by Gwen Rivers
“Wait. What’s your name?” The fae woman called as I was about to turn out of the alley.
I paused. A rumble of thunder growled in the distance. It was going to rain soon. I’d have to find a doorway to shelter in, or maybe beneath a bridge.
“Please,” she begged. “They were going to…you stopped them from…I just want to know who to thank.”
The fae can’t lie. Part of me wanted to tell her. I wanted to scream my name is Emma Slade. My mother and brother were siphoned by the dark fae. It was a foolish impulse. The equivalent of a mortal swerving their car into oncoming traffic.
“Just a girl passing through.” I said and then moved on before the storm broke.
Liam watched as the rogue fae female left the alley. He’d spotted her several blocks ago and knew she wasn’t one of his charges.
He’d kept his distance. If she was a twisted one, she might lead him to the hive where the rest of the dark fae congregated. Their very presence was a blight on his city. It was his job to protect the mortals from the fae and vice versa.
He was failing on both counts.
He’d heard the cry and had been prepared to abandon following his quarry to help the fae in need when she’d beaten him to it. He’d stood on a rooftop overlooking the alley and seen her taking out the fae haters.
No fae should have been able to harm a human. The Oath taken by the Seelie kings and the One True Queen held all of the forever young to their words. The young woman with the golden hair hadn’t used magic, but it shouldn’t have mattered. The phrasing of the fae Oath was specific.
None of our kind will raise a hand against a mortal. Under no circumstance will the fae cause deliberate harm to a human, whether by action or deed.
Yet the girl had dealt with those punks in an efficient and almost brutal manner that his inner beast admired.
His cell phone rang. “What, North?” he barked at his PA.
“Just wondering whose leg you were humping,” the cheeky Russian voice sneered. “You’ve been gone all day.”
“Get someone down to the corner of thirty-second and Broad. We had another fae hater attack.”
North cursed in Russian. “Is anyone dead?”
“No, just a couple of banged-up mortals.” The fae girl turned a corner. “Hurry up. We have a transitioning dryad who dropped her glamour like a hot potato.”
“Da. Potatoes are best turned into vodka—”
Liam shut the phone before the sylph could finish and then ran across the rooftop. The momentum propelled him up and to the next, he landed with a crouch and breathed in.
The city was a miasma of smells. Humanity and their byproducts. Garbage, steam from food vendors, sweat, urine, blood, deodorant, lotion, perfume and cologne. He’d grown used to it long ago. It was different than the Black Forrest, but familiar. As a D.C. native, Liam loved the energy a big city brought. His wolf did, too. It had been too long since he’d had a real challenge and acting as the law for the sixth borough was a big one.
He followed the girl as she moved farther and farther from the river. Not heading to the PR. Her scent drifted up to him. Wild honeysuckle. What sort of fae was she that the Oath didn’t apply to her? Seelie or Unseelie?
She stopped outside of an abandoned Italian restaurant. The lights were off, the windows covered with plywood. She glanced around and then turned down an alley. Liam scrambled down the nearby fire escape. What was she doing? Did she have some connection to the place?
He approached cautiously. Rain began to fall, washing away the worst of the city’s grime. He spied her huddled in a doorway. Her leather coat once again covered those fascinating markings on her arms. She tried the door, then waved her hand over the bolt. His werewolf hearing picked up the sound of the chain sliding over.
So, she could use magic.
She let herself inside and the door shut behind her with a click.
Liam tipped his head to the side and surveyed the place. It didn’t look like a hideout for the dark fae. Because of the dark power they wielded, they could acquire whatever they needed. Clothes, cars, weapons. They often had money to burn. A dark fae wouldn’t have bothered to help another, not without draining the dryad to a shriveled husk.
No, the girl was something else.
Thunder boomed and lightning flashed. Liam settled in to wait.
He didn’t like unsolved puzzles.
