Chapter 3
3
Palmer
“ A lright, that takes care of the Hannover Pack and the Locklear Coven’s land disputes.” Councilwoman Sable Oxendine declared, nodding to Councilman Victor Attwater, a Bloody Bones who served as our secretary, among other things.
He mainly serves as a pain in my arse.
Even with his glamour, self-generated instead of purchased like mine, he couldn’t hide the rottenness of his being beneath his blond, slicked-back businessman persona. Attwater finished signing the ruling and slid it over for Sable, me, and our final councilman, a Hellhound from Georgia named Pyrrhus Soros, to sign. Soros was new, and we had wanted Lucien Morningstar, but even I could admit I had nothing to tempt the Devil.
I scribbled my slashing signature across my line on the contract.
“How are things going, by the by?” Attwater questioned, his tone oily. “I saw your beau out at the bar with Drake. They are getting along rather well.”
I pretend I don’t know who he is talking to, capping my fountain pen before passing the contract to Soros. I don’t want to lose any of that bespelled blood if I don’t need to.
Attwater continued to probe. “He’s a little old for my tastes, but I can see the appeal. A man like that could make you almost seem delicate––”
“That’s enough, Councilman.” Sable accepted the fully signed contract. “Personal proclivities aside, we don’t question your nature, no matter how––”
“Abhorrent,” I muttered.
Sable sighed, cutting her violently fuchsia eyes in my direction. “––much we may not appreciate your biology. We respect your feeding methods as much as you should respect ours, Councilman. If this is a problem, I suggest you step down from your position.”
“No, no, I did not mean to offend,” Attwater dodged.
“Then, Councilman, maybe you should keep to council business while we are in this room,” Soros suggested, his voice deep and gravelly.
I shivered, appreciating the timbre. Some would find Soros’s steely gray hair and angular face appealing; he appears just as young as the rest of us—the only indicators of how false his appearance are his eyes. When you look into those golden orbs, you feel the oppressive weight of living.
I sincerely hope I die before the same is said about me. One hundred and thirty isn’t that old; I’ve got centuries ahead of me before I even consider…
“Are we done here?” I leaned back in the leather chair, anxious to return to Gatlin.
“I forget you are in your honeymoon stage.” Sable’s eyes glittered with humor. “Yes, I think we are done for the day. I motion to close the meeting.”
“I second.” Soros raised his fingers off the table in affirmation.
“I third.” glancing at Attwater, I smirked, seeing his lips smashed into a thin line. Good.
“Meeting adjourned,” Sable called, tapping the table twice with her knuckles.
“Thank the gods,” Soros said with a nod in our general direction as he disappeared in a puff of smoke that smelled like a campfire.
Predictably, Attwater waited for me to rise. I would put it off as long as I could, knowing the ass wished to make useless comments about my appearance, my manners, anything really, but I did need to get back to Gatlin.
“Save it, Councilman. How I choose to represent my species is my business.” With that, I left the room with my head held high.
I’m aware of how bizarre I look to others sans my glamour. Though I am beautiful just as I am, this is the best glamour I’ve ever owned. I touched my thumb to the thin silver ring with small crystals clustered in the center located on my middle finger. Not that his opinion matters; he doesn’t have the right to tell me a damn thing. He doesn’t know our true history, and he will never know me.
The club looked less exciting during the day. Pleather benches needed cleaning, floors needed mopping, and the decor was garish in the afternoon light. I walked down the central staircase, my black nails shining pleasingly in the light. Attwater was correct; Gatlin was at the bar with an empty lowball glass in front of him beaded with condensation. Drake was nowhere to be seen, but our bar manager, a haint named Francis, was restocking the bar while chatting with Gatlin.
Francis took a deep breath as I approached, grabbing the bar to steady himself. “I know I shouldn't enjoy how upset you get after dealing with the councilman, but it is so delicious .” He sighed contently, my frustrations providing him a hearty snack.
I rolled my eyes. “I am so glad my feelings for that predator give you such joy.”
Gatlin revolved on his barstool to face me when I slid into the seat beside him. He didn’t say anything at first, but I could see the confusion on his face. “Why is he enjoying your…?”
“Her emotions?” Francis supplied. “Because I am a poltergeist.”
“I thought poltergeists were constructs made by people that lashed out when they were upset?” Gatlin quoted, no doubt, thanks to his sister.
“Yes and no. A poltergeist is a haint, a haunt or spirit, that feeds off suppressed emotions. Usually, they are negative.” Francis took Gatlin’s cup and dumped the half-melted ice in the sink. “Just like humans prefer a type of drink over another”—he wiped up the puddle in front of Gatlin— “some poltergeists enjoy the different depths of certain emotions.”
