by Eli Constant
“Liam, how can I thank you?” From where I’m seated, Liam is the most beautiful person I have ever seen. The most beautiful fairy, I suppose. Beautiful though. God, beautiful. And I owed him my life.
For a split second, I wonder what owing a fairy a life debt will mean, but that second is gone in a flash, leaving me with nothing save gratefulness.
“You are my sovereign, Victoria Iracebeth Cage. My duty to you is, and will always be, to give you my everything. From the breath in my lungs to the marrow in my bones. I am yours. You owe me no thanks,” his voice has lost some of its trademark cockiness. It’s warm and sincere. It strikes me oddly, right in my chest, above my heart.
It really was a declaration better suited for a royal court than the dirty inside of an old SUV. It filled the small interior of the Bronco with the powerful energy of a promise. He was mine. I think I really understand that now.
As he drives, I study his profile. Even though I had just witnessed him in his full fae glory, I found it hard to reconcile the human mask with the white-winged preternatural creature that resides skin-deep.
“Is Liam your real name?” I’m not sure why the question comes to me. Maybe because I am sitting, trying to reconcile who he is.
His lips spread in a soft smile. “No, it is not.”
I wait for him to continue, but he doesn’t. “Do I have to beg?”
“It’s not easily pronounced.”
“Try me.”
When Liam opens his mouth, a musical string of nonsensical words exits. It is lovely. And he was right; there is no way I’m going to be able to say it myself.
“Um, that’s beautiful,” I sputter.
“For the fae, it would equate to the human ‘John’. Quite common,” his smile is impish. My own personal Puck to come to my aid whenever necessary. Although… I’m not sure Puck would be the world’s most effective savior.
“Why don’t you have a name like Blackthorn’s? Simple, to the point. Hi, I’m Blackthorn and I’m a black fairy.” I try to be funny, deepening my voice and nearly laughing through the words. Liam does not smile though.
“The new ways embrace names like Blackthorn. The black court, the Unseelie, do not mind bastardizing tradition and embracing change.”
“Change can be good,” I shift, my arms beginning to ache.
“Change kills belief. Without belief, the preternatural world collapses,” he replies darkly.
“I don’t understand. Humans don’t believe in the preternatural. I mean, they believe in necromancers because of The Rising, but they also believe that we’re nearly extinct now.” For some reason, Liam’s mention of the preternatural world collapsing makes me feel personally undone. “I mean, I guess we are nearly extinct. But the point is that people have never believed in fairies or anything like that. It’s just stories, things you tell to children to entice their imaginations.”
“That childhood belief fuels our world. And we do what we can to keep those believers alive. Books, movies. Anything that might plant the hope of something other than humanity being real.”
“Wouldn’t it make more sense to just come out in the open? Let the world know that you exist, force them to believe?”
“And risk another Rising?” He shakes his head. “No. The reality we might gain from revealing ourselves does not outweigh the risks.”
“But you’re fairies,” I scoff, “it’s not like you’re like us. It’s not like you can control the dead and mistakenly let loose a horde of zombies.”
“No, but we can wipe memories. We can manipulate a human’s actions. Some of us can even alter the past and future in small ways that go unnoticed by humanity. Why do you think the Earth still thrives? When humans have done everything in their power to ruin it?”
“But if people knew, they wouldn’t look at your people the way they look at mine. You don’t only come with death as an offering. You bring so much more.”
“You are my people, Victoria. Necromancers are part of the kingdom I serve.”
“If I had even a small chance to live in the open, to not have to hide what I am, I’d do it. I don’t have that choice. You might.”
“There are nuances to the world I live in that you do not understand. It is not only the Fae that hides for protection,” Liam’s voice holds a smile, like I am a child living in a biodome, kept safe by my beliefs that I’m the baddest thing in my world.
I swallow, the lump that’s formed fast in my throat doesn’t move. “This is a lot to digest, Liam.”
“Did you think that the necromancers were the only preternatural creatures that exist on this world?” Liam seems amused.
