“That was to get the coins,” she said. “You told me you could only control someone if they were related to me.”
“And that they would be part of our arrangement.” Forester made a tsking noise. “Really, such a savvy businesswoman as yourself should be much more careful in the wording of your contracts.”
Mrs. Ford let out a sob. “I never would have agreed… I did this for him.”
Mr. Morrison put his hands on her shoulders, helping her to stay upright. Miranda swayed on her feet, the grief and pain of the moment overwhelming her.
She had never felt so powerless. Scott was gone. Darren had almost completely changed. The form he was in now was only slightly more human than what she’d seen in her visions. She didn’t know if he’d be able to pull himself back after this.
She didn’t know how to help him.
“Please, take them,” Mrs. Ford said. “Give the years back to Scott. I don’t want them.”
“Are you sure?” Forester said.
“Edith—” Mr. Morrison hugged her waist more tightly.
She ignored his warning. She clutched her son’s body, and said, “I’m sure. Give them back. I just want him back.”
Miranda felt a faint stirring of hope. Her dad had never told her stories about fairies bringing back the dead, but she’d read a few tales in books.
Bringing back the dead…
She remembered the vision of Scott as a walking corpse and her heart seemed to stutter.
This is where it starts. Something about this moment.
She had to stop Forester from bringing Darren’s best friend back from the dead. As if she hadn’t already put Darren through enough…
“What about the coins?” Forester said.
“Keep them,” Mrs. Ford said. “I don’t give a damn about them.”
“Such a loving gesture.” Forester smiled. “Don’t worry. I’ll reunite you with your son.”
Reunite?
“Mrs. Ford, wait!” Miranda’s warning was too late.
This time, instead of a slow fog, the green light shot out from Forester’s hand. He pulled at Mrs. Ford’s energy, fingers clawed, face illuminated with the macabre light as he laughed. Within seconds, Mrs. Ford once more looked as Miranda had first seen her.
Except for the wide, staring eyes.
Her body slumped into Mr. Morrison’s arms.
“Edith… No.” He reached over and touched his fingers against Scott’s neck. “You bastard. You said you’d bring him back.”
“I said I’d restore the years to him,” Forester said. “Look. He’s just as he was when I started.”
Miranda’s stomach twisted. Scott’s youthful appearance was restored. But not his life.
Part of her was relieved until she suddenly thought, ‘It’s just been set in motion.’
“He’s dead,” Mr. Morrison yelled. “You killed them both!”
Forester shrugged. “Some humans just can’t take losing that many years all at once. Now, if you want to make a deal—”
“No.” Miranda was surprised at how calm her voice sounded. “No more deals. Mr. Morrison, you’ve seen what comes of them.”
He looked completely broken. He stared at Miranda with blank eyes, then turned back to Mrs. Ford, rocking her body as he held her.
Forester cocked his head to the side as he looked at Miranda. “Curious. You seem a bit more…interesting than these other humans. Have you been with this werewolf during his entire night of transition?”
“That’s none of your business,” she said.
A slow smile creased his face. “You have. I’ve never heard of a human and a werewolf pairing before. Well, not where the human survived. How did you manage?”
“I’m resourceful.” Miranda tightened her grip on her purse strap as she walked closer to Forester—which brought her closer to Darren. She had to have something she could use as a weapon. Some spare salt packets. Iron.
Wait…
She had the iron box that Jack had given them. But how could she get close enough to use it? If she threw it at Forester, he would blink away. If she tried to bludgeon him with it… That wouldn’t go well.
Her best chance—the best chance for all of them—was if she could get Darren free.
He didn’t even seem to be trying to escape anymore. He was lying still on the ground, almost completely covered in roots and vines.
She had reached Darren while speaking, and knelt at his side. He glanced over at her with the same gray eyes, sparkling lights shining in their depths. His pupils were hugely dilated.
She dared to reach out and touch the back of his head, gripping his…fur. He closed his eyes briefly. When he looked at her again, he seemed calmer.
“How did you survive, human?” Forester said.
In a quiet voice, she said, “I can see the future.”
“An oracle.” Forester angled his head to the side. He seemed to be talking mostly to himself as he continued. “An oracle would be an even better gift than the coins or even that fairy fighter.”
Miranda took advantage of his introspection by setting her purse on the ground behind Darren—out of the elf’s sight—and unzipping it.
“Tribute won’t be coming up for another decade in mortal years.” Forester smiled at her, revealing all those perfect teeth. Then he licked them. “What will we do with our time?”
“I guess I forgot to mention that I’m not available,” Miranda said.
She reached into her bag without looking away from Forester, fingers feeling around for the box. It didn’t take long to find. Her hand shook as she lifted it out, keeping her arm close to her body and trying to be discreet.
“Let me be clear as well,” Forester said. “You belong to me now. My realm. My rules.”
She felt Darren’s muscles coiling beneath her, saw his claws dig into the earth for purchase. A low growl rumbled from his chest.
She wasn’t entirely sure if it was directed at Forester or her. She hoped he’d forgiven her—and not just because he could easily kill her the moment he was freed.
