“What? Where?”
She pointed.
A woman was sucking erotically on the tip of a Rhino-boy’s stumpy finger—which he’d given to her by cutting it off his hand.
I inhaled sharply as, the reality of what was going on here smacked me between the eyes. Humans weren’t just cozying up to the newest exotic big-bad because it was something different and exciting.
As Dani had feared, Unseelie were the new vamps.
My generation has an incurable, bottomless obsession with the undead. The heavily romanticized version, of course: the defanged fangbanger, not the real deal, which is really dead and really kills you.
As I watched, the woman bit down hard and began chewing with an expression of near-religious ecstasy.
These humans were eating Unseelie—not to fight them off and reclaim our world, but for the rush of it.
Unseelie flesh—the new drug.
“They’re trading sex for the high,” I said flatly.
“Looks like,” Dani said. “Let’s just hope those skanks can’t get knocked up.”
The thought was too awful to contemplate.
A young Goth-girl with feverishly bright eyes approached. “You better hurry! The song’s almost over!”
“So?” Dani said.
Goth-girl looked her up and down. “Not a bad idea. Gangly and awkward might just intrigue. They like experimenting.”
I didn’t have to look at Dani to know her hand had gone inside her long coat to her sword. “Easy, Dani,” I said softly. “You’re not.”
But the girl was already going on, vapidly intense. “You two must be new. They play it once a night, and while it’s playing you can try to persuade one of them to choose you. Otherwise, you aren’t allowed to approach them. Competition’s fierce. It can take weeks to get one to notice you.”
“Choose you for what?” I encouraged.
“Where’ve you been all this time? To make you immortal like them. If you eat enough sanctified flesh, you become immortal, too. Then you get to go to Faery with them!”
I narrowed my eyes. Did eating Unseelie really change you? Or were the dark Fae capitalizing on a lie? I was inclined to believe the latter. Mallucé had eaten it constantly, long-term, and had never become immortal. “How much is enough?” I fished.
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Nobody knows yet. It keeps wearing off. But we will. I’ve had it four times! It’s incredible! And the sex—OMG! See you in Faery,” she chirped brightly, and dashed off, and I didn’t have to hear anyone else say it—although I would hear it so many times over the next few months that I’d want to kill somebody—to realize I’d just heard one of the many strange new buzz phrases in this strange new world.
“This is worse than an IFP,” Dani muttered. “I feel like I’m stuck in an IFCF.”
I raised a brow.
“Interdimensional Fairy Cluster Fuck,” she said sourly. “Don’t they see what’s happening? Don’t they know the Unseelie are destroying our world? Don’t they see we’re gonna die out if we don’t stop them?”
Apparently they didn’t care. I needed a drink. Badly. Pushing through the crowd, I headed for the bar.
A heavily industrialized version of Trent Reznor’s “Closer” was playing by the time I grabbed a bar stool and barked at the bartender’s back that I needed a shot of top-shelf whiskey and make it fast.
I want to feel you from the inside …
Due to recent experience, I had a far greater understanding of the darker half of the Fae race than I’d ever wanted. I knew the emptiness that drove them. I’d been food for their bottomless hunger.
Chester’s was full of the Unseelie King’s abominations, and humans were welcoming them, competing to get noticed by them, willing to let them “feel them from the inside” if that was what it took to get their fix, seduced by the promise of heightened strength and senses and the temptation of immortality. I’d never understood why anyone would want to live forever. It had always seemed to me that death lent life a certain poignancy, a necessary tension.
“Maybe two billion of us needed to die,” I muttered. I was in a foul mood.
“I’ll take one, too.” Dani hoisted herself onto a stool beside me.
“Nice try.”
“You ever gonna let me grow up? Or you gonna be like everybody else?”
I looked at her, then amended my original order to two shots of Macallan, one-hundred-proof. Daddy had done the same thing to me at her age. Tough love.
Shot glasses clinked on the polished chrome bar top, accompanied by a deep “Hey, beautiful girl.”
My gaze jerked to the bartender and I did a double take. It was the dreamy-eyed boy that I’d first met while scouring a museum for OOPs and had later been surprised to find working with Christian at Trinity College’s ALD, the Ancient Languages Department. My first impulse was pleasure that he’d survived. It was squelched by suspicion. Coincidences make me nervous.
“Small world,” I said coolly.
“Big enough.” He flashed an easy smile. “Most of the time.”
“New job?”
“City changes. Jobs, too. You?”
“Unemployed. Nobody buying books.” They were all out hunting one.
“Different look. Going dark, beautiful girl?”
I touched my hair.
“More than the ‘do.”
“Enough to survive.”
“Hard to say when enough’s enough.”
“Look who’s working where.”
“Look who’s drinking where.”
“I can handle myself. You?”
“Always.” He gave me another of those smiles and moved down the bar, tossing glasses, pouring high, fast, and flashy.
Beside me, Dani choked, spit, wheezed, and began to cough uncontrollably. When I patted her back, she jerked away and skewered me with a glare. “What are you trying to do? Kill me?” she squeaked, when she could speak. “That’s petrol! Who would wanna drink that?”
I laughed. “You develop a taste for it.”
“I think I mighta been born with all the tastes I need!” She pilfered a handful of cherries from across the bar, crammed them in her mouth, and hopped down from her stool. “Grown-ups are weird,” she said darkly.