The Void Series: Books 1-3

By Charissa Dufour

Cornered Magic
Sam, a half-fae Void, is ostracized by her own people, much less the humans who control her home—the Illinois Mystical Reservation. Packed into the Reservation with vampires, werewolves, faes, and mages alike, Sam does her best to travel below the radar, but when her only friend asks for her help she can’t say no. Her work to solve a fae’s murder brings her to the forefront of vampire politics, and changes her life forever.
Misguided Allies
Half-fae Sam Gollet is no stranger to solitary confinement—being a half-fae working as a vampire enforcer will do that to you. She is also accustomed to solving the crimes within the supernatural community inside the Illinois Mystical Reservation when the feds refuse to lift a finger.
After being released from Solitary, she finds herself quickly embroiled in the mysterious deaths of leading members of the fae community. Despite having been ostracized by the fae community, Sam agrees to solve the murders at the risk of her own safety.
As the body count rises, she'll be forced to show her allegiance to the fae and prove that she's not in league with Heywood’s vampire gang, all the while trying to rebuild her crumbling friendships, avoid rejection from her family, and dissuade the unwanted attentions of a mage living outside the reservation. It seems like no matter what she does, all they can see is her allegiance to the vampires, leaving her wondering if she is stuck with misguided allies.
Balanced Chaos
Half-fae Sam never thought she’d live to see the day when she would work with the government running the reservation. But when the National Guard rolls in to stop an underground power struggle from erupting, she quickly becomes embroiled in a web of secrets and lies.
Lieutenant Colonel Gallagher of the National Guard needs a meeting with the elusive fae clan leaders. He has appropriated Sam, with her unique powers, to go between himself and the Clan leaders, even if it costs her her life.
Face-to-face with an actual clan leader, Sam is given an ultimatum—save his poisoned wife to get a meeting with the fae leaders.
Sam’s day just got complicated.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Charissa Dufour
• Release date: Jun 9, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370232970

Charissa Dufour

My journey to become a writer began in 8th grade, when I was diagnosed with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and pulled from school to recover. During this time, I was left alone for hours on end and it was then that I discovered new friends within the pages of books. I also learned the blessing of creating my own friends by writing down the stories that plagued my lonely mind—as demented as that sounds. Therefore at the ripe age of fourteen, I wrote my first novel. It sucked! But I kept going and now I am an Indie Author with numerous books out. I never imagined that first horrible novel about a man who crash landed on his long lost home world would turn into a lifelong passion.I now live in Chicago, IL with my amazing husband and two rambunctious kittens, Groot and Rocket.

Book preview

Chapter One

Sam slowly opened her bedroom door, pausing to listen for any signs of life within her family’s tiny apartment. By mostly-mutual consent, the family avoided contact with her, and she them. They left for their work in the Reservation before she left her room, and any time they had to be in the apartment with her she stayed in her room.

As a Void, Sam couldn’t expect any better.

Voids were a rare nuisance to the fae community, even now that they were forced to live within the tall walls of the Reservations dotted throughout the United States, like all the other mystical entities. While other fae had a certain power or gifting, a Void had nothing but the ability to drain another mystic of their power and therefore, no one, even her family, want to be near her.

Sam scratched at her tattoo. It always itched when she thought about her gift. The tattoo, along with the power of the mage who had crafted it, helped Sam control her powers. She had gotten the tattoo at the young age of thirteen, but it was too little and too late. The work of her gift had already ostracized her within the mystical community. She was alone—except for her two friends, the only people to look past what she could not always control.

Trying hard not to think about her life, Sam scarfed down a bowl of stale cereal, washed her dishes, and left the apartment.

The Gollet family lived in what had originally been built as a parking garage. When it became illegal for mystics to live outside the Reservations in the year 2000, the population skyrocketed, and the garage had been retrofitted to house the increasing population. Even now, thirty-one years later, Sam could smell the leaked oil which still stained the concrete. Each floor was designed with a central courtyard surrounded by tiny apartments.

Sam shut the door to her family’s home and turned, stopping in her tracks. Lee Rose stood in the courtyard, his brown eyes trained on her. Sam took a deep breath, willing her heart to slow down.

Though the population of the Illinois Reservation was too large for Sam to know everyone, everyone knew Lee Rose, the top enforcer for the leader of the vampire community.

While most vampires appeared somewhat stuck in the era they had been turned, Lee was pure American emo band guitarist. His layered hair was streaked with highlights and his slim figure was clad in a tight-fitting black button-up shirt, the collar stylishly popped.

Despite his chosen style of dress, Sam knew he was one of the most dangerous mystics in the Res.

Sam chose to ignore him, hoping he would do the same. She had no idea what he was doing in a housing complex that was not his own while the sun streamed down outside. If she could just make it to the spiral driveways attached to the corners of the parking garage, she would be safe.

Sa-am, Lee called before she could take more than a few steps, drawing her name out into two syllables.

