Chapter 4
CHAPTER
FOUR
Sariel didn’t have any alcohol, so Seymour settled for a glass of milk. It was probably for the best. He had a feeling once he started drinking, he wouldn’t stop until he found the end of the bottle.
For now, stuffing his face with cookies still warm from the oven would have to do.
“Are you all right?” Sariel asked quietly.
“Me?” Seymour asked through a mouthful of cookie number six.
“Yes, you.”
Seymour finished eating the cookie before replying, “Oh. I’m fuckin’ fine as frog’s hair.”
Sariel stared. “Frogs do not have hair.”
“That’s kinda the point. It just means I’m all right. I think I’m handlin’ all of this magical creature shit pretty well, but also could be my brain is just in shock.” Seymour winked. “Or maybe it’s the cookies.”
“You did not have to do that, you know.” Sariel fidgeted.
“What?”
“Stand up for me.” Sariel smiled, but it was sad. “Though I do appreciate it. Very much.”
“Well, he’s a fuckin’ bastard. You don’t deserve that—”
“Even though he would obliterate you.”
Seymour snorted. “Yeah, I know, but—”
“Completely and utterly destroy you.”
Seymour laughed. “Okay, okay! Message received. But still, it ain’t right.”
“It is not as if I have a choice.”
“Yeah, about that.” Seymour frowned. “You really can’t, like, get away from him?”
“No.” Sariel reached up to touch his collar, but he stopped just shy of making contact. “I am his to command. He enjoys the notoriety of possessing an angel, not to mention my power being at his disposal, so I do not ever see him releasing me.”
“How the hell did he catch you?”
“I…” Sariel’s voice cracked. “It is not a pleasant story.” He smiled weakly, looking over Seymour’s face. “Ah, here.”
Seymour shivered as Sariel touched his cheek and chin, brushing away some errant crumbs. The simple caress flooded his chest with warmth, and he teased, “Hey, I was saving that.”
“I do not believe you.” Sariel’s hand lingered.
“Yeah, it’s probably my moon in Pisces or somethin’, makin’ me lie.” Seymour grinned.
“That is ridiculous.” Sariel’s smile perked up. “Moon rising in Libra would be more likely to influence your honesty, or the lack thereof.”
“What if I told you I think you’re the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen? Would you believe that?”
Sariel’s face flushed a lovely shade of pink, and he pulled away abruptly. “You should not say such things.”
“Why?” Seymour offered his hand. “You know I really was looking forward to that coffee date.”
“I was too,” Sariel murmured, gazing longingly at Seymour’s outstretched hand. “Mr. Heiss would never allow it.”
“That fuckin’ ass clown won’t let you date?”
“I do not think he would let me have anything that might distract me from my duties.” Sariel sighed as he finally took Seymour’s hand. “Or that would bring me joy.”
“See? Fuckin’ ass clown.” Seymour laced their fingers together. “If you happen to change your mind, let somebody know?”
Sariel quirked his brow.
“It’s me. I’m the somebody.”
“Oh! Of course.” Sariel’s blush deepened. “We should probably get going soon. The twins are expecting us.”
“Right.” Seymour had been so desperate to escape this house, but now he didn’t want to leave.
He now wished they could stay here and not have to worry about demons or faeries or anything else.
There was nothing he wanted more than to bake cookies, hold Sariel’s hand, and listen to him talk for hours.
Just yesterday, Seymour had thought dealing with his father’s estate was going to be the most stressful thing this week.
Ha.
With a groan, Seymour conceded, “Might as well get it over with, right?”
“I am ready if you are.” Sariel reluctantly pulled away.
“Right. Yup.” Seymour sighed. “Anything I should know before we go? Do we need some garlic or somethin’?”
“That doesn’t work on fae.”
“Good to know. Know anythin’ that does?”
“Iron.”
“We got any of that?”
“No.”
“Well, shit.”
“You will be safe,” Sariel assured him. “I will not let anyone harm you.” He tilted his head. “You must remember not to eat or drink anything while we are there. I would also suggest choosing your words very carefully. The fae can and will use anything you say against you.”
“What do you mean?”
“How do you think they were able to find you so quickly?”
“Eh?”
“Absolis and Vilanos Mostro. The fae princes.” Sariel made a slight face. “They indicated to Mr. Heiss they had met you, albeit briefly.”
Seymour thought back to the two men he’d nearly run over. “Uh-huh. And what do they look like?”
“They usually present themselves as human. Beautiful humans.”
“Super fancy ones with, like, matching outfits and flowers?”
