Lords & Thieves: Chapter Two
The prequel arc of ✨The White City✨ — a weekly serialized urban fantasy series
Previously in The White City:
An impossible invoice threatened a struggling art student’s housing
Borscht became the recommended entrée while a small mob gathered to “juice a client” for long-overdue debts
A silver-eyed loan shark emerged as an arguably more attractive way to fund college tuition
“I’ve been told that before.” Ewan Markis chuckled under his breath, but that smirk barely reached his eyes. “Doesn’t change the fact that I need you to get it for me.”
Cade Devoy narrowed his own eyes into dangerous slits. His molars ground together as he carefully considered how to handle someone he was technically forbidden from punching square in the face. “Get it yourself.”
“Would if I could, but…”
“But what? You’ve lost your edge?” Cade snorted. “Getting soft in your old age?”
Markis lofted a brow. “That’s hilarious, coming from you.” He drummed his fingers on the table, seemingly choosing his next words with something vaguely resembling sincerity. Knowing him, though? It was more likely he just wanted to test Cade’s patience. “No, nothing like that. I just need to keep my nose clean for the time being.”
“That shit’s illegal, and you know it.”
“Oh, really? Gee, fancy me coming to an expert in things like breaking the law.”
Cade considered calling that young waiter back out for a bottle of absinthe. Fuck the time of day; he was going to need a strong drink to deal with this High Lord and his shenanigans. “I have no problem with working around the laws of this realm. Half of them are stupid anyway.” He glanced over at the human girl who’d wandered in there from gods-know-where. She was beautiful, if not a bit too curious for her own good, and the baser part of him had a few ideas of how he could “punish” her for interrupting his business meetings.
But right now, he needed her to not be paying so much attention. So when Liev came back out to check on her, his body blocking her view, that’s when Cade flicked his fingers and made the bottle of absinthe and a few small tumblers appear before him.
Again, Markis’ brow ticked upward, but this time with barely concealed amusement. He stole a quick glance in one of the reflective artworks, noticed the girl, and scoffed. “See? Risky as always.”
“As I said, I have no problems working around the laws of this realm.” Cade poured himself a shot, knocked it back, and set the glass down gently enough that the sound wouldn’t startle or pull attention back to himself. “But you’re asking me to help you break a few laws of that realm.”
“You haven’t been back in centuries. I don’t see what the problem is.”
“It’s not so much jurisdiction,” muttered Cade as he tilted his head to one side, “as it is the considerate little reminder Riordhan gave me and mine before we left.”
Most of it was covered by sigils even Markis didn’t recognize—remnants of an ancient world long since passed—but at this angle, the light hit the long, jagged scar just right to make it visible through the ink. From shoulder to neck, curving up and ending at his jawline right in front of his ear, it served its purpose to remind everyone who saw it—and the fae who bore it—what happened to those who defied the empirical power of House Rionnaghan.
Cade wasn’t as self-conscious about the scar as he used to be. Time was healing like that. He’d been insane to try taking on the strongest and most ruthless Tuatha Dé Danann in all the Otherworld. As a child, no less.
To be fair, Riordhan Rionnaghan had just murdered his father, brutalized and killed his mother, and slaughtered all his siblings. The viable options at that moment were pretty damn limited.
Markis shifted in his seat. The way his pensive expression flitted between uncertainty and determination piqued Cade’s interest. Then the typically sober High Lord did something quite out of the ordinary: he poured himself a shot, knocked it back, and quickly poured another.
“What if I told you…” He gulped the second shot and cleared his throat. “Things are about to shift?”
Only a fool leaped headlong into a conversation like that. Still, this was taking a slow turn into the kind of unusual Cade did not expect from Ewan Markis. The infamous Lord of Light kept his mouth shut and his dealings close to his chest, most especially after receiving his own poignant reminders of the consequences of defiance. “Go on.”
The thin scars wrapped around Markis’ wrists resembled the tan lines from watch bands, which is probably why he didn’t try to hide them from the general public. They twisted when he poured yet another shot and downed it before answering. “You know Riordhan is gone—”
“Exile is not the same as death. But yes, I’m aware his surviving son sits on the throne.” Cade traced the rim of his glass with a finger. “Not much has changed over here, or there, from what I hear.”
“It’s about to.”
Cade leaned back in the booth to really, truly study the High Lord now. “How.”
A grin suddenly broke across Markis’ face, rendering him both handsome and terrifying all at once. “For starters, you’re going to get me that compass.”
Son of a bitch. With a glance at his two best men just to check and see if they were hearing the same bullshit he was, Cade couldn’t hold back the bark of laughter that escaped his chest. “Let me get this straight. You come into my city, into my establishment, interrupt my day, to tell me that some tyrannical regime—which I’m no longer a part of, don’t forget—”
Markis held up a hand in mock surrender. “I haven’t forgotten.”
“Good. For a minute there I thought you were going senile as much as insane. Because I know you’re not telling me you expect the fall of House Rionnaghan to happen if I go and steal forbidden Fomorian technology gathering dust in some museum display case. For whatever the fuck it is you plan on doing out there.” He jabbed a thumb at the front door. “Or that any of it, if it’s even true, has anything to do with me.”
