Or real y, realized that I had nowhere to go. If I cal ed a friend, I might put him in danger either from the constructs hunting me or the fae trying to drag me to Faerie. Not to mention the fact that the FIB probably had fabricated some sort of warrant for my arrest by now, and most of my friends were in some branch of law enforcement.
Where could a girl with a newfound tendency to merge realities, a ghost, and a smal dog go to hide? Wel , there was one option, though I hated considering it. There was one place no one in his right mind would ever look for me. I pul ed out my phone and cal ed my father.
I huddled under the sheltering wings of the granite angel that had stood overlooking a cemetery three blocks from Caleb’s house for the last forty years. The statue protected me from the casual onlooker, but I could peek out to see the gate and a bit of the road beyond. It seemed to take a lifetime before I heard gravel crunch under tires and saw a black Porsche with mirrored windows rol to a stop outside the smal cemetery gate.
I wished I could have sent Roy to check out the driver and make sure it wasn’t the FIB or one of the skimmers, but he hadn’t been able to enter the cemetery. The gates of a cemetery were meant to keep the dead inside, which also cemetery were meant to keep the dead inside, which also effectively kept ghosts trapped if they entered. He’d headed out to check on Bel ’s activities—and maybe actual y get an address this time—so I was on my own.
Well, let’s hope for the best.
I hopped down from my perch, my legs protesting after being curled against my body so long. I ignored the pins and needles as I turned and col ected my purse—and the dog currently sleeping in it. Then I made my way around the grave markers toward the car.
The Porsche’s doors clicked, unlocking as I approached.
I stil couldn’t see who was inside, which made my hair stand on end and my scalp feel a little too tight. If it was in fact my ride, I’d be happy about the heavy tinting, but if it wasn’t . . .
The passenger door popped open. “Get in the car, Alexis,” a crisp voice said.
I blinked in surprise, recognizing the voice. I hadn’t thought my father would come himself.
My father and I didn’t exactly get along. I’d like to say it was nothing personal, but that would have been a lie. It was very, very personal.
I’d spent most of my life believing he hated me because I’d been born a wyrd witch, and wyrd witches, especial y wyrd children, can’t hide what they are. I didn’t fit his image of the perfect norm family he’d built. Then a month ago I’d learned he was one of the Sleagh Maith, the nobles of Faerie, and it made me reevaluate everything I knew about him. The end result? I’d decided he was playing at something bigger and further stretching than I even wanted to know, and I wasn’t interested in being a pawn in his game. Continuing with the status quo of ignoring each other’s existence had seemed like a good plan. Until the fae forced me to go home crying “daddy.”
“I thought you’d just send someone,” I said as I slid into the plush leather seat and pul ed the door closed behind me.
me.
“Not for this.”
What’s that supposed to mean?
“How are you, Alexis?” he asked as he pul ed the car away from the curb.
I didn’t answer, but just sat studying his profile. My psyche was apparently now touching both a plane that accepted glamour and one that didn’t because I could see both the glamour that made him look like the clean-cut, just past fifty, respectable politician who walked around Nekros as governor and a leader in the Humans First Party and the face he hid under that glamour that appeared only a few years older than me and featured the striking bone structure of the ruling class of fae.
But from which court?
There weren’t many Sleagh Maiths in the mortal realm.
They were the royal blood of Faerie. Oh, they’d been front and center when the fae came out during the Magical Awakening, as they were humanlike and beautiful—at least by human standards—but of the openly fae, aside from some figureheads and some movie stars, it was rare to see Sleagh Maith. Unglamoured, at least. I guess there was no tel ing how many were in hiding. But now that I thought about it, I didn’t know any independent Sleagh Maith—
except, hopeful y, my father.
Okay, way to think myself nervous. “You are independent, aren’t you?”
My father looked over at me. “No.”
Crap. Why hadn’t I thought of asking him that before I asked for his help? I hadn’t been paying attention to where we were headed, but now that I glanced outside, I realized we weren’t going toward the mansion he cal ed a house.
“Let me out of this car.”
“Sit down, Alexis, before you dump that poor dog on the floorboard,” he said, and I noticed that the purse, with dog, in my lap was teetering. A lot. “I am not winter court, nor do I care what that impetuous and selfish queenling has to say.”