Page 2 of The Fae Menagerie
"Three first names, if I'm not mistaken."
He frowned at me. "I suppose?"
"What do you want, Bret Simon Lloyd?"
"Demon, I summon you to take care of my ex."
"Demon?" Not this again. Somehow, my name had become synonymous with shenanigans, which suited me fine. Across generations, those shenanigans had been misinterpreted as unacceptable behavior, and then demonic possession. You draw a few symbols and terrorize a few Christians, and suddenly, you're the bad guy in their demon-summoning books: the guy with the pointy ears, sharp claws, and wings.
Sure, I knew how demons should take care of people, but I needed someone for a highly specific purpose. I couldn't escape my enclosure by myself. The last however-many years had taught me that. My mother and the warden had given me a specific task, and who knew when I'd have another chance to take someone home with me to experiment.
"This ex is human?" I asked. Hey, you never know when someone's been fucking around and can't bring himself to end things. He'd summoned me, apparently a demon, without a sacrifice, er, offering, of any kind.
"Yes, he's human." Poor Bret seemed offended by the question. He must not have been familiar with the concept of dating outside his species.
"Good," I said. "Bring him here. I'll take care of him for you."
"What? No. I can't be here when you … you want this coin, don't you?"
He flipped it between his fingers, a gold coin with … no. It was impossible. A raven. A dragon. A raven. A dragon. Over and over, he flipped the coin between his fingers.
The fae luck coin had been missing far longer than I'd been imprisoned. This must have been a human replica, a fake, except nothing but the real coin could have brought me here.
I needed that coin. It was my ticket out of the menagerie.
"What is his name?" I asked Bret.
"Whose?"
The man was as dense as the stone floor I'd crawled through to get here. "Your ex."
"Why?"
"You just witnessed the power of using someone's name. You brought me here." Gods, I needed this fool to trust me, or this would go badly. Thankfully, he ignored, or misunderstood, my frustration.
"Right. It's Parker Moynahan."
"Middle name."
Bret tapped his index finger on his bottom lip. "Um. It's something ridiculously Irish." He grinned. "I remember! Killian, like the beer."
"Irish Catholic?"
Bret's nose wrinkled, and he nodded. "Whole family's full of 'em. Think they're better than everyone else."
"Confirmed?"
"Who confirms someone's Catholic anyway?" he asked. "Does God come down and give them a seal of approval, like underwear inspectors?"
For a moment, I thought Bret had a sense of humor, but he still wore the same dead-serious look of confusion. Humans rarely scared me, but I didn't want to spend more time than necessary with this one.
I couldn't leave without Parker, and I needed his full name. I'd start with Patrick and work my way through the lesser-known saints. "Parker Killian Patrick Moynahan, we summon you to this circle."
"We?" Bret looked flustered. "Leave me out of this … I shouldn't be here. What if he really shows?"
With a pop of displaced air, Parker Killian Patrick Moynahan stood beside Bret.
Now, I had another dilemma. I couldn't pull him into the circle with me. He had to come willingly. I also couldn't reach through the circle to grab the coin. I had to play this right, or I would lose the chance forever.
