Outcast (Book Two of the Forever Faire Series): A Fae Fantasy Romance Novel (3 page)

“
W
E’VE
HAD SOME requests for the feast,” Lawrence Sharpe said, stroking his white beard. “It seems the mortals would like more modern fare for the visitors.”

In Lawrence’s little red cottage, Ryan Sheridan sorted through the menus and sketches in his hands without really seeing them. Disguising his clan of outcast Fae warriors as performers in a traveling Renaissance Faire required him to stage regular events for their mortal visitors, such as Forever Faire’s Winter Feast. With all the tourists coming to town for the holidays they could expect a large crowd, which usually cheered him. This year, however, he had a changeling on the faire grounds, the Dark Fae lurking just outside the gates, and a lovely, stubborn mortal woman fully capable of driving him mad in the center of it all.

Kayla Rowe.

“The food stall vendors also ask that we not choose foods that must be fried,” the older man added, peering at the list in his big, work-worn hands. “It seems there are issues with the power needed for the deep fryers.”

Even now Kayla was somewhere on the faire grounds, working with the horses, smiling at other mortals, safe under his protection from the Blackstone clan. He had been fool enough to make her his lover, and he felt sure she still silently seethed with all that bright, hot emotion they had shared along with their bodies.

Ryan heard a tearing sound, and looked down to see he had ripped the papers in half.

“My liege, perhaps you could look upon the plans for the feast another time,” Lawrence said, his tone a bit strained. The short, bald old half-Fae gave his snowy beard several unconscious, nervous tugs as he added, “I’d be happy to discuss the matters tomorrow.”

“Calm yourself, before you pluck your chin to match your pate.” Ryan tossed the ruined papers on the desk between them. “Forgive me, but I am much preoccupied at the moment. Colm has told you of the Blackstones, and the changeling?”

“Yes—aye,” the old man corrected himself. “Forgive me, my liege. When one has only mortals to speak to day in and out, one begins to sound like them. If I may ask, why do you keep the Rowe girl here, when you know she is a cursed changeling? I thought such creatures always turn to the dark.”

Ryan suspected the rest of his men shared Lawrence’s concerns, but none of them had spoken a word. He felt a grudging admiration for the halfling’s mortal directness.

“Her human sister, Kayla, is an innocent. She believes Tara to be the same, and will not be parted from her. Until the changeling proves differently, I must allow her to remain, to protect Kayla.”

The bald head bobbed. “As you say, so shall it be.”

Another of Lawrence’s finer qualities was that he never argued, Ryan thought, and rose from the chair. “I will have much on my mind until the matter is resolved, so I will leave the preparations for the feast in your capable hands, brother.”

The old man gave the pile of boots by the fire a wistful glance before forcing a hearty smile. “I will not disappoint, my liege.”

Leaving the cottage, Ryan made his way through the encampment to the lodge, where the mortal crew had gathered in the dining hall for the morning meal. Once he saw that both Rowe sisters were absent Ryan helped himself to a mug of dark, strong brew and sat down with Gavan, who was working through a plate with enough food to feed a dozen humans.

His jousting partner’s glamour made him appear like any other gray-headed, burly, middle-aged mortal among their crew. The dull disguise hid the dazzling looks Gavan had inherited from his clan, the Watersons, who had cast him out for reasons never explained. Ryan had always suspected it had been something invented, for the clan leader of the Watersons was a vain, foolish Fae matriarch who expected all the men under her rule to cater to her.

“Any sign during the night?” Ryan asked.

Gavan, who had supervised the new patrol of their boundaries, shook his shaggy head. “If the Blackstones hover, they do so at a cowardly distance.” He lowered his voice to a level no mortal could hear. “The changeling spent time with Jannon. Dyrak saw him carry her back to the sister in the wee hours.”

Ryan noticed how the other man was avoiding his gaze. “You think me a fool to permit them to stay.”

