I’d made it a block when a car turned the corner in front of me. The red glow of the brake lights flashing was the first indication something was wrong. I glanced up, hoping for a taxi. After all, who else would be stopping but a taxi that assumed I was a good chance at a fare?

But no, not a taxi. A silver coupe slowed to a crawl as it approached. I couldn’t see how many people were inside, but I felt the stares. Even seventy years after the Magical Awakening, spotting an unglamoured fae on the street wasn’t common—I’d once thought that was because they didn’t like being gawked at, and in part that was true, but recently I’d learned that most used tightly woven glamours to insulate themselves from the iron in the mortal realm. I wasn’t nine feet tall, blue skinned, winged, horned, or any number of the much more other aspects many of the fae displayed, but apparently glowing was enough.

I hunched forward, staring at my feet and letting my shimmering curls fall in front of my face like a shield. The car window opened, and something flew out, crashing into the facade of the building in front of me. The Styrofoam cup exploded on impact, showering me in soda and ice.

“Get out of our town, you faerie freak,” a teenage voice yelled from the dark recess of the car. Then the vehicle sped off in a peel of tires and laughter.

I cursed at the car’s taillights, and then stood in the center of the sidewalk, sticky soda dripping from my arms. Okay, so the glowing is noticeable.

I had to get off the street. I’d never make it to Tongues for the Dead before the Quarter began to fill with people, and I couldn’t let more people see me glowing. If I were recognized…Say good-bye to passing as human.

I ducked into an alley. I’d lose my OMIH license if my fae heritage was discovered. I had to figure out how to stop glowing before more people saw me. But how the hell am I going to do that? Caleb hadn’t left the revelry, and I definitely couldn’t go to Falin—not that he was back from the revelry either. Hell, every fae I knew was in Faerie.

Well, not every fae. I knew of one person I definitely hadn’t seen at the revelry. And not only could he help me; he damn near owed me the help.

I called my father.

Chapter 29

A dark Porsche pulled to a stop and the window rolled down, showing my father’s profile. Well, actually, showing his fae-mien’s profile, but one couldn’t expect the governor and prominent member of the Humans First Party to be seen in the Quarter picking up a glowing woman. I climbed to my feet slowly, using the crates I’d been hiding behind as leverage to pull myself up.

“This is becoming a habit, Alexis,” my father said, and I cringed at his use of my name.

I’d become accustomed to hearing it on Falin’s lips. Hearing it said in such a disapproving tone cut. Of course, I may never hear Falin say my name again.

My father glanced at me. When he wore his human glamour he was a respectably middle-aged man with dark brown hair and eyes. It always made me wonder where my sister and I got our coloring. Without his glamour it was obvious, his pale hair shimmered the same color blond as mine. I also had his green eyes. I looked away. I didn’t like seeing the similarities.

“Alexis, you could have called a cab.”

“Stop calling me that.”

He frowned, a flicker of confusion crossing his brow. It was the first real emotion he’d shown since I’d climbed into his car. “It is your name.”

“Yeah, well, just don’t use it, okay?”

“Shall I call you daughter dearest?”

I shot him my best death glare, which didn’t faze him in the least.

“My, my, aren’t we in a mood.”

“Did you miss the fact I’m glowing?”

“Now you’re just being dramatic.” He shrugged as if glowing were no big deal. Of course, as he was unglamoured he also shimmered. “You’re Sleagh Maith. This is our natural state. Though I must say, I’m quite surprised the glamour is failing so quickly. What have you been doing with yourself?”

Dancing in Faerie rings, playing their games, oh yeah, and eating their food. I cut off my sarcastic inner monologue as the implications of what he’d said sank in.

“Wait, what glamour?”

He didn’t answer as he switched gears and headed over the bridge that separated what most people considered the “witchy” side of town from the rest of Nekros.

“What glamour,” I asked again, “and how do I get it back?”

His fae face was as good at giving completely disinterested glances as his human one.

I ground my teeth but neither of us spoke for a long time, until I realized he was headed toward his mansion. The last time I’d called for help he’d dumped me in the mercy of an overly opinionated brownie at a ramshackle house in an old neighborhood.

“Going to risk being seen with me, huh?” I asked, and noticed that he once again wore his respectable gentleman glamour. If I had to guess, I’d also assume that the Porsche had changed colors and tags. My father’s skill at glamour was second only to his ability to manipulate those around him.