She stopped and turned to look at him. It didn’t surprise her that he knew her name. As the only Void in this Res, even the toddlers knew who she was. Of course, her looks didn’t help her quest for anonymity. Unlike most fae, Sam didn’t look entirely human. Her hair was white, not blonde but white, and her eyes—while slightly shaped like the human Asian population—were nearly as devoid of color as her hair. The effect had always unnerved the humans she met through her touring duties.

Yes, Lee, she said softly, not wanting the other fae on her level to overhear her talking with a vampire—an action that would only further ostracize her from her people.

You’re a Void, right? he asked, matching her pitch as he crossed the courtyard, dodging the various children’s toys left out.

Sam rolled her eyes in an effort to hide her fear. She didn’t like his proximity.

Everyone knows that, she said when she realized he was still waiting for a response.

And you can take power from others?

Tired of being afraid, Sam decided to be angry instead.

Would you like a demonstration? she asked as her power rose to the surface.

Her tattoo itched again and Sam fought to keep her powers in check. If she wasn’t in constant control she could drain Lee until he passed out. While tempting, it wouldn’t do any good in restoring her in the eyes of her family or her people.

Lee’s smiled, his eyes remaining dark and threatening. The combination brought Sam’s heartbeat back into triple digits. In an effort to hide her fear, she leaned toward the vampire, allowing her power to taste his strength.

Taking a vampire’s mystical speed and strength always left her hungry and angry. Each type of mystic had a different effect on her. Werewolves left her edgy and hyperactive. A fae’s power, while giving her their gift, left her feeling sick, as though her body fought against the idea of her attacking one of her own. A mage… well, that was a whole different story. Beyond the differences between each species of mystics, each individual had their own taste. While she might forget someone’s face or name, she never forgot their power-flavor.

Lee’s power seemed to feed her anger, as though he was angry now as he confronted her in her own home.

She watched with satisfaction as his shoulders drooped and he eyes fluttered shut for a second. He was feeling the effects of her theft and, to her disgust, she enjoyed his weakness.

Lee opened his eyes, his smile vanishing as he realized what was happening to him.

Point taken, he replied. And here I thought you had to touch the victim.

Sam cringed inwardly. She didn’t like to hear the word victim in association to what she had done, not that she could argue with it. It was accurate.

Touching them allows me to take more faster. Why are you asking?

Lee’s smile reappeared, his eyes glowing. I have a favor to ask of you.

Sam rolled her eyes. Like she would be doing the vampires any favors. I don’t have time for this. I have to get to work.

Oh, yes. You give tours for the executives and rich tourists that come barging into our homes.

Sam wasn’t stupid. She heard the threat in his voice. Most of the mystics didn’t like to see humans prowling around their home, such as it was. Sam argued they would get a tour whether she did it or not. At least this way she brought in a few extra tokens to help support her family. Tokens were how the U.S. government controlled the economy within the Res. Of course, they had no control over the free trading taking place between the families.

I do as I’m told, she replied. Now, if you will excuse me.

Sam turned to slip past him when she felt his hand grasp her arm. She looked down at his hand, which squeezed into the leather of her jacket.

Again she worked to control her powers. The contact between them only made her want more. Power and strength were addictive, and if she wasn’t careful she would become what all the mystics feared—an out of control Void.

Still, she needed to show him she wasn’t willing to be pushed around. Sam carefully released her hold over her gift, allowing Lee’s power to leak into her, coating her skin and making the hair on the back of her neck stand to attention.

Lee’s grip loosened.

Sam jerked her arm free and marched away. As she reached the spiral driveway that led down to the lower levels of the parking garage she glanced back, happy to see Lee leaning against the wall.

Don’t think it’s that easy, she heard him say as she started her way downward.

Sam began to fret as she walked past the various pots of growing vegetables. The fae who lived in the parking garage used the spiral driveways to hold their potted gardens. Her own mother, Miranda, grew a tomato plant and a precious cucumber plant. The family seldom enjoyed the cucumbers she grew. They were too valuable in the realm of trading.

A few of the local women were out watering their plants. They skirted to the sides, giving Sam a wide berth.

To Sam’s astonishment, she found her mother standing at the base of the spiral. Sam frowned down at her.

Over the hundreds of generations since the fae had come to the human realm the fae bloodline had been diluted as the fae married humans. With the industrial revolution, the fae had lost most of their power and their ability to conceive. The result was even more marriages between humans and the fae to continue the race. Still, there were a few full-blooded fae left, and Sam’s parents were among them.

Despite this honor, Sam had somehow come out as a half-fae. Though her parents insisted it was a fluke—the result of previous generations diluting the gene pool—but Sam thought otherwise. Sam simply couldn’t shake the notion that her mother had had an affair twenty years ago. Her father’s obvious dislike of her gave the theory further support.

Mom, she said as she moved to pass her mother.

Sam, can we talk?

What’s up? Sam asked, trying to shake off her recent encounter with Lee.

Well, I just wondered how things were going with Chad?

Sam frowned. Her mother had stayed behind to ask her how her dating life was going?

Fine, Sam replied, sounding suspicious even to her own ears.

Think you two’ll get married?

Sam felt her brows come down into a deeper frown. What? I don’t know, Mom.

Her mother scratched the back of her neck. I just thought… you might be happier in your own home.

