VEE

Walking along the path to Portia's, I struggle to match the ordinary suburban street with the memories of the violence I witnessed in the house. This time, I notice other things I didn't before. A stone plaque hung over the door featuring a carved sun, and an unusual plant in the garden border with a single white flower somehow blooming in the dusk. Other expensive cars are parked in the clean street and on Portia's driveway. Men sit in one or two of the cars parked on the road, her security obvious to me. What do the neighbours think?

We travelled in Heath's SUV and Xander's Aston Martin. I declined the offer to travel with him again. I'm exhausted after today’s events, and can't cope with the mood swings. I saw the calmer, gentler Xander in the bathroom earlier, but his defences could be back up now.

I hope his defences are back because I weaken against him when he’s friendly, as the frustration around him channels into desire.

A man answers the door, dressed in a black suit and sour look. There's nothing fae about him; his bulky figure matches Ewan's height and build. No guesses what his role is tonight.

"Good evening," he says in a gruff voice. "I don't need to ask who you are."

The security guy ushers us inside where the welcome warmth contrasts with the November night. The place is immaculate again. I toy with the idea I should remove my shoes in case I mark the plush cream carpet. I bet Portia isn't responsible for the perfection and has others who attend to her home.

Portia appears in a doorway opposite and stands between the open french doors. She claps her hands together and exclaims, "The Pony Boys are here."

"That's really getting old now," mutters Heath.

Portia fights a smile. "But it's endearing!"

The queen's long dress drapes around her slender figure, the silk clinging to her hips. As she moves, the material shimmers through shades of blue, from bright cerulean to the palest sky. The dress’s front scoops forward revealing the top of Portia’s breasts, where diamonds wound around her neck rest and glitter like stars. Her white-blonde hair's loose and shines to match the gems adorning her body. On the pale skin, there’s no longer any sign of the injuries she suffered.

"At least you dressed up." She wrinkles her nose at me. "Or tried."

In my hastily packed clothes, I managed to find a more formal dress than I wore to the club. The dark green chiffon reaches just above my knees and has spaghetti straps above the fitted bodice. Anna took me shopping for the dress when we attended a friend's engagement party, telling me it matched my eyes and flattered my tall figure. Formal engagements weren't on my radar at the point I left my flat to move in with the boys, but as I emptied my entire wardrobe into a rucksack, I’ve something for all occasions.

Such as parties with fairies. Fae.

The dress is designed for summer, so I paired with a matching cardigan. I think. Black matches, right? Unfortunately, the baggy knitwear dresses down my attempt to dress up.

Mental note: next time I'm summoned to a cross between a dinner party and official meeting with fae royalty, purchase a new dress. Which guy would accompany me on a shopping trip? I smile to myself. I bet they'd prefer to take on demons rather than a day in retail hell.

The guys fared better with their dress. They all possess suits, ones they use when they need to pretend they're official. Ewan's uncomfortable in his, tie loose as he yanked it away from his neck on the drive over complaining he felt strangled. Joss accepts his formal fate, and I've seen Heath in suits at work. Of them all, Xander looks the best, perhaps because he's cleaner cut, hair styled more than the others. Or the fact Xander’s personality dominates any situation.

"Do come in." Portia beckons with long, silver-painted nails.

I don't look into the lounge room that hosted the horrors from my last visit, as she leads us passed and into a large formal room. Half a dozen people sit around a long table, one immaculately decorated with matching napery and plates.

Oh god, the guys weren't joking about a dinner party.

Now this is more the ostentatious room I expect than Portia’s craft studio in her basement. The table dominates the room; tall-backed chairs either side and one at either end, each one occupied. Colours to match Portia's outfit decorate the room, crystal wine glasses shine beneath the dripping chandelier. I groan inwardly when I spot the selection of cutlery beside each place setting. I barely know a soup spoon from a dessertspoon.

"I think you should sit in the middle." Portia points at three tall-backed dining chair. "Which two boys would you like to spend time between, Verity?"

"I don't mind," I reply. "Any of them."

"Hmm." She taps her lips. "If it were me, I'd like to position myself between the brothers. I think you'd enjoy spending time between War and Death."

