Shadow (Touched by the Fae Book 2)

by Jessica Lynch

  “Well, I’m a human. So you can be my friend.”

  His lips thin. I’m not so surprised.

  My manipulation tactic works, though. I might’ve meant what I said. Still had an ulterior motive—and it works.

  “I’ve told you of the prophecy before,” Nine begins, sounding resigned. “In Faerie, there are plenty of ancient tales that get passed down. Because my people are long-lived and practically immortal, there are the elders who keep the scrolls from the days of the Tuatha Dé Danann. The first of us. The Shadow Prophecy… is one of the earliest prophecies, but it’s only become important since Melisandre stole the throne from Oberon. The Reign of the Damned. For the last two hundred years, the hope of the Shadow coming to end her is all that’s kept hope alive for some of the less powerful races in Faerie.”

  Two hundred years…

  Long-lived and practically immortal…

  So, yeah, that explanation opens up a whole new can of worms. I can’t help but remember the casual way that Rys mentioned centuries. He’s at least that old.

  What about Nine?

  I have to know. I have to ask.

  “How old are you?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “That’s so not an answer.”

  He shrugs. “Old enough.”

  “Neither is that. Come on, Nine. Why won’t you tell me?”

  “Time works differently between both worlds. A Seelie comes of age during their twenty-first summer. My kind mature a little slower. The Unseelie come of age during their twenty-fifth winter. After that, time flows, but we don’t measure it the way that humans do.”

  I cross my arms over my chest. “That still doesn’t answer my question. How old are you Nine?”

  He closes his mouth, firming his jaw.

  He’s not going to tell me, is he?

  “I don’t care. If that’s what’s weirding you out. Unless you’re like a thousand or something.” I wince when Nine doesn’t even blink. “You’re not that old, are you?”

  He shakes his head.

  Well, that’s something.

  I start to ask another question, to bring the discussion back to how exactly this ridiculous prophecy says I’m supposed to, I don’t know, end the Fae Queen’s reign, when Nine cocks his head to the side, his long wavy hair falling forward like water full of black ink.

  “Time grows short. I have to be leaving you now. I’ll return as soon as I can.”

  My heart leaps into my throat. “What? Already? It seems like you just got here.”

  “It’s later than you think. And you still need your rest.”

  No. What I need is to finally escape this sewer and start figuring out my next step. It was Nine’s genius plan to break me out of Black Pine in the first place. He seems to know what the hell’s really going on.

  I need to stick with him.

  “I want to go, too.”

  “To Faerie? No. That’s impossible.”

  His quick denial is like a slap in my face. “What? You won’t take me with you?”

  “I can’t. Don’t ask that of me. The risk… Melisandre is untouchable in her realm. You’re coming into your power now that you know it exists, but you’re not ready yet.”

  “Fine. Then you stay here. With me. I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

  “It isn’t so simple as that.”

  Seems pretty simple to me. “Tell me this: is it possible for a Dark Fae to stay in the human world if they wanted to?”

  “I told you. I would lose nearly all my power. Even a touch wouldn’t replace most of it.”

  “So… what you’re saying is… I’m not worth it. Cool. Got it.”

  “Riley, you know that’s not it at all. If you need my protection—”

  “Didn’t say I needed anyone’s protection.”

  He ignores me. Good call. I’m being bitchy. Childish, too. I can hear it, but I can’t stop myself. Rejection has always been my weakness. I pretend like it doesn’t matter because, hell, over the years, I should’ve gotten used to it.

  Abandoned by my mom no matter what her reasons were. Going through five foster homes in less than fifteen years. Mr. Everett turning his back on me before I finally told Mrs. Everett to stop bothering with me… No one ever wants me. I’m always being shoved aside, sent back, hidden away.

  I should’ve gotten used to it. Part of me did. It seemed to hurt less and less as the years went on, but the sting was always there.

  Hearing Nine try to explain why he has every intention of leaving me to rot in a dark, dank sewer in Acorn Falls is just about killing me. Excuse me for lashing out.

