Trueheart (Portland After Dark Book 1) Read online

  He paused at Sharpwit the hob's tiny booth to buy his dinner, a portable lump of fungus and stewed caterpillars and furred moth bodies with lamb's quarters. The whole mess was rolled into a large grape leaf and drizzled with honey squeezed from the comb, bee-parts and all. It would do until he found some bread or shifted back into his human form long enough to consume human food. He did that less and less, since it took increasingly more effort to remain human, and the overly processed foods the humans ate these days sometimes disagreed with his fae-altered digestion.

  "Well met, Thomas," murmured Sharpwit, poking skewers through insect pupae and wedges of late apples, and setting them to roast over her tiny brazier. The rising, smoky fragrance, like what Thomas remembered of onions quick-fried in butter, made him feel strangely homesick for the tavern where the Queen had found him.

  "What shall I owe you?" He took a bite of his dinner. He could trust Sharpwit not to take advantage of his open-ended bargain. Underbridge belonged to Thomas, and the fae knew it.

  "I want some grubs from the tunnels in Forest Park, next time you can fill a pouch. My herd is thinning. Business has been good."

  "Consider it done." Thomas turned back to the market, and again the tall woman caught his eye. She was talking to the redcaps, which wasn't a smart idea if she wanted to get out in one piece. But whatever she said to them made them nervous, because they flitted away soon enough, leaving her standing by their steaming dye vat. The market was filling as dusk came on more fully. The woman moved steadily through the vibrant and humming crowd, heading for an exit at Naito Parkway.

  Out of curiosity, Thomas followed, munching. He had to start looking for the thief somewhere, since he had not the slightest idea what nor whom he was looking for. Might as well start with a market regular, human or not.

  The woman was tall and girlishly slender, too thin, even to eyes accustomed to the seeming fragility of the fae. She had a neck like a stem, with a clean jaw line that spoke of determination and stubbornness. She wore a dark blue sweater over her jeans, and the evening drizzle beaded like diamonds scattered in the weave. Her brown hair was scraped back into an elastic at the nape of her neck, lank and straight in the damp air. She was no fashion plate, but he liked her stride—focused and serious, her rubber-soled shoes practical in the urban terrain.

  When she glanced over her shoulder, he saw her eyes were dark—probably brown, to match her hair—and her mouth looked soft and full as crushed peonies. A moment later she stepped over the low swag of chains that separated the Underbridge from the roadway, and crossed the street.

  After a short pause to shove the last of his dinner into his mouth and reestablish his human form, Thomas followed. It wouldn't do for the girl to discover a trow—splayed ears, nose like a potato, hyena hair—trailing behind her. Outside the goblin market, the general glamour that masked everything like smoke or fog wore away.

  She crossed the narrow strip of park lawn that bordered the river for a mile and headed north. A hundred feet farther on, she paused, drawing close to a maple tree as if to hide. Thomas's eyebrows rose. Suspicious behavior from her, indeed. Along the path ahead of her, the boy she followed stopped to sit on a lump of concrete and stone, head hanging, hands limp at his sides. After a moment Thomas recognized him as the junkie kid who had been whirling around the drummer in Underbridge. He stepped into the shadow of a nearby statue and waited. He wished for a second snack.

  He was content to watch the girl watching the boy until another figure approached from further north. The band around his arm grew warm, and Thomas realized the entrant into the little tableau was the Queen.

  Fae glamour was a remarkable thing. Even after two centuries of servitude, and regularly using glamours himself, Thomas was still startled and blinded when he saw the Queen making an effort to charm a human. The ruler of the Unseelie Court was making her way along the walk, hurrying, as if to a rendezvous. She looked young and fresh, in a dreamy, drugging euphoric haze that Thomas remembered like a kick to his gut. Her beauty, when she chose, could make any fae burn with desire, so the effect on humans was devastating. Along with her unhesitating brutality and her total commitment to the Unseelie Court, it was what made—and kept—her the Queen.

  Rendezvous it was, because the boy lifted his head, still sluggish, when the Queen drifted up to him, her hair streaming behind her as if lifted by the wind, though the night was still and rainy. The two came together in a ferocious embrace, consuming in its fervor and fury.

