Sunset was a liminal time around Nera Court. Humans curious about the supernatural nightlife started to drift into the area like a coming tide, and more night dwellers began to arrive, drawn by the prospect of finding a quick meal. I was able to snag a parking spot close to the alley leading to Queen Mab's, though I expected it to be the only bit of good fortune I was going to have that night.

Tired, it was difficult to sit in the parked car and reach for the magic of the alley, spilling only gossamer strands of my soul to check for the Fae's presence. Like a hurricane, Xerex's magic was a revolving storm waiting just ahead.

"At least he's here," I sighed, sliding from the sedan. The mouth of the lane was dark under the broken street lamps, and—as I looked down at myself—I could see whispers of cyan light escaping through the tight weave of my turtle-neck and blazer. I'd overdone it tonight, but I needed to press forward.

There were patrons milling around the entrance of the trinket shop. They were all human, all dressed in black with tattoos stretching from their wrists to their shoulders, with a couple leaning against the window outside, smoking, casting hostile glances in my direction as I crossed the threshold into the thundering chaos inside. A man I didn't know was behind the counter. The top of his head was bald but his chin sported a long red beard and there was a large gold piercing through his septum. Kyle was behind another counter, wearing a t-shirt with "Queen Mab's" neatly plastered across his chest. The heavy bass music pouring through the speakers assaulted my ears as I stepped inside, and took in the sight of people bartering for the actual valuable trinkets inside the shop. 

Xerex wasn't in the room, but I sensed his presence lingering above, pressing down upon me like an omnipotent squall trying to quash my soul, though I kept it locked tightly in my own body. I tried to get Kyle's attention, but the vamp ignored me utterly, probably terrified I'd brought Havik with me again. Grunting, I approached the beaded man.

"Welcome to Mab's," he said, his expression not changing as he turned from a skinny woman scrutinizing a ring to look me over. "We're closed to tourists tonight."

Tourist, really? I look like a tourist? 

"I'm looking for Xerex," I said, shifting in place. The bearded employee didn't seem impressed, though I wasn't trying to be impressive. I was self-conscious of my scars glowing too intensely, and didn't want this guy to get a glimpse at them. What a disaster that'd be. 

The man glanced away. "Sorry, Mr. Darhan isn't available." He returned to speaking with the skinny woman, telling her about the ring she'd selected.

Well shit, I thought, fuming. What do you mean, he isn't available?! He's right upstairs! You stupid—!

I needed to get into that godforsaken lounge on the east bank and I only had two options; either I asked Xerex, or I groveled to Havik. The latter man would be furious if I suggested it, and the former...well, I wasn't sure Xerex would help me, and if he did I wasn't sure I'd survive his price. Either way, I didn't have time to throw a fit in the middle of a trinket shop.

Already regretting my decision, I thrust my talent upward through the floorboards, right into the maelstrom overhead. If Xerex's magic had been a physical force, it would've reduced this shop into a puddle of half-chewed splinters and splattered people. As it was, I winced when the tempest of his magic tore at my soul and I felt the essence burn in my skin.

Distantly, I sensed a shift in the Fae's attention, those glassy effervescent eyes swiveling in my direction. I waited for his response.

A phone rang somewhere behind the counter, loud and clear over the music. The bearded man stooped to answer it, putting an outdated corded receiver up to his ear. "Queen Mab's," he answered, his mouth forming the words though the sound went unheard over the music. His eyes flickered in my direction. "Sure thing." The man dropped the phone back to its hook and called out, "Hey, blondey. He said go on up."  

Irked over the "blondey" comment, I navigated through the store to the far wall, where a set of stairs was hidden behind a painted door. The stairs were made of faded stained wood desperately in need of some maintenance, and there was a single light fixture—a small seventies hanging lamp comprised of brass and too many glass panels. I hit the switch on the wall, but the fixture remained off. Sighing, I climbed the steps in semi-darkness, wondering what in the world I was walking into.

The loft above the store was shrouded in a hazy quiet dampened by the thump of ambient noise rising through the floorboards. It was dim despite the presence of floor lamps, all left unflared like sleeping sentinels, and the only light to be found in the space came issuing in from the wide windows, outside of which were flashing, neon billboards for Nera Court. 

