Rosemary and Rue

“Great,” I said, and stood, pushing past her into the back hall. The door swung shut behind me, but not fast enough to keep me from hearing Manuel start to cry. Damn it.

He would have found out eventually: if he had been Evening’s pawn, someone else was bound to grab him and keep using him in the great chess game of faerie society. Any piece, however small, is too valuable to be allowed to just walk away. Hope isn’t always an easy thing in Faerie, but I wished him what hope I could—that he would find his feet before the world found him, and that his new master would be as kind as his old one. Evening was a lot of things, but she was never cruel, not even to her puppets. Her hands were always gentle on my strings.





SEVEN



THE HALL WAS THICK WITH stale cigarette smoke, and the walls were lined with tattered concert posters. The irregularly-spaced lights didn’t so much dispel the darkness as displace it, forcing it back into the corners. The dim light and low ceiling combined to keep even fae eyes from seeing what was really underfoot. I stepped on something that squished under the heel of my shoe and grimaced. Maybe the limited visibility was a good thing.

Only one of the hall’s four doors was labeled. The doors on the left led to the bathrooms, while the first door on the right led to the broom closet. The three were identical in everything but position, and it was always fun to watch a new kid trying to figure out which he needed. Some of them always got it wrong, but that’s the way life works; you grab a door at random and hope it’s the one you want, especially if your business won’t wait.

There was a sign on the fourth door, marking it for the sake of folks who didn’t feel quite as adventurous, or maybe for the ones who wanted to play a more dangerous game. It was just a piece of tattered cardboard, with the word “Manager” scrawled in black marker. Someone had written “is a serious bastard” underneath, in crayon. Both statements were accurate, in their own ways: Devin was in charge, yes, and he was also someone you didn’t want pissed off at you. His temper was legendary, and he rarely gave second chances. He was also the first man I’d ever loved, and now that I was Home, I was starting to realize how much I’d missed him, even after everything we did to each other. I should have come to see him before there was blood between us to force my hand. Maybe we would both have been happier if I had. My eyes on the sign, I raised my hand and knocked.

“Come in,” called Devin, in the sort of rich, melodious tenor that makes teenage girls preen and swoon. I’d heard it before, of course, but that didn’t stop the hairs on the back of my neck from standing on end as I turned the knob and stepped through.

Devin’s office was lit by a dozen lamps that threw the grimy walls and aging furnishings into sharp relief. It wasn’t flattering, but it also wasn’t an illusion—he showed you what you were getting, right up front. I had to respect him for that, even as it worried me a little. Most purebloods are obsessed with light, immortal moths chasing mortal flames. They can see perfectly well without it, unlike humans or changelings; they want it anyway. Maybe the attraction is in the uselessness. Devin wasn’t a pureblood, but that didn’t stop him from following the light. I’d never been able to figure out why.