45. Excerpt from Dark Fae FBI

Chapters nine and ten from Dark Fae FBI

It was twilight when I got out of the cab near Guildhall, a towering medieval stone hall. Shadows from the hall's spires stretched over the empty stone square like spindly fingers.

From what I'd learned from the guidebook, Guildhall was the ancient Roman center of the city, and the spot where the medieval guilds met to discuss business. It was also the place where kings had brought half-dead heretics for trials, after a bout of torture in the Tower and just before death-by-burning in nearby Smithfield. If ghosts were real, this place would be crawling with haunted memories.

My phone buzzed, and I pulled it from my bag. Gabriel's name shone on the screen, and I answered. "Hi."

"Gemma Roberts is dead. She hanged herself in Mile End Hospital."

My stomach lurched. "How did that happen?"

"She used a belt, I think."

Anger flared. "How the fuck did she end up with a belt?" I loosed a sigh. "Never mind. Thanks for letting me know."

I hung up, my heart aching.

Shit. Someone had screwed up their job, and now we had another dead woman and no solid leads.

The purple-gray hue of the sky filled me with melancholy—the time of day that, years ago, my mother would have called "the gloaming." Right now, its ominous color matched my dark mood. My mind burned with the pictures of Gemma and Catherine, long before they'd encountered the killer. When they'd sat next to each other on the sofa, smiling over boxed wine and pizza.

Of course, the killer hadn't given Gemma a mental illness, but it was hard not to blame him for her death, too, if he had convinced her she was his servant . Now I felt more determined than ever to catch the bastard.

And maybe that began with Roan.

I headed down a narrow pedestrian alley toward Leroy's Wine Bar, off the main square, half-wondering if I was losing my own mind.

This particular mission was perhaps a fool's errand. I would never have considered following up on such a lead a week ago. But now, after being confronted with so many things I didn't understand, I was desperate to get some answers. Desperate enough to talk to an unreliable, potentially dangerous source like Roan. Maybe he would tell me something that would shed some light on the unknowns of this case. Or maybe he'd clarify what he had meant by "not human." Was this some racist slur? Or was Roan actually hinting at an inhuman killer? A… monster?

Either way, I needed to know more, and Roan might have answers.

I stopped in front of Leroy's Wine Bar, an ancient-looking brown storefront with gold lettering inset into the guildhall buildings. Even as short as I was, I nearly bumped my head on the doorframe as I entered. This place must have been built back when everyone was three feet tall from poor nutrition.

I crept down a crooked stairwell, certain one of my black heels was about to plunge through the ancient wood. The outfit—the heels, the tiny black dress—was all a tactic, designed to throw Roan off-guard. Berry lipstick, a shimmering of powder on my cheeks, bit of cleavage and leg. Classic honey-trap scenario.

The stairs led to a stone room, warmly lit by candlelight that danced over an ancient stone floor. From the main, circular room, tunnels branched off, just as crowded as the main room.

From the entrance, I surveyed the space. Patrons crowded around round wooden tables, worn with age. People were eating bread and cheese, drinking red wine. Some kind of heraldic shields hung on stone walls below lanterns. I felt instantly at ease in here, with the murmur of dozens of conversations humming in my ears.

The crowd, however, struck me as strange. There were several elderly men and women, in groups of three or four. One table hosted three of the largest men I had ever seen in my life, each with arms as thick as my body. Wherever I looked I saw something that struck me as unusual: a woman dressed like an Elizabethan countess, with blood-red jewels and a lace ruff. A short and hairy man, wearing an open vest with no shirt underneath. A table of children , none of them older than twelve. Lithe, stunning women with perfect skin, dressed in wisps of gossamer that left nothing to the imagination. A cat wearing a Jacobean ruff lounging on an old harpsichord, nestled against the wall.

I glanced down at my own attire, suddenly feeling underdressed in my short black dress. Even the cat had a fancier get-up.

In any case, Roan was nowhere to be seen.

