18. A Fallen Queen

The oval-shaped mirror of the antique shop whines on its hinges as I step out of the sceawere and hurry out into the gray streets of Inverness.

A rainy breeze curls around the corner of the building in front of me and sends shivers down my spine. Earthy notes of moss, wet grass, and the dry fumes of a whisky distillery bring back memories of my youth, when I could remain out of Faerie for weeks at a time.

The paved street is empty but for a thirty-something mortal hurrying alongside the old brick walls. A black raincoat is wrapped around her frame, and the free ends of her knotted sash flap in the wind. She draws a sharp intake of breath. Even though she can't see me, she's got enough instinct to cross the street, but I'm not here for her.

I'm here for someone I haven't seen in decades. Someone I cared about, once upon a time. Before everything went to shit.

The woman I'm looking for knows better than to own a mirror, but her magical signature isn't exactly discrete, so I follow it to a small shop tucked deep in the back alley. A wooden sign above the solid black door reads: Pat's Pottery, Pots, and Potions.

A chime tinkles above my head when I enter the small shop. The rowan threshold steals the air out of my lungs, but I soldier through and pierce the old wood's enchanted barrier.

I pry my dark hood off my head, and rain peppers the floor.

The pungent, smoky aromas of Panyang Congou and lemongrass fill my nose. Three small round tables with tall stools stand in a corner, the other side of the room occupied by a rowan bar counter with a sink and a portable stove. An eclectic array of vials and jars clutter the shelves behind it. A few handmade ceramic tea sets have been left to dry upside down on a rag, and a waterfall of reflective glass beads guards the entrance to the shopkeeper's backroom.

By the spindle… A little bit more on the nose, and there'd be a cauldron boiling in the hearth.

I hit the bell with my palm, and a loud ding resonates throughout the room.

Breaking into a Fae's shop is fair game, but skulking around is not. Shadows dance along the rowan panes nailed to the walls, allowing me a glimpse at the secrets behind the grain of the wood. The wicked pulse of power blasting off the bronze ceremonial lantern in the corner throws me for a loop, but I know better than to snoop around Devi's things.

A discrete creak calls my attention to the alpine weather house fastened to the wall behind the bar where a girl holding an umbrella just switched places with a sunny gentleman.

I squint at the bauble, sensing a familiar presence within it. "I know you're in there, Faeling." I wait for a moment with no answer before my hand shoots out toward the wavering weather house.

Shadows spill from my fingertips to imprison the small winged creature that had taken refuge in it, creating a cage of black smoke around it.

"Fetch your mistress for me, Percy," I command.

The Faeling buzzes around the cage, the friction of its wings creating a flurry of sparks in the poorly lit room.

After a few unfruitful escape attempts, it finally settles down long enough for me to see its shape. Dressed in purple from head to toe, it braces its leather cuffed hands on its tiny hips with a sigh. "She doesn't live here anymore, she?—"

"Do you remember what the punishment is for lying to me, Percival Arthur Batten?" I say ominously.

The Faeling squeaks in terror. "I swear it on my life, My Lord. She's not here."

"It's okay, Percy. I'll deal with him." The river of glass beads twinkles in the night, and a slender, barefooted Fae slips inside the room. She purses her full lips, the pout adding a sense of intrigue to her demeanor. "It's good to see you, cousin."

I grin dryly at the false appellation. "Devi."

No warm-blooded creature ever gets used to Devi—not even me. Back when she was at the height of her power, her renowned beauty was enough to spark wars. Her eyes—considered by most to be her most striking feature—are large and expressive, framed by long, dark lashes. Painters have failed to capture the silver-flecks of her irises or the radiance of her smooth brown skin.

A thousand men and women have fallen to their knees in front of her, but few ever stood up again. Mortals who stare into Devi's eyes for too long will love her until their last breath.

I will resent her for much longer.

Her thick mane is red as flame—and every bit as wild and untamed as she is. Each of the tousled strands carries a vivid crimson hue as she brings a hand to the multi-colored scarf wrapped around her forehead, and the constellation of dark freckles on her face is the only mask she ever needed to conceal her cunning.

"Now… Let poor Percy go."

I wave the shadow cage away, and the Faeling flies off with a huff, both figurines of the weather house screeching back inside the alpine chalet.

