Hol y was antsy, ready to take on the world and none too happy about everyone babying her. I made it a short visit.
PC greeted me at the door when I reached my apartment. He bounced—I’d never realized dogs were so bouncy until PC—the movement making the patch of white hair on the top of his head flop.
“Hey, buddy,” I said, picking him up before he hurt himself. He lathered a kiss on my chin and then squirmed, ready to be put back down. “Al right, al right.” I plopped him on his feet and he immediately charged the door, whining.
“Can I get something to eat first?”
“Can I get something to eat first?”
He looked at me with shiny black eyes and whined again.
“Nature cal s, I guess.” Food would have to wait on tiny doggy bladders.
I grabbed PC’s leash, and after hooking him up, opened the door and let him charge out in front of me. I’m pretty sure the six-pound hairless dog thought he was a sled dog
—he sure pul ed like one. Halfway down the stairs, we passed our resident gargoyle.
I’d never seen the gargoyle move, but it traveled around the yard. I assumed by its current position it was either headed up to the bowl of cream I kept on the porch or had just drained it and was coming down. I’d have to check on my way back inside.
“Evening, Fred,” I said as I squeezed around its hulking stone wings. I didn’t expect an answer.
I got one anyway.
“They come,” its gravel y voice said inside my head.
I froze.
“Who comes?” I asked, ignoring PC’s attempt to pul me down the last few steps. “When?”
The gargoyle remained silent. Great. I looked around, squinting, and trying to force my grave-sight-damaged night vision to see through shadows in the dusk-fil ed night.
Nothing.
Gargoyles—or at least this particular gargoyle; I’d never spoken to any other—were psychic but didn’t always differentiate the present from the future. Last month the gargoyle had told me it missed cream when I was away.
Then I’d lost three days while passing through a door to Faerie.
“Who?” I asked one more time. Bell’s men? Fae? Hell, reporters?
I received no answer. PC whined again, but I hesitated another moment, listening for sounds that were out of place in the quiet neighborhood. Then I leaned down and eased the dagger out of my boot. I hadn’t heard anything, but that the dagger out of my boot. I hadn’t heard anything, but that didn’t mean nothing was out there. Of course, the gargoyle’s words didn’t mean anything dangerous was out in the night. I couldn’t jump at shadows because an undefined “they” were coming. Who knew how long it would be before “they” arrived?
I stuck to the path of charmed stepping-stones that led from the stairs of my loft to the front yard. They twinkled under my feet as PC zigzagged across the path, pausing at every odd piece of grass to hike his leg. As we rounded the front of the house, he stopped, one foot in the air, his ears cocked.
What do you hear? I didn’t ask the question aloud. If something was out there, I didn’t want to announce my presence. Clutching the dagger, I searched the growing darkness, but I couldn’t see much of anything aside from the twinkle of streetlights. I’d removed the glamour-detecting charm when I visited Caleb, and I was now seriously wishing I’d remembered to clip it back onto my bracelet. Okay, so I was jumping at shadows, but it was better to be safe than sorry.
I dropped my shields. My eyes might have been bad, but I didn’t need them to see on a psychic level. The yard snapped into focus in shades of gray and swirls of color. In the center of the driveway, leaning heavily against Caleb’s car, was a man, his soul shimmering a bril iant silver. He stepped forward, and then he stumbled, doubling over.
I squinted, trying to pick out details under the glow of his soul. The Aetheric twisted away from him, as if an aura separated him from the magical plane—which meant he was fae. At my feet PC sniffed the air, then yipped and wagged his tail in greeting. As I made out the sharp features, the wide chest slimming down to trim hips, and the long, bril iantly white hair, I realized why.
“Falin?”
Chapter 11
Falin Andrews—the infuriating but irresistible man who had invited himself into my life, chiseled himself a place in my world, and then disappeared without a word.
Giddy excitement at his return attacked my stomach even as anger at the way he’d left burned my cheeks. Then he stumbled again, fal ing against Caleb’s car. The side mirror snapped off with a crack and thumped against the door, swinging from a few wires. It was better off than Falin. He crashed to his knees on the pavement and neither my excitement nor my anger mattered.