His wards were powerful, but the only unexpected spel I found intensified the sting of the iron. So much for the theory on pre-Awakening architecture. I stepped closer to the gate and a wave of sickness washed over me. My stomach clenched, my tongue curled, and I stumbled back, farther from the gate.
“Jeez, how do you deal with that?” I whispered, wrinkling my nose.
Falin watched me, his lips tugging down at the edges.
“Iron didn’t used to bother you, did it?”
I shook my head.
“You’l get used to it.”
“Yeah, right. If that was true it wouldn’t be one of the universal deterrents for fae.”
He shrugged. “Hey, I can offer you hope, right?” He gave me a smile, but there wasn’t much to it. “You wil grow accustomed to feeling sick, but remember that the symptoms are warning signs. Fae can die from iron poisoning, and if you’re experiencing the symptoms, you might be able to as wel .”
“Good to know, sensei.”
The quip earned me another frown, and I immediately regretted it. Like most people raised in the mortal realm, I had only dodgy knowledge of the fae at best, more than likely fil ed with enough gaps to hold one of Faerie’s endless hal s. If Falin was wil ing to share information without making me trade for it, I real y shouldn’t discourage him.
“Come on, let’s do this,” I said, nodding toward the gate.
The wave of sickness washed over me again, but this time I rol ed with it and forced my hand to reach for the latch rol ed with it and forced my hand to reach for the latch anyway. Falin caught my wrist before I reached the gate.
“Gloves,” he said, splaying his own gloved fingers in front of me.
Right. That made sense—and explained the gloves he always wore.
Falin grabbed the latch, and as soon as his gloved fingers touched the iron, his glamour shattered, his ragged and bloodied clothing becoming visible for al to see. I noticed that this time his holster and gun didn’t disappear.
He must have picked them up at his office. The gun added to his bloody clothing didn’t improve his appearance, and people on the street behind us stopped, staring.
I motioned him ahead of me as soon as he pushed the gate open. I fol owed close behind, and the moment we were inside he released the gate and let it swing shut behind us. It didn’t latch, but neither of us bothered touching it again to close it properly.
I expected Falin’s glamour to bounce back in place as soon as he released the gate, but it didn’t. I hoped Corrie didn’t peek out his window, because we certainly looked like disreputable guests at the moment.
“Give me a moment to rebuild the glamour,” Falin said.
He wasn’t breathing hard, but the skin around his eyes was pinched and I knew that brief contact, even through the fabric of his gloves, had taxed him.
And how much worse did Corrie’s spell make the effect?
“Iron does more than make fae sick, doesn’t it?”
Falin nodded as his clothing returned to its immaculate glamoured state. “Iron blocks fae from the magic of Faerie.”
So what would it do to changelings? We were almost to Corrie’s front door, so I didn’t have time to ask, but I made a mental note to avoid iron when I was with Rianna. Not that I was exactly seeking it out now.
I trotted up the front steps and ground to a halt. There was no bel at the door, but a large knocker. An iron knocker.
The doorknob was iron as wel .
The doorknob was iron as wel .
I gave a low whistle. “Man, this guy is serious.”
Falin grimaced at the sight of the knocker, but reached for it. This time I stopped him.
“Let me. I don’t have a glamour that wil fail,” I said, and he acquiesced with a smal smile that was either gratitude or amusement—I couldn’t tel which.
Digging through my purse, I pul ed out the gloves Rianna had given me when I visited the Bloom. I didn’t put them on, as short white gloves real y didn’t match my emerald green halter top, but I did use one of them to grip the knocker.
After banging out three loud raps, I stepped back and dropped my gloves back in my purse, waiting. I was becoming afraid I’d have to knock again when the large door creaked open.
Aaron Corrie stood in the doorway, or at least I assumed the old man was Corrie simply because I couldn’t remember ever seeing anyone older and Corrie had been a young man during the Magical Awakening seventy years ago. It was obvious that he’d been tal once, but age had stolen his height and curved his back so that the top of his head with its thin wisps of silver hair reached no higher than my nose. But his green eyes were clear and bright.
“Yes? Who are you?” His voice was gravel y, as if he hadn’t used it yet today.