Possessed by the Fallen

There was nothing Lark could say to that. She wished it wasn’t true.

Cursing silently, she followed him toward the distant palace. Visiting the king hadn’t been in her plans, although they were heading in the right general direction for her next appointment. She would slip Jack’s leash when the time came to finish tonight’s mission. After all, she’d already proved she could get out of the cuffs.

The walk to the gates was a good half hour. It had been years since Lark had held a glamour on more than just herself for that long. By the time they approached the palace, she was starting to get a headache.

A silver limousine pulled up the moment before they arrived, and when the huge, wrought iron gates swung open, Lark and Jack followed the vehicle through. There were no wards in place against the supernatural, so Lark’s magic tripped no alarms. That might have seemed a ridiculous gap in security, but the Night World was a secret known only to the royals and their trusted circle. Most humans had no idea magic was real, and the vampires and werewolves who guarded the king weren’t about to install a security system against themselves.

Of course, getting past the gate was only the beginning. They had to make it across the grounds, where the overflow of wedding guests wandered the flower gardens and fountain plazas in search of a little fresh air. Dodging people who couldn’t see her wasn’t as simple as it sounded—not when she had to be utterly silent. Not with Jack’s fingers wrapped around hers as if he’d never let her go.

As good at sneaking around as he was, Jack wasn’t used to being invisible. He had an alpha male’s way of owning the sidewalk, and she was forced to hip-check him off the path just as an elegantly dressed couple appeared from behind a hedge.

“Sorry,” Jack whispered in her ear, sounding more annoyed than thankful.

“Pay attention,” she muttered and then froze as one of the passersby turned around, looking curiously in their direction. Lark’s heart beat double time—she recognized him as the son of the Italian ambassador. He was a bright young man, and the type to be suspicious. The moment passed, and the man turned around and walked away, his pretty companion leaning on his arm in a way that said their night was far from over.

They made it inside the palace doors without more trouble. “The king’s suite is to the left,” Jack said in a low voice, his lips close enough to tickle her ear.

“All right,” she whispered back.

Anyone else’s footsteps would have rung out loudly beneath the high, gilt ceilings and vast sweeping staircases, but they trod quietly as shadows, Jack’s cool hand still enfolding hers. Lark’s mouth ran dry, her blood tingling with memories of what those fingers could do against naked skin. The image of Jack, rumpled and naked, slid through her mind with the warm sweetness of melting syrup. Heat settled low in her core.

She almost groaned with relief when she saw the double doors to His Majesty’s rooms. Soon she could put an end to this torturous closeness and attend to her mission.

As if reading her thoughts, Jack stopped, pulling her against the wall. Lark shivered, feeling the hard curves of his muscles against her side. His hand was still laced through hers in an unyielding grip.

“Don’t get any ideas,” he said.

She heard a scrape of metal and, in seconds, he had removed the invisible cuffs without breaking the glamour. “Impressive dexterity,” she murmured, “but next time use the furry ones. Those chafe.”

She heard the clink of metal as he put the cuffs away. His answer came soft and low. “If memory serves, you like a bit of chafing.”

That sounded like the old Jack, her Jack. A bittersweet pang ached in her throat. “Only for a good cause.”

The leather of his jacket rustled and his grip tightened. “Let’s get going.”

There were royal guardsmen outside the king’s chambers, but Jack simply barged past, Lark in tow. By the time the sentries reacted to the doors opening by themselves, she and Jack were in the room. The large, high-ceilinged space was done in greens and yellows, gold leaf decorating every other surface. King Renault of Marcari was alone. He stood at the window, framed by a vista of city lights and the distant harbor. At the guards’ cries, he turned with alarm flashing in his dark eyes.

Jack let go of Lark’s hand, and the glamour vanished.

At the sight of them, the king gave a shout of astonishment. The air filled with the thunder of the guards’ feet. Lark’s hand twitched toward her Smith & Wesson before she remembered Jack had taken it.

But the twitch was enough to alarm the help. Hands grabbed her, forcing her to her knees. She went down hard, the carpet barely cushioning the impact. The guard wrenched her arm behind her. Lark gave an involuntary yelp as pain shot up her shoulder.

“Don’t touch her!” Jack commanded.