  I’m not so good at expressing my feelings.

  Nine, either.

  He presses his lips together as he watches me with his eerie stare. Breathes in through his nose, then exhales on a harsh sigh.

  “Riley,” he begins.

  Nope. I’ve heard enough of it.

  “Go away. You have to leave? Leave. I don’t want to talk to you anymore.”

  “This again?”

  Yup. This again. Just like when I got pissed off at Nine while we were facing off in the cemetery, I’m pushing him away.

  It’s all I know how to do.

  No. Now that he’s trusted me with his true name, I know how to push him even harder.

  “Ninetroir—”

  His eyes flash in an open warning. “You said there wouldn’t be a command.”

  I did say that.

  “And you said that we weren’t friends,” I say coldly. Then, before he can say a word, I cross my hands over my chest. “Ninetroir, I command you to go.”

  He immediately winks out of the sewer.

  I gulp and, slinking down to the hard ground, tears making it even harder to see in the orange glow of Rys’s lantern, I lift Nine’s scrap of silk up to my face and rub roughly at the corners of my eyes. It erases the tears, blocking out the light at the same time. Embracing the darkness, I move the silk so that’s in front of my mouth, my nose.

  My breath is shaky. One lungful of air in, though, and all I get is a whiff of Nine. The silk carries his scent. I twist it between my gloved fingers, pressing it against my face.

  You know what else it’s good for?

  Muffling my sobs as I realize that, once again, I sent away the only friend I had.

  This sucks.

  6

  So, Nine was right.

  I regret it all the next morning after I cry myself to sleep. And I mean all of it. From the way I told him how I felt while riding high from his touch magic, to my bratty reaction when he couldn’t give me what I want… I don’t know what the hell I was thinking.

  The answer to that is easy, I guess. I’m not too sure I was thinking.

  Crap.

  I’m so freaking embarrassed. I can’t believe I threw myself at him like that. What’s wrong with me? What made me think that, despite the crush I’ve harbored for way too many years, Nine would actually be interested in me? Shoot, half the time I’m not even sure he likes me.

  My Shadow Man, he’s… I don’t know, like an otherworldly creature with powers I can’t even begin to understand. And I’m Riley Thorne, a human who’s only involved with the fae and Faerie because of a prophecy that I can’t escape from.

  I’m the Shadow.

  Whatever the hell that means.

  Oh, Rys told me. Nine did, too. This prophesied chick who’s supposed to act like a savior for the fae. Don’t know why they think that should be me but, as both of the fae admitted, it doesn’t really matter what I think. So long as the Fae Queen believes I’m out for her head, she won’t leave me alone.

  Isn’t that peachy?

  Peach…

  Ugh. I’m never gonna eat another peach again so long as I live. Which, if the Fae Queen has her way, won’t be long at all.

  Wonderful.

  Because of the threat she poses to me, Nine won’t risk bringing me to Faerie with him. Rys will, but only if I agree to mate with him. Yeah, that’s g
onna be a no. Marrying my enemy to save my skin? Even I’m not that desperate.

  That leaves me one choice.

  I’ve spent years accepting that the only person I can rely on is me. I might not have gotten myself into this mess. Still, I guess it’s gonna be up to me to get out of it.

  A small shadow forms on the opposite wall, a distorted shape that seems to grow as it moves. My eyes are drawn to it, my hands curling into fists, ready to push up off of the ground if I have to.

  It’s a rat. That’s totally a rat over there. It skitters along the far side of the narrow sewer, its long, bald tail slithering behind it as it dashes past Rys’s lantern.

  A couple of days ago, I jumped and freaked because I imagined that my hand brushed up against a fuzzy spider. Not now. My first instinct is to reach out and grab the silk thing that Nine gave me. Still feeling bitter, frustrated, and sad, I ball it up and throw it at the rat. Poor thing’s claws clatter against the stony ground as it squeaks and scrambles to escape.

  I feel bad for it. Just… not as bad as I feel about my situation.

  Ugh.