Sam ground her teeth together. She knew what her mom really wanted. She wanted her Void of a daughter out of her house. Within the Reservation, a person didn’t get their own apartment until they were married, no matter how old they were. Sam’s brother was still living at home at the age of twenty-nine.

Sorry my presence bothers you so much, she said as she tried to start walking again.

Her mother’s hand snaked out and caught Sam’s leather coat, right where Lee had just grabbed her. That’s not what I mean. Please know what I’m about to say is not meant in hatred. I love you, Samantha. I do, and therefore I want what is best for you. But the fact is you are a Void, and most mystics don’t like to be around you.

Sam ground her teeth together again, her jaw aching with the pressure.

And yet you have found a man who wants to date you. A man who is well connected, who has surprisingly good jobs. You’re not going to get a better offer. And if you got married, you could move out… away from your father.

Sam stopped gnawing on her own teeth to stare at her mother. Miranda had never spoken against her husband before. In fact, in all the times her father Dave had verbally abused Sam her mother had remained silent.

Just think about it, Samantha, her mother said as she released her daughter’s arm.

Before either of them could say anything, her father appeared.

What’s going on here? he asked.

Just talking, her mother said calmly.

Her father’s eyes narrowed as he looked down at his wife. What could you have to talk about?

Can’t I give her a bit o’ advice? her mother asked.

"Guess so. After all, she is your daughter, murmured Dave before taking his wife’s wrist. We need to get to work. When’ll you be home, girl?"

Sam swallowed the lump in her throat. After all these years, her father’s habits shouldn’t have bothered her, but they did.

I have a tour for the admin this morning. After that, I’m going to see Amber.

Her father nodded. Fine. We’ll see you after dinner.

It wasn’t a reminder to be home before dinner. Her father’s statement was a reminder to stay away until the family had finished their meal. Sam used her best poker face and nodded in return. Dave tugged on his wife’s arm, leading her away from their daughter.

Sam rubbed her thumb against the bridge of her nose, trying to ease the tension forming. Today had been a perfect repeat of a conversation she had had with her father a hundred times. Why, then, was she so upset?

Sam tried to shake off her emotions and turned toward the street. At this rate, she was going to be late for her tour.

She had barely made it onto the street before someone else called to her. Sam turned to see her best friend, Amber, waving. She stopped to let the shorter-legged woman catch up.

Good morning, Amber said brightly.

Morning.

Despite Sam’s efforts, Amber liked almost everyone. As an empath she felt their emotions, giving her a glimpse into the various things people tried to keep to themselves. When someone was mean, she felt the pain of past experience. When someone was rude, she felt their need to defend themselves from future hurt. In nearly every way possible, Amber was the exact opposite from her friend.

What’s got your knickers in a twist? asked Amber before laughing at her own joke.

Nothing, Sam grumbled.

You giving a tour today too?

Yep.

Umm… when you’re done, would you go with me to Becky’s?

Sam rolled her eyes. She wasn’t in the mood to wander into vampire territory, especially after her confrontation with Lee. As an adult without parents, Becky lived in the tiny studio apartments that had been built in the streets of the only neighborhood with actual houses. The studio apartments were reserved for anyone who was single. This meant a lot of vampires lived in Becky’s neighborhood—for some reason, vampires tended not to get married.

Why? Sam asked.

I haven’t seen her in days. We were supposed to meet up yesterday, but she never showed.

Sam sighed, her head bobbing up and down on its own accord.

She hadn’t even made it to work and her day was already falling apart. What else could go wrong?

Thanks, Amber said brightly, most likely in an effort to drag her friend out of the dumps.

As an empath, Amber always knew when Sam was grumpy—which was often—and most of the time her friend’s efforts only made her grumpier. Still, Amber was one of the few people who actually trusted Sam to not drain her of power.

Amber gave Sam’s shoulder a pat before wandering away.

Sam continued down the packed street toward the small, two-story brick building placed beside the main entrance to the Res.

The Res had originally been designed for car traffic, with six one-way streets—hence the parking garage—but when the population increased cars were forbidden. Now the narrow streets had barely enough space for the abundance of foot traffic.

Amber pushed her way through the crowd, making it halfway to the administration building before someone else called to her.

For someone who generally found herself alone and avoided, Sam was perplexed by her sudden popularity.

Sam! the voice called again.

She recognized the voice, but after her mother’s suggestion, she didn’t much feel like meeting with her boyfriend. She liked Chad, she really did—or at least that’s what she told herself—but there was just something missing. She couldn’t say what precisely, but something about him was lacking.

Though she couldn’t put it into words, she wanted a man, and Chad was still a youth in so many ways. He played practical jokes and flirted with anything female. Sam didn’t care about his flirting. She didn’t see it as a form of infidelity, but rather as a sign of his adolescence.

While life inside the Reservation was not a life of luxury it was comparatively safe. The Federal Mystics Bureau policed the small space. Like herself, up until Lee confronted her, Chad had never experienced a moment of true danger, and it showed in the way he ran around the Res trading tokens for better-looking clothing.

