Hunt: An Urban Faery Tale (The Faery Chronicles Book 1) Read online

  Kevin winced. “No, really.”

  “Really, man. I’m not supposed to hang out with you anymore. Dad’s orders. If he finds out I—what’d he call it?—disrespect him again, I’m on a plane down to Harlingen, pronto.”

  “Military school?” Damn. The man had never threatened that before.

  Scott finished with his beans and moved on to the potatoes. “So you get why I won’t be around much from now on.”

  “You’re actually gonna do what he tells you?” Even though Scott had spent years working around the rules, he hadn’t been caught once. This time had been an aberration.

  “The look on his face when he said it? Man, you should’ve been there,” Scott said. “In fact, it should’ve been your ass on the hot seat.”

  “Right. Because it’s all my fault.”

  “That’s how I see it,” Scott said.

  “That’s uncool.”

  “So’re you. You hear what everyone’s saying?”

  “You one of the people saying it?”

  Scott didn’t answer.

  “You’d talk behind my back, but you won’t say it to my face?”

  “I just did.” Scott went to work on his mystery meatloaf with gusto. Like none of this bothered him at all. Like it didn’t matter.

  Scott had gone from being his friend to a betraying asshole in ten minutes. “If that’s how you feel, why’re you sitting here?”

  “I had to eat somewhere,” Scott said. “Besides, I thought you deserved a heads-up.”

  From the guy who claimed to be his best friend. “Wow. Magnanimous, man.”

  “Don’t let it go to your head,” Scott said. He scraped his tray clean and vacated the spot before he’d even swallowed.

  Kevin got up immediately and headed out back. If he had to be humiliated, he didn’t want to bask in it.

  Rude caught up with him out there. The big guy pushed a newspaper into his hand and walked off, leaning against the brick wall over by the skater’s island in the yard, where the rule was no smoking but he did anyway.

  In fact, he looked conspicuous as hell in today’s bright blue Hawaiian shirt. And yet no one called him on the cigarette he tapped out of the pack he kept in his shirt pocket or the cloud of smoke he blew into the wind. Security had special blind spots when it came to him.

  Kevin looked down at the paper, which turned out to be the front page of the Houston Chronicle. Rude had highlighted an article below the fold.

  WOMAN FOUND DEAD IN SOUTHWEST HOUSTON

  An unidentified woman was found dead shortly after 2:00 AM in a bedroom at a home in Bellaire. The medical examiner confirms the cause of death as strangulation.

  A spokesman said the police have several leads.

  Aw, hell.

  He walked over to where Rude stood. “Hey.”

  “Hey, yourself.” Rude took a drag, turned his head to the side, and exhaled a stream of smoke. “The police called my parents up at Angel Fire. They hopped the first flight out of Denver. I cleaned up the house before they got there, not that it mattered.”

  “Shit.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Rude said. “I keyed Mrs. Zephyr’s car.”

  “Who?”

  “The neighbor across the street. The one who ratted us out. She deserved it.”

  “Can’t argue with that.”

  “She even had it out with my dad about it, but he didn’t have too much patience with her. He didn’t know something like that would happen and she ought to keep her car in the garage, what happened was her own lookout, not his. Blah, blah, blah.”

  Kevin got the feeling Rude was waiting for him to explain everything that’d gone down. Too bad he couldn’t. “I didn’t do anything,” he said.

  Rude nodded and dragged on his smoke again.

  “Did you know her?”

  Rude shook his head. “I didn’t invite her, either. I figure she had to have come with somebody, but I haven’t been able to find out who. Maybe she crashed the party.”

  “Happens.”

  “Yeah. People in their twenties crash high school parties all the time,” Rude said. “You know I never saw her body? Just the body bag the coroner carried out. And my folks—they went down to the station and came back kind of fuzzy about the whole thing. Weird, huh?”

  A chill skittered up Kevin’s spine. “It’s more than weird. It’s creepy.”

  “Listen, dude—I was watching those cops while they were at the house, too—the way they acted, what they assumed, the way they tried to steer the conversation. They’ve got a hard-on for you.”

