The Iron Traitor (The Iron Fey: Call of the Forgotten 2)

* * *

The hours dragged and yet went more quickly than I would’ve liked, every minute bringing us closer to midnight. Annwyl slept most of the afternoon; maybe she’d never really gotten to sleep until now, or maybe her condition made her tired and sluggish, sort of like having the flu. I didn’t know, but she politely declined leaving the room when I headed out to get food. Fearful of having her disappear, I grabbed a couple candy bars from the vending machine outside and hurried back to find she had fallen asleep again. Restless, I watched TV and Netflix and envied the faery, still curled up on the bed. She did wake up later that evening when I forced her to go to McDonald’s with me because I was starving after nothing but chocolate bars for lunch. But she remained quiet and nervous, not speaking much. Truthfully, I was more than a little nervous, too.

At eleven-thirty, I grabbed my backpack, stuffed my swords inside, out of sight of the public eye, and turned to Annwyl.

“Ready?”

“Yes,” she replied, with a determination that reminded me of someone on the way to the gallows. Terrified but resolved to show no fear. “Let’s go find Keirran.”

Bourbon Street wasn’t far, and New Orleans glowed an eerie green and orange under the light of the full moon. It was almost surreal. We walked the couple blocks to the famous street, passing neon signs and lampposts shining feebly in the artificial haze. People wandered by, not paying any attention to either me or the faery at my side. A goblin peered at us from a narrow alley, picking his teeth with a fragment of bone, but didn’t make any move to follow.

Laffite’s Blacksmith Shop was a tiny building on the corner of St. Philip and Bourbon Street. From the outside, it looked deliberately run-down, white plaster peeling away to reveal spots of red brick. Wooden shutters and doors stood open to the night, and an old-fashioned lantern hung beside the entrance, flickering orange.

I gazed behind us to the road, watching cars cruise down Bourbon Street and people drift over the sidewalks. With the orange lights, full moon and faint strands of jazz music playing from one of the open bars, New Orleans did have a magical quality to it. I knew why this place was such a haven for the fey, and I knew they were out there, skulking between buildings and slipping invisibly through crowds. Still, I couldn’t imagine the whole street teeming with faeries, an entire marketplace of them. I hoped that dryad knew what she was talking about.

Annwyl and I crossed the street and ducked through the leftmost door of Laffite’s bar to find ourselves in a dim, old-fashioned room. Round wooden tables were scattered about a stone floor, and the bar stood against the back wall, most of the stools occupied. The only lights came from the candles set on the tables and hanging from the walls, and the flames in the huge stone fireplace in the center of the room.

Someone pushed past me from behind, jostling me with barely a grunt of apology. I stepped farther into the bar and glanced back for Annwyl, nearly lost in the shadows.

“All right,” I muttered, stepping up to the fireplace and turning to face the doors. Annwyl followed silently. “So, according to the dryads, we just have to turn widdershins three times and walk out the door on the right—left now, since we came inside—and we’ll be in the market.” I checked my watch to make sure it was 12:00 a.m. Six minutes past midnight. “On three?”

She nodded, and on my signal, we closed our eyes and spun counterclockwise in place three times, me feeling slightly ridiculous and hoping no one was watching.

On the first two circles, nothing happened. But when we completed the third, I opened my eyes to find the inside of the bar had...changed. It wasn’t full of fey. The lights and tables and patrons sat where they had always been; really nothing had moved. But everything around us was slightly out of focus. Conversations were muted, and everything seemed to be going in slow motion.

Except us. And the door a few yards away. It stood out sharply against the blurred, hazy backdrop, the opening shimmering like heat waves. That was it. Our entrance to the goblin market.

I nudged Annwyl, and together we walked across the floor, past indistinct shadows and nearly frozen candle flames, and ducked through the opening.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

SECRETS FOR SECRETS

Toto, we’re not in Kansas anymore was the cheesy first thought that went through my head as we stepped out into the street.

Noise surrounded us—not the muffled sounds of cars and street traffic at night, but the louder, garbled sounds of a huge crowd. “Normal” Bourbon Street had disappeared; though I could see it was still the same stretch of pavement, the same buildings lining the sidewalks, it was definitely not the same world. Streetlamps had been replaced with torches and faery fire, orbs of blue-white flame floating overhead. There were no cars, but horse-drawn carriages glided down the road—only the horses’ hooves never touched the ground, and their eyes glowed blue in the shadows. The buildings, though they looked the same at first, appeared old and run-down on closer inspection, covered in vines and moss, as if we had stepped back in time a hundred years.

And of course, there were the fey.

They were everywhere, milling about the road in huge numbers, faeries of every shape, size and description. Short, warty goblins with beady eyes and huge ears. Hulking ogres, their thick knuckles dragging along the ground as they lumbered by. Redcaps flashing their shark-toothed grins at everyone. Rail-thin bogeys hiding in the shadows and narrow crevices. And faeries I didn’t have a name for, all wandering down Bourbon Street, looking like the world’s largest freak convention.