“Yes, I believe so.”
“Yeah.” Seymour cringed. “Okay. I think I know ’em. I’m sure they’ll be delighted to see me again. But what does that have to do with talkin’?”
“Neil once told them to take a picture of him in a rather sarcastic manner. This, however, gave them the freedom to look in on Neil whenever they wish. This is how they knew about you.”
“If they wanted me so bad, why didn’t they just grab me then?”
“They were in Lou’s territory.”
“These big ol’ bad faeries are afraid of a werewolf?”
“No. They fear the power of the Reliquary.”
“Right. Of course. Our good buddy Norbert made some badass stuff. Got it.” Seymour adjusted the collar of his T-shirt. It was damp with sweat which was not surprising, given the rigors of recent events. “Reckon there ain’t a way to change this?”
“Change?” Sariel tilted his head back the other way. “What do you wish to change it into?”
“Never mind.” Seymour picked up one of the tickets. “So, we, uh, just wave this around or what? Is there a chocolate waterfall in our future?”
“No. When you are ready, you simply rub it between your hands.” Sariel demonstrated with the other ticket and then promptly vanished.
“Fuck, that’s freaky.” Seymour took a deep breath and placed the ticket between his palms. “Ready or not, here goes somethin’.”
Sure.
Take the magical ticket to some club owned by a bunch of fae.
Yup, totally fine.
What was the worst that could happen?
Seymour rubbed his hands together and tried to brace himself for whatever was coming but found it was unnecessary. The magical transportation happened as quickly and smoothly as blinking. One second he was standing in Sariel’s home and the next…
He was in a giant field of luminous indigo flowers, staring up at a giant circus tent. Its stripes were black and white, and it was absolutely monstrous. Its multiple towering peaks were so great they nearly blocked out the night sky glittering above, and Seymour inhaled shakily.
After being in the city, a view like this should have been welcome.
But he didn’t recognize any of those stars.
A quick look around didn’t reveal much else.
The field went on in all directions as far as Seymour could see, and the flowers were the only source of light other than the flashing bulbs framing the entrance to the tent.
The flowers were shaped like bells and grew in thick clusters dangling from long, curved stems.
There was something about their purplish glow that unsettled Seymour, and he resisted the odd urge surging through him to touch them. A soft wind blew by, and he swore he heard a soft, mystical chiming coming from the flowers.
“Seymour!”
Seymour looked back at the tent, sighing in relief when he saw it was Sariel poking his head out from the entrance flap. “Hey!”
“Are you all right?” Sariel asked, reaching for him.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Seymour accepted Sariel’s hand, giving it a firm squeeze. “Wait. Shit. What happened to the ticket?”
“It is a one-way visit.” Sariel nodded toward the tent. “We will have to ask the twins to return us.”
“What if they don’t? Can we get back on our own?”
“No, this is part of Faerie. The Ethereal. There is no way for us to leave.”
“This keeps getting better and better.” Seymour gave Sariel’s hand one last squeeze before letting go. “Let’s get to gettin’.”
Sariel lifted the tent flap, ushering Seymour inside.
Seymour had been expecting a sawdust floor with peanut shells aplenty.
But this was…
Wow.
The inside of the tent was a Cirque du Soleil performance on acid set within a seemingly endless void.
There were circular platforms and multiple stages with gyrating dancers, and more hanging from the blackness above writhing on dangling ropes and hoops.
Their faces were painted up like harlequin dolls, and their colorful clothing ranged from tiny strips of cloth that left fuck all to the imagination to elaborate sequined costumes with puffy collars and ruffles.
Everything else was black on black, the darkness only broken by purple lighting that illuminated the edges of the platforms and stages.
That is, until Seymour took a hesitant step forward.
A spotlight came on, shining down on a grand dais in what would have been the center ring. There were two thrones that looked as if they had been plucked right from Medieval Times, though the men who sat there were hardly pretending to be royalty in cheap costumes.
Absolis was a young Black man with warm brown skin, while Vilanos was white with the complexion of porcelain. Absolis had braids hanging nearly down to his feet, intertwined with vibrant blooms of orange flowers. The same bright flowers sat atop Vilanos’s golden curls as a crown.
Beautiful barely described them.
From their makeup to their hair to their coordinating outfits—a gown for Vilanos, pantsuit for Absolis—they were absolutely flawless. The tiniest movement prompted a jingle from the golden jewelry they wore, and their very presence seemed to fill the impossibly large space.
Dangerous, yes—but still alluring.