High Voltage (Fever #10)(18)

Not good. Which of the many half-formed desires that had sprung to my mind when I read his calling card had he chosen, and in just what convoluted manner would it be granted? History was full of genie-gone-wild tales and rabbit-paw stories. You never got what you asked for. You got a version of a wish as razor-edged as his calling card, something that would either harm me or benefit him, or both.

I still wasn’t giving him my sword. He was going to have to take it. If he could.

“Oh, I can,” he leered, leaning nearer until our faces were inches apart.

I went motionless, searching his eyes. Flinty eyes narrowed with cunning antiquity, something old and deadly lurked beneath his sprightly demeanor. I’d underestimated him. He employed prancing gaiety for the same reason I allowed people to think I was younger than I am. “Who are you?”



“A name for a name,” he cooed.

A small price to know my enemy. “Dani O’Malley.”

His eyes twinkled with mirth. “You may call me AOZ; that’s A-O-Z, and all capitals, by the way.”

“Gotcha, the A is silent,” I mocked. He’d pronounced it Ahhhs. “What are you?”

He laid a long finger to the side of his thin nose as if pondering what answer to offer. Finally he said, “Those who belong here.” His face shifted and changed, the bones sharpening, skin drawing taut and far too pale, eyes narrowing, all playfulness gone. I caught a sudden reek of soil, blood, and bones on his breath when he hissed, “Unlike the treacherous Faerie who think to take what is ours, not once but twice. Give me the sword, child, and do it now.”

The command affected my head, my limbs—similar to something Ryodan had once done, although he’d merely forced me to eat a candy bar when I was hungry, not give away my most prized possession—and I was horrified to feel my hand rising, preparing to hand him the hilt of my sword. Apparently, the spell agreed with him; we’d made a deal and I had to honor it. I was ensnared by his power.

“Stop!” an imperious voice thundered, and my hand froze, fingers locked on the hilt.

AOZ spun to face the intruder, hissing, “Get thee gone, Faerie!”

I blinked, startled. Inspector Jayne had just sifted in, joining us in my bedroom, and stood a dozen paces away, on the opposite side of my bed. He wrinkled his aquiline nose and said, “By the bloody saints, what is that smell, Dani?”

I shrugged, taking pains to avoid direct eye contact. Meeting the gaze of a Fae prince is never a wise thing to do. First your eyes bleed. If you hold their terrifying inhuman gaze too long, it’s said your mind will hemorrhage as well. I’ve never tested that theory. My brain is my finest weapon. “Don’t ask.” I hadn’t seen the inspector in years. Not since he’d undergone the transformation from human to Fae. I nearly hadn’t recognized him. The head of the old Garda, Dublin’s police force, had once been a rugged, barrel-chested Liam Neeson look-alike.



No more. He’d become a towering, otherworldly being with a stupefying gaze of opal-kissed skies threatening thunderstorms, hair the color of sunshine glinting off fast-running streams, and the lithe, beautifully muscled body of the Light Court. He smelled of fresh dew on morning petals, the crush of spring grass beneath my boots, the fertile, earthy promise of forest awakening from a long winter and raw, to-die-for sensual pleasure. All trace of rugged humanity was gone.

Mac hadn’t changed that way. Sure, her hair had lightened and lengthened, but she’d remained human, like us. I scanned him intently, found nothing to define him as having been born of our race. Inspector Jayne was Fae with finality.

I eased my sword down a notch, keeping it at the ready. Trusting no one in the room but myself.

As the inspector, Jayne had once taken it, leaving me in a trash-filled street, badly wounded, on the verge of bleeding out. Was I supposed to believe he’d now sifted in to prevent me from losing it? I narrowed my eyes and assessed AOZ. I’d drawn conclusions while we’d talked. Not Fae, not human, but magical, and smelling of earth, blood, and bones.

There was an old Earth god in my bedroom and he’d cast a spell on me.

And now there was a Fae prince in my bedroom, too, carefully muted at the moment, for which I was grateful. But who could say how long that would last?



AOZ despised Jayne and, apparently, the entire Fae race.

I said to AOZ’s back, “You want my sword so you can use it to kill Fae.”

He whirled on me, eyes narrowing to slits of green fire. “Better us than them. Give it to me now, you fool!”

In spite of myself, my hand arced upward.

“Dani, don’t,” Jayne murmured.

My hand dropped again.

I’d have nearly liked Jayne at that instant, if he hadn’t added in a voice of coercion, “You will give it to me instead.”

My hand went back up and my feet began a traitor’s walk toward him.

A puppet. I was their bloody puppet. It incensed me. Enough to want to stab them both with the weapon they coveted.

AOZ said coldly, gaze fixed hungrily on my sword, “My spell was first. Hand it to me now, child, or I will raze your motherfucking world.”

Torn between commands, my hand went still and I pondered its motionless state. Spell to my left, voice of power to my right. If they kept tugging at me, what might happen, not to me, but them? Especially if I added my left hand into the mix.