Just as quickly, she was free again. Through the curtain of her hair, Lark saw Jack lifting her attacker—one hand hauling him into the air by the front of his jacket, the other wrapped around the man’s throat. Lark gasped, relieved and afraid at once. The look in Jack’s eyes was feral, the pale blue of the iris disappearing as his pupils enlarged. He snarled, lips drawing back. Predator eyes and predator fangs. Not quite the demon she’d seen that night she’d betrayed him, but close enough. Fear froze her lungs.

There was the unmistakable clatter of weapons getting ready to fire, but the king held up a hand. “Wait.”

Time stopped, filled only with the rasping breath of the guards. Lark remained perfectly still, knowing better than to come between a beast and its prey. “Jack,” she said softly. “Put down the human. He’s only doing his job.”

Jack let the guard go without ceremony. The man stumbled awkwardly, giving the vampire a filthy look. Jack turned his back, dismissing him, and immediately bent down to help Lark back to her feet. His eyes resumed their normal arctic shade.

“Are you hurt?” he asked. For a moment, concern softened his expression—and then it was gone, vanished like a trick of the light.

Her stomach twisted, wanting that softness for a moment more. “I’m fine.”

He gave a slow blink and bent until his lips nearly brushed her cheek. “No one else handles you.”

His words, the brush of his breath, raised the fine hairs along her neck. She wasn’t sure if it was a threat or a promise. “How flattering.”

Jack made a noise that might have been a laugh, and dropped her hand. Then he turned and bowed to the king, his manner instantly somber and respectful. “Your Majesty, I have dire news to report.”

Catching his mood, the king’s face darkened. He waved to his guards. “Leave us and say nothing of our visitors.”

Obediently, the royal guardsmen bowed and withdrew without a word. As soon as the door was shut, King Renault folded his arms. “What is this, Jack? And who is your companion?”

Jack spread a hand toward Lark. “Your Majesty, this is Jessica Lark, an agent of the Company. She also designed Princess Amelie’s wedding gown.”

As introductions went, it could have been much more damning. Perhaps the double-agent part would come later. Counting her blessings, Lark sank into a deep curtsy.

“Ah, I thought you had perished in a fire, madam,” the king said drily. “The agents of the Company seem to have a phoenix-like talent for resurrection.”

Lark rose from her curtsy, reading curiosity in King Renault’s expression. Though in his middle years, he was extremely handsome with his neatly trimmed beard streaked with gray.

“Your Majesty,” she said. “Forgive the intrusion, but as Jack says, we have dire news.”

“Then, speak,” the king said. “Whatever worries both a fey and a vampire has my full attention.” He gestured to a cluster of armchairs, inviting them to sit. It was a gesture of royal favor, and there was little they could do but obey.

Once settled, Jack related what they had seen in the woods. As he spoke, Lark felt her pulse begin to quicken, her body reliving the horror through Jack’s words. She wasn’t the only one affected. The color drained from Renault’s face until he was ashen.

The king immediately rose and picked up the phone sitting on the desk in the corner. Although Lark only heard his side of the call, he was checking the duty roster. All of the Company guards who were scheduled to work at the palace had booked off that night to attend a meeting, leaving the human guardsmen in charge. That fit with the email Jack had found. The king set down the phone, even paler than before.

“We shall find the authors of this outrage,” Renault said as he returned to his seat, rage snapping in his dark eyes. “I will inform the other Company leaders as soon as we are done here. Los Angeles, Paris, Bombay—they should be able to send reinforcements. My loyal agents will not go unavenged. But fine words are nothing without action, and action is useless without intelligence behind it. I have heard your account, Jack. What do you have to add, Ms. Lark?”

Lark’s throat had clogged with aching grief, and she cleared it. “I saw what Jack saw, Your Majesty. There was nothing left of the compound.”

The muscles of Jack’s jaw twitched as he turned to her. “But there are things left to tell us, aren’t there?”

“Such as?”

Lark braced herself, her stomach sinking. His mood had darkened as he’d told his tale, and whatever softness she’d seen in him minutes before was gone. All that remained was the Company agent who’d seen the grave of his friends. “What exactly brought you to Marcari?” he asked.

