Ghost Light

“Don’t you listen to the mortals?” he asked.  The cat sidhe’s tail danced an archaic pattern above his tattered ears and I forced myself to look away.  Becoming ensnared by a cat sidhe was not on my to-do list.  Fae blood may run through my veins, but my human genes left me vulnerable to faerie enchantments.  I gripped the vial of cold iron in my pocket.  Thankfully, my human half did have its perks—an immunity to iron being one of them.  “Sightings of spectral beings have been reported all over the city.  Graves are rumored to have been disturbed in local cemeteries.  If street corner gossip is to be believed, the dead walk the streets of Harborsmouth.”

“But ghosts don’t exist,” I said, body going rigid.

“Does it matter?” he asked.  “If mortals go poking their noses into shadows looking for ghosts, they may just discover who they really share this city with.  That is one secret I’d rather we kept.”

“So you helped me back there to protect the secret of our kind,” I said.  “To save your own hide.”

That scarred hide was beginning to wink in and out of existence as if made of shadow.  Watching parts of the cat sidhe’s body appear and disappear made me dizzy, as if the ground at my feet were becoming less solid with each flickering wave of shadow.  I wrenched my gaze from the faerie cat’s body and focused on his face.

“Yes, Princess,” he said.  The faerie leapt gracefully from the metal bin to the pavement and began crossing the empty lot toward the main road. “And let me give a free word of advice, since I’m in a generous mood.  Don’t go throwing cold iron around these streets.  You’re likely to attract the wrong kind of attention.”

The cat sidhe flashed a razor sharp smile in my direction then melted into the fog.  The last I saw of him, he was a shred of shadow twining around the ankles of shoppers on Market Street.

“And what kind are you?” I muttered.

The bored kind.  His voice whispered in my ear.  I spun around, but the faerie was nowhere in sight.

“Wait,” I said.  “The iron shavings were for self defense.  Didn’t you see the seven foot tall, angry lamia?”

The sound of rush hour traffic was my only reply.  I’d waited too long to ask my question and now the cat was gone.  But the realization nagged at me as I trudged through back lots and alleys, avoiding throngs of shoppers as I made my way back to the clurichaun’s shop.

Unlike the crowd of humans who only witnessed my side of the near-battle, the faerie cat should have seen through Melusine’s glamour.  So why hadn’t he mentioned her?  Ceffyl’s ex had been there, hadn’t she?

I shoved gloved hands into my pockets and ducked my head, avoiding the curious stares of dish washers and line cooks as they each sucked down one last cigarette before the busy dinner rush.  The alleys of Joysen Hill were never completely empty, but at least there were no obvious threats in sight.  Of course, that didn’t mean I was safe.

Melusine was out there somewhere.  She was in Harborsmouth, wasn’t she?  I’d seen the bitch with my own two eyes, so why was doubt creeping in like an unwelcome guest?

I bit the inside of my cheek and shook my head.  No, I trusted my second sight.  No one else had witnessed a seven foot tall woman with a serpent’s tail on a busy city sidewalk?  So what, that was business as usual.  I was used to being the only person who could see the monsters who roam our streets.

I rounded the corner onto Catch Lane behind Dead Man’s Catch and dropped into a crouch.  Knives slid into my gloved hands from custom sheaths hidden beneath my coat.  Clurichaun’s were good at crafting more than gloves.  The sheaths had been skillfully designed with two functions in mind; protecting my skin from contact with my new weapons and easy release.  The grip end of twin throwing knives, balanced silver blades with sharp iron tips, hit my palms before I could blink.

Was that…?  A large form loomed, emerging from a gap in the thick fog.  I adjusted my grip on the knives, spinning each knife a half turn, and pinching the tips of the blades with shaking fingers.

I breathed in slowly, filling my nostrils with the fetid smell of frying fish and stale beer, relaxed my stance, and assessed the distance to where Melusine loomed in fog thickened shadow.  The decision to switch my hold on the knives from the grip to the blade depended on range.  If I misjudged the distance, the knives would bounce off my target.  I’d lose the element of surprise and end up with one pissed off lamia.

I squinted at Melusine who hadn’t moved since my intrusion into Catch Lane.  That was weird.  When the bitch stared daggers at me through the Clurichaun’s shop window, her serpent tale had lashed back and forth like a cat watching a tasty bird just out of reach.  But the only thing moving now was a mouse as it scurried beneath a rusting dumpster.