An Embrace of Smoke & Steel (Fallen for a Fae #2)

Chapter One

Antonio

Always in threes.

Three raps of Antonio’s knuckles against the wood of the doorframe. Three bells, tinkling as he passed from his garage into the lobby. Useless superstitions, and he knew it. But when you couldn’t find a gun, there was comfort in holding a stick.

“Yeah, you threw a rod,” he said to the slight woman sitting in one of the lobby’s worn chairs.

It should be good news for him; an engine rebuild on an old Thunderbird would keep the lights on. But all bets were off when the client was a friend.

Or, in the case of Clara, his parole officer.

“Can you fix it?” Clara asked, sounding way too chirpy considering the news, the early hour, and the fucking location.

People weren’t chirpy when their babied classic cars stopped running. Unless they thought they could get the work done for free.

“‘Fix,’ no. Rebuild the engine, yes.” Antonio forced himself not to scowl, fingers tapping against the side of his leg.

“Look, ma’am, I’m happy to keep the old lady running smooth, but I don’t have the time to rebuild an engine gratis.

Pretty sure you expect me to stay gainfully employed, and that means paying the rent on this place. ”

“There’s no hurry,” Clara said, getting to her feet. “It’ll make a nice little side project for you. Keep you out of trouble. You can charge me for the parts.”

“Right.” Antonio’s smile hardly counted. “Happy to do it, ma’am.”

What choice did he have? What fucking choice did he ever have?

“We’ve got a meeting in a few weeks.” Clara tossed the words over her shoulder, already at the door. Her gaze flicked up, and her voice lost some of its brightness. “Thought you said you were taking that thing down.”

Antonio followed her gaze to the doorframe. A horseshoe, nailed to the wall with cold iron. “Yeah, well, I need the luck.”

“You seeing your shrink, Antonio?” As usual, their meeting was whenever Clara fucking felt like it.

“Yeah.”

“Taking your meds?”

Antonio tapped out a rhythm against his counter and tried not to bounce in place. Of course, he hadn’t been taking his fucking meds. They didn’t make meds for ‘used to hang out in Faerie.’

“Yeah.”

“Good boy.” But Clara was still frowning up at the horseshoe.

“Thing is, one of my nieces gave it to me. Sister threw a fit when she came by and saw I didn’t have it up.”

Mentioning a sister was usually a safe bet. Clara considered them good influences. And sure enough, her frown shifted into a sunny smile.

“It’s good that you’ve been reconnecting with your family. I’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah. See you.”

More bells, as Clara left. Three of them.

He didn’t have time to feel sorry for himself. Didn’t have time to stand there in the lobby, rubbing one of the heavy iron bracelets he always wore. But he was still standing there, staring at nothing, when the bells rang again.

“Good day!” said a feminine voice with the lilt of an accent. “I’m in a bit of a spot. May I speak with you a moment?”

Thank God, a hopefully paying customer.

“Morning,” he said, as he turned. “What’s the trouble?”

Jet black eyes, all pupil, and a too-wide, sharp-toothed smile in an otherwise soft, pleasant face.

Fuck.

In the world of fight, freeze, or flee, Antonio’d always been one for running. You didn’t fight the fucking fae. There was no point. Might as well punch a damned tornado.

He stepped back, retreating until his back hit the solid wood of the counter, fingers returning to his bracelet. The rest might be superstition, but iron worked. The fae hated the shit. Calloway had always said it made his bones ache.

“I fix cars,” he said, barely managing not to snarl. “And you don’t got one. There’s nothing here for a fae.”

The fae blinked at him with too-large, too-dark eyes. He didn’t know what she was, had never seen a fae with eyes like that.

“Well,” she said, finally. “There goes that surprise. But, no, I don’t have a car. I’ve lost my cat,” The fae held up an empty leash with nothing on the end of it. “An actual cat.”

“Try the Humane Society.”

“He ran somewhere towards you.” She peered around the lobby, all open curiosity. “I’m not here for you. Just my terror of a pet. And my son, I suppose. Declan wouldn’t know what to do without Puck artfully shredding his clothing.”

It was just ridiculous enough to be true. Antonio wanted to bang his head against the wall. Put his fist through it. Mostly, he wanted to hide with the covers pulled over his head like he was still a child, scared of all the monsters he knew lurked in the dark.

No Calloway to protect him now. Not that Calloway ever had.

“Yeah, that checks out,” he said, smiling grimly. “Always losing track of your pets. Good thing they’re replaceable. I’ll check the garage. Don’t think you’ll like it in there.”

There wasn’t any choice. Not really. In the end, you always did what the fae wanted. There was no point in arguing.