The teasing smile thrown in my direction raises heat in my cheeks. I don't miss Xander's muttered annoyance beside me, or the fleeting images in my mind. Bad, Vee.

We take our places, me between Heath and Xander as advised, opposite Ewan and Joss, and I steal glances at the other guests.

A man sits opposite me. Fae? He has the slender figure, pale hair, and sharp features, but his bronze-hued eyes don't match Portia's. He regards me in return, with no reaction, then turns to the woman on his right, opposite Heath, to whisper something.

The blonde woman raises her glass to drink as she looks back, barely disguising her scrutiny. I look away from her violet eyes and straighten the fork beside my white china plate.

Beside them sits a younger man, closer to my age although I'd guess younger. His hair's darker, almost black, and curled around his ears, eyes bright blue like the napery on the table and Portia's dress. His nervous smile relaxes me; at least I'm not the only odd one out.

I presume the middle-aged woman at the end of the table opposite Portia is his mother, or related in some way as their hair colour and eyes match and she’s older. I’m unable to see the man beside Heath, as he's obscured by Heath's broad frame.

The two women's dresses match the exquisite expensiveness of Portia's, and I hastily remove my cardigan and drape it over the back of the chair. The woman opposite Heath giggles.

"I didn't realise this was going to be a full-on pretence at human civility," says Ewan.

"I'm practicing." Portia sits at the head of the table and takes a napkin, flicks it out, and places the cloth on her knee. "Paul's business associates and wives are visiting next week."

"Where is Paul?" asks Heath. "Shouldn't he be with you?"

"Paul? This isn't a place for my human husband. This is fae business."

"Do these posh friends of yours know you have two husbands?" asks Xander, and gestures at the last person at the table, sitting to her right. The man holds himself upright, head tipped as he studies Xander, with the same regal air as Portia. There's no mistaking he's not human; nobody could have eyes that shine gold the way his do. His hair's long and straight, dark with a blue hue, touching his shoulders. Of every fae I've met, he has the most ethereal look. I could imagine him in a faraway place like the magical ones in books I read as a child.

But I was never a child, there's no such magical place, and this weirdness is my reality.

Portia inclines her head. "Reuben is rarely here. He's around when needed on an... official basis." She gestures at him and looks at me. "I have a fae husband who rules over the London court for me, but I’ve also a human husband to live in town and help teach our daughters how to fit into human society. Of course I love them both." She places a hand over Reuben’s, and he rests his long, pale fingers over hers, then kisses her cheek. "I love all of my men."

"Right," I say and wish I'd kept my mouth shut. So, whose daughters are Elyssia and Kailey? Paul? Reuben? Someone else?

"Humans have such silly ideas about relationships," continues Portia. "A girl doesn't need to choose, does she Verity?"

A loud sign emanates from Xander. "One, I'm hungry, and two, let's get the meeting over with. We're not here to socialise, but to assure you we're doing what we can to deal with the situation in hand."

"’Situation in hand’." Portia gives him a tight smile and twists her wine glass in her fingers. "You mean the attempt on my life?"

"Yes. We can help, but you need to look inside your own society for those responsible too."

"Oh, my," says the woman opposite Heath. "You're very forthright."

"This is Tarnia," says Portia. "She's Logan's wife." Portia indicates the fae beside Tarnia, opposite Heath. "My chief advisor and extremely good at her job. We're quite female centric, unlike your little group."

"If you’re good at your job, how come you failed to spot the threat facing Portia?" Xander asks Tarnia.

Wow. I tense as the woman's eyes harden at his dismissive voice and place a hand on Xander's knee. He looks down in surprise, jolted away from his rising conflict. "Could you pour me some wine, Xander?" I ask.

"Allow me." Logan says in a smooth voice. He takes the bottle and pours a generous measure of red wine, which I take and sip.

"What do you think of the wine?" asks Portia.

"I prefer white," I say and cringe at her disparaging look. An evening where I'm falsely polite and meet social expectations? Like that will ever happen.

A young girl appears, dressed in a white shirt and black skirt, and wheels in a trolley holding plates laden with food. She places one each on the table in front of us. My nervousness ensures I'm not hungry; thank god, this is salad. Please let there not be a million food courses. I wiggle my fingers above the cutlery besides the plate. Crap, which one? Joss catches my eye and picks up one of his. With a grateful smile, I copy him.