2
The old restaurant smelled like mildew, but it was better than sleeping on the street. I set my guitar case by the door and surveyed the darkened space. Anything of value had already been stripped from the kitchen, up to and including the copper pipes. Not that I would steal anything but food. Homeless and friendless yes, but a girl needed some standards.
Moving through the dark space I noted the scuffed ceramic tile floors. All the windows over the dining room had been boarded up and allowed no lights in from the street. I checked the pantry and couldn’t believe my luck when I came across a container of powdered hot cocoa mix, still sealed. There were also a few packages of pasta, canned peas, and dried beans. Score.
I sent a prayer of thanks up to the goddess Freya for her generosity. It was her day after all, Friday. Out of all the old gods, mother had always liked Freya best.
“It would serve you well, Emma, to cast yourself in her image. Be fierce but easy to underestimate.”
Freya was the Norse goddess of love and beauty and the mother of the fae.
I was no great beauty. As a spellcaster, I was only half-fae. I possessed no glamour to fix my too thin nose, deep-set eyes or pointed chin. Never mind the wide mouth that I constantly stuck my foot in. My teeth weren’t the dazzling white that the fae or models who did toothpaste commercials often sported and were the envy of humans everywhere. In spite of my sporadic diet, I carried too much weight at the hips and thighs and not enough up top. My gray eyes were decent, if haunted. My main attractions included a sickening sixth sense for human emotion, a tiny bit of elemental magic and the ability to ignore royal commands.
“And look where it’s gotten me.” I said aloud and held my hands out to my new crash pad.
Something clattered to my right.
I tensed and drew my jacket off. The glyphs glowed brightly in the dark space. It was a risk, because showing off my fae tattoos, the ones that allowed me to use wild magic on this side of the Veil, also pinpointed my location. Maybe it was just a stray cat.
“Is someone there?” I asked.
My ears were better than the gen-pop. I hadn’t heard the squeak of a rat or any sound of footsteps. But I did hear breathing. A snuffle, and soft exhale.
Magic at the ready in case I needed to throw out a shield, I stalked closer to the small door beside the area where the stove had once been. The door stood ajar and the sound of breathing cut off abruptly. Then a slight sob.
I didn’t want to open that door. Some instinct told me to leave it alone. I felt no emotions. Whatever lurked inside the cupboards wasn’t human.
And it had been here first. Squatter's rights and all.
But damn it, I didn’t want to go back out in the cold and the wet to face off against the city on an empty stomach.
“I won’t hurt you.” Mentally I tagged on, unless you hurt me, first. My fae half couldn’t lie so the silent addition was necessary.
No reply.
Again, I reached out with my senses, stretching for something. One breath, then two. Then three.
Finally, the door creaked open. And I stared down into a set of mismatched eyes. One brown, one green.
The child, for she definitely was a child, was no more than eight. She still had a bit of baby pudge around her cheeks. She bared her teeth at me in a feral snarl.
Maybe she was some sort of beast fae. A Spriggan perhaps?
“Hey,” I said to her. I crouched down so we were eye to eye.
“Go away.” Her voice was high, verging on hysterical.
“It’s raining.” I chucked my thumb towards the door. �
�You’re not really going to make me go out in the rain, are you?”
Her gaze darted to the door and then back to me. “This is my place.”
“Oh yeah?” I glanced around. “You live here alone?”
A single nod.
Her skin was several shades darker than mine, almost the color of polished teak.
“I’m Emma,” I said.
“Rage.” She gritted the word out.
I frowned. “Your name is Rage?”
She glanced away. “Not really. It used to be Kiesha. I changed it.”
“Where are your parents, Rage?” I intentionally used the name she had first given me. Laying the groundwork for, it’s okay, you can trust me.
Even though she shouldn’t.
Trust no one and you won’t get skewered. I’d been living by that rule for two years.
“Gone.” She looked away.
My throat closed up but I managed to choke out, “Mine too.”
