Page 3 of First Snow
You aren’t allowed to leave.
Chapter 1
4 months later - Jareth
Londonisshroudedinits usual autumn gloom as Jareth walks down a street lined with fancy stores and expensive apartments. At this early hour, the place is almost deserted, even the traffic having dwindled to a few vehicles driving by now and then. Jareth gathers the darkness around him like a cloak. It’s not as though people can’t see him like this. No, the glamour merely compels them tolook the other way, their subconscious forgetting about him as soon as they turn the next corner. Even the security camera footage blurs as he passes their watchful eyes. He wouldn’t be able to pursue his second profession in a city like London if he wasn’t able to fool those little gargoyles of technology.
Jareth stops in front of the large window of an antique shop, Victorian furniture and romantic landscape paintings showcased behind bulletproof glass. The foul stench of dark magic clogs his nostrils as soon as he approaches the shop’s entrance. A slow grin stretches his lips.
“There you are,” he says under his breath.
A little push of magic suffices to open the door and disable the alarm system, Jareth’s gloved hands never touching a thing.
He strides inside the shop, following the source of the magical uproar. As is usually the case when a modern individual stumbles upon the art of sorcery—it’s a dumpster fire. These amateurs never know how to do things subtly. They’re trying to enrich themselves using their newly acquired knowledge without caring about the consequences their actions have for other beings. And they never fail to alert entities far older and more powerful than themselves of their existence.
A flare of magic rushes through the building, making the glass of the display cabinets rattle. Jareth quickens his steps. He’s hurrying down a steep staircase as a hollow scream echoes from the walls. Damn, he thought this antique dealer was a greedy little thief, not a murderer.
Taking the stairs two at a time, Jareth runs down the remaining steps and forces the door of the cellar open with a burst of magic. Judging by the snapping sound, he might have ripped it off its hinges.
The room behind is a mess. It’s crowded with antiques of all kinds, furniture, books, paintings, and sculptures. Jareth has the distinct impression that some of them are of magical nature. His fingertips prickle with the urge to browse through the things and claim some as his own.
Jareth spots the antique dealer at the far end of the room, flailing wildly with some kind of wand that’s definitely fake. At some point, the man must have put up a summoning circle. The painted runes are still in place, but candles and magical items of minor potency are strewn everywhere.
“Yield to my will, creature of the night,” the man screeches. A small, glittery swirl flutters around the guy, making a high-pitched buzzing sound that has Jareth’s ears ringing.
Jareth tilts his head.Creature of the night, seriously?The greedy fucker summoned a fairy. What a suicidal move to try and enslave a spirit of the Kingdom Beyond.
The fairy pounces and rips through the protective shield the man must have put up. It’s at his throat in a split-second. Before Jareth can decide whether to intervene, the fairy has ripped open the man’s carotid artery. Blood splatters the walls of the cellar.
Jareth watches the mess with an arched eyebrow. He doesn’t feel sorry for the man crumbling to the ground. His emotional granularity is lacking in this regard, so is his capacity to feel fear. He can compensate with his intellectual abilities, though. His parents are proud of his skill to mimic an appropriate emotional reaction when the situation calls for it. There’s no need to put on a show for a bone fairy though.
Jareth approaches the little terror carefully. He has seen what it’s capable of, after all.
The fairy’s semi-transparent wings look like a bridal veil, although their creamy color is tainted by red specks. They move lazily, like a butterfly’s, while the fairy feasts on its prey. Although the creature is drenched in blood, Jareth can make out that it looks female. He clears his throat. The fairy looks up at him with large, calculating eyes. She can’t be bigger than his forearm, but she’s still a predator. She sniffs the air like a dog picking up a trail.
“Lord Blackrose?” she asks, surprise written all over her features. Her small but razor-sharp teeth and claws gleam red in the light of the candelabras. “They say you’re dead.”
“My father is dead, indeed.”
She tilts her head, eyes him curiously, and even stops devouring her hapless would-be master. A delighted grin spreads over her face. “Youare Lord Blackrose’s bastard son? You don’t seem like a fickle human to me.”
“That’s because I’m not,” Jareth growls. He braces himself. It’s always the same with the members of the Unseelie Court.Even like this, dwindled in numbers and almost extinct, their kind leans towards violence more often than not.
She’s on him in a blink, leaving an artful spray of red droplets in her wake. Jareth will have to be very thorough to remove Mikael Laine’s blood from his clothing. He seizes the fairy with an unyielding grip to her throat before her teeth and claws reach him. She scratches uselessly over the leather of his gloves. Jareth is grateful he’d had half a mind to enchant them, otherwise he isn’t sure if even solid leather would’ve withstood the fairy’s claws. He can feel her magic building up under his hand, and he growls a command in the tongue of the High Fae. The fairy utters a bloodcurdling scream as her magic sizzles out. Jareth closes his fist around her until he can hear bones crack in protest, only then does he drop her to the floor.
The fairy clutches her throat and flees to crouch on a nearby cupboard before she grins and bows.
“Lord Blackrose,” she says.
“You may as well call me that.” Jareth isn’t going to offer his real name to a creature like her. “You would fare better if you returned to the other side. It was your right to kill the man who called you, but I won’t allow you to hurt innocent humans.”
She stares at him unblinkingly for some long seconds.
“So it’s true what they say about you.”
“Care to elaborate?” Jareth doesn’t have time to chit-chat with a murderous spirit at a crime scene.
“They say you’re a hunter like your grandfather was. Someone who punishes those who disrespect The Truce:unseelie who prey on humans, humans who misuse magic.”