“I’m here on behalf of the Light Court. The Light is well aware of the attempt to steal Princess Amelie’s ring and open the gates to the Dark Queen’s prison. We also know that they are likely to try again. As I told you before, Jack, our aim is to keep the gates to the Dark Queen’s prison firmly closed.”

“Is that all?” Jack asked.

“We’re also tracing one of our own.” That much was true. Of course, there was more she hadn’t said.

“Who are you seeking?” asked King Renault. “Is there some official assistance Marcari could offer?”

“Perhaps, Your Majesty,” Lark replied.

The king gave a nod, his expression carefully neutral. “Go on.”

“The spell that would release the Dark Queen requires very specific ingredients, including blood from the Haven clan of the Light Fey. My mission is to locate the two remaining members of that family and ensure their protection. After years of living under a false name, the last full-blooded member is on the move.”

“Therrien Haven?” Jack asked, sitting back in his chair.

“Yes. A week ago he paid cash for a plane ticket from Prague to Marcari under a false name. It seems he has a half-human daughter living here whom he hasn’t seen since she was a girl.”

“Her name is Lexie.” Jack frowned. “I had no idea Therrien was aware of Lexie’s whereabouts.”

“The photographer who is to shoot my daughter’s wedding?” King Renault asked.

“Yes, Your Majesty. Haven has followed his daughter’s photography career,” said Lark. “His apartment in Prague was filled with clippings from magazines that featured her work. He must know she will be at the wedding. He might have come hoping for a reunion with his daughter.”

“Or to protect her,” said Jack. “She’s a potential target of the Dark Fey, too.”

“A father would be likely to do either,” Renault murmured, no doubt thinking of the princess.

“Haven booked a room but never checked in,” said Lark. “As far as I can tell, he’s vanished. My next step is to question his daughter.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “I can tell you right now, she doesn’t know a thing.”

Lark bridled at his tone. “That’s something I’d like to figure out for myself. I’ll tread softly.”

Jack held her in his ice-blue gaze, his expression stubborn. It was clear he was protective of this woman, Lexie. Then his manner shifted as if he was mentally turning a page. “Are there other reasons that you’re in Marcari?”

The angry suspicion in his tone made her pulse jump, but the king spoke before she could reply. “Why do you ask that, Jack?” He didn’t sound pleased.

Jack leaned forward. “Ms. Lark suffers from complicated loyalties, sire, since she’s both an agent of the Light Fey Council and the Company. Given what has just happened in the woods, I’m certain there is more that she’s not telling us. I don’t believe in coincidences. There is a connection between the attack and her arrival in Marcari, even if it is an innocent one—and I’m not easily convinced of innocence among the fey.”

“Jack!” Lark protested, her already pounding heart now speeding with apprehension.

King Renault had clearly heard enough. “Unfounded suspicions are beneath us, but neither can we afford to be careless. Perhaps Ms. Lark should relax in a private room while you and I discuss what has become of the Company compound. Then I’m sure we’ll have questions for her to answer, and she shall answer them.”

Lark sprang to her feet, instinct screaming at her to flee from the king’s stern presence—but it was Jack’s eyes she sought. “No, you have this all wrong.”

But his expression told her she’d run out of free passes. For an instant her old guilt robbed her of the will to fight, sapping her strength like a deadly fever. It was only for a heartbeat, but it was enough time for Jack’s hand to close around her arm.

“That’s an excellent idea, sire. I’ll make sure Lark is comfortable.”

His frown said she’d be anything but.

Chapter 7

The tiny room where Jack left Lark was mostly empty, with a chair and side table and not much else. Lark swore under her breath. The lock was electronic, operated by a keypad. In other words, she’d need more than a knack with handcuffs to get out of this mess. Lark prowled the few feet of floor, frustrated and longing for her guns. Blasting the guts out of the lock would have suited her frame of mind.

Finally, she slumped in the chair and buried her face in her hands. All at once the sheer awfulness of the past hours slammed into her like an avalanche. She leaned forward, folding her arms on her knees.