“Take it up with my boyfriend.” Tightening her grip on the iron box, she shoved it against the largest root holding Darren to the ground.
It worked better than she’d hoped. The root blackened and shriveled, the darkness spreading quickly along its length and even to the other roots touching it. They seemed to be turning to ash.
She let go of Darren just as he launched himself forward, clearing the space between him and Forester in one lightning-quick bound.
Forester stumbled back, but vanished right as Darren’s jaws clacked shut where his face had been. Miranda held up the box, wondering where Forester would appear next, scanning the clearing.
Darren had locked onto Mr. Morrison.
“Darren, wait.” She had taken two steps toward them when someone grabbed her by the front of her neck.
Forester pulled her against his chest hard enough to nearly knock the wind from her. He grabbed her wrist before she could smash him in the face with the iron box. His hand tightened on her neck, almost cutting off her air.
“None of that,” he said.
She didn’t know what to do. His Rath made him stronger…but it also had a weakness.
She let the iron box fall.
As soon as it hit the ground, the grass beneath it wilted. The air seemed to lose its luster, even as sunlight began to pierce its way into the clearing.
The plants a bit farther away returned to their normal green, which looked dull in comparison. The effect spread, destroying the magic that was making the park intersect with Faerie.
Forester tightened his grip on her neck. “What have you done?”
She couldn’t have answered if she tried, pain lancing through her neck from where he squeezed it shut.
She looked over at Darren and saw that he had shifted his focus to them, his lips curled up in a snarl. His fangs were massive and sharp, especially in comparison with the rest of his face. He was much mo
re than halfway through the transformation.
His skin had grayed completely and fur covered most of what she could see of him. His features were still a mix of human and wolf.
In her visions, he’d had the head of a wolf, but his body remained mostly human shaped. He’d be bigger and covered in fur, his hands would have longer claws, and his feet and legs would be wolf-like as well.
She hoped she would live long enough to see it.
He started toward them slowly, clawed hands flexed at his sides. Forester increased the pressure, tilting her head to the side. She tried not to show how much it hurt.
“One more step and I’ll snap her neck,” Forester said.
Darren froze, another deep growl echoing among the trees. Time seemed frozen as the two fey men glared at each other.
Two fey men. One forgotten human.
A human with a gun.
She saw Mr. Morrison draw his weapon and tilted her head to the side, trying to get her face as far from Forester’s as possible. It was the only clear shot he would have, unless he was planning on trying to shoot Forester through her.
Pop.
Something hot and wet sprayed her neck. The sound was so loud it made her ears ring. Forester’s grip loosened enough for her to pull away. Coughing and gasping for breath, she threw herself to the ground, turning to keep Forester in her sights.
Pop, pop.
The second bullet hit the elf in his shoulder. The third in the center of his chest. Blood trickled down from the first hole—in the middle of his forehead. Green blood.
Forester smiled, then started to laugh. “Not enough iron in those bullets.”
Pop.
The fourth bullet hit him in the throat.
He coughed, more green leaking from the corners of his mouth. His brow actually furrowed as he lifted his hand to touch the bullet wound.
“Iron, massive tissue damage…” Miranda rasped. “We humans aren’t picky. And I’m pretty sure Darren ripping your head off will shut you up permanently.”
Forester glared down at her, then vanished. She doubted he’d be back anytime soon.
Miranda rolled onto her hands and knees, then pushed herself up on shaky legs. The immediate threat Forester had presented was gone, but that didn’t mean they were out of danger. A rumbling growl punctuated her thought.
Across the clearing, Darren had turned his attention to Mr. Morrison again.
Mr. Morrison didn’t look scared or sad anymore. He stared blankly at Mrs. Ford’s body lying next to Scott’s. His s dangled at his sides, as if his weapon was forgotten.
“Darren.” Miranda approached Darren slowly, unsure of how he’d respond. Was he still in control?
He growled. Not a good sign. But he took a step toward Mr. Morrison, not her. If Darren was going to kill them both, she wasn’t at the top of his list. She quickened her pace, putting herself between them.
“Please,” she said. “Take a moment to think about this.”
Lights glittered in his eyes. His lips were still curled back from the sharp teeth protruding from his mouth. He took another step closer, towering over her. Now she had his full attention.
She swallowed hard, wincing at the reminder of the bruised muscles in her throat.
“It’s okay.” Mr. Morrison’s voice was stretched thin and laced with pain. “I don’t care if he kills me.”
Darren growled.
“It isn’t okay.” Miranda dared to put her hands on Darren’s chest, felt the strange shape of the half-changed muscles as he breathed. The curl to his lips lessened.
“Darren, this isn’t you,” she said. “If you kill him, you’ll be letting go of part of yourself. Part I need you to hold onto.”
“For your visions?” Darren snarled.
She was amazed he managed to form words that she could pick out from among the rumbling growls. The hair on the nape of her neck pricked up at the menacing sound, the sense of his anger toward her. She pushed away her fear.
