Chapter Two

She's delicious.

Her passport photo didn't do her justice, and the referencing checks we did, said nothing about rounded curves that I long to see bounce beneath me.

I should speak to Aoibheall about that. I think I'd like a little more warning when beauties such as this Janet are likely to enter my realm.

I cast my mind back to her referencing file. Tam had been her sponsor. Urgh. The man is mediocre at best. We'd almost rejected her application because he'd been attached to it.

Thank goodness we hadn't.

I walk down the stairs towards her, and she swallows. Adorable. "What brings a nice girl like you to my club?"

"I'm not a nice girl," she answers, her chin going up stubbornly. Delightful. I adore breaking stubborn ones the most. "I want to experience… everything. And I can't get that anywhere else."

"Tam was your sponsor. Did he not help you experience ‘everything'?"

Her look is scornful. "Tam? Seriously? No."

That makes me laugh, and I'm not ashamed to say that I put a little bit of my power into it. Push it out until it makes her shiver. She bites her lip, an indentation in that plump fullness, and I want to nip and bite at her until she gasps into my mouth, as I know she will.

"Good to know," I say. I turn to Naoise, our receptionist. They're watching our interactions with unbridled interest and I shoot them a warning look. "Have you done the other induction?"

They shake their head.

"No matter, I shall attend to it myself." I offer my hand to Janet, and the sweet girl takes it without a moment's hesitation. "Come."

I lead her into the interview room off the reception, the room reserved for these specific inductions. We don't do them too often, not being keen on accepting mortals into our space all that often, but we make exceptions. And Janet is so utterly delightful.

"Take a seat?"

She sits, perfectly obedient. I've never craved such unspoken obedience before, preferring spirit that I can break, but this is intoxicating. She's doing as I ask because shewants to. Not because I've enchanted her—I didn't put enough power into my laugh for that.

"Janet, what do you know about the fae?"

"As much as anyone else in Ireland, I imagine," she says, before adding, "I mean, I wouldn't fuck with them."

"No, I wouldn't recommend that."

Janet looks thoughtful at my response. "You speak as if… as if they're real."

"You just said you wouldn't fuck with them."

"I mean, I wouldn't, but that's more because…" Her voice trails off and her gaze sharpens. "What's your name?"

I flinch before I can stop myself, and she notes it. "I can tell you what people call me here?" I offer.

"Okay."

"Clíodhna."

"Clíodhna, okay… wait. Clíodhna, Queen of the Banshees Clíodhna?"

It would appear that Janet knows a little more about the fae than most of the mortals in éire that I've met in the months since the Veil fell. That could make this easier or more complicated.

"Yes."

She doesn't say anything for a long time, doesn't look at me, just closes her eyes and taps her fingers.

"Janet?"

"Shhh."

I'm not sure I've ever been shushed by someone before. It's a novel experience and I'm not entirely certain how to take it. If my sister were here, she'd go all glorious rage and demand to know who Janet thinks she's talking to, only Janet does know who she's talking to at the moment. That's why she's gone all quiet.

I sit down and wait.

Most mortals don't quite react like this.

Most mortals don't gain entrance to the club.

But every now and then we can sense something about someone. Something different. The Morrígan would call them Godstouched, though I don't know if that term quite applies to those who meet the fae. My sister Aoibheall thinks it does, although she thinks less of the Morrígan for abandoning us for Ciara—Ciara being the Godstouched mortal turned Pack that the Morrígan appears to have adopted as her own.

And that something was there in Janet's application. Aoibheall was going to discard it but I stopped her and I've been waiting waiting waiting for her to turn up since we accepted her. I've sensed her across the road, but this is the first time she's ever ventured inside.

Eventually, Janet opens her eyes and looks at me. "Can you lie?"

"That's a myth that's more attributed to—"

"Can you lie?"

"Yes." It's more nuanced than yes or no; there are things that can prevent us from lying—bluebells, for example—but for us fae who were once part of the Tuatha Dé Dannnan, lying isn't a problem for us.

"So, I could ask you whether or not you intend to hurt me, and you could lie about it."

"I could," I admit, "but I'm not going to."

Janet waits expectantly, and the tension in the air increases. There's a breathlessness to her questions, as if she's trying desperately to be logical, whilst also wanting to just give in to all the meandering thoughts her mind has ever had.

"I would not harm you. But hurt? Well, you're in a sex club, my dear, and I am one of the Dommes here. I suppose what I'll say is that tonight I won't hurt you… unless you ask me to."