  The woman in the sweater slumped against the maple and turned her head away from the couple twining on the pathway between streetlights.

  Jealous? Thomas looked back to the couple. The Queen was pulling the stumbling human boy along the walkway toward some lair or door she must have near the riverbank. They'd been lovers a while, from the degree the boy seemed drained. Thomas's cheeks burned with the long-ago memory of himself as the Queen's lovesick toy. The band around his arm cooled noticeably the farther away she moved.

  The woman in the sweater straightened and resettled her bag across her body. She ducked her head and walked determinedly away from the path, back toward Underbridge. This time she didn't seem as aware of her surroundings, and it was too easy for Thomas to put himself in her path and let her walk right into him.

  "Oh—I'm sorry, I should watch where I'm going," she said, flustered, pushing hair from her face with a nervous gesture.

  Thomas grinned. "No harm done. I was a bit distracted myself. That public display of affection caught my eye, I'm embarrassed to say."

  Her laugh was breathless and charming, and the crushed-peony lips were amazing when they smiled. "He's a friend of mine. I was trying to catch up with him, but wow, I guess I won't bother now. He'd hardly be interested in anything I had to say after that."

  "Not be interested in what you have to say? His loss." Thomas concentrated on his glamour, pouring charm like sunlit honey.

  She laughed a little again. "Thank you. I...didn't realize he was meeting someone here."

  "You should get out of the rain."

  "So should you." She never loosened the death-grip on her handbag. Now that he was close enough to see them, her eyes were indeed brown, very dark and direct. Her brows were slim and tapered, rising in a swallow's wing arc above her eyes.

  "I'm used to it. Been here all my life." With one seeming accord, they were walking toward Underbridge.

  "Me too. Born and raised."

  "I'm Thomas, by the way." He smiled and gave a tiny half-wave.

  "Tess." She looked around alertly, regaining her caution. The dimple that formed next to her lips was as charming as any glamour he could put on, and he reminded himself to stay immune. Fae and human interactions never ended well. The old folk stories were true. "Do you come here often, Thomas?"

  "Now, that was...what's the word I want...smooth?"

  "That's supposed to be the guy's line, isn't it?" She pushed back her hair again, and he realized it was her tell, the mark of her nervousness.

  "You know, I'm not one for pubs and pick-up lines, but yeah, I come here often. I live near here. Coffee...that's my poison."

  "Mine, too. In fact, let me buy you a cup. I want to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind."

  He slid a glance at her. "You're not a cop, are you?"

  "And if I were? You got something to hide?"

  Of course I have something to hide. "Not at the moment." The fae didn't lie, but neither did they tell human truths.

  "I'm not a cop. Just a concerned friend. I'm scared he's on some bad stuff."

  "So you were following him? Trying to catch his dealer?"

  "I just want to help him."

  And I just want to catch a thief. Addicts are the worst. But if that boy was the thief, the Queen would have known. "I get that. Tell you what, there's a coffee shop I like, up on the Park Blocks, but it's a walk. You okay with that?"

  Tess halted under a streetlight and turned to face him. She was utterly up-front, intentions cle
ar, as she looked him over thoroughly.

  He knew what the girl saw when she looked at him. Hadn't he spent days, weeks, in front of the mirror in his trow-hold, perfecting the mask he wore to conceal the trow-face from the human world? To his own eyes, he looked as he had always done. Good cheekbones, an easy-smiling mouth. Close-cropped dark hair. Soot-framed eyes that were neither blue nor brown nor gray, but some uncertain color in between. Smallish ears that lay close to his head. A muscular body with a strong frame, cloaked in the belted black oilskin.

  Maybe he looked safe enough. He hoped so, because he found himself wanting to go on talking to her. She wasn't pretty in the expected ways, or even attractive in the eyes of the fae. They would find nothing about her beautiful except her large, lucid eyes, which would have appealed to any number of the Unseelie, and not always in a good way. But life as a part-trow, the Queen's bound knight, lacked ordinary human pleasures such as coffee with a woman. Or human friends.