  Thinking is hard. Focusing, too. My brain is pounding like a drum against my skull, pulsing angrily as I try to come up with some kind of plan.

  I’m not having much luck.

  This is definitely the worst hangover I’ve ever had. I wish I had some more of that water Nine brought back for me. I’m so thirsty that, for a second or two, I start thinking about drinking from that nasty puddle again. When I actually agree that it would be worth it to get rid of this godawful dry mouth, I realize I’m in trouble.

  Yeah. If dirty sewer water starts to sound tempting, I’ve gotta do something about that.

  There’s only one thing I can do.

  Tilting my head back, I look up at the ceiling way above me. That small sliver of light in the distance gives me some hope. So long as the manhole cover isn’t flush against the road, I can still pry my fingers in the gap and leverage my shoulder against it to get it to move.

  Of course, that’s easier said than done. After I fish my slipper out of the puddle where I left it, I jam it on my foot, then yank the other one from my hoodie pocket. I take a second to fluff it, to bend it back into shape, then slip it on. My body is as stiff as the material on the side of the stained slipper. My knees creak as I pull myself up, my back screaming at me.

  Jesus. I’m almost twenty-one and, after the last couple of nights I’ve had on the hard sewer floor, my poor everything aches like I’m eighty. It’s nothing a couple of aspirins and a nice hot shower won’t fix, but since it’s not likely I’ll get either one of those things anytime soon, I suck it up and start climbing the ladder.

  Halfway up, I realize that my ankle feels fine. Maybe it’s because the rest of me hurts like hell, but I don’t even feel the slightest twinge as I go from narrow rung to narrow rung. That’s one good thing. How far was I really gonna get if my ankle was still banged up from when I ran from that cop?

  Just when I get to the top, I remember the silk scrap that I tossed at the rat. I purposely left behind Rys’s lantern—because I just couldn’t willingly get any closer to that enchanted fire—but I know I’ll regret it if I don’t go back for Nine’s gift. I might be hurting from the way he rejected me last night, but I’ll get over it. I always do. And, whether I like it or not, Nine’s the only one I can turn to. The silk scarf thing is the first thing he’s given me in years.

  I want it back.

  I glance down, picking out the orange haze and the pinprick of light that marks the lantern. The fact that it’s so small makes me realize how far up I’ve climbed.

  I really, really don’t want to go down there again.

  So I don’t. I hesitate on the last rung for a few seconds, waffling between giving up on it—the rat probably ran off with it out of spite for all I know—and going back to get it. I finally found the strength and the balls to leave the sewer. I’ve got to keep going.

  That lid is freaking heavy. It takes every last bit of energy I have to knock it aside enough to climb back out. My hoodie almost gets snagged as I struggle to push my way out, and it takes holding my breath to fit, but I do it.

  It’s early. Like, the sun has just risen early early. I’m so stinking happy to see that it’s daylight that I let out a huge sigh of relief as I crawl out of the sewer. I draw the line at kissing the asphalt beneath my hands and knees, but it’s close. I don’t even care if there’s a cop waiting up here for me. The second I’m out, I collapse on my belly and just breathe in the fresh air.

  Once I’ve settled myself enough to focus on my next step, I jerk up my head. Because it’s early, the alleyway is empty. No cops. No delivery trucks, either. And, I realize after a second, no Light Fae lurking nearby to say gotcha.

  I was almost expecting to find him up here. Now that I haven’t, I can admit that to myself. Nine told me that he managed to erase Rys’s mark on me when he did… whatever it is that he did to me. I wanted to believe him.

  Maybe I can.

  Okay. No cops. No Seelie. That’s good. I didn’t want to hide any longer so, even though I thought I could be caught the second I poked my head aboveground again, I left the sewer.

  The bad part?

  Because I really did think I’d be caught, my brilliant plan never got any further than getting out of the sewer again.

  What am I supposed to do now?

  First things first. I get off the ground, wiping the gravel and the grime on my gloves off and onto the thighs of my dirty jeans. In the sunlight, I can see all the crap I’ve got on me—dirt and mud and oil and who knows what. I reach around, wiping my palms on my ass.