“We all of us know how dangerous changelings are. I’ve not gone against the Blackstone clan myself, but I’ve heard enough monstrous tales from those who have. Even among the Dark Fae they are feared and reviled.” Now Gavan looked at Ryan. “If you say we are to fight them to save an innocent, my sword is ready.”

“And if I command you to fight them to protect the changeling?” Ryan had to ask.

“My gut will disagree, and I may want a rematch in the arena after.” Gavan’s mouth stretched into a grim smile. “But you are my liege, and I am your man. Dark Fae are scum. My sword is ready.”

Ryan had no stomach for food, and left Gavan to find Colm and assure all was in readiness for the day’s performances. Yet as he walked out of the lodge, he found himself on the path to the barn. When he passed the empty costume tent, where Tara should have been working, he paused and stepped inside.

The work of creating and repairing garments for the faire’s performers required some skill, and every season Lawrence struggled to hire a seamstress able to keep up with the demands. Three racks of new, handsomely made costumes now stood finished to one side of the work table, attesting to Tara Rowe’s talents. He saw another stack of older garments that had been sent over for mending, and when he examined them he saw how flawlessly she had rejoined the burst seams and patched the worn spots. Like all Fae he appreciated the beauty of any handwork, and from what Tara had sewn her mastery equaled that of any Fae maker.

Dark Fae had no desire or patience for such labors. How could one of their changelings be capable of such artful, meticulous work?

“She’s not here,” a cool voice said. “We’re letting her sleep in this morning.”

Ryan turned to see Kayla standing behind him. She smelled of sunshine and woman instead of perfume, and as he breathed her in he saw the palest shade of pink roses bloom on her cheeks. He could see she had been working, for stains mottled her boots and jeans, and bits of straw clung to her jacket like odd confetti. Seeing the damp tendrils of her dark, silky hair that had escaped her cap made him remember how it had felt brushing against his flesh.

“She must be weary after her night with Jannon.”

Kayla’s eyes narrowed. “Nothing happened, and picking a fight with me right now is a bad idea.”

“Angering me is
always
a bad idea,” he countered.

“True.” She pursed her pretty lips. “Sorry.”

In that moment Ryan wanted Kayla in his arms, Titan, and a clear path to the forest beyond the lodge.

“Come with me to my cabin. Alone there, we can speak freely.”

The pulse beating in the hollow of her throat fluttered frantically. “The last time we went you didn’t want to talk much.”

His own heart hammered in his chest. “Then we’ll find other things to do.”

“You promised to stop doing those things if I stayed,” Kayla said, her voice soft and almost regretful, until she cleared her throat. “Look, the only reason I’m here is because Christine told me something this morning that you need to know.”

Ryan listened as Kayla repeated the dancer’s claims of what the Blackstones had done. He felt no surprise at learning that Dirk was using drugs and magick to control the women, for Dark Fae regularly abused mortals in such ways. The details of Christine’s demonstration of her power for Kayla also confirmed Lawrence’s suspicion that the dancer was part Fae, particularly when she related that Christine had been abandoned.

“I hope you’re not going to tell me that Christine’s a changeling, too,” she said once she had finished the tale.

“She’s likely a halfling—a child borne by a Fae’s mortal female lover,” he admitted. That brought an image of Maeve, her belly swollen with his baby. Yet for once the bleak despair such remembrances always brought did not come with it. “We are forbidden to marry mortals, but that does not stop us from dalliances.”

“Is that what you were doing with me?” she demanded. “Dallying?”

“You know better.” He came around the work table, stopping only when she took a step back. “Kayla.”

She held up one hand, which she dropped as soon as she saw it was trembling. “We’re not talking about us, Ryan. What happens to Christine?”

“We search for halflings as we travel with the faire. If they are grown, and we can unveil their Fae bloodline, we take them to their father’s clan.” He could taste her desire for him warming the air between them. “They are bound by blood to watch over them. A few are even brought into the clan, although that is rare.”

