The Shattered Dark sr-2

by Sandy Williams

  “Upstairs?” I whisper back to Aren, nodding toward a narrow staircase on the left side of the room. A tiny elevator with a gated door that you manually open and close is next to it, but even if tech didn’t bother fae, I wouldn’t want to use it. It doesn’t look extremely dependable.

  Aren studies me. I try to force the tension out of my shoulders and to relax my grip on my dagger, but I’m sure he notices how stiff I am. He looks relaxed, but alert, and by the slight tilt of his head, I can tell he hears every creak and groan of the building despite the rumbling bass from the club next door.

  Trev walks past us and climbs the stairs. I give Aren a tight-lipped smile and follow, feeling the beat of the music on my skin as I step into a long hallway. This hotel must extend over more than one shop. A slant of street-light comes in through a boarded-up window, providing just enough illumination to see a dozen closed doors lining both sides of the hall.

  Aren stops beside the first door, puts a finger to his lips, then slowly reaches for the handle.

  It gives the softest click as it turns.

  I hold my breath. I don’t know if it’s better for him to throw the door open or to open it slowly, hoping that if someone is on the other side, they won’t hear him enter.

  He opts for the second method. The door silently moves, inch by inch, until the whole dank, empty room is revealed. A single bed occupies more than half of the space inside. It’s made, but the flowered comforter is faded and moth-eaten. At the foot of the bed, a sliding door leads to a bathroom barely big enough for a sink, toilet, and stand-up shower. It’s obvious no one’s here. No one’s been here for months, maybe years.

  “Check the other rooms,” Aren whispers to Trev.

  Trev moves to the door opposite us and turns the handle. Just like the first one—and just like the metal door we entered through—it turns without the least bit of resistance. Goose bumps prickle across my skin because that’s wrong. Even if the owner deserted this place at the last minute, he or she would have locked up. There should be some sign of a break-in. Honestly, there should be some sign of life. This is definitely not a Hilton, but if I had no place to live, I’d stay here. London is a big city; there should be squatters in an abandoned building like this.

  Aren moves to the next door. Once again, it opens and, once again, the room is empty save for a bed. Trev’s second room is the same, but it’s not until they’re both opening their fourth doors that I breathe a little easier. If the remnants were here, they would have made an appearance by now. I don’t know if I’m more frustrated or relieved. I want to find Paige, but I’m glad we’re not going to start a fight in the middle of this city.

  I walk to the other end of the hall. A second staircase occupies the space where Aren’s last door is. It’s steep and narrow, and I think it leads directly outside. Maybe an emergency exit or something.

  I slide my dagger back into its scabbard. Aren is still opening his doors quietly, but Trev has given up caution. He holds his dagger ready in his left hand as he pushes his last door open with his right.

  No remnants leap out, but Trev just stands there in the doorway.

  I move to his side.

  I stare inside the room.

  It takes a millennium for me to process what I see.

  “Oh, God,” I choke out.

  FIFTEEN

  MY HAND COVERS my mouth. I stare at the four blood-soaked bodies just long enough to know they’re all human, then I have to turn away.

  I hold on to the doorframe, digging my fingernails into the painted wood. The smell…It’s sour and stagnant and sickening, and suddenly, the air feels too hot. Too humid. It’s like the spilled blood has moistened everything. I look at my arms, expecting to see my skin misted red.

  “McKenzie?”

  I barely register Aren’s voice. It sounds distant, cavernous. I can’t respond; I just turn back to the tiny hotel room without saying a word. I focus on the body nearest me because I can’t look at the one that’s sprawled across the bed, the one that’s missing its skin. The cuts on the body near my feet aren’t straight lines. They’re small and jagged, like tiny bolts of red lightning. I’ve seen death before—fae who were beheaded before entering the ether, humans who were caught in the cross fire of the Realm’s war—but I’ve only seen this kind of twisted torture once. It was in Lyechaban, a city on the eastern coast of the Realm. The fae there loathe humans, and when I was in the city with Kyol nearly seven years ago, two humans were tied up on a dais. The Lyechabans tried to cut the lightning from their skin. I thought they were dead until one of them twitched and…

  With horror, I force myself to focus on the person on the bed. Please, please let him be dead.