The fact was, the Res didn’t breed men. Instead, it bred pathetic boys who stooped before those who confined them to this small slice of hell.

Slowly, Sam realized her disgust was less concerning Chad and more relating to her people’s current situation. Current situation implied that it might change soon, but the mystics had been forced to live within the Res for over thirty-one years.

Hey, beautiful, Chad said as he reached her side, draping his arm over her shoulder, effectively pulling her from her frustrating thoughts.

Sam forced a smile to her lips as he gave her a gentle peck on the cheek.

How are you? he asked when she didn’t say anything.

Fine.

Chad’s smile didn’t waver. Either he wasn’t very good at reading her bad moods, or he was so used to her being in a bad mood that he just ignored it.

You have a tour?

Sam nodded.

Can I see you after?

I have to take Amber to visit Becky’s apartment.

Chad’s arm stiffened against her shoulders. I don’t like you going into that neighborhood.

Good thing it’s not up to you, then, she replied as she shrugged out from under his arm.

Chad was silent for a few minutes as they continued down the crowded street, weaving past children running to the school, women working to get to the courtyard where people set up stalls for trading, and other adults working to get to their jobs before the gong sounded.

Sam, I don’t want you going into vamp territory.

And I already said it’s not up to you, Sam said, not even turning to look at him.

And when we’re married? Will you defy me then?

Sam stopped in her tracks. Was her mom conspiring with Chad?

Who said anything about getting married?

I’m not saying let’s go get married tonight. But surely we will eventually.

Right, Sam sighed, her sarcasm coming out despite her best efforts. Real romantic, Chad.

Look, we need to figure this out. This is important.

There’s nothing to figure out.

Sam realized he was right, but she was in no mood to debate women’s rights with him. Just as he opened his mouth to retort, they reached the admin building. Outside the building, a large, sleek, black sedan sat, its engine ticking cool.

Both Sam and Chad skirted around it to reach the steps and jogged up to the door. Chad opened the door for her, allowing her to enter first.

Love you, he said, preparing to leave her.

Sam did her best to ignore the puppy-dog expression on his face.

You too, she replied, unable to stomach the four letter word.

Sam turned away from her frowning boyfriend to find herself under the scrutiny of the admin secretary, the Res’ human governor, and three strange men. The human secretary only had eyes for her computer screen, in contrast with the men who openly stared at Sam. While the governor, Mr. Tibbs, was glowering at her with his usual disdain, the other three were eyeing her as though her exchange with Chad had amused them.

Miss Gollet, nice of you to join us, said Mr. Tibbs.

Sam forced a polite smile to her lips, even though she knew the governor was taunting her. Like the other mystics under his control, Sam disliked Tibbs. He presented himself as their best friend, their greatest advocate, then took bribes from politicians, resulting in a reduction in funds sent to the Reservation.

May I introduce you to Mr. Sterling? He is the CEO of Michigan Plastics. He’s here to look into replacing some of our iron structures with plastic to better improve the fae’s health.

Sam nodded, willing her poker face into place. It wouldn’t help her to reveal how little she trusted Tibbs’ statement.

As a fae, he continued, I thought you would be best to show them around the Reservation, telling them when you feel the effects of the iron.

Sam bit down on her tongue. She couldn’t tell him how little she believed him. Tibbs had made promises time and again without actually following through. The entire Res population didn’t trust him.

And these are his two assistants: Mr. Martinez and Mr. Hunt, Tibbs said, motioning to the two men standing behind the CEO.

Sam froze, quickly averting her eyes from Mr. Hunt. As she looked on his tall, lean figure, she realized she was not the only mystic in the room. She could feel Hunt’s power caressing her skin. It called to her gift, begging her to taste his power. It tickled and enticed her all at the same time. Sam took a deep breath, drilling her well-trained focus into her tattoo, etching its shape in her mind as the magic of the tattoo worked in her, shutting down her gift. Sam might have thought it was the power of an untrained mage, a man who didn’t even realize he was a mystic, except the power had the taste of experience and training. He was not a novice.

Hunt was a master of masters.

Chapter Two

Is there something wrong, Miss Gollet? asked Tibbs.

No, she replied too quickly. Sam swallowed the lump in her throat. Shall we leave, gentlemen?

A piece of her wanted to out the mage, revealing his secret to the FMB, but she had no reason to do such a horrible thing. What had he done to deserve her fate—trapped in an iron and concrete box?

Mr. Sterling smiled, his large teeth showing white past his lips. Though Sam could tell he was a man full of indulgences, he was also a man who would look good in a magazine. Sam fumbled with her snug leather jacket, zipping it up as she led them out of the admin building. She hadn’t exactly dressed for a pricey executive. She was wearing dark-wash jeans tucked into scuffed lace-up boots and her favorite t-shirt. It said, Free Bates with a pudgy man’s face plastered across the front. She didn’t know who Bates was or why he needed freeing, but she could relate.

Usually, Sam didn’t worry about her attire, but if Sterling could exchange plastic for iron within the Res then she needed to do her best to make that happen. Outside the brick building, they came to a stop. Sam glanced around, wondering what to show them first.

