My dreams were full of dark, amorphous shapes and scary, nameless things. When I woke before noon, I was covered in sweat and felt the fear sing in my veins, though I couldn't remember what I'd seen in those hazy twilight hours. I just hoped I didn't see it again. 

Groggy and sore from head to foot, I stumbled into the main room and went about shutting and securing the windows coverings. I managed to find some clean clothes waiting to be folded, so I didn't have to open the closet to get ready for what remained of the day. I showered, washed, then grabbed a piece of toast—and Telavar's keys, which I found lying conspicuously on the kitchen counter. I left him a note explaining my impromptu borrowing of his car, then stepped out the door. 

I didn't hear the voices until I was at the base of the stairs, one hand still on the railing while I stuff my lecture notes into my bag with the other. I lifted my head, saw the swiveling gold and red lights atop the RNPD cruisers and stopped breathing. Not blue and red, as a human-only cop car would be colored. Gold and red, the colors for the supernatural authorities.

In the span of a single heartbeat, I played out the scenario and envisioned my own death. Someone had told them what I was. They'd drag me away in chains, strip me naked in some underground lab, map my scars, try to find out what I was, poke and prod and interrogate me, demanding to know if there were others and where they were. Then it'd be off to the electric chair, and there'd be no one to say goodbye to, no one willing to admit they'd known, no one for me and no last words—

Two cops shouldered their way out of a first-floor apartment, a man dangling in their combined grasp. I froze because I realized they weren't here for me, but for my neighbor. I didn't know his name, but I recognized the wrinkled man, had exchanged casual "hellos" with him when we passed each other in the laundry room or in the parking lot. He was gagged now, and had a thick set of specialized cuffs binding his wrists and ankles together. 

I knew those cuffs, had seen them on Sibbie's belt. The man was a witch. I'd never noticed before, had never thought to check, as this was a human only residence. Ms. Louelle was standing outside her apartment in her bathrobe, tutting and shaking her head as her former tenant was taken away. No one stepped in to stop it. No one questioned it. The quiet, unassuming elder was being snatched from his home and led to his death.

I was too terrified to protest. I cowered in the shadow of the stairs, covering my mouth as I watched, just like his neighbors. The old witch's eyes never rose from the pavement, though they shone with tears in the bright, uncompromising glow of the sun. He was none too gently stuffed into the back of a cruiser, and the sound of the door slamming was much louder than it should have been. 

I couldn't move. I was too startled—too frightened. It was possible I could share his fate one day. One day, it could be me being bound and wrangled like an animal, ejected from my home while Ms. Louelle sneered. I wanted to do something, but I couldn't. It wouldn't help the witch, and it wouldn't help me. I'd only be struggling without point and throwing myself under the bus with him.

That didn't mean I felt any less guilty about it.

x X x

I waited in my apartment for another hour, wanting to be certain all the police were gone, then I finally snuck to the parking lot and left without attracting any attention. I got behind the wheel of the silver sedan, turned to the western road, and hit the gas.

Despite the pressing urgency of Theda's disappearance, I had other demanding matters to attend to—namely, my job. I was almost late, but managed to cut across the aqueduct in record time thanks to Telavar's car and its enviable speed. I'd never been one for such pricey things, but I felt a definite pang of jealousy when I remembered I'd have to return it later. 

I ended up circling the lot three times before finding a place to park, and then spent another five minutes sitting in the car checking my clothes and hair to see if everything was properly covered. Today I'd dressed in a black turtleneck, a grey blazer, blue skinny jeans, and a pair of heeled boots. The fabric of the jeans was starting to thin at the knees, and I knew I'd have to throw them out if they ripped. 

The class I was supplementing today was an English literature course in which I was needed to introduce various British vampire writers of the early nineteenth century. Their works had been popular only in supernatural circles—and involved far too much maiden-eating for my liking. Nonetheless, it'd be a simple lecture I'd read off notes and my slides, so my mind was already moving past it, thinking about what else I'd need to do before the sun went down.

My main concern was finding Theda. She'd been missing for nearly five days now. My chances of finding her alive dwindled with every passing hour, and I knew Havik would be just furious and grief-stricken enough to make good on his threat. The thought of being fanged and bound to the night forever was horrifying, so I was eager to finish my work and hunt more leads on Theda's whereabouts.

Once inside the auditorium, the professor—a doddering academic with cataracts and bad breath—introduced me to her class and tottered off to her desk, leaving me to deal with the podium and computer. I listened to the quiet whispering of the students as I signed into my university account, located my slides, then went about lowering the automated screen and beginning the lecture. 

As I spoke, my eyes adjusted to the glare of the projector and the darkness ensconcing the tiers of seats. Being November, university classes were in the latter half of the semester calendar, which meant fewer and fewer students showed up every day—which I never understood. Paying up to three grand per class, you'd think they'd be more interested in attending so they wouldn't have to retake the course. I personally knew the savagery of student loans and used to have spotless attendance. 

