by Riley Archer
And, perhaps the most important one, Will I have toes in the morning?
I had no idea where Ethan went. My only real option was to wander aimlessly, searching for a bobbing apple or something.
Oh, and dodge moose. I saw a trio of the adorably dangerous giants and veered the opposite way, knowing the group I’d encountered was most likely a momma and two big calves.
I’d already died once in Alaska; the next time I died, I was hoping for somewhere warm, and ideally not by stomping.
Other than moose and smaller critters, the woods were not well-treaded. There were no hiking paths to follow, and my spidey senses were currently hibernating, probably as curled away from the cold as I wanted to be. I supposed I had to rely on my big girl decision-making technique.
I closed my eyes, held out my finger, and spun.
When I opened my eyes again, a fluttering green fae-thing was perched on my nail.
I froze. I was pretty sure interacting with this thing was against a handful of supernatural treaties, but I also didn’t want to piss it off. For all I knew, it was the fae version of a hornet.
“Hey, little guy. Please don’t bite. Or curse me. I have some pretty hefty curses already.”
As if understanding my plea, the organism sailed up and away. And like Ethan earlier, its pace slowed almost to a stop, waiting for me to follow.
I took a step and it moved.
I stopped and so did it.
Hmm. I mean, strolling behind it wasn’t the same as trying to send it to the Abyss. Who was I to look a gift fly in the mouth?
I moved at a steady pace, keeping a comfortable distance from my guiding lime-green light.
Eventually, the forest almost seemed to hush. The wind was absent, and so was the intangible rustle of nature. But the heavy silence was alive; it had a calm suspense to it, as if I were being observed by a crowd of curious, invisible eyes.
My green guy disappeared as I approached a moonlit black pond. A giant tree sprawled beside it, its branches bowed over the pond with quiet ease. Red winterberries burst from its festive leaves in droves. A handful dotted the inky black of the water.
Another red berry dropped from the tree, landing on the glimmering surface with a soft ripple.
I guess that counts as bathing.
My winged fae friend led me right where I needed to be.
The pond wasn’t huge or anything, but the berries had concentrated in the middle; it was wide enough that there was no way for me to pluck one out without getting my feet wet.
Or a lot more than my feet, depending on how deep it was.
I had no idea what lived beneath the surface, but this wasn’t a quest for nothing. I supposed I’d never skinny dipped nor polar plunged, so this could be like knocking out three birds with one stone.
Or one berry.
After setting my clothes to the side near the tree, I held a foot above the water and paused. I almost expected some reptilian-fae to launch from its aquatic nest and chomp on my toes like they were Cheetos.
“Slaying a dragon doesn’t sound half bad right now,” I whispered to no one. I cracked my knuckles like a nervous tick.
I submerged my foot inch-by-inch and was surprised at the silky feel of the cool waters. It was no hot tub, but it surely wouldn’t count as a polar plunge. It wasn’t awful at all.
My foot pressed into soft mud, and then the other followed. When I reached the berries, the water tickled just below my breastbone. Silken bath or not, I scooped a handful of berries against my chest and got out as quickly as my limbs would allow.
There was still no visible life around to spot my nakedness, but the itch of being watched burrowed between my shoulder blades. I set the berries in the hood of my coat as I pulled on my pants and shirt.
Dressed, I cradled my hood in my hands and counted to ten, waiting for something to happen.
Aaand … nothing.
I figured the Illusionists got a kick out of creating the illusion of danger, when in reality, we’d been sent on a cryptic grocery excursion. It was only days until Christmas, and I was pretty sure my true purpose here was to gather supplies for their wreaths. Or their mistletoe—that could be the whole “night mate” tie in.
When I turned to leave, the snap of tearing branches held me in place. I looked over my shoulder and saw that a branch was not, in fact, breaking off a tree.
A creature was breaking out of one.
I knew I had sort of signed up for this, but that had zero effect on my powerful urge to scream, drop everything in my hands, and high tail it out of here.
But like a deer in headlights, I swallowed my fear and watched as mossy but humanlike limbs extracted from the trunk.
A beautiful, androgynous face formed cloudy charcoal eyes that glued onto me. By the time pointy, elf-like ears appeared, so had treelike legs. I had no doubt this thing held the strength of nature and could snap me like a twig—even if it was a closer relative of twigs than I was.
I held my breath and did my best not to quiver.
It reached out a leafy hand.
Okay. Maybe this quest wasn’t a glorified shopping trip, but this wasn’t so bad. I plucked a berry from my hood and dropped it in what seemed to be a palm.
It seemed pleased, but not satisfied. And by that, I meant it simply kept its hand outward in a silent demand. But it wasn’t attacking me. Yet.
I grabbed the rest of the berries and dropped them in the same place, a couple falling through the space between tendon-like bark and onto the snowy forest floor. The creature absorbed the ones it held like water into a sponge. Then, its leafy hands elongated—like sentient, stretchy wood—and caressed my cheeks.
The touch wasn’t too far from my jugular, so it was cause for concern. My spidey sense came to life to tell me this creature was sizing me up.
Its thoughts were likely something to the effect of, To kill it, or not to kill it?
Our Customs text didn’t cover fae manners, per se, so I kept to the human ones.
“Thank … you,” I stammered.
The bulbs of its unblinking eyes still trained on me, the rooty fingers left my skin in slow motion, and then shot back into the tree. The branches of the tree shook as if the Moss Folk was rummaging around in it, treating it like a treasure chest.
One bark-limb came back out, and it was holding a strange little bone.
A finger bone. A human one, if I had to guess. It looked like it had once been inside of an adult’s pinky.