They had a planned tour route for the basic tourist, but she knew today called for something more. Sam found herself rubbing her forehead again. A headache was forming just behind her eyes. If her morning was anything to go by, she had her work cut out for her to make this tour worthwhile. At her current rate, she half expected one of the fashionable men to get turned into a werewolf while in her care.

Sam cleared her throat. I have a normal tour route that we use for tourists and the like, but perhaps there is something specific you would like to see?

That’s very kind of you, Miss Gollet, replied Sterling.

Please, call me Sam, she said, forcing herself to act politely toward the human.

I take it that’s short for something.

Samantha.

What a lovely name! It’s a pleasure to meet you, Samantha, Sterling said, holding out his hand.

Sam hadn’t met many humans, but what few she had never offered her their hand. She was too alien for most humans to trust. She reached out tentatively, allowing him to close the distance and grip her hand in a firm shake.

And what sort of faerie are you? he asked.

Sam tried to keep her expression neutral. She knew he didn’t mean to be offensive. His expression was open and inviting. He simply wanted to learn about her world. She just didn’t much like sharing it with outsiders. The humans had trapped them in the Reservation, and now they wanted to study the mystics as though they were lab rats.

I’m of the Harcos Clan. I’m a Void.

Forgive me, but what exactly is a Void?

Despite her efforts, Sam began to grind her teeth together. A Void has no magic of their own. They can only drain others of their magic.

I see. And are there a lot of Voids in the Illinois Reservation?

Sam swallowed the new lump in her throat. I’m the only one. There is a list of all registered fae, which is available upon request.

She hoped this last statement would end his catalog of questions.

What would you like to see first? she asked, trying to direct them back to their tour.

What has the most iron in the Reservation?

The shipyard. This way, she said, motioning for them to head south toward the river.

They walked in silence for a few minutes until the other assistant, Martinez, spoke up.

Are you still in school?

Sam struggled not to laugh. No. We stop going to school at age fifteen.

What do you do after school?

We work.

And you give tours? asked the inquisitive young man.

I also work for Organic Diapers.

And what do you do there?

I clean cloth diapers… by hand.

The men were silent for a moment, no doubt imagining her daily tasks. Before any of them could think up another list of questions, they came into view of the shipyard. Sam stopped, keeping her distance from the iron framework.

If I’m not mistaken, you ship out what you produce via the shipyard? asked Sterling.

Yes, and we receive our monthly food supply through it. The vampires work the night shift and the werewolves work the day shifts, with the occasional mage for help.

No fae? asked Martinez.

Only through sheer force of will was Sam able to keep her eyes off the secret mage. She wanted to know what he thought of his fellow assistant and his ridiculous questions.

Once again her magic awoke, pressing against her defenses. It wanted to taste the mage, to know him and his powers. Sam focused on her tattoo for the third time that morning, working to maintain control.

No. The shipyard’s crane and infrastructure are made of iron.

And what precisely does that do to you? Martinez asked, his eyes aglow with sadistic pleasure.

Enough, ordered Sterling.

With the swift injunction, Sterling marched to the shipyard, entering the maze of small, metal shipping crates. Sam forced her feet to move forward, knowing full well what to expect. She followed them into the maze, barely able to keep up.

Her skin crawled, the sensation swiftly shifting to pain the longer she stayed within reach of the crates. Without thinking about it, she glanced up at Hunt. His dark eyes were on her, tracking a bead of sweat rolling down her temple. Sam jerked her eyes off of him. He held too much temptation for her, and she was slowly realizing it wasn’t just his powers she wanted.

Mr. Hunt was not like the other two men, and not just because he was a mage. While he wore a suit made by the same high-priced tailor as the others, subtle signs suggested he did not live a pampered life. His large hands were calloused, and small scars enhanced his attractive face on his lower lip and his left eyebrow. The knuckles on his right hand looked to be healing, as though he had recently punched something harder than his own fist. Whatever Hunt did for Mr. Sterling, Sam was sure it wasn’t in the financial department.

Take from me, he said, interrupting her thoughts.

Sam glared up at him.

Take my power. You’re in pain.

She rolled her eyes and marched forward. He may be a powerful mage, but he was clearly also an idiot. If she started taking his powers, as weak as she was, she wouldn’t stop until she had drained him. Though she had never done it, Sam had heard of Voids killing mystics by draining them of all their magic. Either Mr. Hunt thought a lot of himself and his ability to stop her, or he thought a lot of her and her ability to control her gift. Either way, he was wrong.

Sam walked away, following the humans until they made it through the maze of crates and stood gazing at the enormous crane, currently lifting crates onto a flat river boat. Sam spotted a row of heavy-duty plastic barrels. Slowly, she shifted to them and leaned against one. Despite her efforts, Hunt followed her movements, shifting his feet to keep her within his line of sight. She didn’t like the protective look in his eyes.

Sam wasn’t used to someone looking out for her well-being. Even her best friends, Amber and Carl, knew better than to try.

Sterling and Martinez continued to gaze over the shipyard for a number of minutes before finally turning back to look at her.

