An Embrace of Citrus & Snow (Fallen for a Fae #1)

11. Everil

Chapter eleven

Everil

Despite Everil’s misgivings, Talia’s diner proved more than adequate. The place Bo brought them was busy and cheerful, and it smelled of syrup and bacon. While the servers didn’t wear pink, both the woman who seated them and the one who brought Talia a plate of pancakes significantly larger than her head used “honey” like a punctuation mark. That, apparently, was enough to please the Gate.

Bo and Talia made conversation over their heaped-high plates of pancakes while Everil sipped his black coffee and tried not to be envious. Better to keep his attention on the scene outside the window than interrupt their chatter with his fumbling.

They liked each other. Talia had a guardian she liked. Bo had … well, Bo was saddled with a soulbond who couldn’t manage “basic hotel courtesy” and burned with yearning at the man’s innocent, unconscious seeking for warmth.

“Everil! Everil, look.” Talia leaned on the table, speaking in a stage whisper. “There’s a grizzled old man at the counter. Do you see him?”

All four of the men sitting at the counter fit the definition of ‘grizzled,’ but Everil nodded all the same. “And?”

“He’s even wearing a baseball hat. Can I talk to him? No magic, I promise.” She turned to Bo, all sad brown eyes under her hoodie. “Please?”

“Does the baseball hat mean something important?” Bo asked. He glanced in Everil’s direction, then back at Talia with a shrug. “Any other kid, I’d say fuck no. Somehow, I don’t think you’re in much danger around him. If he asks you who you’re with, tell him we’re your older brothers, okay?”

“You can’t both be my older brothers,” Talia said, looking from Everil to solid, tired-eyed Bo. “I’m your foster daughter, and we’re on the road, solving the murder of my real parents. Bo, you left the force under mysterious circumstances. Everil, you’re secretly a vampire.”

“A vampire,” Everil echoed, incredulous.

“That way, if the guy’s mean to me, you can eat him.” Talia gave Bo a quick, sideways hug, then jumped to her feet. “Don’t eat my pancakes. When I come back, I’m going to have a hat.”

“If you don’t make it back before I finish my pancakes, I’m taking yours.” Bo’s tone was light and teasing, and Talia giggled as she turned away, heading toward the counter.

“She really doesn’t need me to eat him,” Everil murmured, distracted by watching Talia as she perched on a stool next to an appropriately grizzled man. “She’s more than capable of protecting herself.”

“She promised no magic. You didn’t.” Bo’s words came with a brief laugh. “I don’t know if I’d peg you for a vampire, though. Apparently, they can’t cross running water.”

“To be fair, I didn’t cross the river. Only splashed around a bit.” Everil attempted to meet Bo’s laughter with a smile. It was refreshingly free, the way Bo laughed. Like he didn’t have to think about it. “Or so I’ve been told.”

“You’re a kelpie,” Bo whispered in Everil’s memory. Like it was a wonder, not a complaint. And his lips had brushed Everil’s temple.

“It was a small river until you stepped into it. You probably could’ve crossed it.”

“Perhaps. Though, if we are being pedantic, sluagh are much closer to vampire mythos than kelpies.” What an incredibly boring thing to say. Everil lowered his gaze to his coffee, though he made no attempt to drink it. “You’ve been exceedingly patient with us.”

“I’m pretty sure I’ve–. Right, fuck, okay. Before I go saying a bunch of things about myself you might not realize are negative traits yet, how do you mean?”

It was a strange question. But Bo was full of strange questions. Given that he was a human dragged into fae matters without warning or explanation, that was more than fair. Admittedly, Everil had expected his questions to be closer to “how do I do magic,” or, given that it was Bo, “how the fuck do I do magic.”

But no. Bo wanted to know what Everil meant by patience.

“Talia has been shamefully isolated, without proper education in fae or human mores. As far as she’s concerned, we’re taking a stroll through one of her favorite books.” Everil would have words for his mother on all of that, but the woman was dead. There was no one left to blame but Everil himself. “And I manage to put my foot wrong nearly every time we speak. I suspect I am doing so even now. I am terribly inept at social niceties. And still, you’ve been very kind to both of us.”

“Talia is great, and her and Robin will probably light things on fire. Figuratively speaking.” Bo laughed, a quiet, mirthless sound. “Yeah, so, we’re on the same page with the saying the wrong things mindset. Me saying the wrong things to you, I mean. Or shit that makes you feel bad. You’re not saying the wrong thing now if that helps any? I like you both.”

Everil couldn’t even begin to imagine why. “Talia is quite charming in her way.”

That, at least, they could agree on.

