Chapter Four
Declan
How strange it still felt, to sit across from Everil again. To see him bonded and safe with an adoring man. Everil looked happy, there in his little two-story home with his family, making tea by hand while Bo flittered off to do something else.
“The man declined your offer, and, in turn, you would like me to remove the curse?” Everil asked, his always pleasant voice tinged with the barest brush of curiosity. The gossip.
“There are worse ways for your chit to be paid, my friend,” Declan answered, his cup of tea halfway to his lips, an eyebrow raised. “It was your magic I felt on him. So what if he turned me down? He heard me out.”
“And so endeared himself to you?”
“His rejection was kind enough,” Declan said with a rise and fall of one shoulder. “Doubly so, all things considered.”
Kindly done, that talk of luck with those other nine. The advice offered with the twist of a knife the human doubtlessly didn’t know he held. Soft encouragement and kindness offered with rough words and coarse phrasing, and each sweet blow squarely landed.
Antonio had pressed the blade deep, tender with the action, dug into all the unhealed parts Declan tried to forget, those shut doors and well-mannered refusals.
Only Tsuri had seemed keen on the idea. Kin to the Monarchs, a favored cousin. A soft-spoken and sad kinnari, blunted sweetness with a sharp sense of humor and sharper mind. A brief chance of a bond who liked Declan, dismissed before final negotiations could begin.
None, not even Tsuri, had turned Declan away with the consideration Antonio had shown, even as the human’s distrust hung, copper-sharp on the air, the hot scorching of sunbaked earth curling the edges of worn-soft leather.
Stranger still, his attention, that incomplete study entirely inappropriate for someone who could see Declan, ghastly and bone white with his claws and teeth.
Murder punk, those words on grinning lips, as if he didn’t have the tip of his blade on Declan’s tongue, waiting to draw blood there as well.
If Declan had said, “There’s no need for luck.
They’ve refused me, save for two. Those were best suited for each other.
” or, “I am, actually, unfuckable to fae. I’ll show them the deaths of their loved ones, and few welcome someone that looks like me to their bed,” would Antonio have pitied him enough to reconsider?
Likely. But he didn’t want a pity bond.
A bond built as a business arrangement? That he could do. But not pity.
“I’ll not deny your request,” Everil said, at last, measured. Careful. “If it’s truly what you wish.”
“It is.” Said easy, as if there were nothing to explain. And perhaps there was not. Declan could do this, so he would. “I–”
Before he could say more, Bo’s voice rang out, hard and sharp through the door.
“Declan’s been bothering you? Yeah, fuck, of course. Yeah, no, it’s not a fucking favor, we’re good. Just give me– He’s with Ever. Declan!”
“I’m being framed,” Declan called back, best he could without sending things rattling. Bo stepped into the room, frowning at him. “What am I being accused of?”
“What? Fuck if I know. Call’s for you.” Bo shoved his mobile at Declan, the words WEIRD FAN FRIEND splashed on the screen.
Declan stared at it blankly, then back to Bo. “What am I to do with this?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, you’re supposed to be the modern one. You fucking take it and put the shiny part to your ear. Here.” Bo pushed the mobile at Declan again, scowling.
Declan lifted the mobile to his ear, frown deepening, as Bo looked past him, toward Everil.
“Things are fine, kelpie. It’s all good.” The human’s voice always went so disgustingly soppy when he spoke to Everil.
“Tell me the game, sweet Bo?”
A sound, from the other end of the line. Ragged breathing.
“This is Declan?” The last he had held one of the bloody things, it was a flip contraption with a solid weight and terrible reception.
This did not have any issue with reception. It conveyed the tight anxiety in the previous topic of conversation’s tone quite well.
“It’s Antonio. The mechanic. You came to my place yesterday?” Antonio said, an edge of panic poorly hidden under that upward lilt of a question.
Declan could nearly feel the scorching heat of a high noon sun when he closed his eyes.
“Yes, of course.”
“Right. Yeah. I need to talk to you. In person, I mean.”
If it were thirty-odd years prior, Declan might have thought the call was the creation of some particularly interesting pills. It wasn’t as if Antonio knew to phone Bo in order to speak with Declan.
But he had left those days, and those pills, behind him. So, it was Antonio, requesting to see Declan, who he’d kindly told to fuck off thirty-six hours or so earlier.
“Of course,” Declan said again, putting his cup on the sitting room table. Questions, loads of them, crowded behind his teeth, hungry for answers. In the end, only the most important thoughts made it through: “Immediately?” and “Does in front of your shop work?”
