Jet black eyes, all pupil, and a too-wide, sharp-toothed smile in an otherwise soft, pleasant face.
Fuck.
In the world of fight, freeze, or flee, Antonio’d always been one for running.You didn’t fight the fucking fae.There was no point.Might as well punch a damned tornado.
He stepped back, retreating until his back hit the solid wood of the counter, fingers returning to his bracelet.The rest might be superstition, but ironworked.The fae hated the shit.Calloway had always said it made his bones ache.
“I fix cars,” he said, barely managing not to snarl.“And you don’t got one.There’s nothing here for a fae.”
The fae blinked at him with too-large, too-dark eyes.He didn’t know what she was, had never seen a fae with eyes like that.
“Well,” she said, finally.“There goesthatsurprise.But, no, I don’t have a car.I’ve lost my cat,” The fae held up an empty leash with nothing on the end of it.“An actual cat.”
“Try the Humane Society.”
“He ran somewhere towards you.”She peered around the lobby, all open curiosity.“I’m not here foryou.Just my terror of a pet.And my son, I suppose.Declan wouldn’t know what to do without Puck artfully shredding his clothing.”
It was just ridiculous enough to be true.Antonio wanted to bang his head against the wall.Put his fist through it.Mostly, he wanted to hide with the covers pulled over his head like he was still a child, scared of all the monsters heknewlurked in the dark.
No Calloway to protect him now.Not that Calloway ever had.
“Yeah, that checks out,” he said, smiling grimly.“Always losing track of your pets.Good thing they’re replaceable.I’ll check the garage.Don’t think you’ll like it in there.”
There wasn’t any choice.Not really.In the end, you always did what the fae wanted.There was no point in arguing.
“No, I dare say I won’t,” the fae said, studying the door with distaste.“May I go with you, though?Besides not being replaceable, Puck’s quite large and isn’t fond of anyone but me.I’m happy to give my word not to do whatever nasty thing you think I’ll do, unless that’s ‘fetch my cat.’”
“Promises from a fae are almost as useful as a three-dollar bill,” Antonio muttered, but he pushed open the door for her as he said it.“You wanna come, I can’t exactly stop you.It’s your migraine.”
“Unfortunate run-ins with banshees before?”The fae–the banshee–asked, as she slid past him, visibly flinching as she stepped into the garage.“Or just fae in general?I imagine Hollow sight leads to some situations when out and about.”
“Fae’s a fae,” he said, following her in, but not far.
The garage was full with just three cars, and Antonio stopped at the first, a powder blue Mustang, resting his hand on the hood.The first car he’d ever stolen had been a Mustang, beautiful and shining and metallic, and Antonio all knotted up with anger and fear after spotting a fae outside his school.It’d made him feelsafe.
Probably why he still drove one.
The banshee wandered further, making that soft tsking sound everyone used with cats and shaking a bag of something.
“Yes, that's what they say now, isn't it?Fae’s a fae.”The banshee laughed, the sound a little tight.“I suppose the fae you knew said that with a tone, too.‘Oh.Thosefae.Theunsavorysorts.’”
Which, fuck, wasn’t wrong.Death aligned, that’s what Calloway had called them.Banshee, sluagh, redcaps, and the rest.But it wasn’t what Antonio’d meant.
“Fae’s a fae because you’re all fucking dangerous.‘Those sorts’ or not.You’re my first banshee.I’ve known wisps, mostly.Got cursed by a kelpie a couple years back.”
Why was he making conversation?He blamed his mother, all those lectures on manners.Shit.
The banshee clicked her tongue, standing on tiptoe to look behind a pile of boxes.At least she wasn’t watching him.That helped.
“I didn’t think Hollowscouldbe marked, long term.Leave it to a kelpie to strongarm a curse onto someone who ought to be resistant to it.”She turned away from the boxes, frowning toward the cars.“What pebble got under their horseshoe enough to inspire a curse?”
“Bastard took up with a guy I knew.I tried to talk the guy out of it.Kelpie didn’t approve.”
Not one of his better ideas, trying to get between Bo and a fucking death horse.At least he’d gotten a friend out of it.If Bo calling every few months to bitch about the fae counted as a friendship.
“Ah,” the banshee said, like that settled it.“Do vehicles usually have wiggling sounds inside them?”
If Antonio were a proper asshole, he’d tell the fae to open the hood herself.Unfortunately for him, he wasn’t.With a grunt, he left the Mustang for the rusted-out Pontiac he’d been stripping for parts.The banshee stepped back as he leaned in to open the hood, far enough that he could breathe.
