"Don't get involved." Niall moved his chair back away from the table as she approached.

She tilted her head in a decidedly not-human way. "What a pleasant surprise, Gancan-"

"No." Niall's temper snapped out with actual tendrils of shadow, invisible to the Un-Sighted mortals in the club. "Not 'Gancanagh.' King. Or have you forgotten?"

The faery who'd spoken didn't flinch; instead she let her gaze slip slowly over Niall. "That's right. Things are cloudy in my mind some days."

"That is not why you chose to not-name me." Niall didn't stand yet, but he had angled his body in a position that would make sudden movement easier.

"Too true." The birdlike faery's posture tensed. "Would you fight me, my king? The battles I need are not near enough."

Seth felt the tension grow increasingly thick. The other faeries had dispersed, taking up posts throughout the Crow's Nest. They looked gleeful.

"Is that what you want?" Niall stood.

She licked her lips. "A little tussle would help me."

"Do you challenge me?" He reached out and ran a hand through the faery's feather-hair.

"Not yet. Not a real challenge, but blood...yes, I want that." She leaned forward and snapped her mouth with an audible clack, and Seth wondered if she had an actual beak.

Niall fisted his hand in her hair and held her head away from him.

She swayed as if they were dancing. "I could ask after Irial. I could mention how wounded he is that you refuse his...counsel."

"b.i.t.c.h."

"That's all I get?" She glared at him. "A word? I come unbloodied. I come seeking you. I get a word? Is this how you treat me after-"

Niall punched her.

She tried to skewer his still-extended arm with the bone-white knife that she was now holding.

They were too fast for Seth to follow. What he could tell was that the faery was more than holding her own. In a few moments, Niall had a series of cuts that looked mostly shallow. He took her legs from under her, but she was up and on him before she even hit the ground.

In the blur of it, she appeared to have a raven's beak and talons in addition to the short knife. The screeches from her beak-mouth were horrific sounds, battle cries that seemed like they should call the other faeries to her side. Instead, the faeries who'd come with her sat on tables and stools, watching silently.

Niall had her pinned briefly in an embrace of sorts-her back to his chest.

She stayed motionless for a moment. The look on her face was embarra.s.sing to see: it was not unhappiness but an intimate sort of pleasure. She sighed. "You're almost worth fighting."

Then she flung her head backward into Niall's face with such force that she bloodied his nose and mouth.

Niall didn't release his hold, though. Instead, he loosed his right hand and cupped her head with it. He took her momentum and spun her to the ground. He kept her on the floor with one hand on her head and his body half on top of her. Niall stayed there, his body pinning the motionless faery.

She turned her bloodied face to his, and the two held each other's gazes.

Uncomfortable, Seth looked away and realized that the waitress was standing beside him; she said something.

"What?"

The waitress spoke again. "Niall. I didn't see him leave. Is he coming back?"

With a start, Seth remembered that she couldn't see the faeries. Only he saw the fight. Only he saw them bloodied and tangled together. He nodded. "Yeah. He'll be here."

The waitress gave him an odd look. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Just...you startled me." He smiled. "Sorry."

She nodded and moved on to another table.

Behind him, Seth heard Niall say, "My dear?"

Seth turned to see Niall stand and reach down to the faery. "Are we done?"

"Mmmm. Paused. Not done. Never done until you're dead." She took his hand and, with the liquid grace that characterized so many faeries, she came to her feet. Her eyes were unfocused as she gingerly touched her cheek. "That was good, my King."

The Dark King nodded. He didn't take his gaze away from her.

"I'll come for you tonight," she whispered in what was either a threat or a proposition.

Then she turned her head in a series of short jerky moves, locating each of the six red-palmed faeries unerringly. They moved in unison toward her. Without another word exchanged, the group left as suddenly as they'd arrived.

Niall glanced at Seth. "I'll be right back."

He left as well, and Seth sat there, stunned by the random violence and unsure what to think of it.

Seth realized that another person had seen the fight: a faery, invisible to Un-Sighted mortal eyes, stared at him from across the room. Coa.r.s.e white hair was bound back into a tiny knot at the crown of his head. His features were sharp, angular in ways that made him seem carved. It was a different sort of sculpture than what Seth created, but in the instant, Seth's hands itched for a block of dark stone to try to sculpt an opposite piece. The pale faery stood staring, and for a moment, Seth wondered if he was alive. He was so inflexible that the illusion of being carved was complete.

Once Niall returned a few minutes later, he was not so blood-covered. His glamour hid the state of his clothes and the cuts on his skin, so the only mortal in the room who saw that anything had changed was Seth.

When Niall sat down at the table again, Seth said, "Do you know him?"

Niall followed Seth's gaze to the side of the room where the statuelike faery still stood. "Unfortunately." Niall removed a cigarette case from a pocket and slid one out. "Devlin is Sorcha's 'peacekeeper,' or her thug, depending on who's doing the defining."

The faery Devlin smiled placidly at them.

"And I'm not in the mood to deal with him," Niall added, without taking his attention from Devlin. "Very few faeries are strong enough to test me these days. She is. Unfortunately, he is too."

Unsure how the day had gone so suddenly tense, Seth shot another glance at Devlin, who was approaching their table.

He stopped, still invisible, and said to Niall, "Trouble comes, my friend. Sorcha is not the only target."

"Is she ever?" Niall flicked open his lighter.

Without being invited, Devlin pulled a chair out and joined them. "Sorcha was once fond of you. That should matter, even to you. What she needs is-"

"I don't want to know, Dev. You see what I am now...."

"In control of your own path."

Niall laughed. "No. Not that. Never that."

Seth wasn't sure what the right move was, but when he started to stand, Niall gripped his forearm. "Stay."

