City of Fae

There were other less palatable websites, calling for the fae to be monitored, even going so far as to suggest they wear tracking devices. But as the fae presented a glamorous, desirable image, those websites hadn’t gained much traction. The unfortunate side effect of their touch, was just that; unfortunate, but the Trinity Law and the FA would protect us. The public wouldn’t be so easy to placate if they knew about the queen, and the real Faerie. Tracking monitors may not seem like such a bad idea once they knew creatures like her lurked beneath their feet. Were there more where she came from? Were more likely to be cast out, sent here? It was my responsibility to reveal the truth; even if the thought of doing so set my teeth on edge. It wasn’t just my livelihood at stake, nor was it the lives of the people the queen had to be using to bolster her strength, it was the broader implications. What the truth would mean for human-fae relations. I had to do this right. No mistakes, no guesses. I needed the facts before I published.

After flipping on the TV to chase away the quiet, I settled in for some quality Google time, but deciphering facts from fiction was virtually impossible without a rock star fae to filter the fantasy from the fact. The going would have been easier if my mind didn’t constantly wander back to Reign and the kiss. Could you call it a kiss if only one person was doing the kissing? Of all the things I had to think about—spider-queens, the fact I’d helped a fae-at-large escape the authorities, the bigger picture—and I couldn’t get past the kiss. I touched my fingertips to my lips and closed my eyes. It had been astonishing, and he hadn’t done a damn thing. What would it be like had he responded to me like I’d wanted him to? Wait. What? When did I start lusting after him?

With a growl, I searched the Internet for the effects of fae bespellment, ignoring the ads trying to sell me fae-look-alike contact lenses, and confirmed my suspicions. For most victims—all of which were human, since the fae couldn’t bespell each other—it took several “points of contact” to start the process, but once caught, the victim slid inexorably into fae bespellment. If a fae should take your draíocht during those initial moments of contact, then the connection solidified sooner. I’d touched him … twice? Three times if I counted the kiss. More? I was so screwed.

I searched next for a cure. Separation. I had to walk away. Clinics specialized in weaning humans off their fae addictions. It would be easier to kick the bespellment if I hadn’t progressed to stage two: Feeling. Did I feel for him?

I looked up and caught the end of a news report on the TV. Library footage of Reign fending off a barrage of paparazzi adorned the screen. Beneath the unforgiving camera flashes he only seemed more fae-like, more alluring and untouchable. The report went on to say Reign’s publicity agent denied the rock star was missing, even though he’d failed to show up for several scheduled TV appearances. When asked about the pictures taken that seemed to show Reign leaving a grubby Mile End café with an unknown woman, aka me, his agent offered a smile as though she shared an in-joke with the world. This was playboy Reign: no explanation required. Likewise the FA weren’t mentioned, so it would appear their hunt for Reign and the fact his right-to-roam had been revoked, hadn’t been made public knowledge. Not entirely surprising. As Andrews had said; the FA liked to keep their problems to themselves. The publicist mentioned a concert at the O2 Arena at the end of the week, which he “wouldn’t miss, if he wanted to keep collecting his paychecks.” Money didn’t motivate Reign. I’d known him a couple of days and that was clear. He had more problems on his mind than making that concert. Apparently, he had a plan … But I wasn’t trustworthy enough to be part of it. I couldn’t blame him. He knew I was a reporter. It begged the question why he hadn’t shut me out; the answer no doubt lay in the queen’s words: She’s mine. I shivered. What could the queen possibly mean? How could I be hers? It didn’t make any sense. The spiders were sent to me for a reason. Reign said they wanted something. But he knew more. The way he sometimes looked at me, as though trying to see through me. Was it something to do with my work? I racked my brain for anything out of place, anything unusual prior to Reign’s appearance. I had been working on a bespellment story, but that was nothing new. What wasn’t he telling me?

Shay, the white-haired fae’s words came back to me: He’ll seduce, because that’s how he uses your kind, but he can’t care. Was Reign using me? Was I his newest distraction? A guy like him could have anything, or anyone. Maybe that was the point. I could be his distraction? Something to pass the time. Well, whatever he wanted, it didn’t matter, because it wasn’t happening. Now I knew I’d been feeling the effects of bespellment, I could watch for the signs and keep my distance.

Grumbling under my breath, I searched the Internet for mention of the queen. Nothing. I did find reference to the Keepers. Four fae who created the Fae Authority to police and manage their own kind. There wasn’t any mention of the Keepers having other tasks, and no mention of their names either. Charmaine, the BBC’s presenter, hadn’t been kidding when she said the Fae wouldn’t talk. They kept their secrets locked away behind dazzling smiles.