Faeling

Merritt had left right away, of course, giving Oz as brief an explanation as possible. His mind was blank for a much less pleasant reason now. All he could hear was Theo’s voice ringing in his ears, “Rhiannon Grey is dead.”

It was all wrong. It couldn’t be true. Less than a week later, standing in front of her casket, Merritt still couldn’t believe it. Who would do something like this? He asked himself over and over again as his eyes raked over the other mourners. And why?

Merritt knew that practically every other fae in the room was looking at him with searching, accusing eyes. He’d been the last person romantically linked to Rhiannon, and things had spiraled uncontrollably since their break-up. When Merritt and his parents had gone over to pay their respects to the shocked Cid Kiernan Grey and his sister, Rhiannon’s mother, Cid Grey had made it obvious that Merritt’s condolences meant nothing—though, of course, he did it in a way that couldn’t possibly be called rude. Even though he’d been more or less cleared by Cid Rune after their dinner meeting, a faeling falling ill and a faeling dying of an impossible illness are two completely different things. Despite knowing that Rhiannon’s health had been tampered with, even the most powerful fae healers could do nothing, and that scared Merritt.

Frankly, it scared everyone. The rich and powerful fae were gathered together in grief (real or faked), but the atmosphere was fearful rather than sorrowful. There hadn’t been a death of a young person in the fae community in the past forty years, and if Merritt remembered correctly, it had been an accident. Faelings lived long lives and murder had not been commonplace in more than two thousand years—since the skill of vampirism had been culled from the fae culture. Now each life lost was a shock and a tragedy. What was most surprising was that it was, of all people, Rhiannon. Yes, her family was powerful, but killing Rhiannon brought no one closer to power. She wasn’t in anyone’s way.

Merritt had realized, of course, that someone could easily be sending Cid Grey a message. They’d killed his favorite niece—next they could take his sister, his wife... Or they could take him. If he died, Kiernan Grey would be the first council member to ever die before the ripe age of 125. That would cause even more of an uproar than the death of a popular, well-off young fae under suspicious circumstances.

The week after Rhiannon’s funeral was one of Merritt’s worst—he was followed and questioned numerous times by the Council’s enforcers, a type of faeling police force that was closer to a mafia than anything else, and on top of the harassment he was putting the finishing touches on the exhibition at Daedalus. Thankfully, Merritt knew he was completely innocent of any foul play, and had a few Council members behind him. That didn’t make the unnecessary attention from the enforcers any less frustrating. The Council’s enforcers weren’t exactly known for their delicacy.

It wasn’t until the day before Oz’s artistic debut that Merritt realized he hadn’t heard from her. Generally, after he kissed a girl the first time Merritt couldn’t get rid of her. Not that he wasn’t greatful to be left alone, of course. It was far easier to get everything in order without having to fend off a woman’s advances, but he couldn’t help but admit that Oz’s behavior still baffled him. He’d dealt with girls who liked to play hard to get, but they were never difficult once he’d gotten them—and hadn’t he gotten Oz? He hadn’t quite won her, but wasn’t the game in the bag?

He forced the issue out of his mind. Merritt walked into Benedict’s Café. He was having one final meeting with Janna before the exhibition, just to be sure everything was in order.

He pasted on a professional smile when he saw her—she was sitting in the exact same booth where he’d met her the first time, sipping a coffee. Merritt refused to check his watch, even though he knew he was more than fifteen minutes early. He wasn’t in the mood for a power-struggle.

“Hello, Janna.” He shook her hand firmly, meeting her severe amber gaze.

“Merritt,” she returned coolly. “How are you?” She was just being polite, but it was more than he usually got—an olive branch almost. Merritt decided to be honest.

“Fine,” he said, choosing his words carefully. Honesty didn’t mean he was going to cry on her shoulder. “I’ve had enforcers following me most of the week, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

Janna nodded. “I’m surprised it hasn’t been more than simple ‘following’. I take it things are going smoothly at Daedalus?” She was done being considerate, and frankly, he was relieved. As much as it was a kindness, it still unnerved him.

“As smoothly as these events ever go. I’ve actually had quite a few extra invitation requests. You know how socialites like to show up as soon as there’s even the slightest hint of excitement. They’re praying there will be some sort of scene between Cid Rune and I.” Merritt reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “Here’s the revised guest list. Anyone you have a problem with?”

He smoothed out the paper and slid it across the table to Janna. She looked it over for a few moments before reaching into her small briefcase and taking out a small slip of paper with four names written in neat script.

“I’ve also received some requests, if that isn’t a problem.” She handed him the paper. “Your guest list is satisfactory, but I’d like you to add these names.”

“Are these for Oz?” Merritt asked as he read the names: Astrid Dannel, Joseph Barden, Artemis Mason and... Eli Walker. He looked back at Janna with barely-concealed fury. “Eli Walker?” He spat with venom. “Why in the world would Eli Walker be allowed anywhere near my gallery—or Oz?”

Janna raised an eyebrow at the outburst. “Oz asked me to put him on the list.” She studied Merritt carefully. “How do you know Eli?”

“I don’t,” Merritt growled. “Oz told me about him.”

“Liar,” Janna said evenly. “I could tell even without skill. Oz has never told anyone about Eli.”

Merritt glared at her. “Does it matter? He’s not coming tomorrow. I don’t care what Oz wants.”

Janna pursed her lips in a way that made Merritt think she was resisting a smile. “I thought so. I already told her he wasn’t getting on the guest list.”

“Then what the hell is this?” He snapped, brandishing the paper.

“I was just curious,” Janna replied lightly, light brown eyes watching him intently. She was obviously trying to get a rise out of him, though he had no idea why. Merritt realized he didn’t care, but by allowing himself to get angry about something so meaningless as Oz Dannel, he was letting her win.

And boy, is she trouncing me thoroughly. He bit his tongue hard enough to taste blood.

Merritt took a deep breath, composed his features and asked, “Anything else before tomorrow?”

“I assume you’ll provide transportation?”

“Yes, of course. I’ll have my driver come by an hour before doors open so that Oz and her guests can see the art before having to mingle—and to make sure Oz doesn’t need any changes made. Be ready at seven.” Merritt put the guest list revisions back in his breast pocket and marched from the café.

Janna finally let a small smile form on her lips.