“You called me for a reason, Alexis.”

“Because I need not to be glowing?” I said as he pulled the car into the long drive.

When he stopped in front of the mansion he called a house, he turned, watching me expectantly. I knew what he wanted me to say, but the voice in the back of my head kept screaming that no, I wasn’t a fae, I couldn’t possibly…

I sighed. “I need to learn glamour.”

He nodded as if satisfied. Then, leaving the keys in the car, he climbed out and headed for the front door. He didn’t offer me a hand or wait, but he also didn’t rush. I extracted myself from the car much slower, reluctant to enter the oversized house.

The gate guard had called ahead and a man rushed from the house, sprinting for the idling car. Another man, presumably the butler who’d replaced Rodger, opened the front door. My father nodded a greeting to the man before he led me into the enormous receiving room. Neither the disused chauffeur nor the butler stared as I passed, and while expensive help was trained not to pay too much attention, I was guessing if I glowed they wouldn’t have been able to help themselves. Which meant my father must have extended his glamour to me when he changed the car and himself.

Good to know. As that immediate problem was solved, at least temporarily, one other rather pressing issue worried along the edge of my mind.

“Do you have any food?” I asked, and my father paused at the base of the marble staircase he’d been about to mount.

“Yes, Alexis, I have food.” The look he gave me could only be described as calculated curiosity. “I take it you would like to break your fast?”

He had no idea. I’d had one potentially life changing sip of wine, and I needed to know if…if I could still consume human food. My father’s studying gaze appeared to see straight through my skin, and I rescinded my earlier thought. Maybe he did know. I shifted uncomfortably, but when I nodded that I did indeed want breakfast, he turned to the butler who, in good invisible but always at hand mode, stepped forward.

“Would the young lady like to take her breakfast in the sunroom?” he asked, addressing my father, not me.

“That’s fine, but something light and quick.”

And that’s my father. No consultation with me. I didn’t care, as long as it was real food.

This house had never been my home. I spent parts of my summers here as a child, but that didn’t create any warm fuzzy feelings in me, and my more recent memories of the place were far from happy. Which was a major understatement. Terrifying would be far more accurate. But I still remembered where the sunroom was. I didn’t need a guide or a chaperone. I got one anyway, my father leading me to a beautifully decorated sitting room with a large bay window facing east so the morning sun filtered in, casting the room in a warm hue.

Casey, my sister, sat at a small dinette, a mostly untouched muffin sitting beside a half-filled glass of orange juice. A paper lay on the table in front of her, claiming more of her attention than the food.

“Morning, Daddy, did you see this article on—” She looked up and stopped abruptly, pushing to her feet. “Alexis, I didn’t expect to see you here.”

I bet she hadn’t. It had been months since I’d seen my sister. She’d asked to see me when she’d been in the hospital recovering from the fallout of being the intended sacrifice in a megalomaniac’s ritual. I’d gone to see her once or twice at the private—and very discreet—hospital my father had placed her in, but on my last visit she’d told me she wanted to forget what had happened. Her chilly demeanor made it clear that she considered me a reminder. It wasn’t like we’d ever been close, so I’d made a polite good-bye and left. I hadn’t seen her since.

“Hello, Casey. You look good,” I told her, though I could feel the concealment charms she wore and I knew at least forty percent of her body, particularly her torso, was covered in scars. The glyphs that had been carved into her skin had a power of their own, so the doctors had to excise parts of them to make sure the glyphs remained inert.

Casey was everything I wasn’t. Where I had the height and sharper lines of the Sleagh Maith, she was a good head shorter with abundant curves that she usually dressed to accent. Not today. Her clothes were loose fitting and covered everything but her hands and her face. The concealment charms could hide the physical scars, but I wondered if she’d ever again be comfortable in her own skin.

She blinked at me, not acknowledging my words. Then she turned away, as if she couldn’t bear to look at me.

“Is there something you wanted to tell me, dear?” my father asked, his voice nothing if not the epitome of patience.

He never used that tone with me. I tried not to hold it against Casey.

“It can wait,” she said, and then, leaving her barely touched food, she swept out of the room.

I listened to the retreating click of her heels. “She hates me.”

“Does it matter?” His voice was once again empty, dispassionate.