Portia practices small talk over dinner, Xander's rudeness retreats to silence, and I'm self-aware under the scrutiny of others around that table. She introduces the other couple and young guy as a family from another court. The younger guy, Daeron, is being groomed for a union with Elyssia. A missing Elyssia, judging by the empty chair beside him.

Somehow, I can't imagine Elyssia agreeing to any union she's not interested in. Good luck, Portia. And especially good luck to Daeron.

Xander outlines our activities over the last few days, and the results from our night at the club searching for Hunter's associates. Joss explains to the fae how he and Heath scouted likely places they'd hide out, but found nobody.

He doesn't mention the violent message left at the house, and I sense discomfort from the others about this omission.

Their lacking answers to her problems increases Portia's unimpressed attitude as the evening and wine flow.

"So you are no closer to identifying the leader of the group who attacked me, in my own home?" she asks.

"Are you?" replies Xander.

"What he means is, have you looked into your own community," puts in Ewan. "We can only do so much with little information."

"Of course we are looking for traitorous behaviour," says Tarnia, "but we can't watch everyone all of the time, can we?"

"Neither can we," retorts Heath.

"I thought you were monitoring the higher level demons?" asks Logan. "That is part of your role in this world, yes?"

"Your race are capable of working amongst humans too; you could investigate," replies Ewan

"I agree, but we're not involved in this battle between you and the demons," puts in Portia. "We live our own lives. Yes, we help when you need, but that's in return for your protection from others."

Xander scoffs. "Do you have scars?"

"Pardon?"

"From the attack."

Portia places her hand over her chest, fingers spread across the place the chains whipped her. "No, I do not."

"I bet your daughters do. Mental scars from what happened. You can’t stay out of this anymore," says Xander.

"Xander!" interrupts Heath. "I apologise, Portia."

"They are fae. They are strong," she says through clenched teeth. "Between us all, we'll clear up who's responsible within our society. You deal with the demons, and things will return to normal."

"Are you delusional?" asks Xander. "The world's changing. Why do you think Verity's arrived?"

"To distract you," says Logan. I pause, fork to my mouth, and stare at him. "To ensure you lose focus. Look at the girl, and the way you surround and protect her."

"That's not true. She's more powerful than all of us," says Ewan.

"Ewan...," warns Heath.

I continue to eat, and food sticks in my throat. We decided not to share how powerful I am, in case any guests are involved in plots against Portia.

"How is she?" Logan asks.

"She amplifies our powers. That’s all," says Heath. "Ewan means we're more powerful with her around. That's why the demons tried to intercept us finding her."

Logan rakes a gaze over me, and I give a weak smile. "I was going to say, she doesn't look like she'd have much power without you."

Cheeky, bloody.... I force a smile.

"Look, can we stop the bullshit and come to some arrangement?" asks Xander. "You agree to tell us anything—and I mean anything—that happens. Suspicious behaviour, people disappearing. Y'know, things like your daughter screwing around with demons who attempt to kill you."

"Enough!" The glass in Portia's hand shatters. "She was tricked! The problem with Elyssia won't happen again," says Portia. The serving girl reappears and busies herself clearing away the glass. "She will be sent somewhere safe."

"Sent where?" asks Joss.

"Well, it wouldn't be safe if I told you, would it?" she snaps.

"I will protect her." The younger guy speaks for the first time and looks at the vacant seat.

"Where is Elyssia then?" asks Joss. "I hope she's okay."

Portia sips her wine. "She's in her room, being awkward. I expect she'll be down when she's hungry."

Her cool tones match the ice cream covering the next course we're served. Four courses in and I'm torn between making myself sick or leaving the meal. Which would offend the queen most? I nibble on the cake. Delicious, but I won't be able to move after tonight’s meal ends.

"Let's finish up, and we can adjourn to the conservatory!" Portia's flick back into hostess mode relaxes me, but not Xander. I fight the urge to rub his arm and ask him to calm, but don't want the rejection. Instead, I attempt light-hearted conversation with an equally tense Heath.

Please don't let there be any trouble.