What does all this iron do to you? asked Sterling with only the barest glimpse of compassion for her suffering.

It weakens me, Sam whispered just loud enough for him to hear her. It hurts.

Sterling looked to Hunt, as though silently asking for more information. Iron is poison to a fae. Just like Dart Frog venom or cobra’s venom. The longer a fae stays near iron the weaker they get.

Yes, I know all that, Roman, snapped Sterling.

Strangely, the executive balked at his own statement before swallowing a lump from his throat as though he thought Hunt might retaliate. Whatever their relationship, Sterling knew Hunt was a mage.

Annoyed at their scholarly discussion of her agony, Sam pushed herself to her feet and stomped over to the nearest metal crate. She didn’t hesitate before firmly pressing her hand against the iron. The air snapped and sizzled, as though a lightning storm was brewing within their midst. Sterling and Martinez covered their noses as the cloying smell of burning flesh filled the air, while Hunt glared at her as if he were angry.

When Sam couldn’t take the pain anymore, she peeled her hand away from the iron and presented it to Sterling, absently noticing that a thick layer of skin remained on the crate in the perfect shape of her small hand.

This is what iron does to us! she snapped, only half aware of how stupid she was being.

If Sterling complained to Tibbs, Sam would lose her job, and might even be put into solitary confinement as punishment. Sam bit down on her tongue, willing herself to not say anything else that might offend him.

I see, Sterling said, his eyes flicking from her to his two assistants.

Shall we continue the tour? asked Hunt.

Sterling nodded, shaken by Sam’s display.

Sam stumbled back into the maze of crates. She felt Hunt’s hand grip her elbow, his touch sending shocks of pleasure and desire through her body, masking the agony she felt in her hand. When they reached the clear street, Sam jerked her arm free. If he kept touching her she was going to do something even more idiotic than pressing her bare hand against an iron crate—like drain him or kiss him.

Chapter Three

Sam returned the three men to the administration building just in time for their meeting with a few government officials. This time, Sterling didn’t offer to shake her hand. Hunt eyed her for a moment before turning away and following his boss into the conference room. Before Tibbs could question her, Sam ducked out of the building and hurried down the street.

A few minutes later, Sam knocked on Amber’s door, her injured hand tucked against her chest.

Ready? she asked, not feeling up to parsing pleasantries when Amber opened the door.

Amber frowned at her. Amber was used to her surliness, but this was a stretch, even for Sam.

Everything okay?

Rough tour.

Amber’s eyes flickered down to the hand Sam held against her chest. They hurt you?

Not precisely.

Sam watched as Amber ground her teeth together, no doubt feeling Sam’s emotions. Slowly, Amber nodded. She grabbed her own jacket and closed the door. Amber lived in the same parking garage housing complex as Sam, one floor up. Though Sam would never admit to it, the notoriety Amber suffered for being her friend broke her heart. Amber and Carl shouldn’t have to pay just because they were nice to her, but they did and did it willingly.

The children playing in the courtyard gave them a wide berth as they made their way to the spiral driveway.

You sure Becky’s missing? Sam asked as they reached the ground.

Yes. I’ve asked around. No one’s seen her in at least two days.

In that case, we need to go to the Feds.

Amber’s face melted into a look of rebellion. She may have loved everyone, but the officers of the Federal Mystics Bureau didn’t count according to her code. Then again, Sam didn’t know any mystic who liked the Bureau.

Amber, you don’t have to come.

Despite the two years since the attack, Amber still couldn’t face the uniformed officers with any ease, and Sam didn’t fault her for it. In truth, Sam knew Amber’s perpetual friendliness was in direct response to the horrors of her past. The officer in question had not actually managed to rape her, but her boyfriend had spent six months in solitary confinement and had been transferred to the Florida Reservation as a result of his interference. The Bureau didn’t see it as a man saving his girlfriend from a revolting act, but rather as a mystic attacking a federal officer.

I’ll come, Amber finally said, forcing a smile to her face.

Sam gripped Amber’s shoulder with her good hand. You sure?

Can’t be afraid my whole life.

Sam shrugged. I plan to be, she mumbled under her breath as she turned to walk back to the admin building.

Together they walked into the administration building, standing in the same foyer where Sam had met Hunt and the others. Amber stepped forward and asked the receptionist if they could speak with the captain in charge for the day. While Amber spoke, Sam tried and failed to keep her eyes off the door leading to the conference room.

It was a glass door, with blinds pulled up. From where she stood, she could easily spot Roman Hunt standing behind Sterling’s chair. Sterling was talking, gesturing emphatically. Sam watched the executive talk, unaware that Hunt had spotted her. Her eyes flickered up, catching his gaze. To her annoyance, he glanced at her hand, still pressed protectively against her chest.

Sam turned away, hiding her injury from him, just as the Duty Captain emerged from the hallway that led back into the bowels of the building.

Despite her efforts, Sam cringed at the sight of the human sauntering up to them. Captain Reynolds had been the bane of her existence since the first time Sam was put into Solitary. She didn’t know what had caused the man to hate her so much, but after a number of confrontations, the feeling was mutual.