  At last, done considering his potential threat, and apparently deciding it was low enough, she nodded. "Lead the way."

  But they couldn't take the shortest route, which would be through Underbridge. Too many of the fae knew human Thomas, and he didn't want to attract their attention to the woman at his side until he knew more about her.

  "We should stay away from the bridge," he suggested. "This time of night it gets questionable."

  "It's mostly the homeless. They just want a dry place to sleep."

  "Seems like your faith in people is stronger than mine. I'd rather take the long way around." He looked to the south, considering where the edges of Chinatown and Underbridge were. The fu dogs would attack anything fae that came into the territory they guarded and were to be avoided at all costs. On their own turf, they held the power. Only a few scant blocks separated Underbridge from Chinatown. Chinatown's borders were marked by lucky red lampposts. He simply had to guide her beyond them, and if that meant he had to use glamour to do it, he would.

  Let her be biddable, he thought, and started to walk.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE MAN—THOMAS, TESS CORRECTED herself—led them south along the river. He moved confidently in the darkening evening, head always turning, as alert as she to their surroundings. While they walked, he talked, in a quiet voice that commanded attention even as it soothed. She knew the words were intended to win her trust, and while she remained skeptical and outwardly suspicious, his tactic was working, and she had to smile at herself.

  Tess matched his pace along the streets, noting that most of the businesses were closed, leaving only the bars and restaurants open. The streets were steadily emptying of people, and she had a moment's pause in which she considered the wisdom of being out in the dark with a total stranger, desperation over Stephen and Aaron or not. Her fingers traced the lump in the side pocket of her bag, where the pepper spray rested. Thomas didn't make her anxious in that way, but she would be stupid not to be wary.

  "So—what do you do for a living?" he asked.

  Of course, the proper next conversational gambit in any social minuet. "I'm a counselor at a drug rehabilitation center here in the city."

  "Ah." He nodded, his hands in the pockets of his coat. Clearly he would keep them to himself, his body language said. "So...is that young man really a friend?"

  Tess sighed, cover already blown. "He's my client."

  "Do counselors always follow their clients through the questionable parts of town?"

  She laughed self-consciously. "It's not part of the job description, no. But we're stumped with this case. It's in no way typical." She slid a glance at him as they paused before crossing the street. "We've seen a few other cases like his in the last year or so, and we just can't make sense of them. It's like...it's like there's a new drug out there, one we've never seen, one that doesn't show up in blood tests."

  "Huh," said Thomas. They crossed with the light.

  "From time to time I've come to Old Town to walk around and see what I could see. Maybe find other people with the same symptoms our clients show. Ask questions. Keep an eye out for drug deals. At least one of our clients came down here a lot." Well, until tonight it had only been Stephen and he'd never been her client, just her beloved lost-boy brother. Now he and Aaron had something in common. It was a start.

  Thomas nodded slowly, looking thoughtful.

  Encouraged, Tess rushed on. "So when you said you live near here, I wondered..."

  "If I knew the dealers or the latest hot drugs." His tone was wry, and Tess felt ashamed. A hot flush rushed over her face.

  "I didn't mean it like that."

  "I didn't take it like that." He gave her a small smile.

  "I'm not usually so tactless. Or so rash as to be out asking these kinds of questions after dark."

  "You're concerned for your client. That makes you direct."

  "That's it, exactly. I'm worried for him, and for the others like him, the ones we haven't been able to help, the ones who came to us too late."

  "Us?"

  "The rehab center." Tess started to turn south, a more direct route to the Park Blocks, where he'd said the coffee shop was, but Thomas halted her, and he shook his head.

  "Let's go west another block first. That street has too many alleys opening off it."

  "Uh, okay," she said, doubtfully. It was Chinatown, and she didn't ordinarily think of it as a troublesome area, but perhaps he knew better. When she came down here at night, she usually drove her Jeep and parked at her destination.

  Conversation faltered for a minute or two, and then there were the Park Blocks, and the grass and trees and statues that divided the traffic pattern.