  There.

  Better.

  A stray wind blows, sending my hair into my face. It stinks. Like really stinks. Oof.

  The wind bites against my cheek, the strands of hair tickling my nose before I slap them away. It’s… it’s a little bit chilly out. That’s weird. It’s June. It must be even earlier than I thought for it to be so cool out in June.

  At least my hoodie won’t stand out. My rat’s nest hair might, and the questionable stains that cover my poor jeans… not to mention my muddy, dirty slippers… but at least my clothes are weather appropriate and my gloves are hidden from view.

  I’ll take it.

  Besides, it’s not like I plan on sticking around here for people to start wondering what I’m doing lurking behind the back of the downtown shops. I might not have anywhere I can go just yet. Doesn’t mean I can stay here.

  What to do? What to do?

  I don’t have any family. My mom’s gone. I never knew my dad. My sister’s dead, and I totally pushed last foster parents away after her death. Besides, even if I wanted to go to the Everetts for help, they moved to a city more than six hours away by car—and that was before they split up.

  All I have is Nine. And, after how big of an ass I made of myself, I’m not about to call him for help. I might have his true name now. After the way I commanded him to leave, I can’t bring myself to call him back, especially since it’s daytime now.

  You know what sucks? It hits me that I didn’t stay in the freaking sewer so long because it was convenient. I stayed because I honestly didn’t have anywhere else to go.

  I can only imagine how frustrating the search for me has got to be—and that’s if the hospital staff is still looking instead of writing me off as a bad bet. The sad truth is that, based on my history, I’ve never been able to call any place home. Apart from my time in Black Pine, I spent more time in Acorn Falls than anywhere else. No wonder they had the cops patrolling the streets in the quaint little town, almost as if they expected this would be where I ran off to.

  I guess they were right.

  Might as well go visit the last home I knew.

  7

  I had this crazy, reckless idea that I should head back toward the edge of town. It’s where the Everetts used to live, and the part of Acorn Falls that I remember the best.

  With my ho
od up and my head down, I take the back streets, careful to avoid anyone who might get antsy and call the cops on me. Once I got away from the more crowded downtown, odds of being singled out get lower. I don’t loiter outside of any street in particular, keeping my walk slow and steady as if I’m just getting fresh air instead of being on the run.

  My stomach starts to grumble a couple of hours into my trek across town. Eventually, I’m gonna have to figure out what to do about that. Bitching and moaning and wishing I hadn’t eaten the last of Nine’s bread isn’t gonna help me right now.

  I keep walking.

  After I hear the whispers of the few people passing me by, I stick to the trees. It seemed like a good idea. My hoodie is a more purple-y shade of maroon, my jeans a dark denim, and I don’t stand out among the trees that line the road. The shadows linger here, and it’s so much cooler in the shade, but it’s better than prancing out in the open in my slippers.

  The trees are… odd, though. Not green. Not totally. Some of them are capped with leaves that are red, orange, even yellow. Dead leaves, scattered leaves, cover the dry ground. They crackle so loudly under my steps, I start to dance from brown patch to brown patch of dirt to avoid them in case someone else can hear me.

  Then, when I finally duck out of the woods, cross three streets, and find the Everetts’ old house, I begin to think I’ve made a wrong turn somewhere.

  It’s been six years. I know that. The Everetts haven’t lived here in ages. I guess I just thought that it would still be standing here, some tiny bit of the before time that could help ground me while I got my crap together.

  The address is the same. The same 134 painted on the side of the mailbox posted by the curb. The same size house.

  Everything else is different. From the row of flowers planted in front of the porch to the child’s tricycle parked near the sidewalk, this isn’t the house I lived in for two years. Glancing up, I search for the window that led to my old room. My curtains had been black.

  These are pink.

  The driveway is empty. The lights are off.

  No one’s home.

  I’m glad. Standing at the curb, staring up at the house—wondering what if… I need a few minutes to myself. The last thing I need is the new owners wondering what some freaky girl is doing watching their house.