What? he asked, none too kindly.

Amber swallowed. Sorry to bother you, sir, but a friend of ours has gone missing.

Friend gotta name?

Becky Stirgus.

The man rolled his eyes down to the computer and punched a few buttons. Neither Sam nor Amber knew what he was doing. It was illegal for mystics to own any technology fancier than a tape player. Of course, that didn’t necessarily mean a few mystics didn’t own computers with connections to the internet. Sam didn’t understand any of it but Carl did.

Well, there aren’t any incident reports concerning her.

But we can’t find her anywhere, said Amber, fluttering her eyelashes in an attempt to look innocent.

Sam tried not to roll her own eyes at Amber’s efforts.

Sure she ain’t visiting her boyfriend or something? Spending a few days in the sack? asked the captain, obviously thinking all mystics were enormous sluts.

Are you sugges… began Sam before Amber smacked her on the arm.

We’ll just keep looking, Amber said over the top of Sam’s grunt.

You just do that, said Reynolds before patting the secretary on the shoulder and turning away; he disappeared into the hallway before Amber and Sam could leave.

They reached the street, no closer to finding Becky.

Guess it’s time to go to her house, Sam said.

Within minutes they entered the little neighborhood, once designed to be like a regular housing community. When the Reservation had first been built the designers had put in the neighborhood, trying to give the inmates more of a human experience. The neighborhood consisted of a one-way loop surrounded by row housing. The houses had since been divided up into single-story apartments. In recent years, to keep up with a major increase in tenants, the government had brought in plastic crates and turned them into studio apartments for the single residents of the Reservation. These crate-apartments were put in the streets, leaving only the cracking sidewalks for foot traffic.

Sam and Becky entered the dark, narrow pathway, keeping their pace up as they scurried past two werewolves lounging against their front doors and chatting. The two men chuckled as they passed, one even letting out a wolf-like howl of appreciation.

For the billionth time that day, Sam felt the urge to release her gift. She was tired and tired of being used, and the day was only half over. Sam focused on the pain in her burned hand in an effort to ward off the temptation beating through her veins. Just a small taste of the wolf and you’ll be strong, whispered her gift as though it were alive.

Thankfully, Amber kept their pace up and they quickly passed the werewolves. They reached the eastern end of the neighborhood and climbed the steep steps up to Becky’s second-story crate. Amber knocked on the door and waited. Knocked again and waited some more.

Carl? suggested Amber.

Sam nodded. They made their way back through the neighborhood and out onto the main street. Carl was one of the unlucky fae who lived in the complex nearest the shipyard and all its iron. Sam didn’t feel much like approaching the iron again, but she didn’t have a choice.

You gonna tell me what happened to your hand? Amber asked as they neared the southern-most complex.

Long story. It’s fine.

Sam could practically hear Amber roll her eyes as they entered the complex.

Like most housing complexes in the Reservation, Carl’s was designed to use as little electricity as possible. It was laid out with a minuscule courtyard in its center with balconies wrapping around it on the second and third levels. This tiny courtyard allowed the apartments to have exterior walls—and therefore windows—on two ends. The natural light provided by the windows, theoretically, meant the inhabitants didn’t need to turn on their lights as much. This theory took such hold in the collective heads of the FMB that apartments were now limited on the power allowed per month. Most inhabitants had learned to restrict their uses of electricity for basic necessities like cooking.

Carl opened the door, a wide grin already plastering his face. Carl was the sort of young man for which one immediately wanted to make a sandwich. From head to toe, he was nothing but skin, bones, and heart. He took a step back to allow them entrance, tripping over his own feet in the process.

Amber smiled at him cheerfully and Sam did her best to copy the expression. They followed Carl back to his closet-sized room. The room fit his twin-sized bed, a narrow dresser, and a small desk with his smuggled computer. Beyond that, there was about a one-foot-by-two-foot swath of empty floor. Amber moved straight to his bed, sitting on the edge, to make space for the rest of us. Carl took up his seat at his desk while Sam leaned against the closed door.

Did you guys go? asked Carl, clearly aware of Becky’s disappearance.

Went to the feds. No help. Went to her apartment. She didn’t answer, replied Sam.

Carl, could you do some computer snooping? asked Amber, waving her hand at Carl’s fancy box.

The thin man hesitated a second before turning in his chair and powering up the computer, his gift surging forth to power the technology. Carl’s gift—creating electricity—was a major contributor to his interest in technology and his ability to pursue it. Without his gift, he and his mother would never have been allotted enough electricity for him to use a computer.

I’m not sure what I can do, but I’ll try.

Sam moved to sit beside Amber as Carl began typing. Neither of them knew the first thing about human technology and computers. The screen changed a few times, sometimes with nothing but words, other times with pictures of strange people and places. The girls kept quiet as he worked.

Fifteen minutes later he turned and shook his head.

I checked the news sources. Nothing. No stories about a fae dying or escaping the Res.

What about the feds thingy? Sam asked.

The fed’s program? Carl replied.

Sam shrugged. Sure. That thing.