My personal sentiment on college attendance aside, there were only about thirty or so people in the room meant to seat a hundred students. They were spread out over the rows, most clustered in the front with their laptops out, typing whatever flashed on the screen and whatever came out of my mouth, while some lingered in the middle or in the peripheries, their heads cradled in their arms or on folded sweaters.

I scanned the group with cursory attention, not expecting questions since the lesson was so cut and dry. The lecture had been interesting the first time I'd gone through it, but this was my fifth use of it and the information was stale. The boredom was reflected in my voice and I sighed, trying to energize my tired self—then I spotted the Unseelie Prince sitting in the third row and choked.

Xerex Darhan was glamourless today, dressed in a silver hoodie with black jeans torn at the knees. I could see his knees because he was sitting on top of his chair, grinning like a Were with a bone, his sneakers poised at the edge of the half-desk. He seemed to soak in the shadows and the sweltering, dry warmth being pumped in by the heater, his black hair combed and green eyes wide with curiosity. His face was mottled with healing bruises.

"Oh, shit," I muttered, quickly covering the podium's mic as I swore. What was he doing here? I'd hoped I wouldn't run into him again—had prayed I wouldn't, not after I'd slammed the prince's face into a glass counter with a power I couldn't explain.

His attention was fixed upon me. Xerex Darhan definitely remembered who I was.

I stumbled over what remained of the lecture, flipping through the slides so fast the studious people in the front gave up trying to take notes and just exchanged peeved glances with one another. Xerex Darhan stared all the while, and I tried to picture what gruesome punishment the Dark Fae was imagining in that alien head of his. The Fae were obscene when it came to debts, whether they be owed by them or to them, and they operated in ways not understandable by normal mortals. 

I wasn't exactly normal, but I hadn't the faintest idea what Darhan was thinking.

The class came to an end within the hour, and I bolted for the door—only to forget my notecards and to sign out of my account. Cursing my shortsightedness, I retrieved the cards, shutdown the computer, and almost ran headlong into a lithe, dark-haired Fae dressed in distressed clothes.

"It's Ms. Grae Winters, isn't it?" Xerex asked, a mischievous light gleaming in his vivid eyes. The smell coming off him was a mixture of body spray and something metallic, which I attributed to the nature of his magic. "That's a lovely Fae name you've got. It's nice to see you again."

I took a breath and a step back, my tongue darting out to lick my dry lower lip as I resituated my bag on my shoulder. There was nothing for it now. I needed to be calm and to not speak thoughtlessly, and though my first reflex was to apologize for hurting him, I bit down on my tongue and refused to speak the words. Apologizing to a Fae was never clever. Tact was needed when conversing with them, and I was desperately short on tact of late.

Don't ask questions, I reminded myself, scanning the proverbial checklist in my mind. Don't say thank you. Best not to answer questions. Speak in statements that don't imply interest or desire for an answer.

"I, uh—." Clearing my throat, I went to step by Xerex and he turned with me, falling into an easy stride with a light hop and whispering chuckle. "I never intended to hurt you."

"Ah," he replied, fingertips sweeping over the cut on his lip and the fading bruise. The Fae healed quickly, and Xerex's wounds would have been gone entirely had he lived within his court out in Amondale. "But you did, didn't you?"

I clenched my teeth together as we came out of the classroom and into the afternoon sunshine. Xerex kept pace as we walked from the building toward the distant parking lot. He took a pair of sunglasses from his shirt collar and popped them onto his face.

I noted how several of the college girls watched the Fae prince from under their painted lashes, smiling when they caught his jaded, wandering eyes. Xerex played upon that flirtation, thin bursts of magic escaping the hurricane of his power to settle upon those silly girls, who sighed like love-struck preteens when he passed.

He can't be all that old, I realized, peering sidelong at the Darkling when he waved at someone he knew. Like vampires, the Fae were immortal and appeared young for all their lives—but an older Fae would've found such petty games beneath him. I wondered how old Xerex was, but I didn't dare ask. I'd have to research him when I found the time.

Darhan's turned to mine again as his magic calmed. "Does your vampire always send professors to look for his lost cadre members?"

"I'm not a professor," I grumbled, torn between making a break for it or rushing for my office. Both were an equal distance from one another, and both as unlikely to deter the inquisitive Fae's nature. He'd want answers for what I did to him, even if his questions weren't what one would expect.

He lowered the sunglasses so our eyes could meet. "You sound bitter about that."

"I am."

We were in the shadow of the administration building, a large, Gothic structure bedecked in the mythical hallmarks of old Fae architecture. I couldn't recall which Court exactly was responsible for sponsoring RNU, but given Xerex's presence here, I guessed it was the Court of the Archon that had funded much of the university's construction and faux-antiquation.

The Fae pinched the edge of my sleeve and instinct drove me to stop before he could inadvertently reveal any of my scars.

"You could always find work in the Court," he said, tapping his bruised chin. "Teaching us Darklings about humans. It'd pay better. You could probably even get a fancy title."

I didn't reply, just chewed on my lip.

"Are you always this ambivalent when someone offers you a job?" There was a wicked glint in his playful eyes again, his lips tipped into a sharp-toothed smirk. "How rude."