“Would it make you feel better about your mastery of social niceties to know I told Declan to go eat a bag of spiked dicks?”

Sometimes, Everil wanted to shake the man. Other times, he only wanted to laugh. In the moment, with both instincts roused, he settled for taking a sip of his coffee.

“More, sugar?” asked their waitress. She had an almost fae knack for swinging by at the most inconvenient times.

“No, thank you,” he answered, watching her go and sparing a glance for Talia, chattering happily at her captive audience. Good. He and Bo could finish this conversation uninterrupted. “I fear you could invite Declan to eat an endless number of dicks without it counterbalancing my centuries of ineptitude. Did he laugh? He has a contrary sense of humor.”

Bo was grinning at him. Everil wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to it, the unselfish wealth of his smile.

“He did, yeah. Called me ‘a fun one.’ He’s an asshole. I like him.” Bo’s smile lingered as he took a sip from his coffee, somehow evading an immediate ‘warm up’ from the waitress. “I’ve got a soft spot for people who won’t hesitate to fuck things up for someone they love. He gave me a very calm shovel talk.”

“Shovel talk?”

“You know. ‘I won’t hurt you, Everil’s human.’ ” Bo’s voice dropped into an attempted imitation of Declan, down to the rasp and lilt. “ ‘But I will be super fucking disappointed if you turn out like Fuckface. Did I mention that my fae form is very scary, and my mesmerizing voice is far less nice to listen to when disappointed? No? Well, they are. Don’t be like Fuckface.’ ”

It was, without question, the worst imitation of Declan he’d ever heard. Everil laughed, however inappropriately. He would need to speak with Declan about not taking Everil’s inadequacies out on Bo. If matters soured between himself and the human, it wouldn’t be Bo’s fault.

“You should have told him that you rather enjoy being faced with fae in their aspect. Perhaps it would have surprised him into better behavior.” Everil’s voice softened with fondness for Declan. Yes. Declan. Not the memory of Bo’s whispered words while he stood, bare, in his arms.

“We hadn’t wandered to the river yet,” Bo answered with a shrug. “And I wouldn’t put it past the fucker to make fun of me for crying. Speaking of, is it cool to talk about all that now? The obligation bit of it. Talia’s still trying to wheedle an old man into giving up his hat, and you’ll have all day to chew over ways to tell me I’m wrong about it being enough to cover the debt. I’m not– I won’t get mad if you don’t want to right this instant.”

Everil spared another glance for Talia, who appeared to be holding court with both her grizzled old man and one of the waitresses. She’d obtained a milkshake, though not the man’s hat.

“If it’s important to you, we should discuss,” he offered. And then, more hesitantly, he added, “I didn’t ask you to join me in the hopes of discharging my debt. It seemed … appropriate … if we were to be traveling together.”

And, selfishly, he hadn’t wanted to go far without Bo at his side.

“Yeah, I know. The not asking me to discharge the debt part, anyway.” Bo smiled that crooked smile of his, and Everil wished he knew how to smile back. “That’s part of why it hit so hard actually. You couldn’t have– Talia knows about my ReelSelf channel, but I don’t think she’s looked at the videos. Not all of them. She wouldn’t have commented on my full name if she had. At least, I really fucking hope not.”

Was Everil meant to understand any of this? He felt like he was back in the hotel room again, with all the possible words being the wrong ones. But, through the bond, he could only sense old pain and fresh determination. Honey and vanilla. No anger, no blame directed his way.

“I’m not sure I’m following.”

“That’s alright, I’ll explain. It’s a long story, though. So, interrupt if you want to? Wherever you want to. I’ll try to make it short.”

And then nothing. The both of them silent. Everil waiting. Bo sipping his coffee and studying his pancakes. Nearby, Talia’s laughter. The scrape of a fork on a plate. Music.

“Kids here believe a lot of shit, right?” Bo said at last. “Santa, Tooth Fairy, Easter Bunny. God or gods. Shit their parents tell them to make them behave or fit whatever they think makes a good person. Except the kids don’t see them. Tooth Fairy might leave glitter. The rabbit hides eggs. Higher powers may or may not do something, but they’re never seen. My parents did that, except with things like yeti, Loch Ness, fae, spirits, ghosts. I would see something or hear something, and they’d record my reaction and all that kind of fucked up stuff. That shit was novel online at the time.

“You, uh. You were right when you said I know the old stories.” Bo smiled, neither crooked nor joyous. “I had to learn them because I was special. I could see things no one else could. And when my brother, Robin, was born, he had to be sent to our great-aunt’s place for his safety. What if my supernatural friends got jealous and spirited him away? Left a changeling or nothing at all? Imagine how worried and upset the however many thousand fans would be.”