“Really?” She looked back up to me, her eyes full of skepticism.
I nodded. “My brother, too. I guess I’m an orphan now.”
Her gaze narrowed. “You look too old to be an orphan.”
One side of my lip curved up. “You’re never too old to be an orphan. I was gonna make some hot chocolate. You want some?”
“There’s no water.” Kiesha pointed to the pilfered pipes. “And nothing to heat it on.”
I winked at her. “Leave that to me.”
There was a small tin pot on a high shelf. I scrambled up on a counter and pulled it down, then set it just outside the door.
“You’re not supposed to drink rainwater,” she cautioned from within her hidey-hole.
“I’m not, I’m going to boil it first.”
“How? There’s no electricity.”
Odd that she would bring that up. Most of the fae didn’t know what electricity was, having done without it until recently. Was it possible my new roommate was a different sort of supe?
The rain poured down in buckets and the small pot filled quickly. I retrieved it, and then held it in my left hand, poised over my right hand.
“Magic,” I said as my right palm ignited into flame.
Kiesha scrambled out of her cupboard to examine my trick. “Are you a fairy?”
Definitely not fae if she had to ask that. But I still couldn’t sense her. What the hell was she?
“Half fae and half human. I’m what’s called a spellcaster.”
She shook her head. “I’ve never heard of a spellcaster.”
“We’re kind of a secret.” She had no idea what an understatement that was.
Humans, and most of the fae, didn’t know that the two species could breed. Oftentimes, spellcasters were killed at birth by the fae parent. My mother had been softer than most.
“What are those?” Kiesha gestured toward my glyphs.
“It’s what allows me to use wild magic.”
The water boiled and I set the pot on the counter. “Are there mugs around here somewhere, Rage?”
She pointed to a cabinet. “Three.”
Perfect. I filled the largest one with plain water and then mixed some of the cocoa powder into the other two. Once the pot was empty, I stuck it back outside to refill.
Kiesha retrieved two spoons and together we sat and sipped the cocoa in companionable silence.
“How long have you been here alone?” I asked her when my cocoa was gone.
She stared with longing at the remaining mug.
“You can have the rest,” I offered. I didn’t miss the fact that she hadn’t answered my question. Judging from her dirty hair and clothes, I’d say she’d been skulking around the place for a while.
She flashed me an incredulous look. “Really?”
I nodded and my stupid heart squeezed at the way she lunged for the last mug. First, I helped the fae woman in the ally and then the girl who called herself Rage, probably because that’s all she felt. Mixing with others on anything beyond a bare superficial contact was dangerous. Damn it, when had I developed such a soft spot?
The girl scrambled up and dumped more cocoa powder into the last mug. I retrieved the pot and did my boiling trick again, before setting a pot of lentils to soak.
“In a few hours I can make soup,” I told Kiesha. Hoping she got the subtext that I could make the soup only if I got to stay around for a few hours.
She didn’t ask me to leave, so I guess that was better than nothing. “What other things can you do?” She sat back down in her original spot just in front of her cabinet.
“Not much. I can tell how most people are feeling.”
“Really? How am I feeling?”
“Scared.” It was an educated guess.
“You felt that?”
I shake my head. “No, I can’t read you.”
She smiled as if that were a great accomplishment. It disappeared as fast as it had arrived. “How did you know I was scared then?”
I shrugged. “I am.”
She fisted her hands on her hips. “You’re too old to be scared.”
Had I ever been as young as my new pal, Kiesha? Believing that a twenty-year-old woman would never be afraid of anything? Somehow, I doubted it. Older in fae terms didn’t necessarily mean wiser.
“So, have you decided?” I asked.
She looked up at me, her jet eyebrows lifted high over her two-toned eyes. “Decided what?”
“If I can stay here.”
Kiesha blinked and then smiled. She liked that I didn’t just throw down the I’m the grown-up card and do whatever I wanted. “Are you really going to make soup?”
