by S. W. Clarke
I listened, but heard nothing over Noir’s hooves and the bellows of his lungs. “How can you tell?”
Circe tapped the side of her head. “We fae have better hearing than you. Keep your wits up, Cole—this is the witching hour. You never know what could happen, or who could pop out of the darkness.”
She was so nonchalant. A seventeen-year-old girl was being kidnapped the same way I had been that winter night not so long ago, and to Circe it could have been any other night out. It could have been a game of Human Human Werewolf.
Which told me one of two things: she was either taking this less seriously than she should, or she’d become desensitized to the emotional overwhelm of a situation like this.
Probably the latter. My heart was beating too fast right now to do this more than twice in my life unless I got a hold on my emotions.
I squeezed my eyes shut. Keep your wits up.
“They’ve slowed,” Circe said. “We’ll be catching up to them soon.”
We raced forward, Noir and me and the blue-haired fae, passing through streets I didn’t recognize, under a sky I’d never seen from this part of the Earth.
The only things I recognized were the moon and the North Star. They were enough.
Ahead, finally, I did hear noise.
Yelling.
Circe put a hand out, and I slowed Noir to a canter as we came to the end of the next block, the street opening up to what looked like a marketplace.
At the center of the marketplace, blue lightning lit up the sky.
Liara.
That was followed by the rumbling of earth magic; the vibrations passed up through Noir and into my body.
Circe came to a stop in midair, staring over the scene. I stopped with her, sitting back on Noir.
All we’d seen was the lightshow of Liara’s magic, but no guardians. None of the Shade’s army. No kidnapped girl.
“Wait here,” Circe said. “I’m going to get a better view.”
Before I could say anything, she’d disappeared into the darkness, leaving Noir and me standing alone.
He gave an impatient stomp of the forehoof, and I ran a hand down his hot neck. His breathing came quick under me; he still wasn’t recovered from the run. “It’s all right,” I whispered. “You’ll get to run again. Trust me.”
Silence fell around us. No lightning, no earth magic, no Circe.
It was as though the whole world had enclosed to Noir and me, the two of us standing alone in the middle of a dead street. The hot air pressed in tight, thick in my throat.
And then it all happened quickly.
The darkness moved.
It moved through the open marketplace faster than my eyes could track, like a shadow following light. But no light had appeared—just the moving blackness.
Noir had seen it, too. His head jerked up, his breathing short and intense.
A deluge of water poured after it, and Siren burst through the water in a gray streak, Fi low over her neck. That was followed by Akelan on the quarter horse.
I’d just seen one of the Shade’s minions.
Noir and I burst into motion in the same moment Circe’s voice rang out—“Clem, there!”—and we took a hard right after the creature, nearly skidding on the asphalt before we corrected.
Ahead, Fi and Akelan shot off bursts of magic in the creature’s wake. Somewhere I imagined the other fae tracked above us. That was confirmed when the space ahead of me distorted, a vortex of air forming out of nowhere.
But the air magic wasn’t quick enough. The creature was already past, and Fi and Akelan had to swerve their horses around the vortex.
I remembered now how fast the creatures had moved when they’d kidnapped me. Ten, twelve miles an hour with ease. This thing moved faster than any of us.
But I hadn’t properly tested Noir’s gallop against it.
I pressed my heels into his sides and he let himself out, his neck stretching to almost a straight line as it had done during the first trial in the meadow.
I had no training as a guardian, but I did have training for this. If nothing else, we could run.
We came up on the other horses’ flanks in seconds, broke through a fresh rainstorm—probably courtesy of Mishka—and passed them up.
Ahead, I could see it now. The creature was slower than Noir, pressing away light as it ran. It was darkness incarnate.
And it was carrying the girl.
I could take it out with my fire. The only risk would be hitting the girl, and I hadn’t had enough experience with control and precision in Goodbarrel’s class to fully trust myself.
“It’s closing in on the river,” a voice called from overhead. Either Elijah or Isaiah. “We need to end it now.”
I didn’t have time to get closer. If I struck the girl, we could heal her—as long as I didn’t hit her in the head or the heart.
My hand shot out, flames bursting to life over my entire arm. I took a moment to steady my arm over Noir’s movement, and then I curled my wrist, flicked my hand to send a stream of flame toward its head.
The flame swept out from my hand on a course with its head. A second later, it made contact—
“Bullseye,” I whispered.
—and the flame passed right through it.
The creature kept on running, the girl still over its shoulder.
I had hit it. My flames had skewered its head. But it’d had no effect.
“Akelan, coordinate with me,” one of the twins called from above. “Ready?”
“Ready,” Akelan called from my flank, pulling closer. By now Noir had slowed, half-exhausted.
Akelan’s quarter horse nosed beyond Noir; as he passed me, I spotted one of his hands out in preparation.
“On my mark,” the twin called. When I glanced up into the sky, several fae flew just ahead of us, nearly above the creature.
My attention flicked between Akelan and the fae and back again. A coordinated attack—but why?
The creature reached the bank of the river, slowed for the first time since I’d spotted him. I thought I saw one of his ghastly arms go up—was he parting the veil?
