by E.J. Stevens
“You really are your father’s daughter,” Torn said, slipping silently out of the shadows.
He shook his head with a weary sigh that held a heavy sadness I rarely associated with the usually flippant cat sidhe lord.
“What are you talking about?” I asked, wiping an arm across my face.
I frowned at my wet sleeve, wondering when I’d started crying. Judging by the light reflected from those tears, my skin had also started to glow. That was especially troubling. My control rarely slipped these days, not after my time in the wisp court training at the hands of my uncle Kade. Thoughts of my uncle only deepened my frown.
“You’re leaving,” Torn said.
“N-n-n..ng,” I stuttered.
I growled in frustration, unable to deny it. I couldn’t lie. I was too fae now. That was one more reminder of how much had changed. My hands fisted at my sides and I lifted my chin, head shooting up to meet Torn’s gaze. He leaned against the wall, adopting his regular casual, carefree pose, but the tightness around his eyes spoke volumes.
“It won’t help,” he said. His scarred ears, what was left of them, flattened against his head and anger flashed briefly across his face. “Your situation isn’t like Willem’s. You haven’t been cursed to carry a piece of Hell, an ember from The Pit, that brings destruction in its wake.”
“I’m…I’m changing things,” I said, waving a gloved hand at the rainbow-hued shimmer that covered the lamppost on the corner like unicorn snot.
Seeing that shimmer, and patches of unseasonal frost, out our window this morning was part of what prompted my decision to leave. I’d been home for a week now, and every day the city seemed to shift a little closer to Faerie.
“Change isn’t always bad, princess,” Torn said.
“Me being here could hurt this city, harm my friends,” I said.
“It could,” he said. “Or maybe, just maybe, you being here will save us all.”
Chapter 41
I went back inside and got to work. There were still things I could do to help those I loved. It wasn’t fair to leave it up to my friends to sort out. So long as I was doing more good than harm, I’d stay.
When had Torn become so damn smart?
I tossed the duffel onto the floor of my room and grabbed a protein bar for the road. What I had planned would probably take a while, if it worked at all. As with most things in life, there are no guarantees.
I left the loft again, taking the stairs two a time. Funny how hope has a way of putting a bounce in your step. Not that I was fooling myself that everything would turn out fine. I knew that staying here came with risks, and what I was about to do was dangerous, not just to me but also to a dear friend.
I breezed into Private Eye and set a cup of coffee on Jinx’s desk. She looked up, her perfectly lined eyebrows raised.
“What’s this for?” she asked. “And why aren’t you at the asylum?”
I snorted and she rolled her eyes.
“You know what I mean,” she said. “I thought you already left to visit Kaye and bring her some clothes.”
“If what I’m about to do works, she won’t need another overnight bag,” I said.
“You’re bringing Fernie to see her now?” she asked.
Jinx bit her lip, but I nodded.
“I think it’s worth a shot,” I said. “And worth the risk. Arachne’s mother asked her entire coven to try healing Kaye and it didn’t work. The Circle’s verdict was that there was a blockage, like mental scar tissue, from too much trauma.”
“Layers and layers of pain and guilt and loss,” Jinx said, shaking her head. “She may not have liked me, and I was never her biggest fan, but nobody deserves that. And she was your friend.”
“And a hero,” I said.
“Like you,” she said.
“About that,” I said, looking away. “There’s something I need to confess.”
“That duffel wasn’t for Kaye, was it?” she asked.
“No, it wasn’t,” I said. “I owe you an apology.”
“You almost pulled a runaway bride,” she said. “I don’t think I’m the one you should be apologizing to.”
I groaned. I’d need talk to Ceff. I wasn’t looking forward to that conversation. But if he too had guessed that I’d decided to run, then I owed him an explanation.
“Not for running,” I said. “I promised no more secrets. At least, when I’m not cursed or under a geas or legally bound not to tell a human vassal.”
“How weird is it that you said all of that with a totally straight face?” she asked.
“On a scale of one to ten?” I said. “It doesn’t even rate.”