“Yes.”
Her green eye narrowed. “Fae can’t lie? Can spellcasters?”
“Some.” Malcolm could lie like a rug. “But I can’t.”
“How can I be sure?” Her tone was wary.
I shrugged. “The same way you can be sure no one else lies, I guess. You just have to trust them and see what happens.”
I felt like a hypocrite. When the hell had I ever trusted anyone with anything?
Not since mom and Malcolm.
Gods, why couldn’t I stop thinking about them? It was this city, teaming with fae. Soon, I’d find the ones who’d done it. And then figure out a way to kill them.
She took a deep breath and then nodded. “I guess you can stay.”
Her offer was grudging and I had to fight a smile.
“Come on, I’ll show you where we can sleep.” She set her empty mug on the counter and then gestured for me to follow her.
I cast a look at my guitar case and jacket. Normally, I wouldn’t let my possessions out of my sight. But Kiesha was so skittish and I didn’t want her to think I was making myself at home.
“Come on, Emma.” Her tone was impatient.
I followed the sound of her footsteps back out into the dining room and around a corner, which I assumed had once been the bar area. No liquor left on the shelves. Shame. That would have been the first thing I would have gone for too. I heard footsteps overhead and looked up through the holes in the ceiling.
“Rage?” I called.
“Up here.” She poked her head down through the largest hole.
“How did you get up there?”
“There’s a secret staircase behind the bar.”
Sure enough, I spied a door that looked like nothing more than a coat closet but led to a narrow set of steps. Carefully, I made my way up the pokey staircase.
The room above had once been a studio apartment with exposed brick walls. No kitchen, not that one would be needed above a restaurant. A claw-footed tub stood in the center of the space. Though there were several holes in the sheetrock where desperate people had stripped wires and pipes, it seemed sturdy enough.
No bed, but there was a heap of towels and sheets made up into a makeshift pallet on the floor.
“Pretty sweet, huh?” Kiesha asked me.
My teeth sank into my lower lip, which had begun trembling. How sad was it tha
t I couldn’t remember the last time I’d stayed somewhere so nice?
How sad that it was all Kiesha had.
“There’s extra towels and stuff in there.” Kiesha pointed toward a battle-scarred closet that had seen better days.
I headed to the closet and read the cleaning tag from the laundry service. Apparently, these had once been part of a large order for a motel. But how did they end up in an abandoned building?
“Thanks. If this is your room, I can take them downstairs.” I always slept near an exit, in case the twisted ones found me. The thought of them coming here, of Kiesha getting caught in the crossfire, filled me with dread. “Maybe I should go.”
I didn’t want to leave her alone. I could call the human authorities, but until I knew what she was and why she was hiding there, adding mortals to the mix was asking for trouble. Being near me would put a target on her back, but at least I could protect her.
“I said you could stay.” Kiesha took the blankets and sheets from me and carefully laid them on the floor in a makeshift pallet. She stared up at me when she was done and waited.
Not knowing what else to do, I sat down on it.
“Do you know any stories?” Kiesha asked when I had finally reclined onto the pillowcase stuffed with towels.
“A few.” Malcolm had been an awesome storyteller. He devoured books on every subject. He loved the written word, the permanence of a shared history that was told time and again.
“Tell me one,” she prompted.
I thought for a moment. “Did you ever hear the story of Little Orphan Annie?”
Kiesha shook her head.
I leaned back on my pillows. “Once there was a girl who lived in an orphanage.”
“What’s an orphanage?” Kiesha interrupted.
“A place for children that don’t have a family.”
“Like this place?” she asked
“Sort of.” I continued on with the story about the cute orphan who had been adopted by a rich man. I thought his name was Daddy Big Bucks or maybe it was Father War Horse. I didn’t have the memory for detail that my big brother had possessed, but I remembered most of the basic plot points.
Slowly, her eyes drifted shut and her breathing evened out.