When I turned around, Numa was indeed looking at my ass. “Earth to Numa? Water-repellent charms?”
The satyr tore his eyes away after what looked like an epic internal struggle. “All packages are charmed. Get to work, ladies, I don’t have all day.”
His little cloven hooves clip-clopped over the polished wood floor as he rounded the desk. I swiftly gathered my packages and began carrying them out to the basket on the front of my bike.
The package for Thornwood went first, where it’d be most protected from the rain. The Gentry Fae were the least forgiving when the water-repellent charms failed.
“Don’t be late again, Appletree,” Numa called after me, but his heart was only halfway into berating me. It was hard for him to remain on-point with his grousing when he was at eye level with a rusalka’s ass. “Or you’ll be doing overtime in the office, scrubbing my floor. Got it?”
I suppressed a shudder. The last thing I wanted was overtime alone with Numa. “Got it.”
Nadiya, the rusalka whose behind was being lovingly caressed by Numa’s eyeballs, made a face and rolled her eyes at me.
She was gathering her own packages, all of which were consistently charmed against water because it had a tendency to pour from her mouth when she spoke. One of the hazards of being an angry water spirit, I’d been told.
I was unchaining my bike when she came outside, her pink fairy wings bobbing ludicrously on her back. “I’ve got a lot of packages for Thornwood today,” she said, piling her packages in her basket. “Want me to take yours?”
I shook my head. Having to go out of my way to Thornwood would give me more time to cool down and work off the dregs of my emotions through uphill exercise.
Nadiya’s dark, liquid eyes looked me over, and a little more weight lifted off my chest. She was feeding on my anger, drinking it up like fine wine.
“Want me to drown him?” she asked, her expression never changing. Water gushed out of her mouth and down the front of her shirt, mixing with the rain.
That got a real smile out of me. “Not today, Nadiya.”
“Whenever you want. I’m hungry,” she said mournfully. Those dark eyes were eerie against her death-pale skin, and her hair was always wet, like she’d just been submerged in a river. “Just give the word.”
I wheeled my bike towards the street. “If I see him again, I might. So he’d better hope I don’t see him.”
Nadiya’s smile was all sharp teeth. “And I’ll hope you do.”
With friends like the rusalki, who needed humans?
2
I wiped sweat out of my eyes, already missing the rain.
All of my deliveries to Mothwing Falls had gone smoothly, and I hadn’t caught sight of Ioin, thank the trees. I might’ve lost what self-control I had and shoved his head through a tree.
Then I’d pedaled five miles to the marina district, Acionna Harbor.
Usually Acionna was one of my favorite districts: it overlooked the Eridanus River and the bay, and all of the buildings were whitewashed and plastered with shells and pearls. The smell of saltwater usually filled the breeze that came off the river.
Today, the rain had let up, but the breeze was nonexistent, which meant my bun had become a poofy mass and my clothes stuck to my skin uncomfortably.
And worse, the Seelie Garda were stationed on every street corner.
The block where the Ghosthand Killer had taken down their latest victim was cordoned off. Fae of every variety were pressed in against it, the journalists the most vicious among them to get to the front. The flying Garda had their hands full keeping the sylph and pixie paparazzi from snapping photos.
A news van was parked up against a curb, and I slowed my pedaling to a crawl as a cameraman crouched in front of a stunning beautiful Gentry Fae in a suit.
Her chestnut hair gleamed with a thousand highlights in shades of autumn, and her blue eyes were like the winter sky: blue, but deceptively cold.
Everyone in Avilion knew Oriande Snowdrop, the head of Seelie Public Relations. Aside from Queen Titania herself, and her tabloid-fodder offspring, Oriande was probably the most famous Gentry Fae in Avilion.
Oriande straightened her suit jacket and batted an overly helpful pixie away from her hair, then held a microphone to her mouth as they began the broadcast. “Good afternoon, Avilion! We interrupt our traditionally-scheduled broadcast with an update on the Ghosthand Killer-”
I realized I was gawking at the famous Gentry and stepped on the pedals, speeding downhill over the shell-paved road and skidding to a stop when I’d reached my next destination, the Oyster Marina.
The package was addressed to one of the Mer. I scooped it out of the basket and walked my bike to the edge of the marina, where a number of large, gleaming fish lurked just beneath the skin of the water.
I knelt down, keeping a hand on my bike. “I have a package addressed to Shelleissei Merion,” I called, and one of the fish broke the surface of the water, its scales gleaming in shades of lapis and mint.
It opened its mouth wide and I dropped the package in. With a splash of its fins, the fish disappeared into the almost-black depths of the bay.
I stood up, my legs already tired enough to protest any more cycling, but Thornwood was another seven miles away, and almost entirely uphill.
But all I had to do was think of Ioin and I was on my bike, pedaling like my life depended on it. By the time I got home, I’d be too hungry and tired to think about him at all.
I was almost too hungry now to keep going, having skipped both breakfast and lunch. My stomach rumbled and cramped painfully as the sun began to sink behind Avilion’s tall buildings, lighting up the glassine spires of the Seelie Palace in the distance like a living sunrise.
“No food until you’re done,” I muttered. The last place I wanted to be after full dark was out on the street. Just because the Ghosthand didn’t tend to strike more than once every full moon didn’t mean there wasn’t a first time for everything.
The white buildings of the Acionna gradually became more traditional architecture. Every house on the street I took had balconies spilling over with green ferns and blossoming flowers.
It was a longer route to Thornwood, but it was better than crossing near Sobek Street, where the Unseelie and Solitary Fae held sway.
Night had completely fallen by the time I reached the huge iron gates to Thornwood. A Garda in a crisp green uniform halted me with a scowl and one raised hand, displaying six fingers.
“Identification, please.” The look on his feline face made it clear he didn’t think much of my damp hair and short shorts. Or maybe it was just the fact that I was a Lesser Fae trying to enter the wealthiest district in Avilion.
I dug in my pocket, cursing the skintight shorts, and pulled out my ID card. He made it a face when he gripped it by the corner.
“Sorry about the sweat,” I said blithely.
His lip curled as he examined the card. “Briallen Appletree… Lesser Fae, dryad… place of residence, Mothwing Falls. Temporary Residency.” The Garda swiped my ID through a chip scanner. “Reason for entry?”
I didn’t have the energy to be rude, although it was obvious by my bike, the basket, and my shirt why I would be there. “Package courier for Fairy Ferry.”
The scanner beeped and the Garda handed my card back. “Your presence is approved and recorded. Proceed.”