Cherry Bomb_ A Siobhan Quinn Novel - Caitlin R. Kiernan Page 0,18
annoying than Skunk Ape. Or just about the same. There was a short hallway with a tiny landing and a door painted exactly the same shade of red as the front of the building.
She knocked on the door.
“Selwyn, what’s waiting for us in there?”
“And spoil the surprise?”
“Yeah, and spoil the motherfucking surprise.”
Before she could say anything else, the door opened. No one opened it. It just opened. Immediately, the odor of honey was so strong I thought for a moment I was actually gonna gag. I covered the lower half of my face, but it really didn’t help all that much.
“You’ll get used to it,” she whispered.
“I seriously doubt that,” I muttered from behind my fingers. “What the shit?”
“You don’t even breathe, Quinn.”
“Yeah, but I can fucking smell, okay? A whole bunch better than you.”
“Well, I’m not gonna stand out here listening to you complain. We’re running late as it is.” And with that she stepped inside. I hesitated a few seconds. I didn’t have to follow her. I could always go back and wait in the taxi. Sure I could. But I didn’t.
I crossed the threshold, and the door swung shut behind me. I heard it latch. Click. Which is how long it took me to regret not having headed back down the stairs to the street, the space of a lock clicking. It wouldn’t stop me from leaving, unless there was some sort of ward or whatever, but I doubted it had been installed to stop vamps who were also loups (and vice versa).
The place was filled with bees.
I shit you not.
I resisted the urge to swat at them.
There was a brightly lit foyer, which led into a parlor that was just as bright. I squinted and dug a pair of sunglasses from my duster. I glanced about me, looking for Selwyn, but half blinded by all that light and seeing nothing much at all. The cloying sweet honey stink was even stronger now.
“Hey!” I shouted.
“In here,” Selwyn shouted back from somewhere, and it’s a wonder I could hear her over all that goddamn buzzing. Bees had begun lighting on my arms, in my hair, crawling over my face. And the bastards were loud. Like a hurricane wind made out of bees. A person could go insane in here, I thought. A person could go absolutely corn-fucking, ass-banging, cock-monkey out of her mind.
I did not swat the bees. I endured the noise and the sensation of their prickly legs on my skin, several stings, and the honey stench. I walked in the direction Selwyn’s voice had come from, and between the bees and the bright light, I didn’t notice much about my surroundings. The parlor led into a much larger room.
And . . .
At least the lights were dimmer.
“Thought you’d gotten lost,” Selwyn said. There wasn’t a bee anywhere on her. And I realized the buzzing had had faded to a dull roar.
It had to be a goddamn Faerie.
I hate Fae. Maybe even worse than I still hate Mean Mr. B. Which is saying a lot. Only Faerie I’ve ever been able to stand was a troll named Aloysius lived under a highway overpass back in Providence. I knew right off the pretty creature in front of me, stretched out on the cranberry recamier, was worse than any troll who ever squatted below any bridge. The recamier was upholstered, by the way, in some threadbare fabric about the same color as the red door and the front of the building.
“Quinn, meet Aster. Aster, meet Quinn.”
The only thing I hate more than Faeries are Faeries named after flowers. It’s just so . . . twee.
“Quinn’s sort of along for the ride today,” said Selwyn.
The Faerie made an expression that wasn’t quite a grin.
“Why, Annie,” she said in that annoying, lilting Unseelie accent. “You have a new lover. I’m so glad. Quinn, it is my pleasure, certainly, I am sure.”
The Faerie lifted one long, slender arm. I wasn’t sure whether I was meant to kiss her hand or shake it. I didn’t do either.
“Charmed,” I said, trying to keep a bee from crawling up my left nostril. Selwyn frowned.
The Faerie waved the hand I had neither kissed nor shaken, and all the bees on me flew away. I probably literally sighed a sigh of relief.
I haven’t described her. Aster, I mean. I suppose I should. Well, I can’t say what she really looked like, because I’ve never been any good at seeing through glamours and shit like that. To my