“Thank you,” she said. “For telling me. For coming back. For no more secrets.”
“No more secrets,” I said with a nod. “Now where is my favorite little night-mare?”
Jinx shook a toy moon that had a star-shaped bell dangling from it and Fernvolg came trotting out from behind my desk.
“Hi, Fernie,” I said, voice gentle. “You hungry?”
The night-mare bounded toward me and I backed up, holding my hands in the air.
“I think she likes you,” Jinx said.
“Or she’s hungry,” I said. “Although she looks much healthier than she did when we found her.”
Fernvolg’s fur was shiny and lustrous and her galaxy-filled eyes glowed with starlight.
“I doubt she’s hungry,” Jinx said. “I haven’t had a scary dream since she arrived, neither has Forneus. Not sure why that makes him nervous, but I for one am enjoying the lack of nightmares.”
I grabbed a leash from the hook beside the door. It was a dog’s leash, probably meant for a mastiff or a chubby boxer, not a horse’s bridle. But Ceff had flinched at anything resembling a bridle at the pet store and I wasn’t keen with putting a bit inside a night-mare’s mouth. This would have to do.
“Think that’ll hold her?” Jinx asked.
“Doubtful,” I said. “But it’ll help with the illusion that I’m out with my dog and keep people from interfering.”
Of course, Fernie might end up ripping off my arm or dragging me along behind her like a kite. I had no idea if the night-mare would tolerate being on a leash, even if it was just for keeping up appearances, but I was about to find out.
“Fernie, want to go for walkies?” I asked, shaking the leash.
She nudged me with her nose and nearly knocked me on my butt, pawing at the end of the leash.
“I think that’s a yes,” Jinx said, laughing.
“Who’s a good girl?” I cooed to Fernie, ignoring Jinx. I clipped the leash to her collar, which was covered in silver stars, and gave a tentative step toward the door. So far, so good. “Who’s the bestest girl?”
“Ivy?” Jinx asked.
I turned and shot her a questioning glance, hand on the door.
“No matter what I happens, I need you to remember something,” she said.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“We’re stronger together.”
Chapter 42
Jinx’s words rang in my ears as I walked Fernie up the cobblestone street. We had a long walk ahead of us, plenty of time to mull over what was quickly becoming my best friend’s new mantra.
We’re stronger together.
I had to believe that, especially now. Frost-rimed windows and the rainbow shimmer on patches of sidewalk hastened my step, my heart beating faster. I fought the urge to run, to try to save my friends by fleeing the city and everything I’ve built here. But Jinx was right.
We’re stronger together.
Even before Gaius had strode into Private Eye with his demands and dusty temper tantrum, I’d been feeling off-balance. That was due in large part to the ghosts in the room, the loved ones we now missed. My father had left to protect us from the curse he carried, but he wasn’t the only person whose absence was like a hole in my gut.
As a young woman, I’d had only two people I trusted with my secret. Jinx had been the first
and she’d grown to become like a sister to me. The other was Kaye O’Shay, a powerful witch and a hero of Harborsmouth.
I’d come to rely on Kaye for wisdom and guidance. Though she’d been prickly, made a bundle selling me protection charms, and was an insatiable prankster, Kaye had become a part of my new family. Her loss was a deep wound that I hoped to heal, for me and for everyone who had grown to love her.
Sometimes, it surprised me how much Kaye’s apprentice missed her. The old witch had been a harsh teacher and an incorrigible trickster, but Arachne loved her. And, like me, the kid felt somewhat responsible for Kaye’s current predicament.
After the battle in Kaye’s spell kitchen, Arachne had called the one group of people able to subdue and contain a powerful witch. The teen had stepped up and reached out to The Circle, a witch coven led by her mother, that operated a facility outside of town that was part hospital and part prison. If anyone could sneak Fernie inside the asylum and help us break Kaye out of there, it was Arachne.
I pulled out my phone and gave her a call.