It was clear that what Bo spoke of had impacted him deeply, though his feelings were muted. But Everil was utterly at sea.

Oh, he understood the broad strokes. Giving weight to the fancies of children was hardly new. Even involving the fae was an old trick. Lawrence had been convinced of the Cottingley Fairies, and Everil had held his tongue. But that had been children playing, enjoying fooling adults.

The world was so different, now.

“Your parents impersonated fae?” he asked, carefully. “And they sent your brother away to continue this impersonation? All to share with others on Talia’s internet?”

Bo lifted his gaze at the question, his expression almost dazed, like he’d forgotten where he was.

“Roughly, yeah. To share on the internet, where people all over the world can look at all sorts of shit. It was like…” Bo fell quiet for a moment, gaze still distant. “Let’s say you had the power to make me feel things and used it to fake a bond without telling me it was a lie. It feels legitimate to me. How the fuck do I know what it’s really like? It’s never happened before in this pretend world. You show how I reacted to thousands, millions, of people who never thought humans could have that, and I say it’s true. As far as I know, it is. Those people give you money and fame to tell them how and why it’s possible just for us, while you tell me it’s because I’m somehow gifted. And I believe you. Why wouldn’t I?

“Hypothetical us, we make it our life, you repeating everything again and again, the feeling and the lies. Until over a decade in, I accidentally stumble on something that tells me you made all of it up. My whole world, everything I thought of as reality, including the idea you loved me.” Bo snapped his fingers, a sharp, sudden sound. “Gone. Lies. Nothing was ever real. And all those people who believed blame me . For being young and stupid and gullible, or because they think I was lying too. And I’m the one they all have pictures and videos of that will never, ever be erased.”

“I see,” said Everil, very softly, as the pieces fit into place. Bo’s words, yes, but also the emotions behind them. The betrayal and the shame and the hurt. Old pain, reawakened by Everil and a truth so like and unlike the lies he’d been told. He set his cup down carefully. It would not do to break it. “You were ill done by for sport and profit. I am not unfamiliar with having what should be private pain becoming a public ridicule.”

“Fuck those guys, right? Getting off on someone else being fucked over.” Bo shrugged, the gesture jerky.

“Indeed.” Everil rested his hands, flat, on the table. Safer that way. Not reaching for Bo. Not breaking anything. “And then you stumble onto me. The looking glass warps again. I’m surprised you were willing to listen. I’d have not taken it so well.”

Bo’s laugh was brief and self-deprecating. Everil could feel the sour twist of shame behind it.

“I really wanted it to be true. My job is going to places people say are haunted or where they saw a mythical creature or cryptid. I look around, try to find it, and figure out what could have happened to make people think it was real. Urban legend debunking kind of shit. I always go hoping to find something, though.” Bo’s gaze roved from Everil’s face to his hands and back again. “And anyway, you showed me. With the drink, remember? If you’d said it flat out, I would’ve assumed you were punking me as a fan or something. Made it easier to listen after the hot chocolate appeared. Kept me from a panic attack, at any rate.”

“In my experience, ‘my name is Everil, and I’m a flesh-eating horse,’ rarely makes the best of first impressions. A warm drink is generally more welcome.” Everil allowed the words to hang between them, hoping to draw another crooked smile from Bo.

And, somehow, he did.

“Have that conversation a lot, do you?” Bo asked, still with that smile.

“Thankfully not.” Everil fell silent, groping for words. Some form of reassurance. He didn’t like it, the sourness of shame as Bo admitted to hope . “There are those among the fae who believe our current reserve is unwise. They feel it disrupts a balance between immediacy and permanence. The certain and the sublime.” How to explain in a way Bo might hear? “They would say that humans are built to seek wonder, just as fae are meant to look for the weight of certainty.”

They were not, perhaps, the correct words. Bo’s expression hardened.

“Considering I spent at least ten minutes laughing and crying while telling you that, ‘holy fuck, Everil, you’re real,’ and feeling something like whole for the first time in about twenty years, I think we know what side of the argument I fall on.” There was challenge in Bo’s tone. “What about you?”

A test. This was a test. Bo would be pleased if Everil’s answer was simple and direct. Bo had taken Everil’s side. It was only fair that Everil took Bo’s as well.

“I fear I might not have an answer for you,” he said, meeting Bo’s gaze despite his desire to stare at his hands. “It’s a question I’ve been considering for the past century. A century I spent on this side of the veil, so I cannot claim to be opposed. But I’ve seen what happens when fae are allowed their way with humans. I’m not certain we deserve balance if it comes at so high a cost.”

