LITMIR.BIZ

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the opposite direction, his body tense like a coiled wire. Grimalkin slipped after us, a gray ghost in the shadows, the fur on his tail standing on end. It would’ve been funny if I didn’t feel eyes on the back of my neck, old, savage and patient, watching us flee into the night.

      Ash paused beneath the limbs of another oak, put his fingers to his lips and let out a piercing whistle. Moments later, the fey horse trotted out of the shadows, snorting and tossing its head, skidding to a stop before us.

      “Where are we going now?” I asked, as Ash helped me into the saddle.

      “We can’t use the Elder Gate to get back,” the prince replied, swinging up behind me. “We’ll have to find another way into the Nevernever. And quickly.” He gathered the reins in one hand and snaked an arm around my waist. “I know of another trod that will take us close to Tir Na Nog, but it’s in a part of the city that’s…dangerous for Summer fey.”

      “You are speaking of the Dungeon, are you not?” Grimalkin said, appearing suddenly in my lap, curled up like he belonged. I blinked in surprise. “Are you sure you want to take the girl there?”

      “Not much choice, now.” Tightening his grip on my waist, Ash kicked the horse forward, and we galloped into the streets of New Orleans.

      * * *

      I’d forgotten what it was like to be a half faery in the real world, or at least in the company of a powerful, full-blooded fey. The horse trotted down brightly lit streets, weaving through cars and alleyways and people, and no one saw us. No one even glanced our way. Regular humans couldn’t see the faery world, though it was all around them. Like the two goblins sifting through a spilled Dumpster in an alley, gnawing on bones and other things I didn’t want to dwell on. Or the dragonfly-winged sylph perched atop a telephone pole, watching the streets with the intensity of an eagle observing her territory. We nearly ran into a group of dwarves leaving one of the many pubs on Bourbon Street. The short, bearded men shouted drunken curses as the horse swerved, barely missing them, and galloped away down the sidewalk.

      We were deep in the French Quarter when Ash stopped in front of a wall of stone buildings, old black shutters and doors lining the sidewalk. A sign swinging above a thick black door read: Ye Olde Original Dungeon, and there was red paint spattered against the frame in what was supposed to be blood, I guessed. At least, I hoped it was paint. Ash pushed open the door, revealing a very long, narrow alleyway, and turned to me.

      “This is Unseelie territory,” he murmured close to my ear. “There’s a rough crowd that frequents this place. Don’t talk to anyone, and stay close to me.”

      I nodded and peered down the closed-in space, which was barely wide enough to walk through. “What about the horse?”

      Ash removed the horse’s pack and pulled off its bridle, tossing it into the shadows. “It’ll find its own way home,” he murmured, swinging the pack over one shoulder. “Let’s go.”

      We slipped down the narrow corridor, Ash in front, Grim trailing behind. The alley ended in a small courtyard, where a scraggly waterfall trickled into a moat at the front of the building. We crossed the footbridge, passed a bored-looking human bouncer who paid us no attention and entered a dark, red-tinged room.

      From the shadows along the wall rose something huge and green, crimson eyes glaring out of the monstrous, toothy face of a female troll. I squeaked and took a step back.

      “I smell me a Summer whelp,” she growled, blocking our way. Up close, she stood nearly eight feet, with swamp-green skin and long, taloned fingers. Beady red eyes glared at me from her impressive height. “You’re either really brave or really stupid, whelp. Lost a bet with a phouka or something? No Summer fey allowed in here, so get lost.”

      “She’s with me,” Ash said, stepping up to block the troll’s line of sight. “And you’re going to step aside now. We need to use the hidden trod.”

      “Prince Ash.” The troll took a step back but didn’t move aside completely. Facing a prince of the Unseelie Court, she turned almost sniveling. “Your Highness, of course I would let you in, but…” She glanced over Ash’s shoulder at me. “The boss says absolutely no Summer blood in here unless we’re going to drink it.”

      “We’re just passing through,” Ash replied, still in that same calm, cool voice. “We’ll be gone before anyone notices us.”

      “Your Highness, I can’t,” the troll protested, sounding more and more unsure. She glanced back over her shoulder, lowering her voice. “I could lose my job if I let her through.”

      Very casually, Ash dropped his hand to the hilt of his sword.

      “You could lose your head if you don’t.”

      The troll’s nostril’s flared. She glanced at me again, then back at the Winter prince, claws flexing at her side. Ash didn’t move, though the air around him grew colder, until the troll’s breath hung in the air before her face.

      Sensing her dire predicament, the huge faery finally backed off. “Of course, Your Highness,” she muttered, and pointed at me with a curved black claw. “But if she gets stuffed into a bottle and served as the next drink special, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

      “I’ll keep that in mind,” said Ash, and led me into the Dungeon.

      The Dungeon, for all its eerie decor, turned out to be nothing more than a bar and nightclub, though it definitely catered to the more macabre crowd. The walls were brick, the lights dim and red, casting everything in crimson, and snarling monster heads hung on the walls over the bar. Music pounded the ceiling from an overhead room, AC/DC screaming out the lyrics to “Back in Black.”

      There were human patrons at the bar and sitting throughout the room with drinks in hand, but I saw only the inhuman ones. Goblins and satyrs, phouka and redcaps, a lone ogre in the corner, drinking a whole pitcher of a dark purple liquid. Unseen and invisible, the Unseelie fey milled through the throng of humans, spitting in their drinks, tripping the drunker ones, stealing items from purses and wallets.

      I shivered and drew back, but Ash took my hand firmly. “Stay close,” he murmured again. “This isn’t as bad as upstairs, but we’ll still have to be careful.”

      “What’s upstairs?”

      “Skulls, cages and the dance floor. Not something you want to see, trust me.”

      Ash kept a tight hold on my hand as we navigated around tables and bar patrons, moving toward the back of the room. Grimalkin had disappeared—normal for him—so it was just us receiving the cold, hungry glares from every corner of the room. A redcap—a short, evil faery with sharklike teeth and a cap dipped in his victim’s blood—reached for me as we passed his table, snagging my shirt. I tried to dodge, but the space was tight and narrow, and the clawed fingers latched onto my sleeve.

      Ash turned. There was a flash of blue light, and a half second later the redcap froze, a glowing blue sword at his throat.

      “Don’t. Try. Anything.” Ash’s voice was colder than the chill coming off his blade. The redcap’s Adam’s apple bobbed, and he very slowly pulled back his claws. The rest of the Unseelie fey had frozen as well and were staring at us with glowing, hostile eyes.

      “Meghan, go.” Ash kept his threatening gaze on the rest of the crowd, daring anyone to get up. No one moved. I slipped past him and the redcap, who was keeping very still in his seat, and moved toward the back of the room.

      “This way, human.” Grimalkin appeared at the edge of a hallway, his eyes coming into focus before the rest of his body. Behind him, the narrow corridor was tight, dim and full of smoke. Strangely enough, bookshelves lined the walls, floor to ceiling—the type you’d find in a library or old mansion, not a shadowy bar in the French Quarter.

      “Okay, why is there a library in the back of a goth bar?” I asked, peering around at the books. “Spell books for the black arts? Recipes for human hors d’oeuvres?”

      Grimalkin snorted.

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