I took a step further into the room, and the candlelight waned. For just a moment, in the dimming light, I was sure I saw a different crowd. The skin of the enormous men had become gray and cracked. The countess' eyes glimmered in red, mirroring her jewels. A collection of translucent wings sprouted from the children's backs.

I blinked, and the vision was gone, the room back to normal. Or as normal as it had been before. Okay, Cassandra. You are definitely losing it.

Shaken, I looked a little closer at the shields hanging on the walls. Below the dancing candlelight were images of phoenixes, herbs, ravens, mourning doves. One shield had been defaced, while the last made my heart tighten in my chest. It was a human skull below a blue line of water. Just like Gemma's tattoo.

Unnerved, I approached one of the tunnels, searching for an open table where I could sit with my back to the wall, the room in full view. But every seat was taken. I glanced back at the bar. A bartender leaned on an old oak table before aged barrels of wine.

I frowned. There was only one escape route here, up that rickety old stairwell. Not an ideal spot to get caught if I needed to make a fast escape for any reason. For a moment I considered leaving, waiting for Roan outside in the open.

Screw it . I'd risk it. I crossed to the bar, clutching my little bag. Bartenders always knew something, didn't they?

Eerily, as I walked, I kept seeing unexplainable images from the corner of my eye. Flickers of colors, sounds, and smells that seemed to come from nowhere—the scent of rowan trees, the fleeting sound of a magpie singing, faces that looked suddenly animalistic… It was like walking around on Halloween, except the disguises kept melting away when I turned to look at them. The countess noticed me staring, and shot me a furious glare. When I got to the bar, I pulled out a stool, taking a seat beside a teen who had no business being at a bar. A halo of blond curls framed his cherubic face, and as I looked closer, I noticed that his T-shirt was torn and ragged under his black dust coat. It read Don't Trust Anyone , with a picture of an eye in a triangle.

Great. A conspiracy theorist. They loved FBI agents.

A cloud of marijuana smoke hung over him, and his eyes were red, half-lidded. "C'mon, mate." The teen drummed his fingertips on the bar. "I'm proper starving, Leroy!"

"No." The bartender surveyed him from below extravagant silver eyebrows, calmly, wiping a glass with a towel.

The sign out front looked several hundred years old. How was there still someone named Leroy working here? Was it a job requirement?

Leroy turned his pale blue eyes to me. "Can I help you, miss?"

I scanned the wine barrels. Claret, malmsey, vernage… I didn't know a ton about wine, but those names seemed oddly old-fashioned.

"Glass of claret, please."

Leroy turned around to the taps behind him and filled a glass with a golden wine—a color of wine I'd never seen before.

"Isn't claret supposed to be red?" I asked.

He shook his head. "Not this claret." When he'd finished, he slid it across the bar. "Four pound fifty."

I pulled a fiver from my purse, dropping it on the bar.

Next to me, the teen reached into his pocket, pulling out a handful of coins and some fluff. "I've got the dosh here, Leroy."

Leroy glanced at his pile of change, and snorted in disgust. He turned his back on us.

I looked at the teen again. His shoulder blades protruded under his thin, dusty coat, and dirt stained his jeans. He might've been a stoner, but a pang of pity shot through my heart.

"Leroy?" I said.

He turned around, eyebrows raised.

"I'd like to order a meal for my friend here."

He frowned. "You paying?"

"Yeah." I narrowed my eyes. His apparent lack of concern with the young man's hunger made me grit my teeth in anger.

"It's your lucky day, Alvin," Leroy said. "What can I get you?"

Alvin looked at me, and I almost fell off my stool. For just a moment, his eyes looked orange-yellow, the color of flames, before returning to their regular brown. He smiled wide, his mouth full of bright white teeth. Whatever his plight was, this kid brushed three times a day.

"Thanks, mate. I'll have a cheese platter with brie, camembert, and compté. And don't bring me none of that gruyere, thinking I won't know. I always know, Leroy. I always know. Compté's got that proper nutty flavor, innit?"

Leroy sighed. "Will that be all?"

"Nah," he continued. "Bread and pickles. And lamb with mashed potatoes and Yorkshire pudding. Cheers, bruv."