Devlin watched, seemingly impa.s.sive. "He's yours?"

"He's my friend," Niall corrected.

"He sees me. He saw her." Devlin's tone wasn't accusing, but it was alarming nonetheless. "Mortals aren't to See."

"He does. If you try to take him"-Niall bared his teeth in an animalistic snarl-"any kindness I once felt for your queen or friendship for you will not stop my anger." Then he glanced at Seth. "Go nowhere with him. Ever."

Seth raised one brow in silent question.

Devlin stood. "If Sorcha had meant for me to take the mortal, he'd be gone. She hasn't ordered his collection. I am here now warning you of trouble in your court."

"And reporting back on it."

"Of course." Devlin gave Niall a look that was beyond disdainful. "I report everything to my queen. I serve the High Court in all things. Be alert to my sisters' words."

Then he stood and left.

Niall ground out his first cigarette, which he hadn't smoked, and pulled out another.

"Want to explain any of that?" Seth gestured around the room.

"Not really." Niall lit the cigarette and took a long drag. He held the cigarette in front of him with a bemused look on his face. "And really, I'm not sure I can explain it all."

"Are you in danger?"

Niall exhaled and grinned. "One can hope."

"Am I?"

"Not from Devlin. He'd have tried to take you if he was sent here to do so." Niall glanced at the doorway through which the High Court faery had left. "Devlin comes here on High Court business because Sorcha does not often walk among mortals."

"And the faery who attacked you?"

Niall shrugged. "It's one of her hobbies. She enjoys violence, discord, pain. Keeping her in check is one of the many challenges Irial left me. He helps, but...I have trouble trusting him."

Seth didn't know what to say to that. They sat in awkward silence for several cigarettes.

The waitress stopped to clean the tables nearest them-again. She stared at Niall with blatant interest. Most faeries and mortals did. Niall was a Gancanagh, seductive and addictive. Until he'd become Dark King, his affection was also fatal to his partners.

"Who was she? The faer-" Seth broke the word off as the waitress came to their table with a clean ashtray. He told her, "We'll let you know if we need anything."

"I don't mind stopping, Seth." She spared him a scowl before turning her attention to the Dark King. "Niall...Is there anything you need?"

"No." Niall stroked the girl's bare arm. "You're always good to us. Isn't she, Seth?"

After the waitress walked away, sighing and darting a glance back at Niall, Seth rolled his eyes and muttered, "We ought to pa.s.s those charms of yours out to everyone here."

A grin replaced the gloomy expression on Niall's face. "Spoilsport."

"Enjoy it. Enjoy the attention, but reserve your affection for faeries," Seth cautioned.

"I know that. I just need"-the Dark King winced as if the thought hurt him-"I just need you to keep reminding me. I don't ever want to be what Keenan is, what Irial was."

"Which is?" Seth asked.

"A selfish b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

"You're a faery king, man. I don't know how much choice you have. And with what just happened with the raven-faery-"

"Don't. I would spare you and myself from your knowing the unpleasant things in my life if you'll let me."

Seth held up a hand in a halting gesture. "Your call. I'm not judging you either way."

"That makes one of us then," Niall murmured. After a still moment, he straightened his shoulders, rolling them like he was testing for motility. "I suppose the true dilemma is where to direct my b.a.s.t.a.r.dness."

"Or you know, try harder on the resisting-it thing."

"Sure." Niall's expression was bland as he added, "That's exactly what the Dark King is to do: resist temptation."

Chapter 6.

Aislinn was feeding the birds when Keenan came in slamming doors and scowling. One of the c.o.c.katiels clung to the back of her shirt and poked its beak through her hair to watch the Summer King. The birds were a source of comfort for Keenan. Sometimes, in his melancholy or irritable moods, sitting and watching them was one of the only surefire ways to adjust his temper. The birds seemed to know how valuable they were and acted accordingly. Today, however, he didn't pause among them.

"Aislinn," he said by way of greeting before he walked past her and to his study.

She waited. The c.o.c.katiel took flight. None of the other birds came toward her. Instead, they all seemed to be watching her expectantly. The c.o.c.katiels' crests were raised. The other birds merely stared at her-or in the direction Keenan had gone. A few squawked or chirped.

"Fine. I'll go see him."

She followed him into the study. The room was one of the two that were Keenan's domain. The other-his bedroom-wasn't one she ever entered, but the study was where they usually went when it was just the two of them. She felt weird going in there without him. The Summer Girls sometimes curled up on the sofa with a book, but they had no interest in keeping boundaries with Keenan. Aislinn did. The closer summer crept, the more she felt a pull toward him-which she didn't want.

Aislinn stood just inside the doorway, trying not to feel ill at ease about being in his s.p.a.ce. He kept telling her that the loft was hers as much as his, that everything was hers now. Her name was on store accounts, credit cards, bank cards. She ignored them, so he went for more subtle gestures, things that he thought would make her feel at home in the loft. Little threads to tie me. It wasn't obvious at first glance that he'd changed the study again, but if she looked around the somber room, small things would be different. She didn't live there, but she spent enough time at the loft that it was a second-third-home these days. Her nights were divided among home, Seth's, and the loft. She kept clothes and toiletries in all three places. Her real home, the apartment she shared with Grams, was the only place where she was treated like she was normal. At home she wasn't a faery queen; she was just a girl who needed to do a bit better in calculus.

While she stood tentatively at the door, Keenan sat at one end of a dark brown leather sofa. Someone had set out a pitcher of ice water; condensation was rolling down the sides of it in little rivulets. It puddled on the surface of the slab of agate that served as a coffee table. He tossed away one of the newest pillows, an oversized deep green thing without any ostentatious decorations. "Donia won't see me."