by H A Titus
His hand seized my wrist, his eyes opening wide in spiking shades of blue. I jerked back, but his hand tightened on my wrist, making me wince. After a second, the wild look in his eyes calmed, and he breathed out a sigh of relief.
“Josh. You're okay?"
“I think…”
A door slammed. I glanced over my shoulder. A truck had parked at the shoulder, and I saw several figures hurrying down toward us. One looked huge…monstrous, even…why did that ring a bell?
“Get me out now!” Marc clawed at his seat belt.
“Whoa, careful, you’re probably hurt!”
“Not as hurt as we’re going to be if those guys get hold of us, genius!” Marc jerked at his seatbelt again. “We’re dead. We are so dead. Scyrril’s going to kill us.”
“I'll just leave you here if you keep complaining…” My brain started to catch up to my mouth. Scyrril. My thoughts were fuzzy, but I knew he was bad news. I knew it.
I started to stand.
Hands jerked me away from the car, and an arm slid around my neck. I clawed at it. The world started spinning.
Marc screamed, and the sound shattered the night sky into thousands of glass shards. For the second time in the space of a few minutes, I blacked out.
Chapter 3
Jostling and shaking again. Would this car wreck never stop? My eyelids fluttered.
My arms were twisted behind my back, most of my weight leaning on them. I shifted, trying to relieve the uncomfortable tingling, and pain screeched through my tense muscles. I groaned, felt something thick and fuzzy between my teeth. Cloth.
"Hey, the scrawny one is awake."
The scratchy voice was right in my ear. My eyes flew open and I instinctively jerked away to the left.
The guy sitting next to me grinned. He had the darkest skin I’ve ever seen—pure black—and a mop of dread-locked silver hair. He smiled, and a gold incisor flashed in the moonlight.
Fae. Monsters. My heart skipped a beat. Car crash. I could remember everything now.
The huge, hunched monster sitting in the seat in front of me looked over his shoulder. Blake—Scyrril. He grinned.
I probably had a bruise on my neck in the shape of his hand. I tried to snarl at him. The gag probably ruined the effect.
He laughed. "Let him stay awake. He doesn’t have any idea where we are."
I looked out the front windshield. The headlights lit up a hill and forest on either side of the road. Great, he was right. That was helpful.
Where was Marc? I took a longer look at the front of the van. Just a couple more fae freaks: one pale-skinned guy with a ponytail, and another dark-skinned fae with silver hair.
I twisted my wrists back and forth behind my back, grinding the gag between my teeth as the movements pulled at tight, bruised muscles. Whatever it was holding my wrists together—it had the sticky, flexible feeling of duct tape—yanked out a few arm hairs. I winced.
The bucket seat to the right was next. I could barely see the person slumped in it, but I recognized Marc's red jacket. We hit a bump, and his head flopped to the side. He had bruises on his right jaw and cheek and a nasty-looking cut across his forehead. The cut hadn't been there right after the wreck.
My stomach felt like it was rising into my throat. I forced it back down. Yeah, that'd be good, asphyxiating because I threw up while I was gagged. These guys would probably laugh as I choked.
The van took a sharp right, fishtailing a little as gravel crunched under the tires. I leaned to see out the front again, trying to spot any landmarks, and the guy beside me shoved my head into my lap. I bucked my shoulders, but he held me down by my neck and squeezed. It took all of a few seconds before I got dizzy and stopped fighting.
The van lurched to a halt. Doors opened and slammed and the sliding door on the side rolled open. Scyrril grabbed Marc and slung him over his shoulder. The dark elf beside me grabbed my arm and pushed me out the van. We stood in the middle of the forest, the van lights illuminating the shaded windows of a massive log cabin.
As we started for the house, I dug my feet into the ground, but it was gravel—easy for him to drag me through. My foot caught a root sticking out of the ground.
I stumbled to one knee. The dark elf wrenched my arms painfully to one side. He kept walking, and I staggered along until I could scramble up to my feet again.
Scyrril stopped near the front door and shrugged the shoulder Marc hung over. "He's waking up."
Sure enough, Marc's head was moving back and forth.
