateurish technique. It wasn't the quality of the image that was shocking; it was what it depicted.

Painted in black on the white canvas was a symbol, one I saw every morning before I dressed, one I sometimes traced with a careless touch when I was bored or lost in thought. The symbol was a perfect replica of the scarred pattern on the bottom of my forearm, two whorls mirroring one another, converging at the top while curling outward and in upon themselves at the bottom. My scar was right there on the Fae's canvas, bold as could be.

Why in the hell did he have that?

Havik reeled as if the Unseelie had struck him. I remembered that night so long ago, when I'd gone to the house with the asymmetrical pentacle on the gable, and Havik had been there when he wasn't supposed to be. He'd seen that scar on my arm and had almost killed me for it, the same panic and mad, wild fervor gleaming in his eyes now as it had then.

The Unseelie was chuckling, the sound quiet, insistent, and tinged with a rasp that would have been endearing had his amusement not been so cruel. Havik snarled and began threatening the creature with injuries I didn't think were anatomically possible.

Sensing that he was getting nowhere fast, I pushed a vein of my talent free in search of the vampire the Fae had taken. The quicker I proved it wasn't Theda, the quicker we could leave.

In an instant, my ability was flattened by the magnitude of the Unseelie's power. Havik's diatribe had whipped it into an unholy frenzy, sparks of static blooming in the darkness of my second sight like fingers of lightning. The Fae's physical eyes widened by perceptible increments as shapes solidified in the magical tempest. Alarmed, I opened my mind to my ability's sight, pulling free of the surreal double-vision so I could see clearly what the Dark Fae was doing.

The circular whirl of energy was hardening, gaining form and distinction. Coils like those of a great snake were winding around Havik and me, the vampire ignorant to its squeezing embrace. A triangular head parted the vortex, armed with fangs the size of unsheathed swords as it reared and readied itself to snap Havik's head off.

Holy crap! The Fae was going to kill the vampire!

"Aurel!"

Just as the Fae's magic lunged, I yanked on Havik's arm, unbalancing him, and flung my talent toward the Unseelie. His energy wasn't like a vampire's. A vampire's energy eddied and pooled like water, which allowed my ability to push through it and change its shape. A Fae's power was like wind—like high-velocity, category-five hurricane wind that could rip flesh from bone and level a house. I could force my talent through it, but it was the equivalent of falling off a motorcycle and skinning myself alive on the asphalt.

In short, it hurt.

My ability was like a small white flag billowing in that raging storm, but I thrust it into the main bulk of the Fae's magic with just enough force to cause the vortex to tilt. An arm of the spinning magic broke from the main cluster for balance and manifested in the physical world, shoving trinkets off shelves, breaking expensive pottery, and striking the Unseelie. It slammed him face first into the counter and broke the glass of the display case.

Breathless, I returned to my senses and found myself clinging to Havik's arm to keep upright. Grossed out, I let go—and Havik eased past, marching straight up to the counter to lean over the downed Darkling and snatch the picture from the wall. In a burst of magic, the thing exploded into a million particles of dust and ash.

A clatter came from the far door that opened to the building's rickety stairs. A boy appeared, maybe only sixteen or seventeen, wide-eyed and dressed in ragged castoffs. I didn't need to see the fangs in his mouth to know he was a vampire: his magic was so fresh and untried it all but screamed "baby vamp."

"Mr. Darhan, is everything—?"

Havik moved with that uncanny speed of his and appeared at the young vampire's side. The guy yelped and almost fainted when Havik wrapped a stiff hand around his elbow, towing him toward the entrance. "We're leaving, Ms. Winters."

"What are you—?! You can't just take people—!"

Glass clinked as the Dark Fae straightened and pulled his face from the smashed display case. I expected anger and prepared myself for the backlash—but he started to laugh, and not as he had before, with derision and mockery. He laughed with shock as he brought one hand to his busted lip and gazed at his red fingers, amazed by the sight of his own blood. The glamour had fallen, his magic winding with excitement and thrill.

"That's wild...."

"Ms. Winters!"

Havik's sharp tone had me scuttling for the door once more, slipping on a fallen pad of overpriced stationery. I was eager to put as much space as possible between myself and the Fae before he realized I'd been the one to slam him into the counter. His magic may have been ineffectual against my physical body, but I knew he could tear my ability to itty-bits if it got caught in his whirlwind.

He could always snap my neck, too. That wasn't a pleasant thought.

We were almost to the turn in the alleyway when the door to Queen Mab's swung open, the bell rattling in protest. I froze, half-thinking the Fae would attack in the middle of the street as he had with the swooning vampire, so I turned to face him, unwilling to give the creature my back.

The Unseelie, hanging out over the store's threshold, grinned when our eyes met. His were a vivid shade of spring green.

"Hey, girl, come visit me anytime, yeah?"

With that said, the Fae returned to his shop, the door closing snugly after him. What did he mean by that? I stared after him, confused and unsettled, and only continued walking when Havik pinched my sleeve and gave it a strong, impatient tug.

"I would ignore him if I were you," the vampire master warned as he readjusted his grip on the fanged youngster. "Don't come back here."

Havik's rebuff only served to deepen my curiosity. I didn't want to do anything he deemed was a good idea.

Feeling petulant after such a long, crappy day, I asked, "Why?" as I brushed back a few loose strands of hair and strolled by the vampire. His eyes narrowed and followed. "Jealous, Havik?"

"Hmpf. You don't know who he is, do you? How unfortunate. I thought you were a preternatural expert."

That gave me pause. "Wait, am I supposed to know who he was?"

Havik only scoffed as he brushed by, swiping a finger across my cheek. I batted his hand away. "How cute. Maybe you should come back; do tell me how you and Xerex Darhan get on."

A cold sensation stole through my chest and settled in the pit of my stomach. "What?"

"That's his name, Ms. Winters. Surely you should recognize it. He's Xerex Darhan, the Unseelie Prince."

What?!