Kayla considered what he’d told her for a moment. “Okay, but what if it was her mother who was Fae?”

“A Fae woman could never bring a half-mortal child back to her clan. It is undeniable proof she has broken our laws. She and the child would be cast out.” He hesitated before he added, “The woman would also fear retribution from her Fae husband. I have heard of a few who took revenge by murdering the halfling child.”

“Kill the kid instead of the cheating wife. Right. How charming.” She shook her head. “Back to Christine. However she got here, the girl needs to know who and what she is. Since I’m just a lowly mortal, I can’t answer the million questions she’s going to have. Have Colm explain it to her.”

Ryan folded his arms. “You think I am not up to the task, my lovely one?”

“Oh, no. She just likes him. I think you’re driving me crazy.” She strode out.

O
N HER MIDDAY break Christine
used the ancient landline in Lawrence’s office to call Louisa Hayes. When she didn’t answer, Christine left a message asking her to come to the faire to perform a reading for the Rowe sisters. As she hung up she grinned at the surly old man, who sat laboring over a stack of lists.

“Want to find out your future, Larry?” she teased. “Louisa will give you a peek for twenty-five bucks.”

He glowered up at her. “My name is Lawrence, and no, thank you. I have no future. I have nothing but these bloody menus to sort out. Roast turkey legs. Black peasant bread. Shepherd’s pie. Bah. The little ones will want none of it, and then they will cry, and I will be blamed. Again.”

“So add on some burgers and hot dogs,” Christine advised him. “Or pizza and chicken nuggets. Those are the only four food groups for anyone under twelve.” She leaned over to kiss his gleaming scalp. “Say thank you, Larry.”

“Thank you, saucy wench.” Lawrence’s lips twitched. “Now go on with you.”

Christine didn’t mind that the old guy watched her butt as she left. He was a man, and she had a particularly fine ass. Most of the Forever Faire guys gave her appreciative looks when they thought she couldn’t see. Since she did the same to them, she figured it was fair. She never got a glance from Ryan, the big dude who ran the whole show, but he was too busy watching Kayla to notice her.

And then there was Colm, who mostly gave her the stink eye.

Christine saw the object of her affections standing in front of the cleared patch of ground where they’d set up the hatchet-toss game. He hadn’t taken down the CLOSED clock sign, she noted, but he was studying the targets like there’d be a pop quiz later.

“Got a special going today,” she said as she joined him. “Six throws for a dollar, or a nice, slow kiss.”

“We don’t charge for the games, and I don’t kiss the help.” For once he didn’t glare at her. “We need to have a word, Miss Marszalek.”

“One day you’re gonna call me Christine,” she warned. “And I’m going to rip your clothes off.”

His face turned to stone. “Please come with me now.”

As she followed him to one of the tents where they stowed the show equipment, Christine wondered if she was still going to be employed in ten minutes. Something was up, judging by how polite he was being.

Colm held the tent flap up for her to enter, and let it drop once he was inside. “I hope you’ve enjoyed working at the faire.”

“Sure, I’ve loved everything. The job, the kids, looking at you, the food, the cool costumes, smelling you, the nice folks, your weird friends, wondering what you look like naked, and…” She stopped and thought for a moment. “Nope, that’s about it. Do I get my last paycheck before you boot me out the gate, or do you mail it to me? Because I don’t really have an address per se, and oh have mercy
Colm
.”

The burst of dark light had lasted only as long as her cry of horror. A cascade of softer, golden stars erased the Colm that Christine knew, and replaced him with a lean, gorgeous upgrade. Her gaze bounced from his long mane of garnet hair to the silver filigree on his gleaming black boots and up again to meet his polished copper eyes.

“’Tis easier to show what we are than it is to explain,” he said, his voice so warm and melodic each word caressed her skin. “I and the other men of Forever Faire are not mortal— not human—but Fae. Like me, they use the illusion of glamour to appear unremarkable.”