Leroy glanced at me, smirking. For a moment my mouth dropped at the insanely large order. But what the hell? He was starving, plus he had impressive taste in cheese for a kid.

Leroy arched a satisfied eyebrow, as if to say ‘I told you so.' "Twenty-three pound twenty."

I nodded at Leroy, then plopped twenty-five pounds on the bar. Young Alvin wouldn't go hungry tonight. Who knew? Maybe he planned to take the leftovers for later. Leroy shrugged, wrote the order on a piece of paper, and rapped on a small hatch below the wine barrels. A hand darted out, plucking the order from him.

"Cheers." Alvin smiled at me again. His eyes were brown, not orange. The flickering candlelight had confused me again.

"No problem." I turned to Leroy. "Do you know a guy called Roan Taranis? He said I could meet him here, but he didn't say when."

"Oh, him, yeah. Ladies love that guy. Even fit ones like you, hanging around, hoping for a glimpse of the Taranis."

I bristled. "It's just for work."

Leroy's lip curled, and he gave my outfit a once-over. "You're having a laugh, love."

My cheeks heated, and I suddenly wished I'd just worn jeans and a T-shirt. "Is he a regular?"

"He'll be here soon, I reckon. I'm sure he'll sense you here soon enough."

Sense me?

Before I had a chance to ask what he meant, the bartender's icy blue stare sent a chill up my spine. "Anything else I can get you?"

"Just some info," I said.

"Let me check." He picked up a stray menu from the bar. He glanced at it for a second and then turned to me. "Sorry, we don't serve info. Anything else I can get you?"

"No," I snapped. I took a sip of the claret. It was a light wine, delicately spiced, and the taste made up for Leroy's attitude.

Alvin turned to me. "What you want with Roan?"

"Do you know him?" I asked.

"Maybe."

"What can you tell me about him?"

Alvin shrugged. "I owe you a debt, and I will pay it before I leave tonight. But I ain't suicidal, you know what I mean?"

"Should I be worried? Is he dangerous?"

Alvin considered this, his brow furrowing. "No. And yes. There are things in this world most people don't even know about. Dark secrets and shit like that."

I glanced at his T-shirt. We were T minus thirty seconds from a discussion about shapeshifting lizard people, which would make me want to rescind that meal offer entirely. "What, like the Illuminati?"

He gave me the side-eye. "What?"

"Your T-shirt. It's an Illuminati symbol. A conspiracy theory."

"Oh, this? Got this in a charity shop. No clue what this is."

"Look, I just bought you a large meal?—"

"You have! I'm grateful as fuck. No joke."

"And all I need is a bit of information about the guy I'm supposed to meet. I won't tell him where I got it?—"

"I already gave you information." He cocked his head, smiling blearily.

"You told me nothing of use."

"Exactly! Smart woman such as yourself can deduce quite a lot from that, I reckon."

I considered this. Both Leroy and Alvin knew Roan, but neither would say anything about him. Alvin was right. I could deduce quite a lot from that. Roan was shaping up to be something a lot deeper than just a guy who'd been following me around.

I nursed my golden wine, my body tense. Whenever footfalls creaked on the ancient stairs, I glanced at the entrance, my heart missing a beat. But even as I neared the bottom of my glass of claret, Roan still didn't make an appearance.

Leroy placed the cheese plate in front of Alvin, followed by the roast lamb and potatoes, garnished with rosemary. Alvin dug into the lamb ravenously, occasionally pausing to grab a chunk of cheese with his hands. He was inhaling his food at an alarming rate, and I tore my eyes away, feeling slightly queasy. I swiveled around, focusing my attention on the stairwell.

Good thing this wasn't a date, or I'd look like a major loser showing up here early and staring obsessively at the entrance.

After a few moments, Alvin held up his arms, declaring, "That was off the hook ."

I glanced at him, amazed to see the plates empty. "I hope you won't get sick."

"Nah, I don't get sick." He shrugged.

I surveyed the room, looking at the heraldic emblems hung around the stone space. I pointed at the one that had been defaced. "What are these symbols? What happened to that one?"