Gatlin looked at me and I smiled back, knowing he was trying to puzzle out what emotion I was suppressing.
“I,” Francis continued, “love the taste of female dissatisfaction. Males are all well and good, but there is an edge, a tartness, to a woman’s displeasure I enjoy. I’m a passive feeder, so I only have to be in the room to enjoy.”
“So, a nightclub is the perfect place to grab a meal?” Gatlin surmised.
Francis nodded.
“Having a poltergeist bartender comes with its perks,” I remarked, gesturing for him to show Gatlin.
Francis waved a hand to the mirrored wall of liquor behind him. All at once, every bottle lined up perfectly at the same distance from the edge on each shelf. “Poltergeists are telekinetic when fed properly, and we are handy to have around when you need a ladder.”
“I guess you are… irritated with this councilman?” Gatlin queried.
“I am. Attwater is unprofessional and speaks on things he has no business talking about.” I nodded to Francis, who grabbed another lowball glass.
Gatlin appeared to be digesting what I had said, and I waited in strained silence while Francis gathered the ingredients to make me a Lavender Dream. Francis epitomizes the perfect mixologist; his movements are practiced and swift. He used his powers to grab the Fenimore gin from behind him while he grabbed bottles of lavender, lemon simple syrup, and lemon juice. I focused on him adding the ingredients to a shaker rather than staring at Gatlin.
He’s so handsome, and I know I make him uncomfortable. He’s wearing another button-down shirt, white, with black dress slacks and black shoes. I wonder how he will react to his new wardrobe when we get home.
“Here you go, boss,” Francis said, placing the lavender drink in front of me and snapping me out of my thoughts.
“Thank you,” I replied, leaving the decorative sprigs of lavender in the drink.
Gatlin swiveled on his stool. “Was he being petty?”
“Who? The councilman?” I sipped my drink, an eyebrow raised in question.
“Yes.” Gatlin’s eyes bored into my own.
“No…” I trailed off, thinking about how much I wished to reveal.
Francis, seeming to understand my dilemma—perhaps he could taste the shift in my emotions—exited the bar, cutting a path through the tables to the kitchen.
I did my best to appear nonchalant, curving my lips into a beguiling smile. “He makes personal remarks, which is ridiculous. What does a Bloody Bones know about being a Boo Hag?” I sipped my drink some more. “He only knows what he’s seen. Many of my kind are petite, pale, silent creatures. He’s part of a group of supernaturals who feel that we are adapting too much to human sensibilities. It’s foolish; I am female. I feed off lifeforce. I know the truth of what my people are. I am a Boo Hag.”
Gatlin remained silent, and I wondered what he was thinking. There was more to it than that, the situation with Attwater, but this relationship was still new. If later he needed to know more about the loathsome councilman, then I would tell him.
I finished my drink, sliding my glass away from myself before standing. “Are you ready?”
Gatlin rose to his feet. “Yes. And you’re right.” He avoided my gaze. “You are what you are, and he has no right to comment on it.” He stepped in front, leading us to the exit.
I followed him out of the club, feeling strangely encouraged by his sentiment . I know better than to get my hopes up, and yet…
My black SUV was idling at the curb. Isaac, my driver, held the door open for Gatlin and me.
Gatlin looked confused at the action. Isaac cleared up the issue. “Slide in, sir.”
Gatlin paused, turning to me, and I raised a brow.
“Of course,” Gatlin murmured, scooting stiffly into my roomy vehicle.
Isaac didn’t have to ask where to take us. My estate was located south of town.
We sat in silence as we left the busy city streets. I combated the silence by scrolling through my cell phone. I knew better than to force a man to speak. I hoped for the days when we would be past the side glances and the superficial topics. Many of my previous relationships and I had never reached that point. I hoped Gatlin would be different. But I never bonded with the others. Only betrothed… I ruthlessly shut the door on one of the biggest mistakes of my life so far.
“You live in a nature preserve?” he exclaimed, his voice loud and unsure as we turned into the exit for the protected site.
I lowered my phone to my knee, allowing a smile to grace my lips. Gatlin’s blush stained his cheeks and the tips of his ears like the faintest rose of sunrise on the pale sands of the beach.
It is a mercy he doesn’t seem to know how attractive he is. “Yes, a hundred and fifty-six acres have been reserved by the government for those of us too monstrous to blend in to inhabit. This sounds gracious, except my family owned the acreage first. The locals think that the surrounding universities use the nature reserve to study. They have ten acres to fiddle with, with my blessing. We even have designated tours for the natural-minded. Beyond that human buffer, we have our dwellings.
“Some have houses or huts, and some prefer to live in nature as their ancestors did. There is a separate entrance for vehicles on a seemingly closed access road. It appears to the nonmagical as inaccessible thanks to the charms and wards set on the road. I wonder what you will see.”
