Kicking It

Kicking It Page 41

I slung my sword over my shoulder. I had magical ways to defend myself, but I’d discovered pretty quickly that a pointy object is a great way to get someone’s attention.

We determined that it would be best if I did not attempt to contact Sammy Blue before going to visit him at his temporary quarters in a fancy Loop hotel. No sense in giving him warning so he could set a trap for me.

Beezle crawled over my shoulder and tucked into my inside coat pocket. I was certain he would promptly fall asleep, and sure enough, a few seconds later I heard the buzz saw rumble of his snore.

I pushed out my wings and flew out the kitchen window. The wings are part of my Agent’s legacy. I can’t be seen by ordinary mortals when I’m flying. Which is a good thing, as I’ve noticed people have a bad tendency to kill what they don’t understand. Supernatural creatures can sometimes see me, and sometimes they can’t. I’m not really sure if it has to do with their magic or mine. It was unlikely I would be camouflaged from any fae I encountered, though.

Sammy Blue’s hotel was a five-star type near the Magnificent Mile, the sort of place frequented by celebrities and other people with a lot more money than I would ever have. As the doorman opened the glass door, I slipped in behind a woman wearing a silver fox fur coat and carrying several shopping bags. The lobby was more or less what you would expect—crystal and marble and silk, oh, my—and the air was redolent with the scent trails of many expensive perfumes and colognes.

Once inside I paused. I knew Sammy Blue was staying here, but Beezle hadn’t given me a room number, and this place was far too huge to wander around and hope I bumped into someone who looked fae-like.

I could retract my wings, go to the front desk, and ask for him by name. Of course, I was dressed as my usual grubby self—black boots, faded jeans, black sweater—and security would probably remove me on sight for dirtying up the lobby. At the very least the concierge would notify Sammy Blue of my presence in the hotel, and I definitely did not want to spoil the element of surprise.

Getting Sammy’s room information from the front desk computer was my best bet, but there were three people moving back and forth in that space, and all of them seemed to spend a lot of time consulting the computer. My window of opportunity would be limited to the length of time it took the clerk to collect a receipt from the printer or hand over a room key.

The tricky thing about being invisible is that, well, you’re only invisible. You occupy the same space, and people can certainly feel you passing or hear any noises you might make. The average person will assume they imagined a sigh, or that there is just a draft in the room. But I would have to be extremely careful. If I accidentally bumped into anyone and they raised a fuss, it would be impossible to get the information I needed.

I moved off to the side of the lobby, hoping to find some clear space to extend my wings. My thought was to hover above the desk until my chance arrived. There was a lounge/bar area off the main lobby and a little alcove with a chair tucked to the side of the doorway. I made for the alcove, automatically glancing inside the lounge.

It was a good thing I did, because I saw the faerie sitting at the bar. His face was a dead giveaway. I’d never seen a faerie that wasn’t more beautiful than the sun. His face could have been carved by Michelangelo. He was impeccably dressed in a designer suit, and was receiving plenty of admiring glances, which he ignored as he stared blankly at the television above the bar.

There was only one reason for a faerie to choose solitude in a room full of interested parties. He was waiting for someone. His seat faced the door, which looked directly out onto the lobby. No one could pass by without his noticing. I hoped I could slip in without attracting his attention.

I moved down the three steps into the room, prepared to run after him if he saw me and bolted.

Which, of course, he did.

He locked eyes with me when I was about ten feet from him. His eyes were a startling violet, really and truly purple, and for just a second I paused. And while I paused, shocked by his fae eyes, he shot off his barstool so quickly that any human watching him would know he was not of this world. I’d assumed he’d head for the lobby and take the first elevator up to Sammy Blue’s room, knocking over as many people as he could in the process. But I guess I was the only one who operated that way. He snaked toward the back of the lounge in between the fashionable people moving through the room.

The ceiling was way too low for me to fly, so I had to pick my clumsy half-human way through the room. Of course everything was complicated by the fact that I was still invisible, and while I could see other people they could not see me and get out of my way.

By the time I reached the back of the lounge, the faerie, of course, had disappeared. The only exit in sight was a door into the kitchen, so I pushed through it, ignoring the startled look of the busboy, who must have wondered why the door slammed against the wall when no one was entering.