  “What’s wrong?” Aren freezes beside me. He’s close, but I don’t feel the warmth of his body, just a bone-chilling dread that makes my stomach churn. Is the guy’s chest moving?

  “Sidhe,” Aren whispers.

  I think it might be moving, but the way the light from the room’s single window slants across his chest, it could be my imagination.

  Aren takes my arm. “We’re leaving. Now.”

  Did a lip twitch? I hold on to the doorframe, refusing to move.

  “Aren,” I say softly. “Make sure they’re dead. Please.”

  “They are.” He urges me to move again; I stand my ground. Two of the bodies are female. One has hair bleached the same shade of blond as Paige’s. She’s propped up against the foot of the bed, but her face is turned away. I can’t tell if it’s her.

  Aren squeezes my arm. “Okay.” He kisses my temple. “Okay.”

  He steps into the room. The soles of his shoes leave tracks on the blood-drenched floor. He’s wearing casual, high-ankled fae boots. I didn’t notice them before, but they look odd paired with his jeans and shirt. Foreign. Atroth didn’t include shoes in his stash of clothing. I should tell Lena to add footwear to the collection.

  Why the hell am I thinking about shoes?

  I shake my head, attempting to reboot my mind so I can focus. Aren is squatting by a body. He touches a wrist, checking for a pulse. Jaw visibly clenching and unclenching, he rises then moves to the next body. When he squats beside that one, I swear I see movement from the next, the blond girl who looks like Paige.

  I take a step toward her. I know I saw movement, but she’s in the same position as she was before. I don’t know what…

  Oh. Her hair. A lock of it flutters, caught by the draft coming in from the window. The window’s lower portion is pushed out, allowing air in. Allowing air out, too. How is it possible the people on the street can’t smell this death? How could they not hear the screams? The humans had to have screamed. None of these deaths were quick. They were slow, painful.

  “Look at me, McKenzie,” Aren says. He’s standing in front of me. He cups my face between his palms, and edarratae tickle down my neck. “We have to get out of here. You can’t panic right now. Do you understand?”

  I feel a crease wrinkle my forehead. I don’t think I’m panicking.

  “These are the missing humans,” he says. “The ones who worked with Atroth.”

  What?

  “Are you sure?” I ask. The remnants need Sighted humans as much as we do.

  “I’m sure,” he says, “The walls list their names.”

  My stomach churns, but I look over his shoulder at the blood painting the walls. Now that I’m focused on the smears of red, I recognize the Fae symbols. I still can’t read it, but it’s definitely their language.

  “Why would the remnants slaughter them?” I ask, focusing on the blond girl. I recognize her now. Her name is Anya. She is—was—Russian. Sixteen years old. The same age I was when I began working for the Court, only she started when she was fourteen. While working for the king, I met fae who disapproved of my presence in the Realm, but they accepted it because I hunted down the Court’s enemies. I can’t imagine any of those fae doing something like this. This is beyond barbaric.

  My nostrils flare. I cle
nch my fists at my sides and feel the fury sink in with each blood-tainted breath I take. Lena has been trying to make contact with the remnants to negotiate with them, but screw that. Anyone who can do something like this can’t be reasoned with. Once we find out who’s organizing them, I’ll track him and his supporters down. I don’t care how long it takes. I won’t let something like this happen again.

  This time, when Aren urges me to move, I do, turning my back on the desecrated bodies. We retrace our steps down the hall and are no more than four paces from the staircase when Shane’s voice rings out, “They’re here!”

  He sprints into our hallway a second later. “They saw me.”

  “The other staircase. Go,” Aren orders, pushing us down the hall before taking up position in front of the steps Shane just ran up.

  I stumble, brace a hand against the wall, then turn, looking back at Aren and Trev. Trev remains in this world only for a second more, then he disappears into a fissure.

