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“Anyway, Grel is her son, along with eleven others. I don’t know their names or ages, so I can’t really tell you who they are, where to find them, or how to spot them.”
Johnny raised a brow in surprise. “She hadthirteenkids?”
“Yup,” Sariel said, popping the P.
“So, does that mean we can’t ask Grel about the hit list?” Marilyn asked carefully.
Sariel made a dismissive motion. “You can. I was just giving you the heads up in case you wonder why I’m suddenly acting odd around him.”
They nodded. Silence fell again, but I was sure we were all having similar thoughts.
This was yet another curveball out of the left field, yet another bump in the road to navigate—yet anothermess.
12
PLANS B, C, AND D
SARIEL
And we’d thoughtwewere special.
Perhaps wewere, to an extent, since we’d been welcomed into the King and Queen’s home with an orgy party that had included food, drinking, and dancing. It was evident by the current magnitude ofthiswelcome party that we weren’t that unique, though.
The courtyard was decorated with gold linens and trinkets. Benches and tables had been dragged out into the semi-circular area, lights had been strung from the buildings and trees, and the musicians were playing some fast-paced song. The locals had partnered up and were dancing, barefoot and half-naked, as the sun set over the horizon.
Their steps were hypnotic, their movements meshing together like a well-oiled machine as they swapped partners, spun each other, and performed various acrobatic acts.
“It’s a ceremonial dance,” Lucia explained to us. She’d joined us at our table shortly after we’d claimed it and parked herself opposite Mikey. “They’re dancing to the Old Gods for protection.”
“The Old Gods?” Reese asked.
Lucia shrugged. “Yes. We still worship them even though they’re more than likely dead. Butthey—” she motioned to the people dancing with her head, “—don’t know that. It gives them a sense of false hope, as if their Old Gods can protect them from guns and metal poisoning.”
Mikey’s expression clouded, his eyes darkening. “So that’s why you haven’t advanced in technology?”
I pursed my lips at his tone.
Lucia eyed him warily. “Earth’s metals are much simpler to work with before they’re combined with chemicals and other things. After that, they’re almost impossible for us to handle. Tarragon won’t even allow telephones into the castle. It’s good enough that the rest of Europe has access to technology and cars; if it were up to him, there would be nothing at all. The humans would still be using horses and carriages, handwriting mail, and living in stone and mud buildings.”
Mikey’s jaw clenched. “And you’ve found no cure for that weakness after hundreds of years of technological advances? Can’t your magic solve this problem? Your rituals and herbs and shit?”
“No, Michaelson, they can’t,” she snapped. “And they may never be able to.”
The finality in her words, coupled with her heated glare, shut him right up.
I struggled not to smirk at him as we turned back to the dancers. Small fae women were serving food and drinks, yet the people dancing didn’t even pause in their intricate steps to indulge.
By the time Azazel and his merry band of wolves appeared at the top of the stairs leading down into the courtyard, I was positive that over half of the fae were intoxicated, or at least well on their way. The orgy had started with a Guardian and a fae woman who’d been serving him—they’d acted as a catalyst for the other couples.
I reveled in Azazel’s disgusted expression as he descended the stairs, flanked on either side by Guardians that were led by Commander Grel. Bastille and about ten of his wolves trailed after them, also flanked by Guardians. His expression was untamed, his eyes flickering red and black as his pupils dilated, and his wolves were almost salivating at the naked, rutting bodies.
When they were shown to their seats, Tarragon and Blossom appeared at the top of the stairs. Blossom had returned to her monstrous size; her steps sent tremors through the castle as she advanced and stood next to her husband.
Tyler’s wolves froze at the sight of her. Meanwhile, Tyler had located us in the crowd and was staring salaciously at Aria.
“We are honored to welcome Fallen Angel Azazel, Teacher of Mankind,” Tarragon said, his booming voice echoing in the open space. “He has brought with him a fallen-blood wolf alpha and his followers. Alpha Tyler Bastille, welcome to the Free Kingdom.”
Tyler’s head snapped in the direction of the King. “Thank you for your hospitality,” he said, and I was stunned when he genuflected and bowed deeply, his wolves following suit.
