Chapter 11
Despite the name, the Sea of Honey was to all appearances nothing but water, a preternaturally bright sapphire blue under a clear sky. Colors seemed to have more substance on this side of the veil—that was due to the magic flowing through and emanating from everything.
I was following a coast road along the sunny shoreline. I’d walked for an hour or so, enjoying the spring-like warmth, but eventually decided that while it wasn’t particularly hot, I would be much more comfortable without the sweater.
I stepped off the road and quickly laid my coat on the ground, then stripped off the sweater and rolled it up for easy carrying. As I arranged my button-down over the Glock, ensuring it remained concealed, I heard a giggle and instantly straightened up, turning toward the sound.
There lay the most gorgeous woman I’d ever seen in my life, lounging casually on a small grassy rise across the narrow road, staring at me with hunger in her eyes. I froze in a stunned silence, mesmerized by her ethereal beauty. Loose auburn curls cascaded around her shoulders and framed a perfectly formed face in which her wide, sea-green eyes contrasted with skin of golden honey. Her eyebrow was arched, her lips curved in a sensual smile. A simple blue dress covered her body in a way that technically met the demands of modesty, while hiding nothing of the form it concealed. Long legs crossed in front of her, her feet bare, she leaned back on an elbow and giggled again.
“No, do not stop on my account, sir, I beg you,” she urged me in High Taranic, her voice soft and entrancing, almost musical. “You were disrobing, and I am anxious to see what lies beneath. Perhaps you would care to go for a swim? It is such a warm day, after all. I could join you, if you like?”
I stared wordlessly. My jaw literally dropped open, and I felt as if my brain were in a fog. Before I knew it, I’d dropped the sweater and my hands were busy unbuttoning my shirt and pulling it off. I was fumbling at my belt when I suddenly noticed the feeling of warm metal against my chest.
What could that be?
But as I paused my disrobing, the stunning Faerie maiden sprang to her feet and was suddenly in front of me, and I lost all thought of the strange burning sensation as my nostrils filled with her intoxicating scent and my mind fell once more into a fog. I shuddered as she reached out a hand and gently dragged her fingers over my bare chest, tracing one of the many long scars which cut through the pattern of faded tattoos. She leaned in to the point her lips were practically touching my ear.
“Shall I help you with your trousers?” she said huskily, placing a hand on my belt buckle, her thumb brushing my skin. “I am so very lonely—it has been so very long since I have had a man to keep me company. Come, we can make love in the surf.”
Again I felt the strange burning. I shook my head to clear it of the cobwebs.
“What is the matter?” she whispered, caressing my cheek as her hand unfastened my belt, undid the button, and began to push my jeans down. “Do you not want me? I want you so desperately…”
As her other hand trailed down my neck and to my shoulder, journeying to join its companion at the front of my underwear, one of her fingers brushed a tattoo unbroken by scars, a glyph binding a protective spell to my skin. It suddenly flared into blue light and she jerked back as if shocked by static electricity. I came to my senses with a start, my mind instantly clear.
My jeans were down to mid-thigh, but the Enigma held my gun exactly where it was supposed to be. As I grabbed her wrist with my left hand and twisted it away from me, my right reached down and wrapped around the familiar grip. Drawing it straight up from the holster, I pressed the muzzle under her chin before she could react, my finger on the trigger.
She hissed in pain as the steel of the slide made contact with her flesh. Not every Faerie finds the touch of iron painful—some tribes even use it in their own weapons and armor. But obviously this was not one of those. She might not know what a gun was, but she clearly understood that it was a weapon of some kind.
“That,” I growled, “was impolite.”
“I beg your pardon, sir,” she switched to English, her voice still lovely despite her obvious discomfort, “but whatever do you mean? Do you not find me beautiful? Do you not wish to make love to me in the surf?”
“Knock it off,” I said sharply as I felt her attempt to re-establish the mind-ensnaring glamour in which she’d previously had me trapped. “We both know that’s not what you intended.”
My mind had broken through her glamour, and I could see her more clearly. I looked her up and down. She was still stunningly beautiful but had lost the mind-ensnaring exquisiteness with which she’d first appeared. Not Aes Sidhe—too short for that, by far. She was something else.
“I…” she began, but I shook my head and lightly tapped the muzzle against her skin.
“No,” I said, “you don’t get to talk until I say so.”
Now that I was alerted to her trick, she had little chance of trapping me inside my own mind again. But it was best not to risk it until I had assessed the situation.
“Seaside wild Fae, glamouring men to get them into the water under false pretenses. Not a rusalka or a fuath…” I mused. “No webbing between the fingers…and within the borders of Sidhe…you’re a morgen, right?”
She nodded, wide-eyed.
“Trying to drown me and have yourself a little lunch?” I raised an eyebrow.
She shook her head.
“Don’t fucking lie to me.”
“No, it is true that I glamoured you, that I intended to play with you until I grew bored,” she protested, “but we morgen do not eat human flesh!”
“Not denying the drowning part, though, huh? That’s how this normally ends, right?”
“Well…” She had the decency to look slightly sheepish. Presumably not for having had murderous intentions, as the Fae don’t tend to be ashamed of such things. More likely she was just embarrassed that I’d broken her glamour.