He glanced at it, then back at me. "Now. Let's talk about my debt."

I waved a dismissive hand. "There's no debt."

"You bought me a meal," he said. "There's a debt."

I turned back to the bar again. "Don't worry about it."

He fixed me with an intent stare. "I never owe favors, you get me?"

"What do you want?" I asked uneasily.

"The real question is, what do you want?" He opened his jacket. To my surprise, a myriad of items hung from his jacket folds, sewn to the cloth. It was a bizarre collection—bottles, bracelets, a comb, a tiny hand mirror, some porcelain animal sculptures.

"A bracelet?" he asked. "A talisman to keep away salesmen? Perhaps a like potion?"

"A like potion?"

"Yeah, mate. Much better than a love potion. Love potions are a disaster waiting to happen. Like potions are mellow, relaxed. Definitely recommended. Maybe you could use it on the guy you're waiting for."

I smiled. "No, thanks."

"Maybe a tiny cat statue? It enables you to talk to cats."

"It can make me understand cats?"

"Nah, that's not what I said." He shook his head. "It just lets you talk to cats."

"Will they understand what I'm saying?" I asked, grinning.

He shrugged, as if this had never occurred to him. "They might."

"Thanks, Alvin, but no. I'm good."

"Please take something." His bloodshot eyes widened. "Like I said, I always pay my debts."

"Okay, fine! Give me…" I glanced at the open jacket, looking for the cheapest looking item. "That small bottle."

"The invisibility potion?"

"Uh, yeah, sure. That sounds fantastic."

"Excellent!" He smiled and gave it to me. "You made the right choice."

"So, this will make me invisible?" I asked, looking at the small glass bottle in my hand. This kid was the most entertaining person I'd met since I got here, though I was a little concerned for his mental state. I was already diagnosing him with drug-induced psychosis.

"It…" He seemed to trail off for a moment, before blinking. "Like, after you drink it, people won't see you. For a short while."

"Okay." I shoved the bottle into my purse. "There you go. Debt paid."

The light flickered, and for a moment his eyes burned with a fiery orange. Not human , my mind whispered.

Then, the strange glow was gone, as quickly as it had arrived. He sat before me, the same high teenager I'd seen before.

Fuck fuck fuck. I'm losing it.

"Well, cheers for the food, Cassandra." Blearily, he waved. "See you tomorrow night!"

He slid off the stool, while I was still digesting his last sentence. "Hey, what the—hey!" I turned to catch him before he left up the stairs, but he was gone. I glanced at Leroy. "How did he know my name?"

Leroy shrugged, giving me another healthy pour of claret.

Frowning, I took a sip of my claret. I still had most of the glass left, but I was starting to gather that my dubious source had stood me up.

"You came." A deep voice raised the hair on the back of my neck, and a shiver of anticipation shot through me.

I swiveled my stool to face him—but I did it a little too enthusiastically, underestimating the force of my push. I ended up turning a full circle, ending back where I started, like a total idiot. Blushing, I turned slower the second time—but Roan was already sitting next to me. How had he moved so quickly?

He wore an amber T-shirt that stretched over his muscled body, and I had to restrain myself from reaching out to touch him.

His green eyes slid down my body, taking in every curve and claiming me with his gaze. For just a moment, he reached for my waist, as if entranced, before pulling his hand away.

He tightening his fist, knuckles whitening. He raised his eyes, lingering on my lips before meeting my gaze. My breath caught in my throat.

Clearly, my honey-trap technique had worked. Then again, if I'd intended to throw him off-guard, how come I was the one who couldn't remember how to speak? I was hardly drilling him for information.

Suddenly, he seemed to regain his composure, and he smirked. "Do you want another go on your merry-go-round? Don't let me stop you."

I scowled, unable to come up with a comeback.

His gaze shifted to my wine, and he plucked it from the bar, inhaling with his eyes closed. He took a sip, letting it roll over his tongue and moaning slightly. He seemed to be enjoying himself so thoroughly, I almost felt like I was spying on a private moment.