  I turn to Shane. “How many remnants—”

  “Come on!” He cuts me off, grabbing my arm and forcefully yanking me down the hall. I shake him off but run for the second staircase. Trev will bring back help, and Aren won’t fissure out until I’m safely away from here.

  My heart beats in time with the hard, fast music pounding next door. We sprint to the other end of the corridor then down the stairs. Shane reaches the bottom first. A glass door leads outside, but, of course, this one is chained shut.

  Shane doesn’t hesitate. He sidekicks his foot through the glass. I’m right on his heels, ducking under the chain after he does.

  We don’t exit onto a street. We exit into the tiniest courtyard I’ve ever seen. There’s just one door, wooden and curved on top, in the wall opposite us.

  Shane runs to it, grabs the handle, attempting to pull it open.

  No luck.

  I scan the area, feeling boxed in by the four brick walls. The music is louder out here. Between drumbeats, I think I hear fissures opening in the building we just left.

  Shit.

  My gaze locks on a metal ladder. It’s almost hidden behind an outcropping of a chimney. It climbs the wall, stopping at a small platform one level up. There’s a door there, cracked open.

  “Shane. Here.” I jump, grabbing the highest rung I can reach, then I climb, making it to the platform in a few seconds. I make sure Shane’s following me before I slip inside.

  Strobe lights flash in the dark. I’m in the club. Backstage. Thick curtains hang from floor to ceiling to my right. To my left, a writhing, screaming horde of people crowds the floor.

  “Go!” Shane yells, slamming into me. “Go!”

  I run, sprinting for the packed dance floor. It will be easy to get lost in the mass of revelers, and with the near-deafening music and all the tech in this room, the fae will be disoriented.

  We have to jump down from the side of the stage to the floor. I catch a quick glimpse of the band as I do. The bassist, a tall, skinny guy covered in tats, is headbanging as he plays. A cord runs from his bass to the equipment behind him, a cord that, apparently, a remnant doesn’t see. It rips out of the instrument as the fae trips over it. The last thing I see before I shove into the crowd is a baffled look on the human’s face.

  “Go! Go!” Shane yells, shoving me deeper into the crowd. I’m trying, but the place is packed. I slip between two dancing girls, then look over my shoulder.

  Shane’s gone. I have no idea where, but I keep moving, trying to get to the center of the dance floor. Everyone is pushing and dancing and not making it at all easy for me to get anywhere. Somehow, I end up near the front of the theater. I look up at the stage, see a remnant standing there. He’s in fae clothing and holding a sword as he scans the crowd. I have to assume he’s invisible since security isn’t doing anything to remove him.

  I think I might be safe where I am. I can’t see the fae spotting me here. When the concert ends, I can file out with the crowd. I should be able to avoid the remnants.

  If I survive the concert.

  Despite the cool air outside, it’s hot in here. I can barely breathe in this mass of people. My nose wrinkles when someone lights up something that’s definitely not a cigarette nearby. The smoke gets into my lungs, makes them itch.

  Suddenly the song ends. The lights go out. The crowd becomes a sea of lit-up cell phones and…

  A flash of blue lightning strikes across a face, right in front of me.

  I reach for the dagger hidden under my shirt while I back up, pushing against the crowd as hard as I can, but the crowd pushes back. I can’t get the dagger free. The remnant doesn’t have the same problem. When the lights flash back on, they glint off the short steel blade in his hand. He stabs toward my stomach, but at that exact moment, the crowd reacts, surging around us and making the fae miss.

  Miss me. Not the girl who’s tripped into the space I just occupied. Her scream is lost under the fierce, pounding notes of the next song. She collapses to her knees. Instinctively, I reach out to help her, but everyone is still moving, shoving back at people who shoved them.

  I manage to grab the girl’s elbow. I’m pulling her up and looking for the remnant at the same time. Someone shoved him. Unintentionally, I think, since it’s obvious no one else can see him. He shoves back, then his eyes lock on me once again.

  I need to run—the fae won’t miss me a second time—but if I can somehow get the girl to Aren, he can save her.