I smiled, but again said nothing. Sure, I wanted more respect and a better paycheck and my own damn parking space—but I wasn't going to find that among the Unseelie. I couldn't even think of a reply, given how tricky their perceptions of debt and insult were. Saying "No, thanks," or "I'm grateful, but—," would be my normal response had I been speaking with a human. The Fae, however, took every thanks and sign of gratitude as a contract of implied debt. Speaking freely, I could rack up an obscene amount of debt with Xerex and never know about it—until he came to collect.

Visions of my neighbor being dragged away danced in my thoughts. 

I didn't like what this conversation was evolving into, so I changed it to something else, another topic I'd been dreadfully curious about since my foray into his store the previous night. "I've never seen that symbol before, that one you showed Havik," I said, choosing my words carefully. "I thought his reaction was strange."

"Would you like me to tell you about the symbol?"

"I think such a story would be interesting to hear."

Xerex pouted, sliding his sunglasses into place once more. "You're too skilled at the game, Grae. I'm going to call you Grae. No need to be so formal, right?"

My brow rose and Xerex sighed.

"Spoilsport." He lifted his arms and laced his fingers behind his head in a casual stance, baring his lean, slender wrists. The sunlight glittered on the remaining stud in his lip. "It's called the Mark of the Harbinger."

I lost my composure. "The what?" I asked—cursing myself. I'd asked a question. Xerex was grinning again, though I knew the action must hurt his face.

"Harbinger. They're like the bogeyman, yeah? But for the Fae and the vampires and whatnot. My Da used to tell me stories about them, how they'd snatch the bodies of naughty children who disobeyed their parents."

"That's...interesting." I willed him to keep speaking, to tell me more, but I couldn't ask. I wanted to know so badly, I knew my desperation would drown me in debt with the tricky man—and I wouldn't even care, not today, anyway.

Xerex ran a careless hand through his hair, fiddling with the cut ends. "They supposedly have different markings all over their bodies, but the one in particular, the Mark of the Harbinger, is their calling card. Humans have their own legends and myths, yeah? Naturally, we have them too. The Mark is the proverbial bite scar on a virgin's neck, the baying of wolves at a full moon, or the evil eye. It's just superstition. Your boyfriend looks kind of stiff, so I tried to get a rise out of him by showing it."

I coughed, sputtering. "N-not my boyfriend."

"He's not your boyfriend?"

"No." I was probably a bit more vehement than I needed to be, but the idea of Havik being anyone's boyfriend was odd. I couldn't imagine him being that nice to someone.

Xerex smiled, leaning too far into my personal space. His penchant for simple, casual touches was nerve-wracking. Such little gestures wouldn't have meant anything to someone else, but I was always hyperaware of peoples' proximity. Being near him had me anxious, and I feared he could somehow see through my turtleneck and blazer to the markings beneath.

Clearing my throat, I glanced toward the parking lot, patting the braided hair pulled taut over my ear tips. "That was an interesting story to hear."

"Mhm," Xerex hummed, mouth still wide with his disarming—and a bit unnerving—grin. He reached into the front pouch of his hoodie and retrieved a folded triangle of paper, holding it out for me.

Unable to remember if there was some unspoken rule about taking things from the hands of the Fae, I blew a thin stream of air through my lips and took it, though I was careful not to touch him. There were numbers sketched across the paper's front.

"Give me a call sometime, Grae. We can talk about how you should repay me for this." He again tapped his bruised chin, the edge of his sharp teeth nipping his bottom lip in a suggestive manner.

I glowered and gripped his number in my closed fist. "Maybe I could punch the other side of your face so it can match."

His eyes widened and I balked, only now realizing what words I'd spat—but Xerex only laughed, the subtle nuances of his features shifting from that of casual curiosity to intent interest. Oh, I'd said the wrong thing.

"You're amusing. I like you, professor," Xerex said as he slid his hands into the pocket of his hoodie, cocking his head to the side. The bastard didn't have any bags or books with him. Was he even a real student here? "Remember to call me."

I didn't agree or disagree, only watched as the Darkling sauntered off to his next class or to wherever Unseelie Princes sauntered to when they're not burdened with responsibilities of the throne. Why was he even here?

Probably the same reason he runs a trinket shop, I told myself, shaking my head. Because he can.

My fingers touched my forearm and, with hesitant motions, traced the lines of the mark hidden there. The scars emitted a low, pleasant warmth that hadn't fully dissipated from the night before. Harbinger. I'd never heard that term before. What was it? Some kind of preternatural bogeyman? A body snatcher?

I remembered the gully, and Dominick screaming "Get out of my head!"

My hands shook. I held them against my sides, swallowing the unpalatable dread filling my mouth like grim cobwebs. Maybe it's just a story, a story for silly Fae children who don't obey their parents, because I couldn't be...I couldn't be a monster, could I?

Asking Xerex more about the Mark would be foolish, but he had imparted a new direction for Alfie and me to research. The Were and I never considered looking into something like Unseelie bedtime stories. It seemed senseless, but it also seemed like the lead I needed in order to find out what I was.

Even if it wasn't what I wanted to hear.