“Uh-huh.” Christine felt woozy now. “So, you’re not going to eat my face off now, are you?”

“We don’t eat mortal faces, or any other parts they possess.” His smile flooded her with gentle warmth. “We are your people, because you are only half-mortal. Your other half is Fae, like us.” He stepped quickly toward her, and supported her by the elbows a heartbeat before her knees buckled. “You have nothing to fear, Christine.”

“Says the mighty, morphing, power stranger. Don’t let me pass out,” she told him as he led her over to a stack of crates, and sat her on top of them. “At the very least, I want to take a selfie with you.”

“’Tis is a shock, but ‘twill pass.” He urged her to bend forward until her forehead nearly touched her knees, and kept his arm around her shoulders. “Did you never wonder why you were so different from the other children around you?”

“Too busy trying not to get my ass kicked by the older kids. Group homes suck.” His hands left her, and as Christine straightened she had to grab the edge of the crates to stay upright. “So my mom or dad was like you?”

Colm nodded. “’Twas likely your father. Mortal women are very hard to resist, especially when we are hurt.”

Christine listened with increasing awe as he told her about the Fae, and how they lived in secluded clans hidden from the rest of the world. While they looked mostly human, they were bigger, stronger, and more intelligent. They possessed superhuman abilities from birth that were related to their bloodlines and their own personal powers. They used magick, too, not only to disguise themselves but to protect their property and their people from their enemies, known as Dark Fae.

As soon as she heard that Christine muttered, “The Blackstones.”

“Aye. They’re among the worst of our darkest kin.” Colm sat down beside her. “I’m told you escaped them by using your power.”

“That, and a lot of luck.” She touched a lock of his dark red hair, which curled around her fingers as if it were alive before slipping free. “What the hell am I gonna do with all this, Colm? I’m just a dancer with a good eye for angles. I never finished school– God, I can barely read. Maybe all that wonderful Fae stuff skipped me, or I took after my human mama.”

“Without weapons or aid you outwitted and escaped a horde of Dark Fae,” he reminded her. “There are battle-hardened warriors I know who would quail at the same prospect. Your clan would be very proud.”

“Since I’m a half-human love child, maybe not.” She bumped her shoulder against his. “You still like me, though, right? Maybe you could introduce me to your folks someday.”

A muscle on his jaw ticked. “I have no clan. I am an outcast, as are all the other Fae here.”

“They kicked you out?” She felt indignant. “I thought they were supposed to be smart people.”

That startled a chuckle out of him. “You flatter me.”

“Not really.” Christine wanted to do a lot more than that. “So why did these dumbasses do it?”

His amusement abruptly faded. “For our misdeeds, each of us was sentenced to dwell forever in the mortal realm as eternal exiles. We have tried to make Forever Faire our clan, but it can never truly be the same. We are shunned by our kind. No Fae woman would leave her clan to be wife to an exile, or bear his children. The men take what comfort they can with mortal females, yet we must still conceal what we are. We do not age as they do, and their lives by comparison are so brief, it seems a cruelty to expect more than a brief dalliance.”

The way he said that made her eyes sting. “Is that why you never…”

“I am not like the others.” He gave her hand a gentle pat. “Your attentions are gratifying, my lady, but they are wasted on me. Since I was cast out I have been incapable with women.”

“Okay.” Christine blinked. “I mean, not okay. Not okay at all. Colm, have you even tried?”

Before Colm could answer, someone shouted for him outside the tent.

“We will talk again later.” He stood up and moved away from her, disappearing for a moment in another shower of tiny stars before he changed back into a regular guy.

“Hey.” Christine climbed off the crates. “You gonna tell me what you did to get kicked out of the Fae club?”

“I fell in love with the Fae Queen, and gave her my heart.” Before he stepped out of the tent, he glanced back at her. “She still has it.”