“You’re either exceptionally bored, or exceptionally stupid,” I said grimly. “You had to have seen my coat on the ground. You know what it means, don’t you?”
She nodded.
“I ought to report you to the Tuatha Dé for attempting to kill a marked Sorcerer of the Arcanum in their territory. How do you think they’d like that?”
She gulped and said nothing, eyes wide with obvious fear, which somewhat marred her beauty and helped me suppress any lingering traces of arousal. Power games had never held much appeal for me.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. They’d hunt you down for sure. Lugh doesn’t much appreciate wild Fae breaching the terms of his treaties in his lands. And with that cauldron of his, the punishment could last a long, long time. It would be more merciful just to kill you myself right here.”
“Please, sir, I was foolish!” she whimpered and closed her eyes. “It has been so long since I have had any sport, and I was weak. Please, it will not happen again!”
I considered the situation for another long moment, then sighed and let go of her wrist, returning the Glock to its holster and reaching down to pull up my jeans.
“You’re lucky I’m in a hurry,” I said as I buckled my belt.
She rubbed her skin where the gun had been pressed against it.
“So what now, sir Sorcerer?” she asked, her voice still wary and fearful.
“Now,” I growled, bending to retrieve my shirt, “you fuck off back to wherever you came from, and I get dressed and get back on my way without further delay.”
Homicidal or not, I wasn’t worried now that I’d seen her for what she was. On land she was no threat. Morgens are temptresses, not fighters. Their danger lies in their powerful glamours, and once the illusion is shattered, they’re no more perilous than any other pretty girl. Which was still potentially hazardous, to be fair, but rarely lethal.
It was damn lucky she’d triggered one of the few of my protective tattoos that still worked, though. If she’d gotten me into the water, I was as good as dead. I knew better than most how dangerous the Otherworld could be, and I’d still slipped up and let her ensnare me. I mentally kicked myself for letting my guard down enough for her to get that close. Maybe Connors was right about me being cocky.
She was still standing there when I’d put my shirt and coat back on and re-rolled up my sweater into a neat bundle. I looked at her—the expression of fear was gone, and that of hunger had returned.
“What now?” I grunted as I double-checked that I had all my things.
“…well, as I said, it has been so long since I have had sport of any kind. If we cannot go into the water…”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Well,” she shrugged, “it is just…I thought…before you go…perhaps we could find some other form of entertainment. Together.”
I looked at her for a long moment, then laughed in disbelief.
“You must be out of your fucking mind—or think I am. You tried to murder me two minutes ago.”
“That was before I learned how strong you are,” she smiled seductively, “and if I cannot have the thrill of the hunt, there are other pastimes I enjoy almost as much.”
I snorted and shook my head.
“I’ll pass. I still haven’t decided whether to report you. Don’t press your luck.”
She held her hands up apologetically.
“Very well, sir Sorcerer. I was foolish, and you have bested me. So I offer you a trade: do not report me to the Tuatha Dé, spare me the tortures of Lugh’s cauldron, and I shall be in your debt forevermore, until the end of your days. A life for a life.”
I crossed my arms over my chest and looked her up and down. That was an interesting offer. Morgens aren’t particularly powerful as far as the Fae go, but they’re masters of illusion and have strong water magic. Having one owe a life-debt to me could come in handy down the road.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“I am called Carys.”
“Then swear it to me three times on your name, Carys, and I’ll take it into consideration.”
“I, Carys of the Morgen, swear to you…” She paused and looked at me questioningly.
“Thomas Quinn,” I supplied. I wasn’t afraid of giving her my true name. Faerie names are magical, a part of their very being, and invoking them gives one power over them. But human names are just convenient labels to call each other. For us, you generally need a physical part of the body as a focus for an enchantment or a curse—hair, fingernails, bodily fluids, that sort of thing.
She nodded and restarted her oath.
“I, Carys of the Morgen, swear to you, the Sorcerer Thomas Quinn of the Arcanum, that I shall be in life-debt to you, obeying your every request and command to the utmost of my ability, making no attempt to harm you or yours, and doing all I can to please you…” she paused meaningfully, meeting my eyes, her lips curving ever so slightly, “until the end of your days. This I swear upon my name, and I swear again, and I swear a third time.”
“Hm,” I said, rolling my eyes at her less-than-subtle innuendo.
I thought through the wording of her oath carefully, trying to spot any loopholes. For a Faerie, swearing three times formed a geas, a powerful enchantment that would bind her to honor her oath under pain of severe magical consequences. Swearing it with her name made it deadly for her to break her word, and directing the oath to me meant only I would have the power to lift the geas and release her from its obligations. But that only applied to the exact wording upon which she swore. The Fae don’t recognize the “spirit of the law.”
I nodded, then spun on my heel and began walking up the road.
“Wait!” she called after me. “Do you accept my offer? I have already sworn the oath—there is no going back now for me. Will you in turn refrain from informing the Tuatha Dé of my indiscretion?”
“I’ll make up my mind by the time I reach Rath Mór.” I shrugged, not bothering to look back.
“How will I know?!” she cried.
“Either the Tuatha Dé will hunt you down and arrest you, or they won’t.”
“You are cruel, Sorcerer!”
I just grunted and kept walking, leaving her where she stood.