Scyrril knocked on the door, and it swung inward, a square of golden light spilling onto the front porch. Scyrril ducked inside. Marc's back grazed the top of the doorframe.
The dark elf shoved me in next. I jerked to a stop near the door, squinting in the bright light. The door opened into a huge living room, small clusters of leather chairs dotting the area. There was a fireplace at the far end, a bed of coals glowing inside, with several chairs and a leather couch parked in front of it. The chill hit me next—it felt much colder than the low sixties we'd had outside. I shivered.
Goosebumps popped along my arms as I noticed the fae sitting beside the fire, his chin resting on his steepled fingers. His silver hair picked up ruddy highlights from the fire, and again, I could see the graceful curving points of his ears. He looked a little like a modern-day Elrond in a fancy three-piece suit and tie. He stared at the fire, ignoring us.
My stomach heaved again, and my face tingled.
"My Lord Blodheyr?" Scyrril stepped forward.
The fae gave a sharp nod.
Scyrril dumped Marc onto the couch.
The fae behind me prodded me forward. Blodheyr nodded to the seat beside Marc. My legs felt a little sore as I sat, but I was either working out the stiffness or adrenalin had kicked in. I shifted to get more comfortable and realized my hands were shaking. Yeah, adrenalin. The fae untied my gag. I swallowed, trying to get the fuzzy taste of the bandanna out of my mouth.
Blodheyr eyed me, and then focused on Marc, who had stopped moving. He dropped his hands to his lap. "I hope you didn't damage him, Scyrril."
His voice was low, calm.
The pony-tailed fae stepped to Marc's side and slapped him. I flinched. Marc's head rolled to the side and he blinked slowly. He brought his head up, wincing, and focused on Blodheyr.
His face went pale and his eyes widened.
Blodheyr smiled. It spread his lips out, making them look bigger and fleshier than they really were.
The sight turned my stomach even more. I hunched forward, biting back a groan, curling my fingers into my damp palms.
Heartbeats throbbed by as Blodheyr and Marc stared at each other. Finally, Marc spoke.
"I thought I told your pet troll that I couldn't break the cipher."
A growl bubbled in Scyrril's throat.
Blodheyr held up a hand. "Easy, my friend." He folded his hand together in a steeple, brought the fingertips up to rest under his chin. "You couldn't break a simple cipher, but your father could."
Marc snorted a laugh. "My dad was human. You know—not fae? Solving quantum physics while my mom's family was dancing around a bonfire at Stonehenge? You know fae suck at anything like that, Blodheyr."
The Unseelie's pale, bulging eyes shifted to me. The silver circles around his pupils flickered, just a little. The sight of the d'anam fuinneog made me shiver.
"This human can see through glamour," Blodheyr murmured. "Tell me, Joshua, are you feeling ill?"
I stared at him. "What?"
Blodheyr nodded. "Most humans have a fight or flight instinct around fae. They perceive us much the same way as animals perceive predators, and for good reason. This usually manifests in feeling sick to the stomach, nausea, trembling, sweaty palms…" His voice trailed off.
Adrenalin, I told myself. It's the adrenalin.
"It doesn't appear to be hitting you as hard as it does most humans, though." Blodheyr glanced at Marc. "He's not from a curator family, is he?"
Marc glared.
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Blodheyr shrugged. "Answer enough. A human who can see through glamour, who can fully understand the Underworld around him, who is unattached in his loyalties, and is a master of technology. A mathematical genius—isn't that what you've said, Marc?"
He'd talked about me?
Marc’s eyes narrowed. “No.”
Blodheyr tapped his fingertips together. “I assume you’re rejecting my proposal?”
Proposal? What proposal? I glanced at Marc.
He nodded, chin jutting forward. “You got it, crowbait.”
The smile left Blodheyr’s face. He pressed his lips together, then lifted two fingers of his right hand and made a slight waving motion.
Two of his goons grabbed my arms and pulled me to my feet.
“Hey!” I tried to pull away. Nausea pushed bile into my mouth.
They gripped tighter and steered me toward a hallway to the side of the fireplace.