  “Come on!” I have to yell at the girl so that she can hear me over the music.

  She takes one step, then her knees buckle. I strain to keep her on her feet, but her arm slips from my grasp. No one else helps her. They don’t notice the blood soaking her clothes.

  The remnant is only a pace away. That’s when the anger takes over. Anger at the unfairness of the girl’s impending death and the brutal torture of the Sighted humans in the building next door. With a scream that nobody hears under the roaring music, I attack the remnant.

  It’s clear he doesn’t expect it. There’s a moment of shock in his expression as I ram into him, my fingers reaching for his silver eyes. My nails scrape down the side of his face instead.

  I scramble for the hand that was holding his dagger a moment before, but can’t find the weapon. I look at the cement floor to see if he dropped it, but he grabs a fistful of my hair. He jerks my head down, brings his knee up.

  Tiny glints of silver dance through the air. Stars, I think, as he slams his knee into my face again.

  When my vision clears, I’m on my hands and knees, still alive somehow. Breathing makes my face hurt, but I draw in the hot, smoke-tainted air and look up. Aren is here. He’s wrestling with the fae. Neither of them has his weapon in hand; they’re trying to kill each other with their fists.

  Aren dives for the remnant’s knees, gets underneath him, then lifts. I think he intends to body slam the other man, but the fae gets his arm around Aren’s neck, throwing him off-balance. They fall recklessly into the crowd, taking two guys down with them. The humans can’t see what happened; they have no idea what’s going on, but they make assumptions. The first guy throws a fist at the second. Someone jumps in to help, and all of a sudden, the whole place becomes one giant mosh pit.

  When someone steps on my shoulder, I realize I’m going to be crushed if I don’t get back to my feet. I stagger forward, half crawling, half standing until I trip over the girl the remnant stabbed. She’s still breathing. Still crying.

  Grabbing her arm, I heave up. I have her halfway to her feet when an elbow to the ribs sends a sharp pain down my side. I’m shoved back to the ground. I make an effort to get up again, but people are stepping on the edge of my open coat, pinning me down. The crowd presses in, and the gap I once occupied disappears.

  I can’t breathe. Someone steps on me, then someone else. I’m lying on top of the girl, almost cheek to cheek with her. Her eyes are open, glassy. A reckless foot kicks her head. She doesn’t blink or cry out.

  The screams from
the crowd are actual screams now. I manage to slip out of my coat, then try to get off the ground yet again, but there are too many people around me, on top of me. I’m going to be trampled to death.

  Then I’m wrenched back to my feet. I look over my shoulder, expecting to see Aren. It’s not him. It’s a human. Someone I don’t know and who doesn’t know me. Just a random stranger saving my life. I want to thank him, to make sure he gets out of this okay, but I lose sight of him when the crowd surges again. We’re all converging on the exit, an exit that’s far too small to accommodate this many people. Everyone’s screaming and yelling and shoving and pushing. No one will make it out that way.

  I shove backward and sideways at the same time, manage to slip through the thinnest gap in the crowd. Adrenaline and a desperate urge to survive are fueling me now. Everyone’s trying to escape the club, so the farther I get into it, the less resistance I meet.

  To my left, a trio of girls have broken a window. They’re climbing out of it. I start to head that way when something on the stage catches my eye.

  Paige.

  A fae has a sword in one hand, my friend in the other. He wrestles her behind the thick, black stage curtain.

  “Paige!” I scream, even though I know she can’t hear me. I don’t see any other fae in the club. They could easily have fissured out, so I run, jumping on the stage and sprinting for the split in the curtain where I saw them disappear.

  There’s an exit back here. I run through it, scan up and down the street. I don’t see Paige or the remnant, just humans, some who were obviously in the club and others who are watching the rest of us spill out the exits. Some of the women are sobbing. The men look disoriented, too, and the sound of sirens grows louder as the authorities respond to the scene.

  Then I hear something else, something I’ve heard far too much lately: the sound of fae fighting.