“Now!” the twin yelled.
An arrow of wind sliced through the sky, headed straight for the creature below. In very nearly the same moment, the earth burst to life beneath it, though its arm didn’t stop moving.
The ground swelled, rose to encompass the creature’s legs.
The arrow pierced its head, sliced it into two shadowy parts.
But the arm didn’t stop moving. It dragged straight to the ground at the river’s edge.
It was parting the veil.
“Get her,” Circe cried. “Grab her now.”
Together, fae and horses descended on the spot. Noir and I did, too.
But the headless creature’s body still had arms. It lifted the girl off its shoulder, threw her through the partition. In a moment, she disappeared.
We skidded to a halt as the veil reseamed, the creature’s body dissolving into nothing but smoke.
All that remained was us, breathing hard. The horses heaving. The river rushing by.
And Fi, who climbed off her horse, stood at the river’s edge, and let out a yell with balled fists.
Circe dropped to the ground next to her, set a hand on her shoulder.
“We had it,” Fi said with what sounded like nettles in her throat.
“We did,” Circe said.
Akelan rode up next to me, patted me on the back. “That was a good attempt you made there.”
“I hit it,” I said, still staring at the spot where the creature had died and the girl had disappeared. “It wasn’t an attempt.”
“I saw.”
I dragged my eyes to him. “But it had no effect.”
He gave a slow nod. “Circe didn’t get a chance to tell you before this all kicked off.”
“Tell me what?”
Elijah flew to the rail of the bridge near us, stood atop it. “We should go back. It’s still the witc
hing hour.”
“Right.” Mishka urged Minibar toward Elijah. “You’ll do the honors?”
Elijah had already raised his hand, was cutting the veil.
“Tell me what, Akelan?” I repeated, staring him down.
Akelan had already started toward Elijah. He glanced back at me. “It takes two types of magic to bring down one of the creatures.”
“Two types,” Liara said from the river bank. It was the first time she’d spoken; I had almost forgotten she was with us. She stood there, rigid, her face a mask. I’d known her for over two years now; I could see the disappointment written over her, even in this darkness.
Circe pointed at her. “We’ll get to you. As soon as we’re back, we’re discussing everything before that godsdamn horn has another chance to blow.”
Elijah and Isaiah ushered us through the veil one by one. We came back into daylight, the forest outside the academy, where birds chirped, a squirrel squawked at us from a nearby tree.
I squinted into the canopy, the sunlight almost blistering.
It wasn’t even nine here yet.
“We had her.” Fi walked beside Siren, holding her reins lightly. Her blond hair gleamed above her slender neck. “We did.”
Circe walked beside her. “It was too close to the river. We’ve got to head them off sooner next time—but by then we’ll have the other two chasers…”
After that, her voice had faded away.
I waited atop Noir for Elijah and Isaiah to come through.
When the veil had closed behind them, one of the twins ran a hand through his shock of hair. “So, Clementine,” he offered when he saw me waiting, “would you say we work the day shift, or the night shift?”
It seemed so irreverent; a girl had been lost to the Shade.
But I was beginning to understand.
Mishka had told me they’d never had a successful rescue. Not for two years. If every failure devastated you, all your hair would fall out in six months. You wouldn’t eat for stress. You’d be a shell.
“Both,” I murmured, turning Noir toward the academy.
“See, Elijah says night shift,” Isaiah said. “Because no matter what, your sleep schedule is going to hell.”
“How often do these rescues take place?” I asked.
“Maybe once a week,” one of the twins said as they flew beside me. “Sometimes less, sometimes more.”
“This was the worst timing,” the other twin said. “Really unlucky.”
Unlucky. If that wasn’t the story of my life.
But it didn’t have to be. Another life didn’t have to be lost on my watch.
I pressed Noir into a canter straight toward the academy.
Chapter Eleven
After I’d gotten Noir back to the stables, wiped him down, given him an extra helping of alfalfa and oats, I returned to the spot where Circe had told me a door existed.
I still didn’t see a door.
So I did what I’d done when I had first come to the academy. I sat down in front of the tree, crossed my legs, and waited.
“Oh, Clem,” Circe said when she found me there ten minutes later, “go get some breakfast before the dining hall closes until lunch. You’ve earned it, for gods’ sake.”
I didn’t avert my eyes. “Not hungry.”
She came to stand over me. “You’re in shock. You need food in you.”
“I’m not in shock. I want to get to our training.”
Circe sat down beside me. She snapped her fingers, and a plate appeared before me. Six purple fruits lay on it, each steaming.
I nodded at it. “What’s that?”
“Food. It’s good—better by far than anything you’ve had.”
“Fae food, then.”
She picked up one of the fruits, handed it to me. “Fae food. It’ll help.”
I didn’t move to take it. “I told you I’m not in shock, Circe.”
She angled her face to meet my eyes. “Don’t make me pull rank on you.”
“You don’t have any rank on me.”
Her blue eyebrows rose. “Don’t I? I’m two years above you and a year your senior as a guardian. Not that anyone’s counting.”
My eyes flicked between the fruit and her. “What happens if I don’t do as you say? Pushups? Flogging with a paddle?”