“Josh, it’s okay, don’t get yourself hurt!” Marc yelled after me. “Blodheyr, I swear, if you hurt him, I’ll have your head!”
The hallway was short, with several white doors breaking up the monotony of the dark wood paneling. The fae opened one, flicked on the light, and shoved me inside. The door slammed shut.
I took a deep breath and tried to relax. The room contained only a couple of chairs, a small table, and a bed. Paneled in the same wood as the hallway. Nothing very interesting. There was a curtained window high on the far wall, but with my hands tied behind my back, I knew I couldn’t reach it.
The fae hadn’t taken me very far down the hall, so I should have been close enough to hear a little bit from the living room. Especially if Marc raised his voice again. I knelt next to the door and pressed my ear against it.
Nothing.
I stood, wincing as the muscles in my legs burned. Every inch of my body ached from the crash and being manhandled by creatures that shouldn’t exist. I flopped onto the bed. My rolling gut had eased a little, though I was still trembling. My brain felt like it was going ninety miles a minute on a freeway with no traffic signs.
We're gonna die. That fae dude is gonna kill us. Or torture us so Marc will give him whatever it is he wants. The thought sent panic jolting through me, and my breathing sped up.
Calm down, Josh. Chill. I closed my eyes. Three point one four one five nine two…
The familiar rhythm of pi calmed my pounding pulse and helped my breathing slow. Somewhere around the two-hundred-thirty-third digit, the door opened again. Scyrril shoved Marc through, then pulled the door shut.
Marc stood beside the door, a fresh cut over one eyebrow dripping blood down the side of his face. He lowered his head and refused to look at me.
"What happened?" I swung my feet to the floor.
He shrugged. "What always happens when you deny Blodheyr."
"Oh, wonderful. So you're not wanted by the Mob, just a fae Mob wanna-be."
"I'm not in the mood for this, Josh."
I laughed. "You're lucky. Neither am I. So care to tell me what's. Going. On?" I hoped my tone would get the point across to Marc. "Tell me what this cipher is. Why Blodheyr wants it. Why the heck you can't deal with it."
Marc sat down beside me and twisted around so I could see his wrists. "Let's get ourselves loose first, then I'll explain. Okay?"
I turned and pushed my hands up to Marc's. I scraped my fingernails along the tape on his wrists and found the seam.
After picking at it, I was able to grab a loose corner and pull the tape off. As the last bit tore away, Marc grunted.
He shook his hands out in front of him, wincing.
I smirked, until he jerked the tape from my wrists. I pulled a sharp hiss in through my teeth and rubbed my arms.
"So, an explanation." Marc folded his arms around his legs. "You remember when my dad died earlier this year?"
Marc had received the phone call right before class, which was weird, because his family knew his schedule and were always really good about not calling him during school. He'd answered it and immediately gone pale, just like tonight when he'd seen Blodheyr. He'd left school for an entire week right before finals to be with his family.
I nodded.
"Did I tell you that we suspected he'd been murdered?"
The widening of my eyes must have been enough of a clue. He went on.
"The Underworld doesn't use a monetary system like we do. It's a system of barter and trade. We exchange our skills for something of equal value. I didn't know this before Dad died, but he'd exchanged his skills in codes and ciphers for enough money to send me to college." Marc brushed his hair out of his eyes and winced as his fingers ran across the cut. He pulled his fingers away, stared at the blood on his fingers.
"And Blodheyr was the one he traded them to," I said.
"Dad didn't know Blodheyr was Unseelie at first, or he never would have accepted the work. He must have gotten suspicious because, according to how Blodheyr tells it, he destroyed everything he was working on and refused to do any more."
"So Blodheyr killed him."
Marc nodded, his jaw tightening. He got up, walked to the door, and kicked it.
The door rattled under a heavy blow. One of the fae yelled something through the door. From his tone, I guessed he was cussing us out.
Marc backed away, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the rest of the room. He crossed to the one window in the room and pushed the curtains aside. Black-backed glass glinted past the heavy rebar dividing the window into five vertical parts. Marc reached past the rebar, unlocked the window, and shoved it open.
