“No gardens.” She took his hand and started toward the dance floor. “No private concert, but you could dance with me, Creed. That’s allowed.”
Getting involved with a fae-blood was too risky. She couldn’t do it, but for the next several minutes, Lily let herself be held by the boy who had been her fantasy before she’d even known he was a fae-blood like her. After this, she’d return to the life she knew and understood. For a few moments, though, she was going to enjoy herself.
four
ROAN
Roan waited in the alley behind the Paragon hotel for his closest friend and ally. If anyone asked, he was her date. It was a convenient cover for their meetings—and for the fact that he had about as much interest in girls as he had in joining a country club. Roan had given his heart away several years ago, and the only people who believed otherwise were the ones who didn’t know him at all. Violet Lamb knew him as well as anyone in either world could.
He shivered a little. The filthy water pooled in gutters behind the hotel made him feel vaguely queasy. There was no way around it though: meeting Violet in the lobby was sure to lead to other problems. She was here filming some sort of action film, and the photographers and fans were all but camped out in the lobby. The hotel allowed it tonight, which gave her a better shot at slipping out through the service elevator without being seen.
It was a familiar routine. Roan waited until he spied her sidling along the building. Her flame-red hair was tightly bound in a braid, and she had a long leather coat with an oversized hood pulled up to further hide the spill of red curls that everyone thought came from a salon. Like him, Violet was fae—specifically, born of the Seelie. Those of the so-called “better” fae court were what was traditionally called “sun-burnished.” For centuries, the descendants of the Seelie fae had been mistaken for African Americans, Latin Americans, or people with Middle Eastern ancestry. Violet’s mother was from the Southern Continent, so she played up the illusion of Hispanic blood whereas Roan and Creed both had human families who were visibly African American. Being even slightly fae-blood would result in imprisonment, so they all had been raised to encourage not only the misconception that they were simply darker-skinned humans, but also that they made themselves appear more attractive by way of cosmetics or other chemicals.
All fae or fae-blood—those who were descendants of the fae, but not true fae—had to simply pretend to be shallow enough to care about appearance. Some, like Violet, had an easier time of it because of the role they took in this world. Vi was an actress, one who loved her job and the primping that came with it. Tonight, though, she was dressed to hide in the shadows: over-large black sunglasses, her standard tall leather boots, black jeans, and her black leather coat. He teased her once about the leather, but she pointed out that everything else held the scent of smoke too easily.
He took her hand when she was in reach and led her toward the car he’d left in the next street over. No words were spoken until they were both inside the nondescript dark sedan he’d borrowed for the weekend.
“Are you okay?” she said once they were safely out of range of any possible listeners.
“Is there another choice?” he asked. If he were to tell her he couldn’t handle the job, she’d do it for him. She had done so, more than a few times, but there was a limit to how much he was willing to let her take on for him. The fact that they were cheating by doing his mission together was enough risk.
“You know there is.” Her tiny hand landed on his, and he could feel the heat even though she was containing it. Violet’s affinity was fire, the precise opposite of his. She had great control over it—at least she did when there was a crisis—so he wouldn’t want anyone else at his back.
He turned his hand over and squeezed hers briefly. “Not this time. You’ve done more than enough for me . . . and for Will.”
She shrugged. “Family, right?”
“Always.” With Violet or Will, Roan could let his guard down. He could admit that he wasn’t as laissez-faire as everyone believed. With them, he could admit that he hated what they were tasked with doing, hated the way it made him feel, and sometimes in words never spoken too overtly, he admitted that he hated the Queen of Blood and Rage. With Violet or Will, Roan didn’t need to be anything but honest.
“I’m glad Will isn’t here,” he murmured.
“One of these days . . .” Violet let the words die before she spoke them. Some of the Sleepers had been tasked with easier things, but both Violet and Roan had gone on several missions that ended with human deaths. Will, Creed, and Alkamy had all been spared that awful experience so far.
Both Roan and Violet lapsed into silence as he drove them to the train station. There were times when he’d been able to pretend, to try to keep up some sort of banter as they set out to commit murder. After two years of such missions, his ability to feign indifference was no longer worth the energy it stole—and Vi didn’t require it of him.
Once they arrived at the station, Roan pulled into the lot and cut the engine. They sat in continued silence for several more moments.
“Let me do this,” she urged.
“No. Smoke only,” he stressed. “That’s what we agreed. If they’re unconscious, maybe the water won’t . . .” His words faded. He didn’t know whether it would hurt less to die of drowning or smoke inhalation. Being burned sounded like the worst option. That much he was fairly sure of.
Violet said nothing as she opened her door and stepped into the lot. The upside of her career was that it provided cover and alibis. The downside was that she was far too recognizable. Alkamy, who was just as beautiful, coped with the issue of recognition by only releasing one album—and avoiding tour. It gave her some ability to hide.
Creed simply didn’t care if he was killed or caught; he was all but taunting death these days. Violet, on the other hand, genuinely loved acting and didn’t want to get caught—but she couldn’t refuse orders. None of them could.
Roan closed the car door softly. The order wasn’t hers. This was his mission, his responsibility.
“Maybe you should stay here,” he blurted when he reached her side.
“As if.” Violet bumped into him lightly. “Come on. We’ve got this.”
The walk toward the metro station was silent, but when they started descending, she looked over her shoulder and reminded him, “I need electrical shortages. No video footage, just in case it’s live feed.”
They were halfway down the escalator when he started pulling droplets of water from the air and dowsing electronics. The escalator shuddered to a stop when they were two-thirds of the way to the bottom. Violet didn’t miss a beat. She continued walking forward as if the escalator had always been mere steps.