“No. Well… I mean, yes. We were discovered. Nothing else has been, at least nothing else recognized as being real.” I shrugged, the lump still there like I’ve swallowed a half-chewed meatball. “If other things existed, humans would have seen them. They would have been documented. Even the stuff Grandmother told me… I mean, I assumed those were stories created from partial truths.”
“Really?” He’s mocking me now; I can hear it in his voice. “What do you make of things like Sasquatch and the Abominable snowman? What of creatures like the Loch Ness Monster?”
“Fantasy.” I say it simply, knowing it’s as untrue now as it has been forever. It was egotistical to think that I was the only supernatural being on the planet. That necromancy held the monopoly on extraordinary gifts. It was like humanity thinking it was the only sentient life in the galaxy. “They’re not real.”
“They’re very real, Victoria. As real as you and I,” Liam’s voice is gentler now. I think he sees that my disbelief holds a modicum of fear.
We are near Bonneau, only a short time more until I am once again home, and we sit in silence until Liam turns the steering wheel to direct the Bronco down the circular driveway.
“Thank you, Liam. I know you say it’s your duty to protect me, but that doesn’t matter. You know what they would have done to me.” I looked down shyly.
His voice is quiet, a dark whisper. “Yes, I know.” He pulls beneath the attached carport and shifts into park. “I wanted to kill them. We are compelled not to hurt humans, but I wanted to do it anyway. I wanted to rip their hearts from their chests and offer them to you, still beating, as tribute. They should not have touched you.”
It is then that Liam notices that I am still handcuffed. I’ve not complained. I’ve ridden unbuckled, my hands clasped behind my back. I am just thankful to be alive.
“Oops.” Liam gives a crooked smile and opens the driver’s side door. He’s beside my door in a heartbeat. “I’d apologize for leaving the cuffs on, but then I’d also have to apologize for thinking all the naughty thoughts about you wearing them.”
“Liam, I’d punch you if you hadn’t just saved my life.” I expect him to laugh. But instead, Liam looks at me, a sudden heat filling his eyes.
“I am sorry I did not take them off before driving.” Liam helps me get out of the SUV and then makes short work of breaking the handcuffs. They fall like Lego pieces to the concrete. He is full of surprises. And now I know he is strong, stronger than any human. When he straightens up again, there’s an odd look on his face. He catches me off guard when he leans forward abruptly, his face nearly pressing against the front of my shirt. “No wonder you couldn’t see the Bronco.”
He stands straight once more, anger flashing across his handsome face. It surprises me. I feel like we’ve explored the full range of emotion from rescue to arrival at my home. “What do you mean?” I rub at my wrists. They are sore, but not bruised. I am glad the rest of my body has healed and I am not simply adding to a long list of aches. I reach into the vehicle and grab my purse. The weight of it reminds me of the call I’ve missed.
“Somehow,” Liam’s voice is dark and brooding, “the humans have gotten ahold of Lanowin essence. It’s a goblin weapon, once used against the fae in the great species war, that interrupts a preternatural being’s connection with their power. Goblins are immune. The truc
e that was formed after the war forbids its use now.”
“Lanowin essence?” I lift my shirt, momentarily exposing my stomach, and I sniff at the now-dry stuff that Ginger and Midnight had spritzed me with. The odor is light now, like perfume worn away after a long day, but it still exists enough to sting my nose and slightly water my eyes.
“It’s putrid stuff,” Liam murmurs, the anger now given way to thoughtfulness.
“Yeah, definitely stinks. Can I just wash it off in the shower or is there some magical removal process?” I tug the shirt down, trying to smooth out the wrinkles that have formed from the dried Lanowin essence.
“A shower will suffice,” Liam smirks, his cockiness returning in an almost-seeable wave across his face. “Want some assistance?”
I roll my eyes dramatically. “You’re a dog, Liam. Seriously though, I’d invite you in, but I’ve got work to do. And now I have to shower first.” I sigh, looking up at the sky and trying to see the sun. There’s too much cloud-cover though. Like always. Folding my arms across my body, I will myself to stay knitted together. It feels like I’m always doing that.
