Broken Heart 05 Over My Dead Body by Michele Bardsley Page A

vanished. They just did. Why did this one pop up here? And why now?”
    I didn’t know the answers to either of those questions, and wasn’t sure they mattered, anyway. I’d seen so much weird shit in Broken Heart in the last year that it was really hard to surprise me. After watching a dragon swoop out of the sky and destroy a Mercedes, pixies weren’t all that impressive.
    I showed Zerina the red string with its dangling black thorn.
    She frowned. “Where did you find that?”
    “Inside one of the Invisi-shield posts. Spriggan was stuck inside, at the very bottom. He said it was a pixie trap.”
    “Part of one.” She looked up. “Oy! Get your sparkly ass down here.” She took the string and dangled it in front of Spriggan. The little blur darted backward. “How’d you get to Broken Heart?” demanded Zerina. “And do tell, oh ye of tiny brain, how’d you get trapped?”
    The gold dot zoomed to Zerina. “You can’t just boss me around, you know. I’m not bound to you, only her—the one who saved me. And even then, I’m not required to put up with bad behavior. I refuse!” He paused, presumably to take a breath for another verbal berating, and then he cried, “Brigid save me! The outcast!”

Chapter 7
    Spriggan zipped to me. Outrage bristled from him; his gold light blinked furiously. “Remove her from my presence immediately.”
    Zerina and I weren’t exactly pals, but right now, I liked her better than Spriggan. “Everyone’s welcome here,” I said. “What’s your problem?”
    “She is an abomination!”
    “Well, in this town she’s in charge of the beauty shop, and if you don’t pipe down, I’ll let her do your hair.”
    He issued a tiny “Hmph!” Then he shot to the ceiling, the epitome of pissed-off fairy. I heard his teeny mutterings and rolled my eyes. I looked at Zerina. “You wanna tell me how to make another pixie trap?”
    “That’s your question?” She laughed. “I don’t know what to make of you, Simone Sweet. He tells you I’m an abomination and you don’t even blink. Aren’t you curious about his accusation?”
    “I make my own judgments,” I said, “and no assumptions about folks. Besides, words are just words.”
    “You’re wrong. Words are power. That’s why he won’t tell you his name. If you know it, he’ll have to do all that you say—because if you did save him, then he’s your shiny little slave until he repays that kindness.” Her pink gaze assessed me. Then she nodded, as if she’d made some sort of decision. “Sit down. I’ll tell you a story.”
    I had a sofa tucked into the corner. I led her to the beat-up old thing, then curled into one corner of it. She sat on the other side and crossed her legs. Her leather boots rubbed together as she adjusted her position. She didn’t look at me. Instead, her gaze was on the agitated pixie.
    “I’m more than four hundred years old. That’s very young for my kind. Most fairies have been around forever. The gods created them, just the same as they created oxygen and amoebas and mountain ranges.”
    I knew the story of Ruadan, the first vampire. Even before he was Turned, he was sidhe. More than four thousand years ago, he’d died on a battlefield and his mother, the goddess Brigid, begged her own mother, Morrigu, for the life of her eldest son. I’d met Brigid once. And even though I knew she existed, I couldn’t quite shake my own belief system. I’d been raised a Christian, although there’s not much room in Christianity for vampirism. Not in a good, demon-free way.
    “But Ruadan . . .” I muttered.
    “Yeah. His dad, Bres, was half-human. His human blood made him weak. He died trying to take over Eire. That stupid war killed him and his sons. If Brigid hadn’t made a bargain with her mother, Morrigu, who is older than time and scary as hell, he wouldn’t be walking around. Neither would any other vampire.” She waved her hand dismissively. “The sidhe are many. And they’ve bred with