Page 1 of Fallen Court

Chapter One

Lach

Death waited on our every street corner.

It had followed me most of my life, allowing itself to be borrowed as needed. It saw the blood on my hands no matter how often I washed them. There were eight million souls in New York City, but death watched every step I took, biding its time until its turn to collect.

Any day now.

The city had changed since the last time I stepped foot in it. The sandstone and masonry giants of old were dwarfed now by towering glass-and-steel monoliths. Lurid billboards flashed advertisements, their light shimmering on the rain-slicked sidewalks. A damp earthiness from today’s afternoon shower nearly masked the scent of rotting garbage and exhaust fumes. Under it all was that humming energy that never slept—but even this felt different than it had before the war.

Then, with Earth’s magic cursed, I had been one of the most powerful creatures to stalk these streets. Now, magic simmered, hanging in the air like the ever-present sounds of traffic and chaos, and the city was once again a melting pot of creatures. Vampires, werewolves, witches—most with their own agendas and all vying for power—brushing shoulders with clueless mortals, the line between worlds blurring like ink on wet paper.

I kept to back alleys and side streets, using a system of portals hidden in plain view of the city’s human population. I turned my collar up to block the misty rain but didn’t slow my pace. I’d been in the city for two days, and the chill October evening only made me miss the Louisiana heat more. The thought elicited a pang of longing that had nothing to do with New Orleans.

It had been two days since Cate disappeared. Two days of waiting for an explanation from her foster brother, Channing, about his involvement with her kidnapping. Two days of being stuck in my sister Fiona’s tiny apartment while her girlfriend, Romy, consulted grimoires and called in favors to try to remove my newest tattoo—the mark on my neck that branded me a dead man walking. Two days of waiting for news out of the Infernal Court. Two days of silence from my own court as they dealt with the fallout of me killing MacAlister. Two fucking days, and I was losing my gods-damned mind.

A car horn blasted as I passed the western edge of Washington Square Park. My pace quickened as I reached Third and spotted a forlorn alley that extended only a few feet past the main thruway. I hesitated before ducking in, but no one noticed. Just as they didn’t notice as I vanished past where it—and the modern world—ended and continued into long-forgotten Amity, the magical enclave tucked into a pocket of Greenwich Village.

It hadn’t always been the case. When New York renamed the neighborhood streets to align with the grid and erased others from existence, Amity had hidden itself away from the city’s human inhabitants and continued with its way of life as best it could while magic slumbered.

But even with newly awakened magic seeping into its cracks and crevices, the city’s creatures were still ones of habit, so it was no surprise to find a green light still glowing above a battered black door nearly a century later. I rapped once, the knock deliberate but discreet, and a peephole slid open.

A pair of glittering black eyes stared out at me, but their owner didn’t speak.

“I’m here to see Durant.” My resolve hardened around the hole in my heart. There was no point in introductions. That would only get me killed. I just needed to get past the gatekeeper.

“Durant isn’t taking visitors,” she said in a rough whisper and slid the peephole shut again.

So, that’s how it was going to be.

I cracked my knuckles once before nipping—snapping my fingers and rematerializing—into the vestibule, a choice I had no doubt I would pay for shortly. The owner of the glittering eyes, a woman in a tight leather dress that showcased her ample curves, stared for a moment. Her scarlet hair, cut in sharp angles, drew attention to full lips that opened with a hiss as I dropped my glamour. She lunged at me, fangs lengthening and eyes shifting to pure black.

I nipped to the other side of the tight space. “I wasn’t asking.”

“We don’t allow fae pieces of—”

“I would choose my next words carefully,” I warned her. Rage pounded in my chest, begging to be released. “I’m having a really bad week.” I flashed the inside of my coat, giving her a glimpse of one holster.

Would it be bad manners to shoot one of Durant’s people in his own place? Undoubtedly. But even with a death mark on my head, I knew no vampire would question fae royalty.

She paused, but a sneer curled her lip. “Is that supposed to scare me? Bullets don’t kill vampires.”

“But they do hurt, and we both know you’d rather I shot you than stake you.” One would kill her, and we both knew it. I dared her to test me. I’d been feeding my fury every day, unwilling to cave in to despair. But now that rage demanded action, preferably with a fair amount of blood.

She considered for a second before tilting her head toward an unmarked door behind the bar. “He’s in the back.”

“Thank you.” I tipped my head at her.

But she was already slinking toward the bar, where she reached for a bottle of something that looked like blood and poured herself a drink.

Squat armchairs upholstered in jewel-toned velvet were clustered around marble tables in dimly lit pockets that hid the faces of the creatures I passed. Most of the patrons in the speakeasy kept their heads down, either not eager to get involved or more interested in their absinthe and opium. Still, a few couldn’t resist the urge to stare. I was a novelty in a place like this. Fae tended to stick to their home courts, where their magic was at its strongest. Only the strongest of us could call upon ours, let alone nip, this far away from home.

But no one tried to stop me as I headed toward another door in the back. The word office, stamped in gold vinyl on its frosted window, was the only clue as to what waited behind it. The room inside was larger than the main floor of the speakeasy. A behemoth oak desk covered in stacks of paper and ledgers sat on one side with two empty leather club chairs before it. There was a bank of security monitors hanging on the wall, and in the center of the room, a motley group was packed around a small table, cigars and cards in hand.

Every creature froze at my entrance. Then, one by one, they threw their cards on the table. All but one.

I met Durant’s rapidly darkening eyes and nodded hello. He glanced at his companions, sighing at the abandoned cards on the table before him, and waved a hand. “Leave us.”