The sweet, heady smell of honeysuckle trickled in past him, coupled with the sounds of chirping crickets. Marc wrenched on the bars. They didn't move.
"Blodheyr wants you to finish what your dad was working on," I guessed.
Marc nodded again, sighed. "It's only one document in some kind of number cipher. I can't make heads or tails of it."
"Why are you working with Blodheyr when your dad—"
"Because I don't want to end up like my dad!" Marc snapped. He scraped both hands through his hair. "I left the Underworld for a reason, Josh. I can fight, but not well enough to survive in the Underworld. Besides, it's just so—dark. I'm sick of fighting. I wanted to just finish this job for Blodheyr, finish my schooling, and settle down in the Overworld."
I rubbed my wrists again nervously.
The color in Marc's eyes spiked to a light blue-gray. "The only problem with that was…I found notes from my dad on this final document. Not a key—not any clue on how to break the cipher—but he was scared about something. I think Blodheyr knows I have the notes on it, and he’s getting tired of waiting. If I don’t come up with something soon, I’m afraid…" He shook his head.
Blodheyr knew about me. About how good I was with math and computers. "You think he'll try to make me crack the cipher?"
Instead of answering, Marc turned to the window again and grabbed the bars.
"What—"
"Ssh." He held up his hand, squinting into the darkness.
For a second, I thought he was going to yank on them again, but instead he grabbed my arm and jerked me off the bed.
"Get down!"
Chapter 4
The floor knocked the breath out of me. It smelled like blood and urine. I pulled my face away, gagging. I was doomed to keep shoving my face in horrible smells tonight.
Marc flopped down beside me, looking up through his bangs at the window in…what? Excitement?
"Close—" Marc started.
A piercing snap filled the room with blinding white light. I yelled and pressed my hands against my eyes. Tears streamed down my cheeks.
The door banged open. Hands grabbed my arms, jerked me to my feet, dragged me through the doorway. I banged my ribcage on the doorframe and yelped. I couldn't see anything but strobes of painful lightning. My eyes burned.
Behind me, Marc started to yell, but his voice was quickly muffled.
"Leave him!" Scyrril said.
The hands on my arms released. I staggered. A foot hooked my leg, knocked me to the ground. My head smacked into the hardwood floor, and pain flared through my skull. I heard a door slam open, shouts and yells, the clanging of steel on steel. Someone—not Marc—screamed.
I pushed myself up a little. Ghosts of shapes were starting to show up. I could see outlines of the furniture around me, but it was pale gray, washed out black, piercing white. Everything seemed reversed, a photo negative of reality.
A vehicle roared outside and gravel splattered the sides of the cabin as it took off.
I tried to stand and fell back onto my butt. The world spun around me.
Footsteps echoed on the porch, and I caught sight of three pale human-like shapes coming in from the gray of the night. I shoved my back against the wall, my breath catching in my throat. My gut wrenched.
They stood at the front of the room. My eyes weren't back to normal yet—I couldn't see details of their faces—but I could see points of reflective light, like animal eyes, flashing where eyes should be as they looked around.
"I see him," a female voice said, and the smallest of the figures started toward me.
"Check the hall," a male voice said.
The biggest of the shadows split off, walking past me and into the hall. The other two stopped, and the girl knelt beside me.
"Who are you?" I croaked, wishing my voice had come out stronger.
"Ssh, ssh. It's all right." Soft fingers brushed close to my eyes.
I flinched.
"Your flash-bang blinded him," she said.
"Blinded?" I didn't like how that sounded.
"Relax, dude." The voice was the first male voice I'd heard—gruff and ticked off. "Give him the eyedrops, see what we can get out of him. If he saw anything he could understand. Why'd you have to follow me anyway?"
The girl's hands tipped my face up. I felt something cool touch the corner of my eye and flinched away. "What are you doing?"
"You can either let her give you the eyedrops or you can wait twenty-four hours for the effects to wear off," the male snapped.
I submitted. The drops soothed my eyes, overflowing and sliding down my cheeks. I blinked several times and wiped my face with my arm.