Oh, this was going to suck.

Shrugging off my backpack, I pulled out my swords and slipped them onto my belt. No way I was going out there unarmed. Taking out my jacket, I shrugged into it and pulled up the hood, hoping it would shield me from any curious looks. And if my luck held, hide the fact that I was human long enough to find Keirran and get out of here without trouble.

Glancing at Annwyl, who looked slightly overwhelmed as well, I grimaced. “Ready for this?”

“No,” she replied, her eyes wide. “But...lead the way.”

We slipped onto the crowded road, moving more slowly than I would’ve liked. Faeries weren’t the only thing making the street difficult to navigate. Booths and wooden tables were arranged in narrow aisles down the pavement, displaying the weirdest merchandise you’d ever see in your life: weeping fish and glass eyes and jewelry made of bones and teeth. Bird skeletons, crystal balls, shriveled hands and hats that whispered to you as you passed. A yellow-eyed woman in gypsy robes caught my eye and grinned, beckoning me toward her booth, waving a deck of cards in her long fingers. A kimono-clad girl with fox ears peeking from her hair gave me a coy smile, fluttering a fan and pointing to her table of rice cakes. I ignored them all and hurried on.

After several minutes of wandering the aisles and dodging requests by persistent vendors to take a look at their goods, it became pretty apparent that the chances of just stumbling into Keirran were slim to none. This place was massive; I could walk right past the Iron Prince and never know. Luckily, that hadn’t been my only plan. I had hoped it wouldn’t come to this, though, because it meant I was going to have to do something I hated and tried to avoid at all costs.

Bargain with the fey.

I searched the market until I found a booth that sold “potions for all ills,” run by a well-dressed, ancient-looking gnome. He stood on a stool beside a counter full of different-size vials and bottles. Vial of Forgetfulness, one read, next to a large display of Minor Love Potions and Jars of Friendship. The gnome blinked as we came up, raising an eyebrow that looked like a fuzzy gray caterpillar.

“Human?” His voice squeaked like a centuries-old mouse. “Unusual. How did you find your way into the market?”

“Does it matter?” I asked him, keeping my head down and my voice low.

The gnome sniffed, and his voice turned wheedling. “No, I suppose not. But while you’re here, how ’bout you buy one of my wares? I have a lovely selection of love potions. Guaranteed to work, you know. You have that pining aura all around you, boy.” He grinned, showing crooked yellow teeth. “Or perhaps there is a rival? This lovely vial right here will turn your enemy into a cockroach.”

“No,” I said, repressing a shiver. “I’m just looking for someone, a friend of mine. Part human, silver hair, my age.” I didn’t say exactly who he was; the gnome definitely would’ve recognized him, but I didn’t want word spreading that we were looking for the Iron Prince. If the vendor had seen him, he’d know who I was talking about. “Have you seen him? And if you haven’t, do you know of anyone who might have?”

As I was talking, I swung my bag off my shoulders, unzipped it and reached into the side pocket. The gnome gave me a sly grin, but before he could say anything about cost, I pulled out a full bottle of honey and plunked it on the table.

He blinked. “What’s this?

“Payment,” I replied flatly. “For information.”

“Hmm.” The gnome regarded it appraisingly, trying not to look eager, though I saw it anyway. “I do use honey in a lot of my potions, but I don’t know if that will be enough of a trade...”

I snatched the bottle off the counter and turned. “Fine. We’ll just find someone else.”

“Wait! Wait.” The gnome threw out his hand, scowling. “Very well.” He sniffed. “You drive a hard bargain, human. Give that to me, and I’ll tell you what I know.”

Still wary, I handed it over, placing it within reach this time. The vendor snatched it up, sniffed the cap deeply and smiled. Tossing it behind the table, he turned back to me with a grin.

“Sorry, human. Haven’t seen him.”

I breathed deeply to stop myself from punching this faery in his smirking head. “That’s not what I asked.”

“You wanted me to tell you if I’ve seen your friend.” The gnome sounded smug. “And I answered. I haven’t seen anyone like that around here. I gave you the information we agreed on, human. This bargain is done.”

Dammit, this was why I hated faeries. I didn’t have many bargaining chips left, and we still didn’t know where Keirran could be. At least we hadn’t been negotiating for something important, like my voice or my future kid. I’d have to word any requests very carefully next time.

But before I could say or do anything else, Annwyl spoke up, startling us both.

“No,” she said, coming around to stand beside me. Her voice was firm, shockingly different than the shy, quiet girl I’d known so far. “Not everything. You’re ‘forgetting’ the second part of the question. Do you know of anyone who might have seen our friend? This market has an information broker, does it not? Where can we find it?”

“Ahhh.” The gnome shuffled his feet, not meeting Annwyl’s fierce glare. I was still staring at her in shock and also kicking myself for not catching that myself. “Well, like I said,” he muttered, “I haven’t seen your friend. But there is an information broker around here, I believe.”