“Not just my visions.” She lifted her shaking hand to his cheek, so close to those sharp-looking teeth. “I don’t want to lose you. Any part of you. I need you. Not for my visions. For me. Please hold on.”
His face relaxed a bit more. He closed his eyes and stood straighter. The color began to leech back into his face and his fur retracted.
He was doing it. Pulling himself back again—for her.
A breath of relief rushed out of her as a sob. She threw her arms around his neck and held him close. He hugged her back, burying his face in her neck.
It felt like they stayed that way for a long time. Miranda pulled back from Darren reluctantly.
He was himself again. Steel gray eyes, soft lips surrounded by stubble instead of fur.
Part of her wanted to laugh, she was so relieved. Most of her wanted to cry.
Mr. Morrison was staring down at Mrs. Ford and her son—at their bodies lying on the ground. He looked like he was in shock.
She checked on Darren to see how he was handling things. He stared at Scott’s body for a few moments, then turned away. A muscle in his cheek twitched.
Miranda gripped Darren’s hand tightly. She didn’t dare let go. But she did reach out with her free hand and pluck Mr. Morrison’s future from his shoulder.
She didn’t bother trying to be discreet about it. Mr. Morrison was in his own world, his awareness flooded with grief. She was almost afraid of what his future would hold.
She looked anyway.
Crystal clear images ran through her mind. No fog or metaphors obscured anything. Compared to the futures she’d been reading, it was a cake walk. And the role he would play, how he would help support their fight… It was important.
She let out a sigh, then squeezed Darren’s hand.
“Mr. Morrison, I need you to listen to me very carefully,” Miranda said.
He shook his head. “I don’t care if you can read my future. Edith was my world. I don’t give a shit about anything else.”
“Maybe right now,” she said. “But that’s going to change.”
She had seen the near obsessive zeal in his eyes that would grow as time went on. And she was about to light the fuse.
“Giving up is easy,” she said. “Fighting back—protecting other people from suffering the same sort of loss—that’s hard. And that’s what you’re going to do.”
That caught his interest.
“How?” He looked up at her, glanced at Darren. “I shot that guy right between the eyes, and it didn’t slow him down. Four bullets, and he could just disappear from the battlefield, regroup, come back even stronger.”
“You have a part to play in what’s next,” she said. “An important part.”
Mr. Morrison shook his head.
“I hear sirens,” Darren said. “We have five minutes.”
“This is your first chance to fight back,” she said. “When the police arrive, tell them that Mrs. Ford and her son were blackmailed into aiding with the theft of the coins. They met the blackmailer here and things went south. She made you wait in the car for the meeting. By the time you got here, it was too late.”
Mr. Morrison’s gaze became a little more focused. “Then what?”
“Then you do what you have to do,” Miranda said. “Keep going, even when you want to quit. We’ll be in touch soon.”
She pulled on Darren’s hand, leading him away. She only hoped that Mr. Morrison would listen to her. And that the vision of his future would come true.
Chapter Eighteen
Aside from Miranda telling Darren they should go back to her apartment, neither of them said a word until they were standing in her small living room again. Everything seemed slightly askew.
He felt that if he peeled back the wallpaper, the walls would be made of cardboard and he’d find that the entire apartment was fake. Nothing was real.
Except Miranda.
She hovered nearby, staring at him. Her eyes were red. Finally, she broke her silence.
“
I’m so sorry,” she said.
“Did you see it?” His words sounded brusque, even to him. He was trying to keep it together, but he had to know.
“See what?”
“Scott. Was he another sacrifice for your visions?”
“What? No.” Her eyebrows pinched together above her nose.
“Did you see him die?”
She hesitated.
Fuck.
He stepped in close, but didn’t dare let himself touch her. He was afraid he might hurt her in his rage.
And he was afraid it might make him forget how angry he was. He needed to be angry to fight off the despair.
“You’re playing God, Miranda.”
“I’m trying to help people.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Do you have any idea what a burden this is? How terrifying it is to get close to people, knowing I may see them hurt or in pain or die and not be able to do anything about it?”
“You can do something about it. You can warn them. You choose not to.”
“I don’t get to pick my visions. If I trust them to be right about bad things happening to people, I have to trust them if they tell me an even worse future will result if I say something.”
“You could at least try.”
“What would you have done? If I told you I could see the future, and you were going to be attacked by a monster and I thought you would die, would it have changed anything? Would you have even believed me?”
He didn’t want to admit it, but she had a point. He still would have gone to the Old River district. Still would have followed the dog into the abandoned store. He might have hesitated for a few moments, but he would have told himself he was being ridiculous.
And before he left The Red Thread, he would have made sure she was sent back to the hospital. Specifically, the psych ward.
“Warning people doesn’t save everyone.” The tears started streaming down her face. “If I hadn’t told my mom about the Riverfront Skyway collapsing, she wouldn’t have died.”
Darren remembered reading about the Skyway collapse. It used to connect two of the tallest buildings in the city, crossing over the Olympus river. Some lunatic had planted a bomb on either side, but only one had gone off. It was enough to make the bridge crash into the water, but the buildings had been relatively unharmed.
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