“That’s fucking valid. I haven’t seen what you have. Maybe there need to be more flesh-eating horses and punk sluagh swanning around finding humans amusing to figure it out.”

“Maybe,” Everil conceded. “I confess I wouldn’t wish to deny Talia her waitresses or grizzled old men. Nor myself that moment beside the river.”

He smiled, just barely, embarrassed by the truth of it. By how deeply he had felt Bo’s kindness in that moment. Bo met Everil’s smile with his own.

“So, you know, I meant everything I said by the river. I know you could probably tell, since,” Bo gestured between them, “but it’s getting said anyway now that I’m not currently overrun with feelings.”

“You’ve yet to give me reason to doubt your sincerity. Though I fear my recall is somewhat limited.”

Everil didn’t question Bo’s feelings. He questioned their genesis. It’d become very clear, there by the river, how dangerously an emotion could grow amplified between them. Which was to say, he’d come very close to pinning the man to the ground and tearing him free of his clothes.

He’d told Bo that the river didn’t ride him, and it was true. That implied a separation that didn’t exist. Everil was the sharp, unexpected tug of a swift current just as much as was the man sitting at the table, trying not to remember the way Bo’s voice sounded when scorched by lust .

“Well, anything you do, I meant it. Mean it.” Bo fell silent a moment, then added, “Except the ‘no, I’m not cold’ bit. I was fucking freezing until you decided to come over and figure out what my jacket was made of. I stand by the rest of it.”

It would be better to pretend not to remember than admit to being in control of his faculties while clinging to Bo, naked and hard with uninvited lust.

“I remember all that was said while I stood on two feet. For my part, I spoke more freely than I should have.” Much more freely. “But I spoke truly. I wouldn’t dishonor my name by lying.”

“The majority of what was said while you were on four were variants of ‘holy fuck, Everil, you’re real.’ You didn’t miss much.” Bo grinned at him, for all the world like he wasn’t offended, though he must be. “I don’t know about ‘should.’ You giving me shit right back on my survival instinct was kind of great, and you’d already told me I tasted like candy. I hope I didn’t give you a reason to think you should apologize for–fuck–I don’t know. Existing? It was awesome, and a kelpie’s going to do what kelpies do. I just happen to be amusing. And alluring, to those not in hooved form.”

An apology for existing. And why shouldn’t he apologize? It’d taken centuries for Everil to learn to hold his own reins, locking his feelings down instead of letting them show. And here was Bo, so ready to excuse what Everil knew to contain.

Everil mustn’t give in to such temptations. Sometimes, even still, the reins nearly slipped through his fingers. Rivers inevitably overflowed their banks when storms or snowmelt overwhelmed them.

It felt like that, talking to Bo. Like trying to contain himself in a channel grown too narrow. Everil couldn’t remember the last time it’d been so difficult to simply behave . Even when he’d failed in every other way, when he couldn’t charm or comfort or predict, he’d grasped the rules. Followed Protocol and used the structure like a shield.

“Be that as it may. What you call ‘awesome,’ my people would call ill-mannered and reckless. We are, all of us, tied to deeper forces. Protocol keeps those forces in check.” Everil shook his head, dismissing his own words. He was rambling on a topic that Bo had no reason to care about. “But you were speaking of obligations discharged. I didn’t intend to overtake the conversation.”

“No, you’re good,” Bo reassured. He was forever attempting to reassure, and Everil didn’t know why. “With the– You said that you took something not yours to take. That you were unwell. Still are. I felt the drain you talked about, but it was just being really tired for a bit. Get worse jet lag, like I said. It wasn’t a big deal to me. ”

“I see.”

“I’ve been fucked up about what my parents did for half my life, you know? Can’t trust things I can’t touch. If it can be explained away, it’s not real. And you didn’t have to invite me. I wouldn’t have tried to muscle in on your errand. Magic is magic; you’re human-shaped, most of the time. Two legs. It’s not…”

“Readily evident?” Everil suggested when Bo trailed into silence.

“Sure.” Bo lowered his gaze to his plate. “Look. I’m still not ‘well,’ but it meant a lot, seeing you and having that click in place. I meant it when I said I felt whole for the first time in a long time. It might’ve been just another day in the river for you, which is more than okay, but it wasn’t for me. Just because I didn’t lick your aura doesn’t mean it wasn’t important.”

Everil was saved from the necessity of formulating an immediate answer by Talia’s laughter, the sound drawing his attention back to the counter. The Gate had yet to acquire a hat, but she appeared to be trading clothes with the waitress, hoodie exchanged for apron. Everil watched for a moment longer than necessary, answering Talia’s wave with a slight, and hopefully vampiric, nod.