  Thomas pointed to a coffee shop she'd never tried: the Park Perks. Warm yellow light pooled on the sidewalk outside its well-lit windows. A few people sat at the cafe tables on the sidewalk, but they were hardcore Portlanders who didn't mind damp hair and wet butts. Tess was glad to get inside, where she was immediately warmer, and the rich smell of fresh espresso and hot milk and the last few pastries in the case soothed her nerves. They'd made it here, by a somewhat circuitous and tense route, but she was safe now, whatever happened next.

  They stood regarding the menu. Thomas was breathing in deeply, as if he could eat the fragrance, and she found herself grinning. "My treat, remember," she said. "What would you like?"

  "Does the offer extend to a snack, as well? Because that last apple tartlet, there..."

  "It spoke to me, too. Shall we split it?"

  "Sure. And I'll take the biggest caramel latte they make. Just one shot of espresso, though." He gave a self-mocking laugh. "If I have more than one shot, I'll be up all night."

  Tess nodded, and stepped toward the barista staffing the cash register. "Mondo caramel latte with one shot, a grande hazelnut mocha, and that apple tartlet there." She pointed. "Cut it in half, please, two plates."

  Thomas chose a table away from the windows and pulled out Tess's chair for her. She thought cynically it was a way of getting his choice of seats—she would rather have been where she could see the door more clearly, but it wasn't worth arguing about, and at least he hadn't chosen one of the gloomy booths that would have made it seem like they were on a more intimate outing.

  The barista soon brought their coffees and pastry. Tess linked her hands around her tall paper cup, warming them. Thomas grasped his fork with his napkin and set it to one side.

  "Here, I'll get you another fork, if that one's not clean—" Tess said, rising. Thomas reached out and touched her wrist.

  As touches went, it was completely harmless, and devoid of nuance, obligation, or ownership.

  And yet.

  And yet.

  It stopped her in her tracks, causing her to focus on the point where the tips of Thomas's two longest fingers lay gently on her wrist bones, to feel nothing but a pleasant sensation of blurry warmth, and a correspondingly pleasant blurriness in her vision, as everything surrounding Thomas's face seemed to fog over. She gazed at him where he sat in
his chair, her attention caught by his eyes. They were a muddled shade of blue-gray-brown, with a beautiful dark ring edging the irises. Thick, short lashes as dark as his hair lifted, opening his eyes to let her see inside him.

  At least, that's what it felt like, for the few seconds he touched her.

  "The fork is fine," he assured her, his hands folding around his cup. "Thank you." He took a long swallow of his latte, and then another, as though he was very thirsty. Tess stared for a moment, thinking her own drink was far too hot to gulp that way, then sat. He licked his lips, looking so satisfied Tess almost asked, "Was it good for you?"

  But that would be taking things in entirely the wrong direction. Flustered, she picked up her own fork and used the edge to cut a bite of apple pastry.

  "You wanted to ask me about the drug scene in Underbridge," Thomas said.

  "So I did." She chewed rapidly and swallowed, taking the smallest sip of her mocha to wash down the bite. Underbridge. What a peculiar phrasing he used, but it was fitting given the people she had met there this evening. Underbridge, underbelly, misunderstood. "Let me back up a little. The clients we're talking about don't show any medical signs of addiction. Nothing in the blood tests, for example. No heroin, no cocaine. No meth. Usually not even marijuana. The clients swear they're not taking anything. But the behavioral indicators are all there, and more."

  Thomas picked up his pastry and bit into it as if it were a slice of pizza. He had strong white teeth that seemed a little large for his mouth, as if he were made for happy grinning. Her gaze drifted back to his eyes. That sensation of falling into him had passed. Tess thought perhaps she was merely overtired and overwhelmed from the fruitless search for the source of Aaron's problems. Thomas's eyes, however, were still some of the most beautiful she had ever seen, eyes like mosaics assembled from a murky blue palette. She caught herself staring into them and lowered her gaze so she wouldn't seem foolish or too forward.

  "I guess I'm looking for something else, some drug besides the ones we know how to look for. The police tell us there's nothing new on the streets. If it were deadly, they'd know more, they say there'd be a lot more fatalities in the population."