Antonio snickered, the sound sharp and reedy. And alarming. Declan straightened his shoulders, on his feet without realizing he’d already stood.
“Yes. No. Shit.” Another sound that wasn’t quite laughter. “Yes, immediately. No, not in front of my shop. There’s a park about a mile south of me. Whole granola vibe, all wood. Won’t be any kids around this time of night.”
“Very secret agent of us. Given that I’m not the glittering, ethereal sort of fae, lack of children is likely best. May I have the address?”
Declan could feel Bo’s glare from across the room, ‘sweet’ or bloody well not. Everil had odd ideas of what constituted as sweet.
“Need me to repeat that?” Antonio said, a beat too late as if he realized he’d rattled off the address without breath.
“No. But,” Declan paused, mulling over how to word the next part, “if you see me with a will-o’-the-wisp, he is a friend of the family.”
“Great.” Flat.
“My family. Not the one you were familiar with. I’m unable to travel without him.”
“Sure. That’s fine. Bring whoever you want. There’s a little pond with benches. I’ll, um, see you.”
The mobiles Declan knew once upon a time made a sound when disconnected. This one did not. Just silence and a dark screen gone bright with a background of Bo, Everil, and Talia.
“What the fuck was that about?” Bo asked, suspicious. Odd, being so protective over a man he’d allowed to be cursed and remain so.
“I’m not sure,” Declan replied truthfully, glancing to a quiet, considering Everil. “I’ll be off. Give Talia my regards.”
It’d not do to be dramatic, now. Better to leave to find his wayward ride, resolutely not thinking of the thin edge to Antonio’s words. Why, of all the monsters in the shadows, he’d called for Declan.
Florian refused to find a way to wisp walk them to the park.
(It was not, Florian also informed him, called a ‘wisp walk.’ Declan, nearing four centuries alive, honestly didn’t care.
Florian, perhaps edging toward a millennium and a half, didn’t care about Declan’s lack of caring. A terrible cycle of apathy.)
Rather, they stepped into the world just in front of Antonio’s garage and went to the park on foot. Quickly, yes, being fae and Declan more than a little concerned, but on foot nevertheless.
“You’re not going to tell me this is a bad idea?” Declan asked when the park came to view, lips pursed. “Color me surprised.”
“The last time I tried you said, and I quote, ‘I’ll likely regret this. It’s why we’ll have a snack first.’ ” Florian replied.
He was rolling his eyes. Declan could hear it.
“You like sweets.”
“Whelp,” Florian muttered, but it lacked heat. The fact his glamour was that of a man in his later years, middling brown skin lined with irritation, only cemented the picture of a scolding elder. Which, Declan supposed, he was. “Why do you insist on doing things like this?”
“I’m so alone, Mother,” Declan’s voice whispered in his memories. “I’m so tired of being alone.”
“I grew out of going out with the lads to test out what new brightly colored pills have hit the street,” Declan answered, mild and smiling.
Florian sighed.
“If Calloway is here, try to not kill him,” is what the wisp came back with, his dry voice harder at the edges than before. “His mother throws a nasty fuss when her precious baby breaks a nail.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what that’s like.” Declan allowed himself a quick grin at Florian’s surprised, short laugh. “Stay out of sight. I’ll be… however long I’ll be.”
Declan didn’t want to think about what Aisling would say when he returned to Faerie without a bond, and Declan still having come at a human's beck and call. The sad look and, “oh, hummingbird.” Voids, if word got back to Colm–
Declan’s brother had always said he was soft. Too eager to be liked. He hadn’t understood why Declan kept a friendship with Everil after Nimai’s entry strained their relationship and had voiced his anger when Declan agreed to stand witness to Everil and Bo’s oaths.
But how could he ignore someone reaching out to him in genuine need? It wasn’t in him. Not when they had treated him as they would anyone else, rather than as the feared thing lurking in the dark. It cost Declan little to meet the human. Just time.
Perhaps Declan was too soft.
Not that it mattered, not when he came upon the pond.
Spotting Antonio was no great feat. Dark shirt and dark jeans still, his broad back to Declan.
Even seated on the little wooden bench, the man moved constantly.
Shifted in restless anxiety, with each adjustment tugging at Declan’s eyes like sunlight on sharp metal.
The human glanced over, tension writ on each line of his face. Hunted. The look of a man grasping at straws, and–
Declan faltered, blinking. He must have imagined the emotion that flickered across that roughly handsome face. There’d been nothing in their talk that would lead to Antonio looking happy to see Declan.