I paused in a splash of blue light, taking in the barrenness of the main room and kitchen. There was a single, lumpy couch facing a blank stretch of wall, a threadbare rug underfoot, and a quilt lazily tossed on the arm. There was no stove in the kitchen, no microwave, no appliances aside from a short mini-fridge and a coffee pot on top of it. There was a square table that looked as if it'd been stolen from some outdoor café, and one occupied chair. 

The Darkling was at the table, reading a book by the light of the gaudy billboards, but as I stepped forward, his eyes darted toward me instead. His gaze was intense, alert, though his posture was slouched and languid. 

"Hey, professor. Didn't expect to see you so soon." 

I came nearer, crossing from the light of one window to the next, trying to bolster my courage—until I noticed he wasn't wearing a shirt and I lost my nerve.

"No vampire tag-along tonight?" he said when I didn't reply, leaning back in his rickety chair so the light spilled over his bare chest and lean stomach. "Did you come to play with me instead, Ms. Winters?" 

"I—." I averted my eyes, clearing my throat. "I came to discuss business."

"Business? How dull." His hand played across his sternum, tracing a lazy line from its base to the hollow of his throat over and over in an attempt to draw my eye. "Are you certain I can't interest you in anything else?"

A warm blush rose from my neck into my face. I wasn't tempted, but I was definitely embarrassed. "I want to get into the lounge on Eighth and Primavera, on the east bank."

The motion of his hand paused as a strange emotion crossed Xerex's glittering eyes. I couldn't say what it was, as I was unwilling to stretch my soul out through the storm of his magic to sample it.

"That's not a fun place to go, professor."

"My interest in that place is not for fun."

"It's a scary place. Are you into scary things, Grae?"

I inhaled a breath for patience, gazing out between the individual slats of the open window shutters. He wanted me to ask a question. The Fae were masterful manipulators, and this one was no different. Xerex was trying to get me off-balanced and flustered to trick me into making mistakes, into asking too many questions and making too many requests.

"I wish to go there, right now," I replied, ignoring his pointed jibe as I looked at him again. "You are the only person I know who goes there." 

"And how do you know that?" 

I didn't reply, only crossed my arms and averted my eyes once more.

Xerex rose, and I heard the gentle padding of his bare feet against the wood floors as he approached. "Such information you have, Grae. I'm almost envious." 

I held perfectly still when he stood before me, his nose at my eye-level, his lips quirked in a sharp-toothed grin. His arm rose and I flinched, not wanting him to touch me, especially when my scars were so vividly alight, but the Fae didn't touch my clothes. His deft fingers tucked my hair behind my pointed ear, and he started to quietly laugh. It wasn't a nice laugh. It sounded like he was mocking me. 

My mind was screaming, yelling that this had been a bad idea, that I'd been better off asking the demon for help, or Havik, or just walking up to the pit's door and shoving my way in. There was too much curiosity in this creature's keen, alien eyes. I was going to regret this deal greatly by the time we were through. 

"You have to ask me, Grae. I'm not going to let you get away without voicing your request." He took a step back, then another, a certain swagger in his gait. He played the game well—too well, in fact, but he also knew when to forego the verbal ritual and demand what he wanted.

I'd almost hoped to get his help without having to ask a single question, but I knew that was too idealistic of me. "Will you get me through the door to the blood pit on Eighth and Primavera? I do not require anything else from you, do not want anything else from you, and refuse to be indebted for anything else from you." 

Xerex rolled his eyes at my stipulations, but still nodded. "I guess. It sounds interesting, yeah? I have to wonder if you'll be able to make it out alive." The Fae turned, pacing to the far door. "Let me get dressed." 

As he walked away, I noticed two vertical scars on his back, both mirroring each other, positioned just inside his shoulder blades. They were an odd sight on his otherwise smooth and untouched body, large enough to have been painful, but tidy and symmetrical, obviously created in some type of surgical procedure. I wondered what they were from.

Frowning, I touched my arm, folding my fingers tight upon my wrist. It wasn't any of my business. We all had scars. At least the Fae could show his.