Shadowglass by Erica Hayes Page A

glass winked at me, bright and precious in golden downlights, and irrational longing pierced my heart like a blade.
    Just a shiny of no importance. Kane can get his own. This one’s mine.
    My heart warmed. After tonight, I’d earned it.
    And what harm ever came from something shiny?
    I squeezed, and the iron petals snapped shut, seamless. Already I mourned the lost shimmer of glass. I patted the sphere carefully and stuffed it into my bag. “Bye, squidgy. See you soon.” And I ran, jumped, and skidded on bare feet across the mahogany floor toward the door.
    T he early morning tram to the city already teemed with commuters clutching briefcases and wheeled document cases and bags stuffed with gym clothing. The hot yellow sun climbed rapidly to bake storm-fresh streets, and as usual, the tram’s air-con was cranked up to the max. I shivered and tried to find a seat to myself, but I ended up standing at the back, clutching the little plastic handles that hang from the ceiling.
    My glamour is okay, but when you’re flush up against some pasty office worker, it’s hard to hide wings. Some fairies—like Blaze, of course, that gifted little shit can do everything, and no, I’m not jealous at all—some fairies can make humans forget what they see, so it doesn’t matter. Others like Azure dazzle with their beauty. I’m not so lucky. People think it’s easy, being fae, living in a shadow world. They should try a revolving door, or buying clothes that fit, or the dodge I have to do when some glamourblind guy slips his arm around me at the Court.
    I also stank, and my glamour couldn’t hide that. I was smeared in sweat and my own arousal before I even saw Kane. Now I was caked in it. Water, spit, vodka, demon come, you name it, adding up to a curious earthy reek that no one would mistake for the latest fragrance. I really needed a shower, and I almost regretted not giving Kane that last blow job.
    So I stood and held the plastic handle like I needed it for balance, and tried not to stretch my aching wings too much. In my bag, my new not-mirror rolled and whispered, content. Home, shower, bed. No gypsy scam today. We’d scored big last night, and even though I’d spent most of my share on booze, we still had the loot to sell this afternoon. It wasn’t half what we owed, but it might keep Sonny Valenti and his charming Mafia bloodsuckers off our backs for a while. Happy days.
    A human girl bumped into me, tilting on patent leather heels. Damn it. I lurched back, but too late. Her flowery perfume hit my nostrils, and water molecules spread, tingling like a sneeze. My eyesight dimmed, images flooding like stormwater. Glitzy soirees in glossy Yarrabank apartments, luncheon at Flemington racetrack, expensive dinners in glassy rooftop restaurants. Days spent gossiping, flipping through magazines, sunbaking with cocktails by the pool, a glittering diamond ring, a warm and lucky boy who worships her.
    She murmured an apology and sidled away, and my ears popped, the tram hovering back into focus. Envy stung my wings. Humans have everything.
    It’s a talent of mine I don’t talk about, this witchy trick with human smells. I’m just thankful it doesn’t work on my friends. I don’t wanna know what they really think of me.
    Across from me, a guy in a cheap black suit clutched a worn briefcase, white earphone buds dangling unused around his neck, dark hair artfully spiked. Smudges circled his eyes, his mouth tight and weary in his pale face. Even over my eau-de-slutgirl, I could smell boredom.
    He slid a scornful glance over me, his lip twisting, and resentment soured my mouth at his disdain. Just some lousy office worker. Who did he think he was, looking at me like dirt? At least I had ambition, even if the object of my desire was unattainable. If I had any guts, I’d snark this guy raw.
    I swallowed bitter indignation and looked away.
    A cold metal whisper slithered into my mind.— What an asshole. Why don’t you tell him what