“I understand, but,” Liam gestures up and down his body with a flourish of his right hand, “you’re missing out.” Then he begins to walk away, not towards the road and lake beyond, but towards the sparse woods behind the Victorian.
As soon as I see him leaving, I realize that… well, dammit, I kind of want him to stay. And he did just save my life. I bite my lower lip before speaking. I know it’s a bad idea, but I can’t stop myself. “Liam, it’ll only take me a few hours to finish what I need to. I have a funeral tomorrow. Everything’s been done except for prepping the body.” I swallow. “Would you like to wait upstairs? We can maybe get some food afterwards?”
At first, Liam smiles as wide as the sun peeking through clouds on an overcast day, but then he sobers. I don’t like the way he’s shifting between emotions, so unstable, so unpredictable. I like him when he’s being full-out cocky, without a sincere emotion in sight.
But, no, the smile is truly gone. His face is serious, a reaction I do not expect. “I would like that more than I should.” He angles his body so I am seeing his full length profile.
“What do you mean?” I walk forward. I feel the need to touch him. My pulse is pounding so hard, so violently, that it is a sensation in my ears not unlike the banging of a drum. When I put my hand on his shoulder, a shock jumps from him to me and back again, not unlike the first time we’d touched. Jesus, that seems a lifetime ago.
Liam turns his head at my touch; his eyes are the shining jewels of his fae face, not his human mask, but the seriousness is gone, replaced by heat that radiates from his body towards mine. It sends bolts of electricity into my veins. “You are more lovely than I ever imagined, Victoria. It is hard to remember my duty.”
“You’ve done your duty, Liam. You’ve given me the mark.” It’s then that I realize Liam hasn’t told me much more about the court, about his role in it. “I’m all blood-soaked power and glowy fingers now.”
“Yes, I have done that part of my duty.” He moves into me then, pushing our bodies together so firmly that we are two trees sprouted too close together in the earth that must twist and wind around one another to rise upwards towards the sun.
He leans forward and I do not stop him. This kiss is mutually wanted and I sink into him, my knees becoming jelly as his tongue flicks against my own with firm, controlled strokes. His right hand finds its way to my hair and he grips the strands loosely, gently pushing my face even closer to his.
My hands are between our bodies, my palms flat against his chest. I feel the muscles there and I snake my fingers upwards to his shoulders, curl them around his neck, and twine them together so I hold him as much prisoner as he holds me.
But then he pulls away, without warning and so quickly that I am left shell-shocked by the explosion of our embrace.
“It will take everything I possess not to take you from him. Everything I have to ignore my heart and do my duty,” Liam whispers the words, his face haunted now. “I have to go, Victoria. I need to report on the use of Lanowin essence.” With that, Liam becomes an apparition. He fades until he is a shadow of himself, a spirit in look, but he gives off the feeling of the very-much alive. I see his mist-like figure race away from where he once stood, in full tangible form. He disappears between trees and is gone. This is the second time he’s left my side to report to someone. I want to know more about that, more about who he answers to, about his people.
Because they’re sort of my people now too.
I do not know what he has meant by his words about his heart and his duty and I hate that when he’d said ‘I have to go,’ that it sounded like some sort of permanent goodbye.
My lips are on fire though. That I do know. This kiss has left a memory that will not fade quickly. He’ll be back. I want him to come back. And, Lord help me, I don’t know what that means in terms of Kyle.
As I’m walking into the house, my phone vibrates again. I fish it out and see that it’s Terrance. I’m tired, the euphoria of the kiss still there, but no longer overwhelming the other needs of my body. I don’t want to speak to anyone. I just want to go in, get changed, and do what I’m best at—prepare the dead for burial and hope the dead doesn’t decide to come to life on the table.
Chapter Twenty-Nine.
I’m downstairs in the embalming room. Terrance had left a message when he’d called. He’d pulled Steve off protective detail in front of my house for a few hours for something else, but someone would be back soon, so I wouldn’t be alone. He’d apparently already spoken to Dean on the business line to find out when he and Max left for the day.
