Page 26 of The Fae’s Treasure

It hurts too much to think about, even though I barely know her. I remind myself that humans, even with this raw, urgent longing they create in immortals, are surely problematic and imperfect. Annoying.

Bonwit would be very quick to point out that I also have those issues.

I’m spared further rumination because Pastor Fortnum has returned, a blue bit of paper in his hand and his somewhat chubby form a-jiggle as he rushes up the aisle to meet us. “Good news! Got hold of Liam, who got hold of Blanche. Both can meet you at this good little Italian place, Tiramisu, over by the grocery store. I also took the liberty of calling Jakob Minegold and Alban Wymark, two knowledgeable, powerful people. Now, Jakob is a vampire, so he’s going to need to sit somewhere shady, but he’d be a great one to have in on your conversation. I’ll come with you if you want me to make introductions.”

Deanna beams. “You’re rapidly becoming the best boss I’ve ever had.”

“Why, thank you! Well, you’re not just an employee, you’re part of my flock.”

“Ah. I’m not particularly religious,” I interject, knowing little about the mortal customs of worship, even if we do share a Creator.

“Me, either.” Deanna bites her lip nervously.

“You don’t have to be a member, kids, you just have to live here. This whole town is my flock, and I look after them the best I can, even if they don’t darken my doors.” Fortnum smiles.

And honestly, that makes me want to darken his doors a great deal more often.

“I wouldn’t want to trouble you. It sounds like you’ve already made a lot of arrangements. And a preacher with a vampire... Wouldn’t that kind of lead to some kind of spiritual warfare?” Deanna asks with a nervous expression.

“Between Jakob and me? Shoot, no. We’ve been co-chairs of the Rotary Club Spaghetti Dinner for the last eighteen years, and my wife and I slept over at his place for an entire winter when our roof caved in because of a record-breaking snow. In Pine Ridge, if you protect the innocent, you’re on the same side. Come on, let’s go.”

I offer Lady Deanna my arm—and she takes it. It’s all I can do not to fly.

Is it weird that I’m jealous of Blanche? She looks a little like a pinkish-red Dolly Parton, with a white mane of curly hair, an hourglass figure that someone forgot to stop pouring sand into, and a sweet, nervous smile that just makes her seem so... perfect. She stares at Dairmuid like he’s on the menu—at least until the other demon, the incubus named Liam, kicks her in the shins and she settles into a chair. He looks totally human (except for the abundance of black eyeliner and the otherworldly David Bowie vibes he gives off), and Blanche looks about as inhuman as anyone I’ve ever seen.

I pinch myself for the tenth time today, waiting for someone to leap out and yell that we’ve all been shooting an episode about cosplay and LARP (two things I know a lot about, thank you, Aaron).

“Thank you for meeting with us,” Dairmuid handles introductions like the courtly fae I’m sure he is—when he’s not pretending to be a suburbanite. He bows and nods, and then looks at the vampire joining us in a fedora pulled low and a trench coat with the collar pulled up, and says, “Let me just obscure the sun a bit. I don’t want to lose the warmth though, especially since Rory is here.” Dairmuid pulls out my chair—and then literally moves a dense gray cloud in front of the lowering sun.

“That was very thoughtful,” Mr. Minegold says in his gentle voice with its faint European accent, removing his hat and placing it in his lap.

“Your baby is so adorable. Can I hold him?” Blanche coos, reaching across Liam with her clawed fingertips (filed down and polished pink, I might add) to get to Rory.

“No,” I practically snarl, pressing him more tightly to my chest. “I mean, no. I’m sorry. I’m overprotective.”

“She has reason to be. The child’s life is at stake. His succubus mother wants a fae soul, and he is her bargaining chip,” Fortnum explains.

Blanche and Liam wince as one.

“She wants a hunk of your soul, huh, handsome?” Liam addresses Dairmuid with lustful eyes, but even though there’s a clear hint of flirtation in his voice, it’s the harmless, flamboyant sort that doesn’t make my hackles rise the same way Blanche’s simple, hungry look did. “I can’t say I blame her.”

Blanche answers. “Blame, yes. Understand? Yes, to that, as well. That makes sense. Succubi need souls to live on—if they remain in another realm besides this mortal one. A realm inhabited by immortals, demons, celestial beings—immortal energy is a food source. The life force. A soul is a meal. A mortal soul is a small meal. An immortal soul is a limitless meal.”

“Then why not bump off one of her own kind? No offense,” I demand.

“Two negatives never make a positive. Not in that realm. In the mortal world? Energy is energy. Sexual energy is the best kind. It makes life. It’s like the catalyst for souls, and you can get it with willing consent, and you can even get it from one monogamous partner if they can keep up with you. In Pine Ridge, you don’t even need to worry about it. It’s the love capital of the world. Honestly, Jakob, Ignatius, you should talk to the mayor about getting a sign put up at the city limits. Something cutesy. Pine Ridge is for Lovers. Hm?” Liam suggests, sipping a rum and Coke, looking between the pale, regal vampire with silver streaks in his elegantly coiffed hair and the pastor who has a permanently patient smile on his face as he peruses the menu.

“It is appropriate, Liam, but hardly the time to discuss tourism and marketing,” Jakob Minegold says with a dry chuckle. “We know why this succubus wanted Dairmuid’s soul.”

“In order to protect my son, I would give it to her, if I didn’t fear that she would use it for something evil. She mentioned that the peak of her power was coming in the mortal world. I’m not sure what that means or when it is.”

“What the humans call the autumnal equinox,” Blanche is quick to explain. “The peak of sexual power and energy.”

“The vernal equinox is the low ebb of our sort of power,” Liam drawls, leaning back in his chair with a sigh. “You have to watch out for folks trying to lure virgins away to sacrifice around then—”

Alban Wymark, the warlock and lawyer, makes a little “yeep!” sound of alarm and literally adds a note or a warning or something to his calendar app on his phone. “Double the watches leading up to that, huh, Jakob?”

“Yes, Alban.”