pocket.
Then he left her side and exited the room, towering over me as he motioned me to join him. I fell into step beside him, inhaling his spicy, woodsy scent.
“Who is she,” I asked in a subdued tone, hoping she wasn’t his wife, or sister, or some other close relation.
Sparrow sighed. “I’m not sure. She was found unconscious by the side of the road about a week ago. She’s been in a coma ever since.”
A tension that I hadn’t known I held left my body at the discovery that he didn’t know her.
“What happened to her?” I asked as we stepped onto the elevator and began to descend.
“I think it’s quite probable that someone stole her soul.” Sparrow’s anger hung in the air as we stopped on the first floor and waited for the doors to open.
“But I thought that when a death djinn claimed a soul the person became an immortal slave,” I said in a low voice, hurrying to keep up with his long strides as we turned a corner to find the brightly lit cafeteria. “Why would she be in a coma?”
“I didn’t say it was a death djinn, nor did I suggest someone claimed her soul legally; I said it was probably stolen. There’s a difference.” I digested that as we moved down the empty buffet line, past some dry mashed potatoes, questionable looking meatloaf, and myriad small bowls filled with green Jell-o squares. He stopped at the drink station and filled a white ceramic mug with steaming hot coffee, which he then offered to me.
“No, thanks. I’ll just grab some iced tea.”
Sparrow paid the tired-looking cashier and we moved through the sterile, fluorescent space toward a quiet corner alcove. He pulled an ugly plastic chair away from a table adorned with a cheap vase of fake flowers, and held it out for me to sit. The chivalry of the gesture felt odd in the midst of the inelegant surroundings.
As soon as we were settled, I heard someone call my name. I looked up to find Mickey, of all people, heading straight for me in his gangly teenage stride. He’d abandoned the Goth thing completely and dyed his hair brown. “I knew we were destined to have coffee together…” he dropped into silence as he rounded the corner and saw that I wasn’t alone.
“Hi, Mickey. What are you doing here—is everyone okay?” I asked, ignoring the disappointed look that flashed across his face at the discovery of Sparrow’s presence.
“Um yeah, no, I’m just visiting a friend,” he fumbled, his eyes darting from Sparrow and back to me.
“Well, I hope your friend’s alright. Tell your Mom I said ‘hi’ and I’ll talk to her Monday, okay?”
“Alright, I guess I’ll catch you later.”
“Bye, Mickey.” I gave him a smile and a wave as he hurried away.
Mickey looked back once before he darted out a side exit into the hallway and Sparrow’s eyes followed him until he was gone.
“Who was that?”
“Oh, just my boss’ son,” I smirked. “I think he might have developed a crush on me. He’s seventeen. I’m sure he’ll get over it in a day or two.”
Sparrow raised a dark eyebrow and gave a noncommittal nod.
I tore open a pink packet of sweetener and carefully sprinkled half into my iced tea, stirring it with my straw as the questions I wanted to ask percolated in my mind.
“So, when you arrested Balthus, you’re saying it wasn’t for stealing that woman’s soul?”
Sparrow combed his fingers through his dark hair with a sigh of frustration, leaving it charmingly disheveled. “I shouldn’t be discussing the details of the case with you, Sydney. She is very much his type, though. I don’t know if you noticed, but she bears quite a bit of resemblance to you.”
I had noticed, and the idea that it could have been me lying in that hospital bed made my stomach lurch. “Lorien said he was arrested for having an illegal soul…unaligned, or whatever,” I replied in discomfort. “I just assumed it was hers.”
“Bloomin’ faeries,” he mumbled. “Incapable of discretion, every last one of them.”
I frowned at him. “I take it that means you’re the one who told Lorien about Balthus. You know she only told me because she’s trying to help with the whole death djinn thing. Besides, I thought you were half-faerie.”
“I’m half-sidhe; Lorien’s a sprite,” he corrected flatly. “And as it happens, I did tell that little loud-mouth why Balthus was arrested. In confidence. And only because she’s been a pint-sized pain in the ass about it all week.”
I smiled. “She can be very persistent.”
“That’s an understatement,” he muttered.
“She says she’s been researching death djinn contracts. And that there’s no record of anyone ever getting out of one,” I added with a grimace.
A look of regret passed across his handsome face. “I’m truly sorry, Sydney. I wish I could help you…”
My eyes widened at his choice of words and he stared at me for a moment before a slightly queasy look overtook him.
“See how easy it is to slip up?” I asked with a despairing laugh.
His tanned, symbol-entwined arm moved toward me, as if he wanted to touch me, but he pulled back at the last moment. Something within me strained toward him, disappointed that he’d changed his mind.
The silence went on for a beat too long and I cleared my throat. “What kind of tattoos are those?” I asked to fill the void.
He glanced down at his arms, flexing his muscles so that they shifted smoothly beneath his skin, giving the intricate designs a life of their own. “Ancient Celtic runes and symbols of power and protection. A gift from my sidhe kin, who’ve passed down the art from generation to generation.”
“Cool,” I breathed. “Can they really protect you when you’re in danger?”
“That they can—and have many a time,” he added with a grin that ignited sparks in his eyes and sent my heart into a quicker rhythm.
“What’s that one?” I asked, pointing to a particularly striking design high on his thick upper arm.
“Ah, that’s one of my first and one of my favorites,” he answered with a nostalgic smile as he pushed up the edge of his sleeve so that the inking was fully visible. “It’s quite a traditional design, and very powerful—it’s called an Aegishjalmur. It gives its bearer protection and irresistibility in battle.”
I think it’s giving you irresistibility in more than just battle, I thought.
“It’s beautiful,” I whispered aloud, reaching forward to trace it with my forefinger before I realized what I was doing. A shock of electricity passed between us and for a split second the tattoo glowed red through the black ink, bathing my palm in heat.
I jerked my hand away and anxiously met Sparrow’s