Finally, he turned back to Bo. Yet again, it seemed as if what should be said and what Bo wished to hear sat opposed to each other.

He could not simply diminish the man’s earnestness.

“I am not in the habit of bringing guests to the river,” he offered, instead of addressing the true issue. “It was important to me as well.”

“But?”

“Among the fae, obligation is a currency,” Everil said haltingly, desperate not to offend. “We don’t use your gold or paper money. We trade in magic and favors. Declan came to my aid as a friend, but that bill will come due in time. Since you arrived, you’ve given much and asked nothing. I suspect that, had I told you what I intended but not invited you, you’d have let it lie. You’d have not asked, even knowing what it might have meant to you.” He sighed. Despite his best efforts, he was getting this all wrong. “Is it so strange that I might wish to be of use to you, instead of only using you?”

“It sounds less gross and coercive when you put it like that,” Bo muttered, glancing up from under the dark fall of his hair. Unfairly appealing, even irritated. “That why you can still hurt me? Gives you an out in case the person you owe wants something you can’t or won’t give? I’m not trying to be an idiot about this,” he added, still watching Everil through distractingly long lashes. “I hear ‘use,’ and I think, fuck, how’d you put it? ‘Ill done for sport and profit.’ I’m just trying to make it fit.”

“Even the most soft-hearted of fae would consider your parents’ treatment of you to merit death.” Everil’s voice went river cold with the words. “That is exactly what I’m speaking of. They took without giving. There was no exchange. No fairness. By our measure, they owe you deeply, a debt that would require blood or a lifetime of service to repay.”

Bo lifted his head at that, mouth set in a hard line, gaze searching.

“Humans don’t have a lifetime long enough for that.” Bo sighed, sharp and sudden. “Fuck. Fine. Fine . I get it enough to know I don’t fucking get it. I’ll stop trying to shove human ideas of obligations down your throat. Fucking bloodthirsty fae, wooing me into an agreeable mood with talk using them as examples of merited familial death. Fuck.”

Bo’s entertaining response was enough to mitigate the chill of protective anger. Perhaps, when they were better acquainted, they could discuss such matters in earnest.

“In fairness, then, I won’t press our ideas of reciprocity on you. It’s atypical to claim an obligation filled by an action that wasn’t undertaken with that purpose. But if you wish it, we will call my debt to you paid.”

It was worth it for Bo’s smile, first puzzled, then open in its delight. As if Everil had given him a gift, instead of denying him a boon.

“I mean, ‘atypical’ sounds pretty on-brand for us. Reckless, ill-mannered, foul-mouthed, and atypical. You bonded a vulgar human, Everil.” Bo shrugged, hands palm up, still smiling.

“Many fae would call the terms synonymous,” Everil answered, daring to the point of rudeness, coaxed to it by that smile.

“I’ll bet,” Bo said. “I wish it, though, yeah. Got enough people to worry about power issues with. And I’m kind of subjecting you to sitting in an iron tube for hours.”

“I’m the one who insisted we needed to depart. The car is bearable.”

It was. Barely.

Talia chose that moment to make her way back to the table, re-hoodied and bouncing with enthusiasm.

“He called me ‘sport,’ ” she announced. “I was hoping for ‘champ,’ but ‘sport’ is practically the same thing.”

“No hat?” Everil asked, still lured into inappropriate levity .

Nimai would be hunting them by now. He might not be a barghest, but that didn’t make him incapable of hiring one.

“Nope. Something even better. But we’ve got to go now.” Talia’s eyes were bright with delight. “There’s an alien spaceship on the way. And they sell dolls and hats, and you can take pictures with the aliens.”

“It’s a tourist trap,” Bo said, his gaze on his phone.

“Ah,” Everil murmured, not wishing to sound ignorant in this as well.

“One of you remind me tomorrow to take you to Oliver’s Orange Palace. That’s on the way, too.” He lifted his head, tucking his phone back as well. “May as well stop for gas around there and see what’s up.”

It would be a chance to get out of the car. And both Bo and Talia seemed taken with this ‘alien spaceship’ idea. Surely, Nimai would not be hunting them this quickly. Hiring a barghest took time, and they had used no magic since leaving Brookhaven.

“Of course. Whatever you both wish.”

And still, he couldn’t ignore the sick foreboding in his gut, the sense that they should run and run without stopping, lest Nimai catch them. Lest Bo, sweet as he was rough-edged, meet his end as Lawrence had.

Slowly. And screaming.