Ghost Light

I pulled my attention from the multitude of fae in the lower levels to a roped off area high above their heads.  A second tier rose above the crowd and here fae gathered in small, private groupings.  These gathering places were set far apart from each other, allowing for maximum privacy.  To ensure that they were not disturbed, each area boasted its own security.  Judging from what I could see from my aerial vantage point, the club also offered these elite clients a lavish spread of food, drink, and entertainment.

This had to be the location set aside for fae royalty.

I hurried down the stairs, ready to make a beeline for the faeries on the second tier.  If Sir Torn was here, he’d be on that upper level.  The club may be neutral ground, but it was organized to reflect fae hierarchy—and Torn was a cat sidhe lord.

The music stopped, the room going silent, and I froze mid-step.  Every eye in the place turned to the stairs where we hung from the ceiling like flies on fly paper.  If this was a trap, we were as good as dead.

I slowly lowered my foot and shifted my weight onto the balls of my feet.  I scanned the room for movement, waiting for a sign from the fae below.  I caught a flash of flame to my right and spun, chiding myself.  I was so focused on the floor below that I hadn’t searched the domed ceiling that arched just inches from our heads.

A fiery ball of flame and feathers rushed toward me.  I reached for my throwing knives, but someone grabbed my sleeve, halting the movement.  I risked a glance over my shoulder to see Ceff holding my jacket.  He gave a quick, short shake of his head.  I raised an eyebrow in question, but he was already whispering to Jinx who was reaching for her crossbow.

I lowered my hands, but kept them loose at my side.  If Ceff believed the fiery ball flying toward me wasn’t a threat, then I’d play along—for now.

Seconds later a winged phoenix settled on the railing beside me.  It cocked its head at me, making a chirping sound low its throat.  After a moment’s inspection, it turned, satisfied, and faced the crowd.  Flickers of flame raced along the edges of its red and gold feathers, sending up tendrils of cinnamon and myrrh scented smoke that made my eyes water.  The phoenix puffed itself up, a rush of heat flowing out from its body, as it ruffled its feathers and addressed the crowd below.

“Ivy Granger, princess, daughter of Will-o’-the-Wisp, king of the wisps,” it said.  “And…”

Ceff leaned forward and whispered something to the bird-like fae.

“And her consort Ceffyl Dŵr, king of the kelpies,” it said.  “And vassal.”

Consort?  Ceff had made our courtship official.  A small, pleased smile touched my lips.  Before I could turn to say anything to Ceff, the phoenix burst into flame.  The crowd clapped as ash sifted over their heads like macabre confetti.

So much for making a discreet entrance.

Music began to play and the buzz of conversation filled the air.  Dancers returned to the dance floor, but many fae continued to watch the three of us make our way down the spiral staircase.  I made a mental note of who seemed the most openly interested and where they were located within the club.

It would have been better to have had a schematic of the place to work with, but I’d taken in the basic layout as we made our entrance.  The club was laid out in a circular, spiral pattern.  I used the large bar, stocked with bottles of glowing liquids, to orient myself.

When we reached the bottom of the stairs, I strode through the crowd, holding my chin high.  A sea of dancers parted to make way for the two royals and their human vassal.  My shoulder blades itched, feeling the eyes of strangers at my back, but I continued on toward the velvet ropes I’d seen from above.

I flipped my hair over my shoulder and stole a quick glance at my companions.  Ceff looked like a man in his element.  We may not have been at sea, but Ceff was used to large, royal audiences.  His role as kelpie king often meant lengthy negotiations with both enemy and allied faerie delegations and the mandatory attendance of fae social functions.  Ceff moved through the crowd with the strength, grace, and confidence of a champion race horse.

Jinx matched Ceff’s posture though her eyes were wide and the knuckles of the hand holding the strap of her weapons bag were white.  More than one fae leaned in closer for a better look or sniff, as if they were at a wine tasting and testing Jinx’s vintage.  I don’t know how she tolerated the behavior.

If it had been me, I might have staked them all with iron.  Thankfully, my princess status demanded space—either that or I still smelled of rotting ghoul guts.  The crowd of fae continued to part before me, allowing me to move unhindered.  A trickle of sweat ran down my back, but I took a calming breath and tried not to think of the potential threat of nightmare visions from so many immortals.