"Sure, help yourself," I said. "I didn't realize we knew each other well enough to share wine, but far be it from me to stand between a large man and my drink."

He put the glass down, fixing me with a hard stare. "Are you going to keep talking, woman, or do you want to learn about your killer?"

"You expect me to trust that you have some insider knowledge?"

"You know I do."

"Prove it," I said.

He cocked his head, smiling slyly. "You've been trying to figure out those markings on the body. The strange lines that look like writing. You don't recognize the language, and yet it seems oddly familiar to you."

Ice ran through my blood. "How do you know that? That information hasn't been released to the public."

"If you want to know, you'll follow me."

Outside, the sky had darkened to a deep purple, the color of a bruise. Roan strode quickly down the narrow alley. I had a great view of his powerful back and his rich velvet pants, the color of oak. But I had to jog to keep up with him, and jogging in heels was not my forte. We'd never practiced that in FBI training.

"Slow down!" I said. "I'm not freakishly big. I can't walk as fast as you."

"Then run. I have no time for frailty."

"You have somewhere better to be?"

"I can think of a dozen places." His voice was smooth and low. "Your sluggishness has already cost us valuable time."

"Sluggish—hold up! Tell me how you know about the marks." I grabbed his arm.

When my fingers touched his powerful arm, he whirled to face me. For just a moment, his eyes flickered from green to a deep gold, the color of the late afternoon sun. He smelled of oak and musk, and I had the strangest sensation of life pulsing through his body. But there was something dangerous about him, too. This man could inspire a violent and ecstatic frenzy, pure animalistic abandon—a feral god. How was I getting all this just from touching his arm?

Touching his bare skin exhilarated me, and I tightened my grip on his arm. His skin promised a release I craved…

He tore his arm from my grasp. "Stop distracting me." Venom laced his voice. "I know your game, and I won't warn you again." Shadows slid through his eyes. "I'm going to show you, not tell you. That's how it works."

Hating myself for it, I took a step back. I tried to steady my voice. "Then walk slower."

"Fine." He turned, walking noticeably slower, and I walked by his side. Even without touching him, I could feel a strange sort of energy pulsing off of him. He felt… powerful.

At the end of a narrow road, we turned onto a large thoroughfare. Traffic clogged the intersection—red buses and black cabs, mostly. Somber stone buildings surrounded us, some with columns. A glance at a street sign told me the name of the road was Cheapside. Presumably this had been a shoddy neighborhood hundreds of years ago.

We walked in silence through an intersection, and I tried not to think of the strange jolt I'd felt when I'd touched Roan. I must be losing my mind, right? People simply don't feel things like violent ecstasy and animalistic abandon just from touching someone's arm.

My fingers tightened into fists as we walked. I shouldn't be going with him alone. But with Gemma dead, he was the only lead I had. And anyway, there were plenty of people around. I wasn't going to follow him into an empty warehouse or anything idiotic.

Be courteous, and be prepared to kill everyone you meet. Or in this case, be prepared to run away from everyone you meet.

We crossed to a narrow road called Walbrook, nestled between stately classical buildings.

I paused and crossed my arms. "I think at this point maybe you could tell me where we're going. And why you couldn't just give me the information I needed back at Leroy's."

He whirled to face me, eyes narrowing. "You're so determined to lie to yourself, woman, that only a real experience will shatter your bubble. You need to see it for yourself."

My stomach flipped. I'd seen enough weird shit in the past few days. "Fair warning, if you are hoping to take me somewhere you can kill me…" I searched for a reasonable threat. None came to mind. "I won't go." You sure showed him, Cassandra. He's probably wilting in fear.

"If I wanted to kill you, you'd already be dead. Surely you can sense that."

It was a fair point. "You said the killer isn't human," I said. "Is he an animal?"

He arched an eyebrow as if I was a lunatic.

"A…" I felt ridiculous uttering it. "A monster?"

"And what do you mean by that? Aren't all your serial killers monsters in one way or another?" He strode on, and I followed.