“No, I dare say I won’t,” the fae said, studying the door with distaste. “May I go with you, though? Besides not being replaceable, Puck’s quite large and isn’t fond of anyone but me. I’m happy to give my word not to do whatever nasty thing you think I’ll do, unless that’s ‘fetch my cat.’ ”

“Promises from a fae are almost as useful as a three-dollar bill,” Antonio muttered, but he pushed open the door for her as he said it. “You wanna come, I can’t exactly stop you. It’s your migraine.”

“Unfortunate run-ins with banshees before?” The fae–the banshee–asked, as she slid past him, visibly flinching as she stepped into the garage. “Or just fae in general? I imagine Hollow sight leads to some situations when out and about.”

“Fae’s a fae,” he said, following her in, but not far.

The garage was full with just three cars, and Antonio stopped at the first, a powder blue Mustang, resting his hand on the hood.

The first car he’d ever stolen had been a Mustang, beautiful and shining and metallic, and Antonio all knotted up with anger and fear after spotting a fae outside his school. It’d made him feel safe.

Probably why he still drove one.

The banshee wandered further, making that soft tsking sound everyone used with cats and shaking a bag of something.

“Yes, that's what they say now, isn't it? Fae’s a fae.” The banshee laughed, the sound a little tight. “I suppose the fae you knew said that with a tone, too. ‘Oh. Those fae. The unsavory sorts.’ ”

Which, fuck, wasn’t wrong. Death aligned, that’s what Calloway had called them. Banshee, sluagh, redcaps, and the rest. But it wasn’t what Antonio’d meant.

“Fae’s a fae because you’re all fucking dangerous. ‘Those sorts’ or not. You’re my first banshee. I’ve known wisps, mostly. Got cursed by a kelpie a couple years back.”

Why was he making conversation? He blamed his mother, all those lectures on manners. Shit.

The banshee clicked her tongue, standing on tiptoe to look behind a pile of boxes. At least she wasn’t watching him. That helped.

“I didn’t think Hollows could be marked, long term. Leave it to a kelpie to strongarm a curse onto someone who ought to be resistant to it.” She turned away from the boxes, frowning toward the cars. “What pebble got under their horseshoe enough to inspire a curse?”

“Bastard took up with a guy I knew. I tried to talk the guy out of it. Kelpie didn’t approve.”

Not one of his better ideas, trying to get between Bo and a fucking death horse. At least he’d gotten a friend out of it. If Bo calling every few months to bitch about the fae counted as a friendship.

“Ah,” the banshee said, like that settled it. “Do vehicles usually have wiggling sounds inside them?”

If Antonio were a proper asshole, he’d tell the fae to open the hood herself. Unfortunately for him, he wasn’t. With a grunt, he left the Mustang for the rusted-out Pontiac he’d been stripping for parts. The banshee stepped back as he leaned in to open the hood, far enough that he could breathe.

This was his life now. Standing too close to a fae, holding up the hood of a gutted Pontiac, and staring at what was probably the largest cat he’d ever seen.

Pretty cat. Orange, long fur, paws like dinner plates. But it could’ve been one of those famous ReelSelf cats and Antonio would’ve still wanted it out of his garage. Even if it was an ‘actual cat’ and not some pooka playing games like he still half expected.

Ears back, it hissed, retreating toward the banshee.

“Don’t hiss at him, you naughty furry brat,” the banshee scolded. “I’d not blame him for dropping the hood on you for that. Get out of there.”

The cat stood, stretched, and made no effort at all to listen.

“Glad you found him,” Antonio said, keeping the ‘now get out’ behind his teeth because he didn’t need another curse to add to his collection. “My nieces like to hide in there, too.”

The banshee threw him a too-wide smile, showing all those sharp teeth. Funny thing was, it wasn’t so bad. Not as rough as spotting a sidhe or a wisp walking around, anyway. Looking the way she did, those graveyard eyes and impossible teeth, at least she didn’t remind him of anything that hurt.

“You hear that, Puck? You’ve reached new heights in clever mischief.” She fiddled with the leash she held. “I’d not have found him without your assistance. May I pay you for your time and allowing me to poke around for him?”

“You got your cat. I got to not have a cat breaking things in my garage. I call that square.”

Antonio knew better than to take anything from the fae or acknowledge any debt or favor.

He bounced on his toes, needing to move and not wanting to rattle the hood and scare the cat.

With his free hand, he rubbed the nettles inked on his wrist, just above his iron bracelets. Another useless symbol, but it helped.

“Square it is,” the banshee agreed, scooping the cat into her arms. “Would you be so kind as to get the doors for me once more? I don’t trust him to walk out without trying to squirm away again.”