  Kevin didn’t understand it. He didn’t even know where to start. “I don’t know why.”

  “I couldn’t suss out what their angle was either. I’ll say one thing, though,” Rude said. “I don’t think they’re cops.”

  Wow. “What makes you think that?”

  “Even if you had done something bad to that singer, there’s no way they could’ve known it before they got to the house. And they showed up asking about you.”

  “I noticed that.”

  “How?” Rude asked. “You were in the wind when the raid went down.”

  How could he explain that? He couldn’t. “It’s what I heard.”

  “So what are we gonna do about it?”

  “Do?”

  “You think they’re just gonna let it go?” Rude asked.

  After drumming up all that suspicion against him? After the story in the paper? “Got any bright ideas?”

  “One,” Rude said. “I know a guy.”

  “What kind of guy?”

  “The kind you pay to get the 411.”

  “Rude, I can’t.” Which should’ve been obvious without him saying it.

  “No cash worries.”

  Kevin raised a brow. He didn’t want to be in debt to Rude or anyone else. He also didn’t want to be reminded about his financial situation.

  Rude wouldn’t do that—at least not outright. He’d never actually say it. Just like he’d never ask Kevin why he didn’t get a job. He knew Kevin needed the time to study, to get the scholarship, to get out.

  Whatever. Kevin wanted to tell him no. But he had a very bad feeling he needed this help.

  “I can pay you back, man.”

  “No, really, Kev. He doesn’t charge money.”

  Then how good could he be? You get what you pay for was a cliché for a reason. Still, the guy had to be better than nothing. “When do I meet him?”

  “After school work for you?”

  Except for the part where he needed to get home in enough time to cook dinner, before his dad got home from work. Then again, how long could this meeting take?

  “It’s good.” Almost too good to be true, after what had happened with Scott. “Didn’t your parents warn you away from me, too?”

  “Yeah. Don’t always do what I’m told, though.”

  Kevin tried not to let his relief show.

  Rude sucked his smoke down to the filter and pitched it onto the grass, grinding the cherry out with his toe. “Just meet me back here later.”

  “Will do.”

  Rude plucked the butt off the ground and tucked it into an empty Altoids tin. “Leave no trace, man.”

  Keep it on the low. No problem. If there was anything Kevin could keep, it was a secret.

  He headed to gym, and which today unfortunately meant a physical fitness test, complete with his arch-nemesis: pull-ups. What kind of teacher made a kid with skinny arms do that kind of thing? A sadist, that was who.

  Well, at least he’d make up for it running the track. He could do that just about forever, and he didn’t suck at it.

  On the way, he realized he hadn’t heard a single thought besides his own today. As fast as that craziness had started, it had ended. He hoped.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THEY DROVE TO A west Houston neighborhood in Rude’s Explorer, Metallica blaring from the speakers. The street signs went from the ones Kevin was used to seeing, in English, to both Eng
lish and Chinese. Newly built mega-churches sidled up alongside mom-and-pop businesses with homemade signs he couldn’t read. This close to rush hour, the roads began to crowd with traffic and the air filled with exhaust fumes and the smell of meat and spices. Restaurants prepping for the dinner rush.

  All the way there, Rude refused to tell Kevin whether his guy was a PI or some kind of neighborhood man on the street. Which only made Kevin think shady, outside-the-law, dangerous. Or that Rude was setting up some kind of prank.

  Which he’d better not be.

  Kevin didn’t take it as a good sign when they pulled into the potholed parking lot of a Mexican restaurant. From the design of the building, the place had once been a pizza chain franchise. Only now it had been painted blue and white, which made it look like a giant iced bakery cupcake.

  “Here’s our first stop,” Rude said, killing the engine.

  “First?”

  “There’s always at least one more. You get information here, man—but not the answers.”

  “Since when did you start talking in riddles?”

  “Since we came here. You have to be careful what you say about this guy and his people.”

  His people? “Oh, this should be fun.”