As we walked, a strange feeling began pulsing through my body from the ground up, a euphoria so powerful it dizzied me. My heart thrummed. Above, the stars blazed in the darkening sky, and the scent of honeysuckle floated on a humid wind. Without thinking, I reached for Roan, intertwining my fingers with his. I closed my eyes, listening to the faint rush of a river as we walked. As if from the inside of my skull, a melodic chanting knelled in my mind—and then, the sound of screams. Human screams, full of pain and terror. But instead of frightening me, the sound intoxicated me…

Roan ripped his hand from mine, and the sudden movement jolted me out of my reverie.

His entire body had gone tense. "You don't need to touch me."

Disoriented, I surveyed my surroundings. We were at the end of the road now, and the chants and screams faded from my mind. The scene before me returned to its dusky gray hue, the scent of honeysuckle gone.

"What the fuck was that?" I breathed. "I'm losing my mind."

"You're not losing your mind. The City of London is in your blood. The shadow realm is in your bones, and now that you've come home, the ancient city has ignited your magic. You're beginning to admit what you already know. There's another world connected to this one, a mirror realm of dreams and nightmares, and men who were once worshipped as gods."

My legs were trembling, and the world felt unsteady beneath my feet. "What is it? What exactly are we talking about?" I was clearly losing my mind, but it had felt so real. And I wanted to feel that euphoria again. Plus, I had a feeling this man knew a lot more about the killer than I did.

"I'll show you more," he said. "But I need you to promise me first that you'll do something for me in return."

"What?"

"Take me into the police vault, where they keep the organs of the dead women."

It took a moment for me to translate that. "You want me to take you to the morgue?"

"Morgue," he repeated, as if learning a new word. "Yes. You can enter the morgue. You'll need to let me in."

"Forget it." I couldn't even count the number of ways I'd get in trouble if I did that. "Why would you want to go into the morgue? It's a bit suspicious, frankly." My stomach turned. Serial killers often wanted to relive their crimes by seeing the victims' bodies.

His gaze was positively glacial—icy anger. "If you're not going to help me, then we're done here. You won't see me again until I have another use for you, and that time, you may not have the option of walking away."

He turned to leave, his footsteps echoing off the stones, and with it, my strongest lead was disappearing. And when he'd said I wouldn't see him again, I was certain that he'd meant it. He wasn't a man who'd be found unless he wanted to.

"Wait!" I called out. Okay, there was no way in hell I was taking him into the morgue. But he didn't need to know that. "I'll take you into the morgue."

As he turned back to me, I had the faintest sense that perhaps he'd been bluffing. Perhaps I wasn't the only manipulator here. "I'm glad you've come to your senses."

"So what is it you wanted to tell me?"

"Show you." He walked past me. Again, I followed close behind, just trying to keep up. "You'll need to actually see it if I'm going to penetrate your thick shields of delusion."

"And what is it?"

"A glimpse of the mirror realm."

I swallowed hard. "The world of dreams and nightmares."

He shot me a hard look. "I'm not speaking in metaphors, you realize. It is an actual place."

"Right." I didn't realize anything. I actually had no idea what the fuck we were talking about, or what the mirror realm was. I was torn between the feeling that I was about to be given a taste of secret knowledge, and the certainty that I was humoring a crazy person.

We turned onto another large thoroughfare. Stately buildings lined the road, their arched doorframes marked by carvings of a bearded god. Poseidon, probably, or a river god. The pagan world seemed alive and well in this city.

"This is the oldest part of the city," he said. "Where men once made sacrifices to the gods. Deep beneath our feet, human skulls and gold pieces lie in a buried river."

I shuddered, thinking of the sound of the river, and the screams of men ringing in my ears. I hadn't voiced any of that out loud. So if that had been a hallucination, how would Roan have known what I'd experienced? Was it just a coincidence?

As we walked past a small puddle, its reflection flickered, and for a moment, I could see a street lined with rowan trees and elegant buildings of white marble and gold, wrapped in ivy. I quickly looked away, dread clawing at my heart. The visions I was seeing were getting more frequent.

Was I turning into my father?

Horace, don't! The screams echoed in my memory, and I shuddered.