“Hey, Ivy,” Arachne said, turning down the music that nearly blasted out my eardrums and made Fernie look at me like I was nuts. “What’s up? If you need protection charms, you’ll have to wait until the weekend. All I’ve got is some sage.”
“That’s okay, that’s not why I called,” I said.
“Pizza party?” she asked, with a hopeful lilt.
“Maybe later,” I said. “You busy right now?”
“Not really,” she said. “What’s up?”
“Think you can meet me at the asylum?” I asked.
“Sure, but why now?” she asked. She paused, probably checking the time. “It’s too early for visiting hours.”
“Because,” I said. “We’re going to break Kaye out of there.”
“Be there in ten,” she said.
Arachne ended the call. I looked down at Fernie, waddling along at my side.
“We better hurry, sweetie,” I said in a sing-song voice. “We don’t want to keep auntie Arachne waiting.”
Chapter 43
“You need me to sneak you in, to a heavily guarded asylum, with a farting unicorn?” Arachne asked.
Fernie harrumphed and snorted in the young witch’s direction, unimpressed.
“Yep,” I said. “And, for the record, Fernie here is a night-mare, not a unicorn. The bestest little night-mare, right, Fernie?”
Arachne glanced wide-eyed at Fernie then back at me, folding her arms across her chest. She was wearing her signature purple and black, from the dyed streak in her otherwise blond hair to her ringer t-shirt and Chuck Taylor’s.
“Okay, fine,” she said. “But you owe me, like, a lot of pizza.”
“Done,” I said, nodding.
Arachne sighed and turned to look up at the stone and brick asylum that rose from the manicured lawn at our feet.
“Any ideas how to get us inside?” I asked.
“You could pretend to be sick, but…” she said.
“But?” I asked.
“But your aura is, like, glowing,” she said, waving a hand. “You’re bursting with power, which I want to hear about later by the way. Problem is, the nurses and orderlies will never believe you’re sick or injured with that aura.”
Well, crap. I didn’t think I’d see the day when I was too healthy for a mission. I frowned, searching the building for another way inside.
Fernie belched and farted, and Arachne groaned.
“Ew, gross,” she said, nose wrinkling. “What have you been feeding her?”
“Necromancer dreams,” I said. Arachne narrowed her eyes and I held up gloved hands. “Hey, not my fault. It wasn’t my doing. That’s just how we found her. The only thing alive enough to dream in that place was a lich king.”
It said something for Arachne’s upbringing and her recent employment at The Emporium that all she did was shrug at the mention of a lich king.
“I suppose that makes sense, because she smells like death,” she said, waving a hand in front of her face. “Maybe they make Pepto for night-mares?”
That gave me an idea.
“Wait,” I said, smiling. “Do they treat magic animals here?”
“Like, familiars and stuff?” she asked. “Yes, sometimes.”
“Good,” I said. “I have an idea.”
Chapter 44
Antiseptic and medicinal scents mixed with the smoky smell of burning sage, tickling my nose. That is until Fernie let out another putrid fart.
“Good girl,” I said.
The night-mare tossed her head, looking proud of herself.
“She doesn’t need to act sick anymore,” Arachne said, chewing on a purple strand of hair.
Our ruse had worked, and it was all thanks to Fernie and her flatulent tummy issues. But pretending to be here for an emergency witchy veterinary exam could only get us so far. Now we needed stealth and cunning and a whopping dose of luck.
“Shhh!” I whispered, holding a gloved finger to my lips.
We crouched in a stairwell, waiting for the echo of shoes on linoleum to fade away. I inched forward, straining to listen for sounds, but all I heard was the distant beep of medical machinery and Fernie’s stomach rumbling.
I held my breath and inched to the corner. I risked a peek, relieved to see the hallway was empty.
“Okay, clear,” I said.
Arachne nodded, and we crab-walked our way to Kaye’s hospital room, careful to keep below the small windows set into the top half of the doors we passed. My skin tingled and I tried to ignore the grids of silver and iron mesh set into the glass, but it was a relief when we reached Kaye’s room.
