City of Fae

If he’d seen the queen, he wouldn’t ask that question. Even if I got close enough to her to brandish a dagger, she was vast, and in her world, she really was queen. And then there was the question of where my allegiance lay. Up here, in London, I was Alina, but down there, in Under, surrounded by her magic, I was something else entirely.

“If I managed to keep her out of my head, I could, I think. I’ve fought the FA. I know I’m quick, and strong, when my instincts take over. But she’s … terrifying.”

“I think this might be on you. I wish I could help, but I can’t get into Under. There’s nobody left to trust.”

“Unfortunately, you’re right.” Warren had said the hound could kill her, but Reign couldn’t control it. The queen could, perhaps in the same way she could get to me. Reign had killed for her. He wasn’t a coward, but he wasn’t stupid either. Either I was stupid to even consider going up against her, or insane, or, quite possibly, both.

Andrews got to his feet. “Wait here …” He disappeared from the living room and returned a few moments later with a towel-wrapped bundle. As he unfolded it and presented the dagger to me, my palm instantly itched to have the weapon back where it belonged. I reached out, but hesitated. The tiny gems scattered along the hilt glinted. It was a terrible weapon, terribly beautiful, something only the fae would know how to wield with deadly accuracy. I knew how to wield it. The same as I knew nothing was real in my life. My silly little Alina life was just the mask, covering a whole heap of bad. Taking the knife, wrapping my fingers around the handle, feeling its solid weight, meant accepting the truth.

“You had it on you the night I picked you up.” He didn’t seem to want to touch it. Neither did I, but for entirely different reasons.

My palm burned and my fingers twitched. If I took that dagger, I’d have to face her, and my fate.

Who was I kidding? Of course I was going to face her. There wasn’t anybody else to do this. There was no other way. If we waited until the concert, then what? A detective and a ghost girl couldn’t do a damn thing. But in Under, I wasn’t a ghost, I was a nightmare. Bits of the queen’s fantasy stitched together to make a monster. I’m really going to do this … “I’m not a hero.”

“True heroes rarely are.”

Curling my fingers around the handle, I eased the dagger off the towel and into my palm. Yes, it belonged to me. It felt right, weighted and balanced, an extension of my arm, my will. I could kill with it. I was capable. And terrified.

Do something important with your miserable existence. Warren’s last words drove steel into my heart. I would. If I had just days to live, I’d make those days count. No fade-out for me, Alina O’Connor would go out in a blaze of glory. A satisfied smile settled on my lips. I can do this.

Andrews’s eyes widened at the sight of my smile. “I wish I could come with you.”

“No you don’t.” I hugged the dagger against my chest. “Just rally anyone and anything you can, and get them to the concert, in case I fail.”





Chapter Twenty-two


The street outside Chancery Lane Underground Station throbbed with people. Detective Andrews might think he blended in, but really, the way he eyed the crowd, as though scanning the faces to see if they’d been featured on London’s Most Wanted. I’d have liked to have known Andrews in another life, one where we could talk about normal everyday things, wonderfully mundane things. If I had one friend, I’d have liked it to be him.

“How will you keep her out of your head?” He drew me to one side, away from the flow of people.

“With new memories. My memories.” I swallowed hard. “I just hope they’re real enough.” I still wore Reign’s coat. I’d folded up the sleeves so it didn’t engulf me. It was far too large, and swirled around my ankles, but hid the dagger well. Besides, I had more to worry about than my attire.

Andrews peered at my face, as though seeking something important, something he might find deep inside me. I blinked, “What? Do I have ketchup on my lip?”

His smile tilted sideways, and his eyes brightened. Just for a moment he looked proud. “You’re something, Miss O’Connor.” I liked that look on him. Somewhere inside all that detective stoicism there was a great guy.

“Thanks, I think.” I gave him a lighthearted punch on the shoulder. “Hey, anyone would think you’re worried.” He didn’t deny it. By the way his brows furrowed, I might have assumed he really did care. “I’ll be okay.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“Nope, you’re a good cop.” And then I realized why he’d adopted the severe detective look. This was good-bye. Even if I did manage to miraculously kill the queen, it wouldn’t be long before I burned out.

“If you … when you kill her,” he bowed his head, just for a second, and when his gaze found me again, his eyes had hardened with purpose. Clearing his throat, he tried again, “When you kill her, what’ll happen to you? You’re made from her magic, right?”