Roan had stopped, staring at me. "What is it?"

"I just… thought I saw something."

"You're about to see a lot more. This is where I wanted to take you." He pointed to the ground by the side of the building.

A window was inset into the wall, barred with curling iron spikes. Inside, a yellow electrical light illuminated an ordinary-looking rock.

"We came to see a rock." What this had to do with the murdered women, I could only imagine.

"It's the London Stone." His voice was hushed, almost respectful. "The ancient rock that's been at the center of London for thousands of years."

I cleared my throat. It didn't look that big, hardly worthy of reverence. "Are we going to get to the point?"

"You'll need to get closer. Kneel before it."

I narrowed my eyes at him. Was he about to blow my brains out while I knelt before a rock? I searched his body, looking for the outline of a gun, but I saw nothing. "If I'm going to kneel to look at a rock, you need to back away from me."

"I have no problem with that," he snarled, stepping away. "I don't want to be any closer to you than I need to be."

Slowly, I dropped to my knees, and the cold pavement bit into my skin. I felt like an idiot, kneeling on the ground and staring at the rock. "What am I looking for?"

"Look."

And then, the world shimmered.

It wasn't my eyes playing tricks on me. It was my entire body. Instead of a rock, I now gaped at a gleaming hall crowded with people—no, not people exactly. They were beautiful and graceful, their movements catlike and soft. But they didn't seem entirely human: enormous men with horns or claws, powerful women with shimmering wings that reflected the candlelight, many shimmering with colored auras. They whispered and laughed over golden goblets.

When I looked up, I could see that vaults arched high above us like ribs, but between them, no ceiling enclosed us, and the blazing stars lit up the night sky. A warm breeze, scented with rowan and honeysuckle, filtered through the air, and somewhere nearby, a stream burbled. Wisteria climbed the walls, and soft grasses and wildflowers grew below my bare feet…

But I was also in the street, kneeling on the ground, basking in the pulsing energy of the London Stone. The two worlds overlapped.

Suddenly weak, I gripped the metalwork for support, blinking away the vision. Slowly, I rose on unsteady legs and stared at Roan.

"What… what was that?" I asked, my breath shuddering. "What's happening to me?"

He took a step closer, lowering his voice so no one else could hear. "The writing you saw on the body—they are fae markings. And just now, I showed you a glimpse of the Trinovantum. The fae realm."

I blinked. "The what now?"

"Trinovantum. The fae realm. As I said. The killer you're looking for isn't human. He's fae, like the people you just saw."

I wanted to say he had drugged me. That this was some form of smoke and mirrors, or maybe that I needed some antipsychotic meds real fast. And yet…

And yet it had felt true . It had felt like coming home to a place I'd always known.

My thoughts were running wild, feral beasts that needed to be caged. I did everything I could to lock them up in my mental vault, but my knees felt week. "I need some time to figure out what's going on."

A muscle worked in Roan's jaw. "There is no time. The killer will strike again. If you want to stop him, you need to deliver on your promise."

"What promise?" I hugged myself, trying to clear my thoughts. "The morgue?"

"I need to go there. Tomorrow."

It's hard to piece together a coherent sequence of events when your life is crumbling around you.

I lay staring at the ceiling, sinking into the hotel bed, listening to an old J Dilla album to try to normalize myself. It was just me and Dilla and hip-hop inspired by donuts. Normal stuff from my normal American life…

And yet, the echoing, backward sounds in the music brought to mind the mirror realm that Roan spoke of.

Try as I might to ignore it, it seemed like I faced two options at the moment. The first was that I was losing my mind, just like my father had. The idea that I might end up like him scared me to death.

The second option was that everything I thought I knew about reality was horseshit. There were alternate worlds of magic and fae, and people with horns you could see through rocks. The world of reason and facts apparently wasn't reliable.

Mentally, I reviewed the night's events. After the vision at the London Stone, everything had seemed a blur. I remembered hurrying away from Roan, trying to find my way back to the hotel on foot until I gave in and hailed a cab.