  “Just let me do the talking. You got something to say, check with me before you say it.” Rude wouldn’t get out of the car until he agreed.

  Inside, the restaurant smelled right, and it had the standard hostess podium with menus and rolled silverware—but it played as weird as it did from the outside. They were the only people there, for starters. He couldn’t see anyone, not even waiters. No tables; only all booths, each one outfitted with plastic daisies in a vase.

  The walls were covered in crosses. All shapes, all sizes. So many in fact, Kevin couldn’t help wondering what the owners were afraid of.

  The ceiling took the cake. Half of it had been painted in black and orange, full of fire and brimstone and pitchforks. The other half blue sky and clouds with angels and harps. Heaven and hell.

  What kind of guy could they be meeting here? Kevin fidgeted, enough so Rude shot him a look.

  “Don’t embarrass me, dude.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  After another uncomfortable moment, a door swung open at the far end of the place. A skinny girl in a white shirt/black pants hostess uniform met them at the podium.

  “Two?” she asked.

  Rude nodded. “For Oscar’s section.”

  Oscar’s section was not in the dining room. The girl took them into the inferno of the kitchen, past the line cooks in chef’s clothes and ball caps, sweat dripping down their faces, into a back room with a single table and four chairs.

  She left them alone with a couple of menus. And came back ten seconds later with water, chips, and salsa before she disappeared again.

  Rude studied the menu. “What are you having?”

  “We’re staying for dinner?” He couldn’t stay for dinner, in fact. He had one of his own to cook, for his dad. He knew he’d be cutting the time close coming here, but he hadn’t counted on slicing and dicing it.

  “You don’t eat, you insult the guy.”

  He had to be kidding. Also, he could quit calling Oscar “the guy.” “How late are we going to be here?”

  “Until we’re done.”

  Very helpful. He was going to be in even more serious trouble with his dad.

  Halfway through their cheese enchiladas, Oscar showed up. Joe Normal, not scary at all. And a lot younger than Kevin expected. Not that he was great at guessing, but he’d lay bets on late twenties.

  Oscar’s skin was the color of toffee and his thick black hair cut close. He wore a crisp red corduroy button-down, jeans with the crease ironed in, and sprung cowboy boots. When sat down across from them, Kevin couldn’t help but notice his broad shoulders, the solid muscle of his arms, the calluses on his hands. He worked for a living.

  He didn’t smile. In fact, he looked mad. Also, he ignored Kevin completely.

  “You know you’re only to come in here once a week,” Oscar said to Rude. “What’s it been? Three days?”

  Rude took a deep breath. “It’s an emergency. And it’s not for me.”

  “Also against our agreement,” Oscar said.

  “He’s got a couple of guys after him. They’re pretending to be cops.”

  Oscar tapped a finger on the table. “I can see that without your telling me.”

  He could? How?

  “You’ll pay the penalty for breaking the agreement. And the fee for your friend here,” Oscar said. It wasn’t a question.

  “What penalty?” Kevin asked.

  “Shut. Up. Kev.”

  All this mysterious crap. Agreements. Rules. Shut up Kevin. He didn’t like it. He backed his chair up. “Time to go.”

  “Hearing things lately?” Oscar met his gaze.

  There was no explanation for how the man could know that.

  Kevin glanced at Rude. His friend looked as confused as he felt. More, actually.

  Oscar didn’t seem like he’d asked his question to up the mystery factor. It had been an honest question. Meant to keep Kevin in his seat. It worked.

  If Oscar knew something about what had been happening to him, he’d hang for now.

  “You are, aren’t you?” Oscar asked.

  “Not today.”

  Oscar leaned forward. “When did it start?”

  Kevin crooked his thumb at Rude. “His house.”

  “At the party.”

  Again with the question that wasn’t. “How do you know all this stuff?”

  “I saw it.”

  “As in, you were there?” Kevin asked.

  “As in, that’s what he does,” Rude said.

  Kevin took a good, hard look at the man’s eyes. He didn’t catch anything special about them.