“It’s true.” Markis remained unperturbed. “But I wouldn’t call it a fall of the regime. More of a—”
“A what?” He cut the man off with a derisive scoff. “A merger? Corporate takeover?”
“Something like that.”
The smirk fell from Cade’s face. “You’re serious.”
“I am.”
He really was. Cade didn’t want to believe him, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to rouse any troops for the sake of some liquor-infused pseudo-prophecy.
But there was something in the way the High Lord’s words landed with such finality, such surety, that stirred an emotion deep within his chest he hadn’t felt in…well, centuries.
Some people dared to call it “hope”.
Damn you, Ewan Markis. “What’s in it for me?”
Markis grinned again, this time with a conspiratorial little wink. “Glad to have you on board.”
“I didn’t say I was.”
“You didn’t have to. We both know you are. So, what do you want?”
The testicles on this guy. Cade shook his head with a chuckle and sighed. “You can’t give me what I want. Not what makes stealing from a museum worth my while.”
“Try me.”
Now it was the crime lord’s turn to arch a skeptical brow. If Markis wanted to dance around holding crazy cards in one hand while rolling dice with the other, Cade could play a few of his own and see where it all landed. “What if I wanted the Night Realm back?”
He expected Markis to burst into a fit of laughter and tell him he was the insane one. Or at least remind him of how time, while healing, also had the annoying habit of sealing doors tighter with each passing minute. To safely return to the Night Realm, let alone reclaim it, was an impossible ask and they both knew it.
Instead, the Tuatha Dé simply inclined his head, thought about it for a long moment, then nodded. “That might actually be negotiable. Not immediately, but…give it some time. I’m sure we could work something out.”
Cade rubbed a hand over his mouth. That was not the answer he expected to hear.
Not in a million years. “I honestly can’t tell if you’re lying, or…”
“I’m not lying.” Markis looked him in the eye when he said it. “I may be past the point of making wise and healthy decisions for myself, but I’m not lying.”
“Okay. Fine. Then tell me this.” Cade leaned forward, which clued his two guards to pay closer attention just in case things went south. “What’s in it for you?”
“Posterity.”
“You’re not making any sense.”
“I don’t need to.” Markis reached into his coat, pulled out a folded piece of paper, and slid it across the table. “Once you get the compass, just follow the instructions on here and let me know when it’s done.”
Cade stared at him while he opened the note with one hand. For all he knew, he was going to need the other hand free to knock some sanity back into this guy. That hypothesis only strengthened when he read the To Do list scrawled in the High Lord’s handwriting. “This could have been an email.” And completely avoided.
“You can’t burn an email.”
Fair point.
“I need this done in three days.” Markis pushed his chair back and stood to leave. “By tomorrow, if you can manage it.”
“Tomorrow.” Cade avoided letting on that the slight jab landed. “If you can manage it…” Everyone in the room—human excepted—knew he could damn well “manage it”. “What’s the rush?”
“My daughter’s coming into town.”
He glanced back down at the note in his hand. “So this…?”
Markis ignored the question. “I’m counting on your discretion. Do what you need to do, but try to keep it out of the headlines, yeah? Send me the bill when you’re done.”
“Carte blanche?” Cade smirked. “Or are we working on a budget?”
At this, Markis paused. Studied him. Those piercing eyes slowly scanned the crime lord from head to toe. “You don’t have children, do you?”
He snorted. “Absolutely not.” Never have and never will. He made sure of that over the many, many years of killing time within meaningless romps among pretty human women. No use risking continuing his doomed line within the blood of creatures who couldn’t handle the power it carried.
That’s what he told himself, at least. It was easier to rationalize genetics than to face the truth of his aversion to becoming a father.
“Well, when you do—”
“I won’t.”
Markis gave him another once-over. “When you do,” he continued without missing a beat, “you’ll understand what ‘carte blanche’ truly means. There is no budget when protecting your children.”
And just like that, the High Lord left without another word. He gave the human girl a brief nod and stuffed a tip into the jar behind the unmanned bar, then strolled out into the afternoon sun to go do whatever else it was realm-hopping aristocratic Sidhe did in Outworld cities.
Cade blew out a long, heavy breath and stared at the instructions. None of them made any fucking sense. Stealing something valuable and highly illegal? That part he got. That was one of his particular specialties, which easily explained why Markis came to him.
But the psycho didn’t even want it. Not personally, according to the next thing on the list beneath the very detailed sketch of the compass.
And the third thing? That one was just ludicrous.
“Um…excuse me. Hi.”
Cade looked up. Hid his surprise at seeing the human girl standing right there, at his table, giving him the shyest little wave of her hand.
Before he or his men could stop her, she took a deep breath and slid into the seat just vacated by Lord Markis. “Sorry. I don’t know how to do this, so…” She took another deep breath, straightened her back, squared her shoulders, and looked him in the eyes.
Whoa.
Cade hoped she didn’t notice the way he swallowed hard.
Or that other parts of him were…suddenly and annoyingly…hard.
“The hell do you want?” Instead came out as, “What can I do for you?”
Even his men shared a brief glance.
The woman—because now that she was right in front of him, he could clearly see she was no girl and a hundred percent grown woman—rested her hands on the table. Probably wanted to seem more relaxed and confident than she felt. “I need thirty thousand dollars.”
This episode of Lords & Thieves may be over, but the story continues.
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