On the short ride home, London's streets had somehow become dark and threatening, the gray buildings looming above us. Occasionally I'd notice a reflection in a window—of horned men and winged women. People who weren't there.

Back at the hotel, I'd stumbled into an elevator and found my way to my room in a daze. I dropped on the bed, shivering as if freezing. Fragments of the past two days raced through my mind, now cast in a new light.

Those two men who had attacked me that night had been inhumanly strong and fast. The killer's DNA and fingerprints, the way he'd punched through the ribs…

Not to mention Roan. If anyone was fae, he fit the bill entirely.

But why did I keep seeing reflections in mirrors and windows? How was it that I was getting these glimpses?

And then there was Alvin at the bar, with his strange orange eyes, saying, Cheers for the food, Cassandra. See you tomorrow night!

Was he fae, and did he know I'd want more answers from him the next night?

Over time, the shivering abated. I rose from the bed, my limbs shaking with exhaustion. It took every ounce of willpower I had just to drag myself to the shower. I kicked off my heels, pulled off my little black dress, and slipped out of my black lace underwear. My muscles ached, seemingly rebelling against me.

I turned on the water, goosebumps springing on my chilled skin as I waited for it to heat up. Once steam began filling the room, I stepped inside, letting the powerful current pound my skin. There was reassurance in that feeling. This was real. Slowly, I felt myself calm down.

I didn't think I was losing my mind, but that's what psychotic people always thought. I didn't have any other symptoms of psychosis—no delusions of grandeur, no disorganized thoughts or speech. I had to work under the assumption that whatever I was experiencing was as real as the hot water on my skin.

I lathered my hair with the hotel shampoo, scented with vanilla, and watched the foamy water trickle down my body, gathering around the drain. So… magic was real. Did that actually change anything? Reality had shifted around me, but I was still me : Special Agent Cassandra Liddell. I still had to help the English police catch a serial killer. Roan was a source, and I'd milk him as much as I could. I'd take him to the morgue tomorrow, but only to see if I could get additional information from him. I knew he had more information about the killer than he was letting on. As far as I was concerned, Roan was the key.

Thinking like an actual agent again made me feel stronger, safer. I turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, then dried my hair with a towel. Steam had clouded the mirror entirely, and I could hardly see myself. I brushed the steam off with my hand. And when I did, I felt something—a sort of bond with the mirror, as if my mind were linking with it. The mirror's presence seemed to pool in my mind like cool water, and at the same time, it pulled me closer, like a gravitational force.

Wherever I touched the mirror, the reflection shimmered and bent, fading slowly. I could still see my own reflection through the steamed up glass in the spots where I left it untouched.

I thought of Roan, and that shimmering world of magic he'd showed me. And as I thought of him, the reflection shifted, and the cleared spaces revealed a different room. It seemed to be another room in the Andaz Hotel, with a similar interior.

Roan was pacing in the room slowly, dressed in nothing but a pair of black underwear. The sight of his body stole my breath: golden skin, a chiseled chest, perfect abs, and arms thickly corded with muscle. Already I could feel heat spreading through my body as I gaped at him. There was a voyeuristic thrill to this moment—looking into someone else's room, following his every movement. I didn't try to understand why or how this was happening. Fuck that. Magic was real, and I was currently using it to watch a sexy man in his underwear. That was good enough for me.

And yet, something about the sight of him also unnerved me deeply. He walked with a preternatural, predatory grace, as if I'd caught him forgetting to act human.

He turned around, facing away from me, and I could do nothing but stare at his powerful back. Just below his shoulder blades, several dark symbols marked his skin. I identified one of them instantly, and my mouth went dry. Three diagonal lines, crossed in the middle—the same sign carved behind the last victim's ear. My heart began to thump hard against my ribs.

Without warning, Roan whirled to face me. His eyes widened, his jaw clenched, and those strange, golden horns sprouted from his head. As his entire body went rigid with tension, his eyes locked on me, trailing down my naked body.

And that's when it hit me: Whatever was happening, Roan could see me, too.

My arms flew to cover my breasts, and in the next moment I was running out the door, leaving a trail of wet footprints on the bedroom's floor.