I scanned the kitchen and saw the faerie at the far end, leaning his finger on the call button for the service elevator. The cooks and dishwashers ignored him, which meant he must have put a veil over himself. The only person in the room aware of him was me. He glanced over his shoulder, saw me there, and held up his hand like a policeman stopping traffic.

A wave of pressure hit me square in the chest and knocked me back into some shelves stacked high with dishes and glassware. Just about everything crashed to the floor, and all of the kitchen workers cursed loudly in unison, wondering how the hell that could have happened.

I blasted nightfire at the faerie, hitting him right between the shoulder blades. His face banged against the frame of the elevator as the nightfire burned through his fancy suit. The flame itself didn’t seem to bother him, but he’d definitely had his bell rung when his face crunched into the wall. I saw him shaking his head like a dog.

Unfortunately, my spell did not go unnoticed by the humans. Nightfire looks like blue fire and reeks of sulfur, unlike the faerie’s silent pressure wave. Two of the kitchen workers ran from the room, and the others dropped to the ground as the blue ball of flame just missed their heads.

Beezle poked his head out of my coat pocket. “Broken possessions. Check. Ball of flame. Check. Did I miss the witty banter already?”

“There’s still time,” I said.

Now that everyone in the room had conveniently ducked, I could stop messing about trying to tiptoe around the workers. I raised up on my wings, then gave one great flap and arrowed over the prep counter in the center of the room. Beezle tucked back inside my coat pocket, muttering something about his advanced age and my lack of care about his personal safety.

I had just about reached the faerie when the elevator doors finally opened, revealing a waiter returning to the kitchen with a cart full of dirty room service dishes. My quarry dashed inside the elevator, but I was right behind him. He tried pushing the waiter and cart out to stop me, but I managed to maneuver over the blockade and squeeze into the elevator just as the doors closed.

I ended up in the upper-left corner of the elevator, floating on my wings and holding my sword to the faerie’s neck. His chin was tipped up to me by the point of the blade and his eyes were furious. I blasted nightfire at the control pad and the elevator ground to a halt, the emergency alarm beeping.

“Make it stop,” Beezle said, his voice muffled inside my coat.

Another shot of nightfire made the alarm cease.

“Now,” I said, panting a little from exertion. I needed to lose about thirty pounds. It would make all this scampering after bad guys a lot easier. “Who are you, and why did you run away from me like that?”

“May eternal damnation be upon your house, spawn of Lucifer,” the faerie spat.

“I am not Lucifer’s spawn,” I said. “He’s my grandfather about eight million times removed.”

“A technicality,” the faerie said. “I will not cooperate with one of his bloodline.”

Beezle popped his head out of my pocket and peered over the lapel of my coat. “I’d cooperate with her if I were you. She has this sort of Wicked Witch/Incredible Hulk combo power thing where she smashes everything in sight and then when she gets frustrated she burns it.”

“I know well what Madeline Black is capable of,” the faerie said through his teeth. “I am a member of Queen Amarantha’s court, and I have observed her powers close at hand.”

“You’re one of Amarantha’s bootlickers, huh?” I said, lowering to the ground as I tried to place his face and failed. There were way too many courtiers at Amarantha’s castle.

“I am not a bootlicker,” the faerie said, drawing himself up. It was impressive the way he managed to look haughtily offended even though I held a sword at his throat. “I am Arkan, the Duke of Trium, second cousin to the Queen herself.”

“You’re a toady—that’s what you are,” I said. “You were sitting in the lounge keeping an eye out for me. You’re no better than an errand boy.”

“I think you’re insulting errand boys,” Beezle said.

“I was charged by my queen and by her ambassador with a mission and I will fulfill it,” Arkan said. “You are not to interfere here.”

“Who said anything about interfering?” I said. “Maybe I’ve got my own reasons for being here.”

“Do you think I am a fool, or that my queen is? She knew that once you discovered her aim you would meddle,” Arkan said.

Interesting. Amarantha was up to no good and she didn’t want me to know about it. Which certainly raised the question of why she had decided to do her dirty deeds right under my nose. Beezle asked before I could.

“If Amarantha didn’t want Maddy around, then why is she doing her badness in Chicago?” Beezle asked.

“You know very well that there is a magical convergence of energy here,” Arkan said. “Do not play the fool.”

I did not know very well at all. In fact, I knew nothing about it. Beezle, however, looked thoughtful. My home guardian is like a little gargoyle-shaped encyclopedia of all things supernatural. I could tell that he was putting two and two together and getting four.