We slid inside, me in the lead and Fernie between us, and I let out the air I’d been holding. The room held a bed and a chair. Kaye was sleeping on the bed with a gorgeous black cat curled up on her stomach, guarding my friend, protecting her from harm.
“Hey, Midnight,” I said.
My heart swelled. I’d visited as often as I could, but I hadn’t realized until now just how much I’d missed Kaye and her feline familiar. I moved to the bed and stroked Midnight behind the ears while the cat eyed Fernie.
The night-mare bowed prettily, farted, and snickered. Midnight gave Fernie a regal glance and started to purr.
“Huh, I guess they’re going to be friends,” Arachne said, chewing on her hair. “What now?”
Arachne was nervous. She wasn’t the only one. There was so much riding on this. What if we couldn’t cure Kaye?
On the way here, planning our way inside, I’d started to let myself hope that this would work. Staging a rescue sounded great in theory, but it didn’t do any good if we couldn’t help Kaye break through her trauma and wake up. Hope and fear sucked the air from the room, making me dizzy. I was setting myself up for disappointment on an epic scale.
“Think she’ll be, you know, scary Kaye when she wakes up?” Arachne asked, flicking a furtive glance at our sleeping friend.
“Oberon’s eyes, I hope not,” I said, a prickle of unease skittering across my scalp.
Kaye and I hadn’t left things on the best of terms. Before she was brought to the asylum, she’d tried to kill me.
“Maybe, you should wait in the hall,” I said. “Keep an eye out for orderlies.”
Arachne nodded, her relief evident as she hurried toward the door. She muttered a prayer, something to the Goddess, and ducked into the hall. I turned back to join the adorable night-mare at my side.
“Okay, Fernie,” I said. “This is Kaye. She’s my friend, and she needs our help. You hungry, pretty girl?”
Midnight watched us, tail flicking, and I held my breath.
Fernie waddled closer and touched her silver and black horn to Kaye’s ashen hand. The tattoos that traced my friend’s fingers pulsated, reacting to the night-mare’s magic. Fernie’s eyes swirled, constellations spinning mesmerizingly, and I had to take a step back away from the bed and shake my head to clear away the fog of sleep.
> Whatever the night-mare was doing, it definitely had a field of influence. Even Midnight, perched on Kaye’s slowly rising and falling stomach, yawned, showing off sharp, tiny teeth. Where Midnight was a sleek and beautiful predator, Fernie was an elegant devourer of dreams. For the hundredth time today, I hoped that was a good thing.
Kaye’s eyelids fluttered and her body shuddered convulsively. Fingers crossed that was a good sign. To keep from panicking, I turned to the night-mare and tried to give her some encouragement.
“Who’s a good girl?” I asked, cooing at her.
Fernie’s tummy growled followed by a noisy fart. That’s my girl.
“You’re such a stinky, pinky, wittle precious, aren’t you, sweetie?” I asked.
Fernie lifted her star-filled eyes to me and whinnied.
“I do hope you aren’t speaking to me, dear,” Kaye said.
I stood speechless. Thankfully, Arache must have been watching through the window in the room’s door.
“Kaye!” she squealed, rushing into the room.
“What are you girls doing?” Kaye asked.
“Rescuing you,” Arachne said.
“We’re breaking you out of here,” I said, nodding my agreement.
“Ah, well, good,” Kaye said. She squinted at me, gazing an inch or two off my shoulder, then looking down at Fernie. “You’ve been busy, I see.”
I shoved my hands into my pockets.
“Fought some zombies, killed a lich king, stole his night-mare,” I said, looking away. “The usual.”
“While I would greatly like to hear about your adventures, I do think I would like to go home,” she said.
“Funny you should say that,” Arachne said, wheeling over a wheelchair.
Midnight leapt down onto the chair’s seat, inspected it, and turned to nod his approval. I guess this mode of escape passed the cat’s inspection. Good thing, since Kaye had been bedbound for weeks and we needed to hurry the heck out of here.