Disaster had struck. Even if, by some miracle, some of the local agents had survived the blast at the Company’s headquarters, every sense she possessed told her the casualties had been high. No doubt Jack and the king were putting wheels in motion—securing the site, calling the other Company offices, preparing a cover story the human newshounds would believe. Then would come even more activity—forensics, notifications, burial arrangements. The Company had a protocol for every contingency, even one as dire as this.

But their orders only covered action, not emotion. Fine souls had been lost this night—good friends and brave hearts. The world was a poorer place now.

Face after face flashed through her mind, each one tearing away a piece of her. Tears slipped down her cheeks, the first signs of a coming flood. Alone and with nothing to distract her, Lark soon gave in to a storm of sobbing. And Jack thought I played a role in that terrible destruction!

She should have known her reunion with Jack would not go well. I could have stayed in the shadows, but I approached you because you’re slipping, Jack, and I’m the only one who knows why. You need someone who understands. Helping him was the only way to make up for stealing his secret in the first place.

To make matters worse, what good had her betrayal of Jack done? He hadn’t possessed the spell or formula or supernatural stardust that would restore the Light Fey to their former strength. His extraordinary power was a curse—not at all something they could or would want to duplicate for themselves. And now, with the Company in ruins and the Dark Queen on the brink of freedom, the stakes were getting steadily higher.

Lark rose and crossed to the window, fishing in her pocket for a tissue. She mopped her nose, her eyes feeling scratchy and raw. It was dark out, but there were lights enough to see the palace gardens below. They were clearly trimmed and manicured to human tastes—nothing like the half-wild gardens the Light Fey preferred.

She wondered how long those gardens—or the Light Fey—would last. What chance did her people have against the coming of the Dark Queen?

There was one last gamble, and that was why Lark was in Marcari—and why she had to get out from under lock and key.

Lark examined the windows. They were casements, opening out over a sheer drop to the rocky garden path below. Not her first choice of exit. She leaned her forehead against the glass. She was exhausted, and there was so much she had yet to do before the night was out.

She returned to the door with its keypad. Oddly, crying her heart out had seemed to clear her head, because inspiration struck. She placed her hand over the glowing panel, sensing the flow of energy from contact to wire to a central computer somewhere in a basement office. As her mind drifted along that energetic frequency, she detected magical residue thick in the air—probably fallout from the blast that had destroyed the Company’s compound. It was causing static throughout the electrical grid, and anything wireless would be down. If there was one thing magic was good at, it was screwing up tech.

Sorry, Jack, but I can’t afford to sit quietly like a good girl. Lark risked sending a pulse of power into the keypad. The buttons flashed spasmodically, and she heard the click of disconnection. She whisked through the door, pulling it shut before the system registered more than a negligible flicker of disruption like all the others. At the same time, she summoned her glamour, turning invisible in the space of a blink. She was free.

About time, too. She had to see a princess about a wedding. Lark walked swiftly and silently through the marble halls, feeling her spirits lift for the first time that night.

Once out of sight of King Renault’s rooms, Lark pulled on a new glamour that made her visible but altered her appearance to a friendly but forgettable face. She glanced over her shoulder, catching a woman looking her way. For a moment Lark froze, but the woman’s gaze skated past her. Lark frowned. Wasn’t that the same woman who’d been outside with the son of the Italian ambassador? She couldn’t be sure, but hurried on, mentally filing the incident.

Her path led past the apartment of Crown Prince Kyle, who was residing in Marcari these last few weeks before the wedding. Though the rest of his family had remained in Vidon, Kyle had chosen to be close to his bride. Beyond his apartment was a string of guest chambers and, finally, Amelie’s rooms.

With a casual flick of a spell, Lark slipped past the guards and stopped at the entrance to the princess’s sitting room.

Despite the best efforts of the staff, the princess’s chambers looked like a bridal explosion. A swathe of sparkly white tulle sat mounded on a chair, and wedding magazines were scattered across every flat surface. A pair of long white gloves looked as if they had been dragged to the floor and mauled by a dog. Several servants in black-and-white uniforms hovered at the edge of the storm, tidying up as best they could.

Lark edged past the chaos to find an army of shoes marching from the princess’s bedroom, as if Amelie had tried on every pair and abandoned them before she had made it all the way down the hall. Which, apparently, was exactly what had happened.