  “I’m a seer,” Oscar said. “But it doesn’t always have a lot to do with my eyeballs. It’s just a term.”

  “And that means what in English?”

  Rude sucked in air. Like he couldn’t believe Kevin had said that. Like he’d crossed some kind of line by saying it.

  “What?” he asked.

  But Rude only shook his head.

  “You’re straightforward,” Oscar said. “I like that about you. Others might not so much. Check yourself before you get impatient with them.”

  Fine. Point taken, even if Kevin didn’t totally understand it. He folded his arms across his chest. “What’s a seer?”

  “A person who’s in contact with the other realms—places where humans dare not go, where other kinds of beings live.”

  Kevin stared at him, in case the dude had actually just said a bunch of stuff about humans and other beings, whatever they were.

  “I’m talking about the Fae,” Oscar said. “Faeries.”

  Oh, puh-lease. “Tinkerbell?”

  “Far from it. They’re bigger, for one thing. A lot bigger. For another, they’re not cute. They’re seductive and treacherous and they don’t operate by the same rules humans do.”

  “They give you information?”

  “They do,” Oscar said.

  Dude was wacked out of his mind. Kevin tapped Rude on the arm. They should be going. But Rude made no move to even acknowledge Kevin, much less get up. Plainly, Rude believed every word Oscar spoke.

  Kevin could either leave on his own or keep playing along with this bullshit. That was exactly what he thought of Oscar and his story. Funny that all the spit in his mouth had dried up.

  It took him a minute to be able to say anything. “So what do they tell you about the things I hear?” he asked.

  “It happens when there’s danger,” Oscar said. “And sometimes there’s a residual effect, where you keep on hearing thoughts for a while afterwards.”

  Kevin thought of Scott (the traitor). Doing what he did, he’d saved Scott’s life and maybe the life of someone else he might’ve met on the road. If he hadn’t heard the voice—or if he hadn’t listened
to it—something awful could’ve happened.

  He’d also heard Rude’s neighbor. If he hadn’t, nearly everyone at the party would’ve been busted.

  But nothing from his dad. And not a single thought today when his rep tanked at school.

  “Define ‘danger’,” he said.

  Oscar knocked on the table once for each word: “Imminent. Mortal. Danger.”

  Kevin’s stomach did a somersault. His enchilada rested in there like a brick. “And what do you want me to do with this information?”

  “Use it,” Oscar said. “Or don’t. Your choice.”

  “I didn’t have a choice on Saturday.”

  “But you did,” Rude said. “I just can’t imagine you doing anything but what you did. You’re stand-up, man.”

  Hearing that only made Kevin nauseated. Also vaguely pink around the ears.

  Oscar pushed his chair away from the table. Leaving so soon, and Kevin with hundreds of unanswered questions he couldn’t even think of, much less ask.

  “Your choice,” Oscar said again. “If you use the information you glean, be prepared. The people you help may not appreciate it.”

  No shit.

  “You may end up in trouble,” Oscar continued. “You’d better get good at making up stories, because nine times out of ten you won’t be able to tell your father or your principal or the cops how you know what you know.”

  Kevin could lie. He had some skills in the area of obfuscation, too. “About those cops.”

  Oscar pulled a folded sheet of notebook paper from his back pocket. “Go to this address tonight. Make sure you’re there before midnight, or all bets are off.”

  Kevin took the paper from him. “What’s the hurry?”

  “She won’t be there after midnight,” Oscar said, and headed for the door.

  Huh?

  Oscar paused in the doorway. “One more thing—if you don’t use the information you receive, eventually you will stop hearing it.”

  Seeing as Kevin felt like he could throw up any time now, maybe that would be the way to go. He noticed the cheese had cooled and congealed in the remains of his enchiladas. That so did not help.

  “God forbid,” Oscar said, “that it abandons you when you need it the most.”

  “Thank you,” Rude said.

  Oscar nodded. “You will come back tomorrow night and pay that penalty. Don’t forget, Rudolph, or all bets are off.”