A small smile appeared. “This isn’t a frat, but now you’re giving me ideas.” The fruit remained aloft; it was almost painfully fragrant and smelled delicious.
I plucked it from her hand, took a bite. When I did, my eyes closed.
“We call these pluma,” Circe said. “They calm the spirit. Ease tension.”
“I can see why.” It was soft, sweet, and like the rolls, contained some trace spice I had only encountered in fae food. It was addictive, and I took another bite.
When I opened my eyes, Circe’s smile had grown mischievous.
“What?” I said.
“They have a staining quality. Just so you know, purple lipstick would suit you.”
I gave an overlarge smile. “If that’s their worst feature, I’m eating a plate of these every day.”
Her hand fell on my knee. Circe was a toucher, for sure. “I saw what you did out there, Clem. It was a really good shot, and I know you thought you’d saved her.”
I chewed. Beyond my questions about why my magic hadn’t worked and the mechanics of my failure, something else was broiling. For some reason, my chest had clenched. “That girl’s gone forever.”
Circe’s face went solemn, and she didn’t speak. Her sapphire eyes said all I needed to know.
I swallowed, lowered the fruit. Part of me had known it was true the moment she had passed through the veil, and part of me hadn’t believed it. “Fuck.”
“The Shade’s army is powerful.”
“And what happens to these people? The girl who passed through the veil—where did she go?”
Circe’s eyes lowered to the grass. Her palm went flat atop it. “Below. The witching hour is the only time the magic between the above world and the underworld is weak enough for them to emerge. The hour only occurs in darkness.”
I stared at her hand. “How do you do it?”
She knew exactly what I meant. “One day at a time. Sometimes I cry. Sometimes I drink too much wine. Once I slept with Elijah after I drank.”
The ghost of a grin touched my lips. “Are you sure it wasn’t Isaiah?”
“Positive. He’ll never let me live it down, especially when I’m sober.”
I gripped the fruit until my fingers sank into the warm skin. Met her eyes. “This year is going to be different.”
Circe fixed me with a half-interested, half-amused look. “Is it now?”
“Yes, it is.” I set the fruit on the plate, stood. “You’ve got Liara.”
She stood with me. “Not Clementine?”
I examined the spot on the trunk where the door ought to be, running my fingers over it. “I’m fast, but Liara combines two types of magic. She’s a wizard, isn’t she? Like Umbra.”
“Very smart, Clementine.”
I paused, feeling a groove in the tree. I had found it, through sheer anger and determination, I had found my belief. As I traced the groove, the door became obvious.
I pulled the knob, glanced back at Circe. “Smart is as smart does.”
Inside, the room spread wide with ornaments and portraits and knickknacks from what I assumed were years of guardians. Lots of weapons, too; there was even a weapons’ rack in one corner, chock full of every lethal blade you could imagine.
A staircase wound around the edge of the room toward a second story, and then a third. Whatever was up there, I couldn’t see it past the railing.
It was a common room for guardians.
Mishka sat on one of two cozy sofas, staring into a fireplace that wasn’t even burning. Her eyes were red-rimmed. Mishka’s gaze trailed to me. So she’d opted for crying. “Hello, Clementine.”
As soon as she spoke, Loki’s head popped up
from Mishka’s lap. “You left me behind.”
I threw my hands out. “You could get in here, but I couldn’t?”
He hopped down, crossed toward me. “I’ve always believed in my catness. My prowess. My superiority.”
“Of course you have.”
Circe stepped up to my side. “Welcome to the guardians’ space. This place is open to you twenty-four hours a day.”
I crossed to the center of the oriental rug laid over the floor, turned a circle, eyes trailing up. “Bigger than my house’s common room.”
Elijah and Isaiah appeared through the doorway, followed by the other guardians. Liara was among them. “Has to fit a lot. Training space, bedrooms, a kitchen.”
“And of course the best room of all,” Isaiah added, pointing straight up. “The view of the world.”
The other guardians led Loki and I up the stairs, passing several rooms on the second story. Bedrooms, a communal kitchen, a combat training space. When we came to the third story, the landing had you facing into what looked like a strategy room. A large circular table with chairs, a chalkboard on one wall.
“Here it is,” Isaiah said, passing around the other side of the walkway.
When I turned, I knew I was looking at the room he’d called “the view of the world.”
A double-sized doorway opened into an expansive space with a semi-transparent globe the size of me floating at the center. Slender golden lines criss-crossed the entirety of it like wrapped tinsel.
I came around the walkway and into the room, approaching the globe and raising one finger. “Tell me now if I shouldn’t touch it.”
“Touch away.” Elijah came to stand next to me, arms folded. “That’s its purpose.”
When I set a finger over Greenland, the globe recognized my touch with a blossoming flash of white. Four red markers appeared, two each over towns called Nuuk and Sisimiut.
I glanced at Elijah.
“Red markers are rescues,” he said. “Attempted ones, at least.” He reached out, flicked a finger over the globe and sent it spinning. “They’re on every continent.”
“What about successful rescues?”
“Fewer of those,” Fi said from the doorway. “Yours is on there.”