I wonder who Terrance will send if not Steve… hopefully someone who doesn’t call me ‘Casper’ under their breath each time I walk into a room. My luck, it’ll be Darryl again.
“Do you mind if I observe today?” Dean is hovering in the doorway. Max has already gone upstairs. He’s not fond of being around the bodies, which makes him ill-suited for funeral work. To him though, this job is a paycheck. It facilitates his life. For me, and I suspect for Dean, this work is life.
It is my duty to treat the bodies that once held souls with kindness. Dean has the heart for it. I think he will make a good funeral director. He is lucky though, in that he will only deal with the stillness of the dead. No bodies will rise from the embalming table under his care.
“Normally I wouldn’t mind. You know that. Today though, I’d really rather be alone. Do you mind?” I’m the boss; I shouldn’t be asking Dean’s permission to do my job. But he’s interested in pursuing Mortuary Science and I’ve told him that I’ll help him along however I can. It’s just not something I can do today.
“No problem.” He shrugs, but I can see he’s a bit crestfallen.
“Thanks for understanding. You two can pack up for the day. Just be here an hour before the service tomorrow.”
“Sure thing.” Dean waves quickly and then backs out of the room. He returns quickly though at the sound of my voice.
“Hey, Dean?”
“Yeah?” He is not quite hovering in the doorway this time.
“You’re going to be really good at this. I want you to know that. You have the heart for it. I don’t say that lightly.” I look him full in the face, absolutely no hesitation in my voice.
He smiles. “Thanks, Tori. My family thinks it’s weird that I want to do this instead of being a lawyer like my brother or a doctor like Dad. But this feels right. You know what I mean?”
“I know exactly what you mean.” And I do, although I also know that this profession will be infinitely different for him. He’s normal. A human. I am not. I watch Dean disappear again and I hear his footsteps ascend the stairs, getting fainter and fainter.
Above me, I hear the shuffling of Max and Dean leaving. I hear the dull thud of the front door falling into its frame. I do not hear the key turning in the lock, but Dean is responsible.
Finally, after what seems like an eternity, I am alone with my thoughts. Alone with the dead.
I move to a cabinet above the large stainless apron sink and I find my little mp3 player. I push the earbuds in place and I hit play. The music is soft at first, and then builds into a crashing noise that drowns out the world.
Protective gear comes next. You can’t be too careful working around bodily fluids. Although, I already have what most people would consider the worst disease possible.
Mrs. Grayson’s body has taken on that translucence of the long-dead. She was already pale in life, the green-blue veins visible beneath her thin skin. So easily bruised in life that lightening purple bruises can still be found on her arms and legs. That’s common in the elderly.
I’ve not had to bind the body with blood and salt to keep the soul from reentering. Unlike Lilly Miller, Mrs. Grayson is long gone.
Reaching up, I flick on the ventilation hood. It runs the length of the embalming table and draws any fumes up and away from me. Fresh air blows in from the sides. The whirring is so loud that I can hear it over my music.
I work slowly, moving over the body with light, respectful fingers. Old Mr. Jones hadn’t been so kind with the bodies, but then he didn’t understand what it was like to have one awaken on the table and start talking to you like they’d never died. After that happens, you can’t just look at them as flesh and bone.
You look at them as a person, even if the personality is long gone.
Mrs. Grayson is already undressed. My embalming table is the kind with grates running the length of all four sides. They allow the fluids to drain into pans that can be disposed of properly. I’d like to have two separate stations—one for washing the body, since those fluids can go into the regular sewage system, and one for the actual embalming. It’s against code to allow the formaldehyde fluids to go down the drain. They have to be put into a large canister and I call to have them exchanged once they’re full.
Before The Rising, most states allowed all of the bodily fluids and embalming liquids to go down the drain and out into public sewage. You would think common sense would have changed that long ago. But no, it took everyone nonsensically worrying that they’d catch necromancy to make the rules against disposing of bodily fluid more stringent.