Forsaken Fae (Forsaken Fae #1) - R.A. Steffan Page 0,3

someone else, not me.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know,” Len told her. “Well, they may not have succeeded in putting you in the ground, but they did manage a pretty solid hit-job on my little corner of the local economy.”

The club’s owner, Gina, had been covering the staff’s paychecks while various insurance companies fought over the damages. Unfortunately, a good chunk of the employees’ income at the jazz club came from tips, not wages. Len had kept a bit of money set aside for emergencies, but it wouldn’t last long. He’d already had to explore some creative outlets for bringing in additional cash flow.

Zorah winced. “Do you know if Gina’s planning on reopening the nightclub in a different venue?”

“No clue,” Len said. “And we’re getting off topic. If you’re dumping Albigard on me, what the hell am I supposed to do with him? What, exactly, is wrong with him?”

Rans gestured vaguely at the unconscious form. “As Zorah said, the idiot stepped in front of a magical attack that would have been fatal to a human. He’s Fae. Just let him sleep. If it was going to kill him, it probably would have done so already.”

“Probably?” Len echoed, not in a hurry to have anyone bite the proverbial bullet while passed out on his couch. Not even someone as abrasive as Albigard.

Rans shrugged. “Yes. Probably. Fae are tough. Not much can kill them permanently except iron through the heart. Or, well, beheading.” He waved a dismissive hand. “D’you know, he was drowned once for witchcraft, back in the sixteenth century. It barely slowed him down. He perked right up an hour or so later, once I got him away from the iron they’d been using to cage him.” His features settled into a frown. “Though he did vomit up half the harbor once he came around—ruining my best leather jerkin in the process, I might add. He still owes me a new one, come to think of it.”

Zorah caught Len’s eye and mouthed homoerotic subtext at him, out of Rans’ line of sight.

Len lifted a hand to rub at his temple, trying to hold back the pounding headache that threatened to break through. “So, you’re telling me I can just leave him alone and let him do his magic healing thing? Okay, cool. But if you’re not back in two hours, I’m hauling him outside and dumping him by the curb for the garbage truck to pick up in the morning.”

“Splendid!” Rans said, as though Len hadn’t just threatened to send Albigard to the landfill. “Oh, and don’t forget—you’ll probably want to power down any electronics in the house, on the off chance he wakes up. Fae can be hell on technology when they’re not actively shielding.”

“Just ask southern England,” Zorah muttered.

Len briefly pondered the question of when, exactly, his life had gone off the rails. Unfortunately, the answer to that question was far too depressing to deal with right now.

“Right. Electronics. Sure,” he said. “Now go away, so you can come back as soon as possible and get this asshole off my sofa. Oh—and you’re on your own with taking him to Chicago. Hire someone to drive my damned car back here, or... I dunno, have it professionally shipped or something. It’s not like you can’t afford it.”

Rans shrugged easily. “Fair enough. Come along, Zorah. Let’s go find someone willing to rent us a vehicle old enough that Tinkerbell here can’t fry the computer system.”

Zorah hopped to her feet and kissed Len on the cheek. “Thanks for looking after him, Len. You’re the best!”

“Uh-huh. That’s me,” Len said in a monotone.

“We’ll be back in two ticks, mate,” Rans added. “If he does wake up, try not to murder him.” He frowned. “In fact, maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned that part about iron through the heart earlier.”

“Just hurry back,” Len said, and tried to ignore the tide of dread rising in his stomach as the pair headed out, leaving him alone with the unconscious form on the couch.

* * *

The first hour passed with no sign of movement or awareness from his unwanted guest, and Len began to relax a bit. After firing off a quick email to cancel his evening appointment—one of the aforementioned creative outlets for generating cash flow while he was out of work—he took Rans’ advice and unplugged everything he owned that contained a circuit board. Unfortunately, that left him with precious little in the way of available distractions.

For lack of anything better to do, he disappeared into the