Carl chewed on his lips. I can try to hack into their network. Maybe they’re holding her in Solitary.

Why wouldn’t they just tell us that? countered Amber. They usually sing that from the rooftops. They want us to know each time they put someone into solitary confinement. They want us to know what the punishment is for whatever.

Sam and Carl nodded in response.

I don’t know what else to do, replied Sam. Carl, can you try?

He hesitated again before turning back to his computer. This is gonna take a few hours at the least, he said over his shoulder."

I’ve got nowhere to go, Sam said as she pushed herself back onto the bed so that she could lean against the wall.

Amber copied her and settled in to wait.

Finally, when Amber had given up on getting Sam to tell her what Chad lacked as a boyfriend, Carl announced he was in—whatever that meant. He made a few more clicks on the keyboard.

All right. They have a file on Becky. He whistled. Pretty big one. They keep track of every time she’s had an encounter with the feds.

Such as?

Six months ago she did a stint of two weeks in Solitary for possession of drugs. Another visit to Solitary after an altercation with a vampire… Lee Rose.

Sam felt her stomach clench in fear. Lee. Why was he constantly crossing her path?

They dated, explained Amber. Thought Becky had ended that.

Another warning when seen talking with Joe Matsen again.

And I thought she was off the drugs, said Amber.

Sam rolled her eyes. They were putting a lot of effort into finding a vampire-dating, drug-smoking woman.

When was that visit to Solitary? asked Sam

Carl clicked something and read, Less than a month ago.

Amber and Sam cringed in unison. At the sound of the front door opening, Carl quickly exited the feds’ network.

Guess we need to go talk to the druggie, said Sam.

Tomorrow. My parents will be looking for me, said Amber, her eyes flicking to Sam’s hand.

Sam knew she wanted her to go to one of the healers, but Sam wasn’t about to explain her injury to anyone, especially a judgey fae who despised her for her gift.

Good idea, said Sam before climbing to her feet.

Sam and Amber exited Carl’s room, their friend right behind them. Carl’s mother was still stripping out of her jacket when they passed her to leave.

See ya, Carl, Amber said for the both of them before they slipped out.

They reached the street and headed north up to their own complex. As they passed the administration building, Sam heard her name being called. Though she had barely spoken to him, she recognized his rich voice.

Sam turned to see Mr. Hunt jogging down the steps of the admin building to catch her.

He glanced at Amber before he looked at Sam’s hand.

Amber, this is Mr. Hunt. He was on my tour today. Mr. Hunt, this is Amber.

Pleasure to meet you, he said.

Amber smiled up at him, obviously seeing the same man Sam felt drawn to.

Would you mind giving us a moment? he asked, giving her a winning smile, his white teeth standing out against his dusky skin.

I need to—uh, get home… anyway, she said before slipping into the fading light.

Sam stared at Hunt for a moment, unsure what he wanted with her. She refused to feel his draw or the longing of her gift. Sam set her face into a glower before looking up at him again.

Her glare brought a smile to his lips. Did you get your hand checked?

What’s it to you?

Just concerned, he said, holding his hands up in a sign of surrender.

Sam didn’t respond. She was struggling against the pull of her gift. Her tattoo began to itch as she worked to pour her focus into the design on her chest. The more she interacted with this strange man the more she felt her tattoo was not sufficient protection from the damage she could do.

Why didn’t you take the power I offered you?

Sam felt her own glare darken. Couldn’t he leave her alone?

I’m no thief, she snapped.

This too made him smile.

Is it stealing when it’s offered to you? You know what I am?

Yes.

And you didn’t tell the FMB.

No, Sam said unnecessarily.

Why?

None of my business.

To her increasing frustration, he smiled again. Sam wasn’t sure if her frustration was to do with his annoying tendency of smiling at everything she said or her growing desire to kiss that smile away. She licked her lips, almost expecting her desires to take over.

Hunt nodded. I’m Roman, he said introducing himself formally.

Sam didn’t take his offered hand. She couldn’t control her gift, or her hormones, if she touched him. What was wrong with her?

Sam, she said, not looking down at the proffered hand.

Slowly, he lowered the hand, a new smile forming on his lips.

You should have taken my offer.

Why does it matter?

Roman shrugged. Guess it doesn’t. I’ll be seeing you, he added before turning back to the admin building.

Sam rubbed her aching head. What a day!

Chapter Four

Sam trudged up the spiral drive, her body aching after her long day. She could still feel the effects of the iron, seeping past her wound and into her bloodstream. It would take days for the iron to leave her system, and still longer for her hand to heal.

She stopped outside the door of her family’s apartment, wondering how she was going to hide the wound from her mother. Her father wouldn’t care, but her mother would. Sam cringed as she folded her hand into a fist and slipped it into her jacket pocket. Using her other hand she awkwardly opened the door and walked in, using her foot to push it shut again.

As Sam expected, she found her family sitting at the dinner table eating their evening meal. She had tried to miss the experience in its entirety, but the call of her bed had been too strong. She needed rest to heal.

Her family looked up, each with their own expressions.

I left your plate in the oven.

Thanks, Mom, she said as she skirted around