“They’re all uncomfortable!” Princess Amelie complained to her attendant, a harried-looking woman who clearly had no fashion sense of her own. “I will be standing for hours and hours—on international television! The world will be watching and texting as I marry the man I love. It’s all going to be hard enough without obsessing about the pain in my feet.”

Amelie’s attendant glanced around the drawing room, as if searching for answers among the litter of footwear. “Perhaps I can find something else for you to try, Your Highness.”

“I think perhaps you should aim for something under a five-inch heel, Your Highness,” Lark observed.

The attendant jumped and squeaked. “How did you get in here?”

“I’m sneaky.”

The attendant looked alarmed, but a flash of amusement crossed Amelie’s face. The princess knew Lark’s many disguises, and waved an impatient hand. “I need all five inches. Prince Kyle is tall. We look like a comedy act unless I wear the heels.”

She was right, so Lark changed the subject. “Please, may I have a word? There is something private that I must discuss.”

Amelie nodded, and the attendant left, taking the other servants with her. As soon as they were alone, the latest pair of killer shoes were abandoned on the rich burgundy carpet. Lark let her glamour dissolve, resuming her own appearance. Then Lark chanted another spell, stirring the energy in the room enough to bind a cage of static around any listening devices.

Watching with rapt curiosity, the princess waved Lark to a couch. “You are always cloaked in such secrecy and mystery! What can I do for you tonight?”

“We have a problem, Your Highness,” Lark said, feeling a wave of weariness as she sat.

“That is no way to begin a conversation.” Amelie frowned, running a hand through the thick, dark mass of her hair. She sank onto the couch beside her. “What has happened?”

“I found Jack Anderson.” The words opened the door to so much and so little. I found him and...he will never forgive me for what I did to him. “He’s with your father now.”

“Jack Anderson? The leader of the Four Horsemen?” Amelie sat back, her dark eyes wide. “But he was killed!”

“No more than I was. It seems he went undercover for a time.”

Amelie brightened. “That is wonderful news! But how is this a problem?” A puff of white fur appeared over the arm of the couch. “Ah, Lancelot, isn’t this good news?” Amelie picked up the little dog and cuddled it in her lap, stroking it as it wriggled happily.

Lark hesitated. She wanted to leave the princess as she was, not exactly an innocent, but at least less deeply involved in Marcari’s Night World politics. Unfortunately, Lark had no choice. “We came here from the Company headquarters. Your Highness, there’s nothing left of the place. The compound has been destroyed.”

Silvery tears slipped down Amelie’s cheeks. “Destroyed? My loyal vampires? What of the other Horsemen? Sam and Faran and Mark?”

“No doubt there are some who escaped,” Lark said hastily as she felt her own eyes sting again. By Puck’s wings, this is hard! Lark bit her lips to keep them from trembling.

“How did it happen?” the princess asked.

“Dark Fey magic.”

“Dark Fey?” Amelie gasped. The little dog began to whine, sensing her dismay. “They are imprisoned! We stopped the ritual that would have let them out.” Amelie grasped the ring that hung by a chain about her neck. The wedding ring bore the blood rubies of Vidon—a gift from her future husband, Crown Prince Kyle of Vidon, and key to the spell that could set the Dark Queen free.

Lark cleared her throat. “It seems someone’s ready to try again.”

“I thought we caught all the traitors. It seems we were fools.” The princess fell silent, burying her face in the dog’s fur. When Amelie finally spoke again, the words were muffled. “I thought the worst obstacle to marrying Kyle was the hostility between our countries, but now there is this threat.”

Lark’s heart went out to the young woman. “We will deal with the threat, my princess, and Kyle’s people will come to know and love you.”

“The Vidonese who know about the Night World have called Kyle a traitor for marrying me. They hate me just because Marcari welcomes the supernatural within its borders.”

Lark reached across, cupping Amelie’s face in her palm. “Kyle is true-hearted. He won’t pay that any heed.”

But Amelie gave voice to the thing Lark feared most. “What if they knew the truth about me? About the fact my mother was half fey?”

It was true. Amelie’s mother—who had died before becoming queen—had been the daughter of a Light Court noble. “That’s exactly why I’m here. Your mother hid her fey heritage well, but we must be extremely careful.”