Chapter 1 #3
‘And fly?’
I hide my wince. ‘Definitely. I have to head in, but message me later?’
‘I will.’ She blows me a kiss before ending the call.
Fuck, I miss her. Things won’t feel settled until I can hug my sister again.
I pick up my phone from where I’d propped it against the ridge of the roof I’m crouched on and stand up, pocketing it.
The corrugated metal underneath me is strong enough to handle the weight of my dragon, and is a far better take-off and landing spot than the crowded car park below.
I walk to the edge of the massive warehouse, to where I spotted a ladder when I was coming in to land, and climb down until I hit the tarmac.
I head around to the front of the building, trying to keep the scowl from my face.
Part of the agreement the fae people have with the British Supernatural Government, known to everyone as the BSG, is that as well as running the prisons they’re also responsible for getting recently released people like me back on their feet.
They meet this requirement with a mandatory work programme, where they pay minimum wage and in return get guaranteed cheap labour for their many businesses.
I’ve been assigned to Far Out Freight, a global distribution business catering to the needs of fae around the world.
It’s not that I’m too proud to be a warehouse worker—although it does seem a waste of the furniture-building skills I learnt in prison—but this business is owned by Lance, the fae responsible for my extended stay in Wargate.
Whichever fae over at Realm Enterprises assigned me here must have been feeling particularly spiteful when they decided on my work placement.
I’ve got the email with the relevant details pulled up on my phone, ready to show the receptionist, but when I walk through the glass doors there’s a familiar face waiting for me.
Harley, my cellmate in Wargate up until his release two months ago, straightens from where he’s talking to the female rabbit shifter behind the reception desk. He looks me over, inhaling.
‘Who do you smell of?’ His hand movements are as smooth as always, although his eyebrows pull together.
‘My brother. Do I not even get a hello?’ I smirk.
He loses the frown and gives me a bro hug as soon as I’m close enough.
He’s a little shorter than I am but has bulked up a lot since I last saw him—likely thanks to reconnecting with his wolf and getting enough to eat on a regular basis, although there’s no doubt he’s been working out as well.
He’s trimmed his bushy black beard into a shorter, neater version since he got out, and his ebony skin is looking significantly healthier.
He lets me go and steps back. ‘It’s good to see you in something other than grey.’
I snort, a little puff of white smoke escaping my nostrils. We’re wearing identical work-issue black hoodies with the company logo on, simply swapping one uniform for another.
‘Same.’ I raise my eyebrows. ‘Don’t tell me they agreed to let you show me around?’
He smirks and reaches over to the reception desk to pick up a security card, which he hands to me.
‘There’s a supervisors’ meeting happening right now, so you get me.
Keep that card on you at all times. You use it to clock in as well as get through this next door, which leads onto the warehouse floor, and they take the cost of a replacement out of your pay. ’
I nod and cross to the only other door in the small space, then tap the card against the little black pad at the side. The small red light changes to green, so I open the door, walk through into the main part of the warehouse, and immediately have to shield my eyes.
Holy fuck, it’s bright in here. Every single box on the industrial shelving glows faintly golden with magic.
Individually it wouldn’t be a big deal, but the racks stretch throughout most of the cavernous steel-framed, corrugated-roofed space.
There are doors on one side that could be offices, a metal staircase leading upwards to a single door above the rest, and a loading area where a couple of forklifts are lifting pallets onto waiting lorries.
A shimmering air barrier constructed with fae magic keeps any wind and rain out, and the warehouse at a reasonable, albeit cool, temperature.
Harley taps my shoulder to get my attention. ‘What’s wrong?’
Since a quick glance at the soaring roof confirms that there are fae spells which act as security cameras, I keep the explanation brief and my signs small and tight. The last thing I want is for any fae to discover I can see magic.
‘It’s brighter than I’m used to.’ I’m going to have to come up with a way to cope with the glare, or find an excuse for wearing sunglasses indoors.
Understanding dawns on his face. ‘The containment fields on the boxes?’
I give a sharp nod before I’m distracted by movement behind him.
Several fae leave one of the side rooms, all of them glamoured to hide their opaque, insect-like wings and pointed ears, and to soften their otherworldly facial structure.
Some are also using their glamour to show different clothing than they’re actually wearing as well.
Since my magical sight includes the ability to see through any glamour it’s like seeing double, with their real appearance overlaid with how they want to appear to the rest of the world.
Last out is a familiar fae that has my dragon curling up smaller inside me. I glare at the fae bastard who my dragon should want to threaten instead of hide from, my muscles tensing.
From his pale white skin to the various gold rings he wears on both hands and his sleek black hair, Lance’s glamour is similar to his real appearance.
The only things he disguises are the way his black suit jacket is styled to allow for long wing slits, and his distinctly fae features: the tips of his ears, his faded charcoal wings, and his ethereal, ageless face.
He smirks when he notices me, the fucker. I clench my fists to stop myself signing something that’ll get me fired.
As soon as Harley turns and sees who I’m glaring at, he grips my shoulder and steers me in the opposite direction. He lets me go when we’re a safe distance away.
‘Rebuild, not revenge, remember?’ His hand movements are sharp, a reminder of our pact.
I give him a nod and force myself to unclench my fists. ‘I know. Come on, show me what the fuck to do.’