"Of all the dwellings in all the worlds, you chose this..." I glance around her witch hut. "…shop."

She motions at the empty fireplace. "It's cozy."

"It's beneath you. What will you do next? Card readings? Dances under the dolmens?"

She sticks out her tongue in disgust like she just bit into a frost apple. "Exile isn't exactly fun." She examines me from head to toe, and wrinkles appear at the corners of her eyes. "Blimey. By the looks of you, you'll get a taste of it soon enough."

Only the devil of spring, Violet "Devi" Eros, ever held enough power to ruin me, and ruin me, she did, though it wasn't exactly her fault. Only she knows the truth about my demise, and I hate her for it.

"I know that look on your face." She fills one of her more modern teapots and clicks the portable stove on. "Morrigan's back."

"Her magic was felt in the sceawere, somewhere between Lightning Point and the Frozen Hills."

Devi grips the lid of her tea chest, the only clue that she's about as furious as I am. "We knew she'd be back."

"But why now?"

She laughs at that, her melodic voice tugging at every crumb of manhood I still possess. "Have you seen yourself, Samhain?" She saunters over to me, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth, and skims my jacket with her long, black nails. "If I was an evil bitch looking to steal your crown, I'd only need one look at you to know you're ripe for the picking." She pushes into me and retreats, quick as a cat. "Tea?"

The sizzle of her wanton gaze sucks the air out of the room, but I shake my head. "I don't have time for games."

With a shrug, she picks up one small cup from the shelf. "Your loss."

Devi's idea of tea means soul-shattering sex that would cost me more than I can afford.

Steam whistles out of the tea set before she speaks again. "Rye used me as much as she used you. The arrows she stole from my quiver cost me my crown, as you well know."

My jaw clenches at the reminder. "She weaved a dreamcatcher spider, and we both know she couldn't have done it alone."

A sudden flash of hatred burns in Devi's eyes and drains the crafted warmth from her lovely, destructive face. "If the phantom queen weaved a dreamcatcher spider, she did so without my help. I haven't spoken, seen, or written to her in eighty years."

My chest deflates, the scope of her admission not lost on me. If Rye doesn't have Devi as an ally, then maybe I have a shot. Now, I only have to verify Seth's claim that Elio might have become her new target.

"Have you spoken to E lately?" I ask with fake aloofness.

Devi lets out a small snort. "Are we all to be considered traitors until proven otherwise? Elio might be a shell of the man he used to be, but he's not about to turn on you."

A tinge of guilt touches my heart. "So, he's not better?"

Her hands cramp around the tea chest she's holding. "What do you think? He lost another queen. And it won't be long before winter hits and he needs to marry again."

I bow to the fallen Queen of Hearts. "Thank you for your honesty." I turn around to take my leave.

The rowan threshold creaks under my heavy boots, but I hesitate and glance back at Devi.

She plops a handful of leaves in her tea set and twirls them around. "Anything else?"

I scratch the space over my heart without meaning to. "You kept a few arrows, I'm sure."

She flashes me her teeth, the smile devoid of any warmth. "Would I admit to that? If the others learned of such a transgression, they would have my head."

My gaze drops to the ground. "I'm guessing your successor hasn't been able to carve them sharp enough to pierce a Fae's heart."

Her knuckles turn white over the ceramic lid. "Ugh. Like that usurper could ever measure up to me."

"I know I haven't laid eyes on you in decades, but how long has it been since you last saw me, Devi?"

These intruding thoughts I've been wrestling with the last few weeks…they're not natural. No Fae catches feelings for someone so quickly. Especially not me.

Devi rinses her hands in the sink, and droplets of water splash the counter as she swats my concerns away. "Hush. I know better than to meddle in your affairs. I've learned my lesson. No arrow of mine will ever touch you again. You have my word." She glances at me sideways, her artful brows pulled together. "But don't lie to yourself, Samhain. Whoever the poor girl is…you're going to destroy her."

I step over the rowan threshold, not looking back. "Don't I know it."

After pulling my hood over my head and ears, I walk briskly up the road. Bright street lights reflect off the rain puddles as my boots clomp along the pavement. A thousand women…

Who am I kidding? Rye is the only woman from my past worth mentioning, but one woman is enough to wreck everything.