“What do you mean?” He looked a bit startled, his blue eyes wide.
“In your sister, it shows a bit more. She has more classically Irish features than you do. I suspect that you have just a drop of fae blood in you. Not enough to taste and not enough to wield magic, but perhaps just enough to see something out of the corner of your eye?” I leaned back in my seat, crossing my legs as he thought.
Most humans do such an excellent job of ignoring things that don’t fit within their comfortable ignorance that it is easy for them to explain away the things they thought they saw. I suspected the artist saw things—once upon a time. Then he forgot, but the little scholar, she never forgot. I blame gender norms for that. Little boys can chase after fairies just as well as little girls.
“Why did you decide to learn a few signs for Gemmy?” he asked, throwing me from my thoughts.
Bewildered, I shifted in my seat, our knees almost touching. “Am I not supposed to address her in her preferred mode of communication?”
Gatlin was silent, mulling over my answer. He remained that way for a time. Only his eyes gave me the impression that this was not the typical answer.
"It's not that she minds when people speak aloud to her, it's more how excluded she feels when people choose to shut her out because she doesn't 'talk back.' Hell, even I get pushback from people, like I should back them up on this being the speaking twin. We learned to sign from infancy because our parents taught us both. It felt cool to have a language that only the four of us knew. Growing up, I signed as much as I spoke—my mom said it was the best way to learn. Later, when I saw how hard it was for Gemmy when people wouldn't even try to understand her, I knew I couldn't let her face it alone. I started signing with her more in public and made it a requirement. If you wanted to know us, either of us, you had to try. We both learned the hard way that meant more superficial relationships than real ones. The fact that you are willing to try when you are already doing so much means a lot."
“I’m sure I was terrible, but…” I paused, thinking of how to present this. “My father didn’t speak English when he immigrated from Italy. It was taboo then to be Italian, especially from southern Italy. He had the hardest time learning English until he met my mother. While I don’t know what it’s like to struggle to be heard, my father did, and watching that struggle left an impression.”
Gatlin nodded.
A sheepish look crossed his face, and I had to ask, “What is that look for?”
“It’s… good to know you have parents.”
I guffawed. I laid my head back onto the headrest. “What, did you think I emerged from the sea fully formed?”
Gatlin's laughter filled the cab, and I turned my head to look. I thought him handsome before, but with the lightness of his features, the attractive crinkles by his eyes, and his smile, I felt my heart tumble.
Oh boy. “Yes, I do have parents.”
“Good to know.” He chuckled, relaxing further.
“I do want to learn how to sign. I wasn’t just putting on a show for your sister.” I offered the truth, hoping to keep the door to his good feelings open a bit longer.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
“You’re welcome.”
The silence in the car this time was contented, and I once again found a diversion in my cell phone. It’s best not to push things.
Twenty minutes later, we took a left into our section of the preserve, and Gatlin’s attention was fixed out the window. I wondered if he hoped he would see something. We take the closed road, and I know the illusion is just around the curve. I don’t hear Gatlin’s heart beating out of his chest, though my hearing isn’t as finely tuned as a vampire or Rougarou. “You don’t see it?”
“I don’t,” he confirmed, shifting back into his seat. “How could you tell?”
“You weren’t panicking.” I smiled, sending a text to my housekeeper that we would be home in the next thirty minutes.
“How could you…?” Gatlin paled.
“I don’t have mind-reading powers,” I murmured, wishing I could give his arm a comforting squeeze. Now that would cause some heart palpitations, I am sure. “Your pulse wasn’t hammering in your chest.”
He pivoted away from the window. “What… would I have seen?”
“A closed road, and a few feet after that, a sinkhole that looks like it could swallow the surrounding forest. It’s also spelled to make humans and wildlife feel uncomfortable, urging them to turn back. We have had trouble with folks like you, one drop of magic in their veins, but generally, they aren’t a problem for long.” I sigh at the thought of the trouble these humans cause.
“Why not?” he tentatively asked.
“If they are lucky, they trip the wards and our magical rangers find them first. If they aren’t… there won’t be much left to find. Sometimes it is hard to fight your base nature, and when the perfect opportunity arrives, confused and alone–– Even the creatures with human or near human intelligence have a hard time leaving the human alone. There are other things that are nothing more than wild beasts—red caps and the like—that would happily strip a human of their flesh and suck the marrow from their bones.”
Gatlin shuddered in the seat next to me.
“Promise me, Gatlin, you will never go out alone and unprotected.” I reached for his hand, gripping it tightly, locking eyes with him.
Jaw clenched, he nodded, answering with an unwavering “Yes.”