I smiled politely and then I, too, stopped blinking. I watched in wonderment and horror as wooden tendrils erupted from the leafy hand, threads of bark wrapping around the bone in braids. A few seconds later, something like a necklace had formed.
The fae—Moss Folk—held it out to me.
I accepted it and bowed. Because when a creature like that gave you a present, it seemed smartest to show gratitude in some significant way, and I wasn’t about to kiss its feet.
I dipped a bit lower and held the position for a second.
When I lifted my head back up, the fae was gone, and so was the pond. A fresh bite of cold grazed my skin. Wind rustled against frozen branches, and forest life hummed all around me.
I’d just been in the faerie realm.
Which meant I’d been lucky to get out alive.
12
The Branding
Golden Yule log smoke led me back to the murderous cult.
They had to be murderous. They’d sent me on a “quest” to the faerie realm, which was the biggest no-no in all the supernatural laws of the world. It wasn’t just a spiritual layer—it was a forbidden freaking dimension!
And if they thought they were getting my prize bone necklace, they could kiss my swampy ass.
I stepped into the warm glow, and some robed figure inhaled surprise. I wouldn’t say they gasped, but it was fair to say they weren’t expecting me.
“Oh. Was I not supposed to come back?” I asked, which was a thinly veiled way of asking if they exp
ected me to die. Green fae-flies surrounded my head like a halo for a moment before they dispersed.
Sierra’s hood went down. She was always wound pretty tight, but just now, she had an extra flex in her neck. “So, you did make it to the realm. Brava, back before our legacy.” She clapped three times; the movement was about as stiff as a robot acting out a command.
I took a quick glance around and confirmed I’d beaten Ethan back.
“Ah, yeah. He’s probably enjoying the swim.”
Sierra paled. “What?”
“He doesn’t seem like a skinny dipper to you?” Or he didn’t know how to swim. The water wasn’t that deep; he’d be fine if that was the case.
Her eyes went wide with mania. “Reapers can’t enter fae water—the fae would kill us. Sure, in lore, Moss Folk are notorious gift-givers, but in reality, the only humanoid forms they don’t want to kill are witches. That’s why this is a quest. Getting a bathed berry, which is the sweetest, as a present for the Moss Folk so they admire your bravery and let you out. You fished for it, didn’t you …?”
It was a question and a statement all at once.
My mouth filled with a bad flavor, something akin to a foot. “Of course. I was joking about Ethan swimming. Ha ha?”
Sierra glanced behind her, then turned back to me with a tense smile. “Of course. Even if he tried, he’d notice the water rejecting him.”
“Yep.” Boy was I thankful that I’d shoved my bone necklace in my deepest coat pocket. It was self-preservation under the guise of stinginess.
“That was eerily expeditious. No wonder our sponsor suggested you. Come, gather ‘round the Yule.”
The sponsor of the secret society wants me in? That was delightfully suspicious.
As everyone closed in, I kept close to Sierra. “That’s a pretty dangerous introduction, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it’s very dangerous. There once was a bunch of random initiation rites, but why not be efficient? It’s been thirty minutes, and you’ve already proven your loyalty and your ability. You’re one of us now, Ellis. An Illusionist.”
The robed figures brought their hands together in a boom that was probably meant to be a welcome, and the words it’s been thirty minutes echoed across my mind. Some subconscious memory cracked open, reminding me how we’d briefly discussed that fae time moved differently. My illicit excursion felt like three hours minimum. I was lucky not to claw my way out of there as an old lady … not that aging was much of a reaper thing, but still.
Most of the robed heads remained lowered, but Sierra’s and someone else’s came upright when a perfect circle formed. The unnamed cultist broke the circle, carrying a wooden box.
The figure flipped their hood back. The box-bearer was anatomy-and-anime-loving Aiden.
“I should’ve figured,” I said.
Aiden almost smiled, but only Sierra spoke.
“There is one other requirement.” She opened the box.
I saw a needle, a pot of ink, and an alcohol pad, and immediately took a step back. That looked like a big box of nope.
“To be an Illusionist, you must wear our symbol, unseen. If you break our commandment, it will become visible to all—a way to show that the illusion has broken.”
“Is it a tracking device?” I asked, paranoia slipping through the cracks.
“It is not. I mean, if we see the symbol, we’ll know you once were but are no longer one of us. Which may or may not affect future opportunities within RC.”
“What are the commandments?” I was on the cusp of running. My goals were the only thing keeping my feet and fists steady.
“There’s only one, and it’s simple. Do not betray an Illusionist who has not betrayed you.”
Aiden and Sierra traded places. Alcohol pad in hand, Aiden asked, “Where do you want it?”
I held in a sigh. Considering my whole plan was to infiltrate and exploit these guys, this was bad. I was halfway to breaking their commandment before ever vowing to it.
Which basically meant I better pick a good hiding spot.
As I considered various nooks and crannies, I realized why the symbol on the invitation seemed familiar. Because, as I’d only seen once, Damian had it. Tattooed on his inner elbow. It’d just been slightly marred at the time, like pencil marks partially rubbed off by an eraser.
That sneaky, sneaky mole.
I clenched my teeth and exposed a fresh patch of hip.
Aiden shrugged and took a knee. “Say the commandment aloud to activate the ink and we’ll get started.”
Here goes nothing. “I will not betray an Illusionist who has not betrayed me.”
These guys clearly weren’t against revenge, and I could dig it. I already had a betrayer—or at least a liar—in mind, and I was ready to exact.
It was time to figure out who this rogue reaper was once and for all.
As the shape became a permanent fixture on my body, my rage lowered into a simmer. Ink therapy was legit. “When do I get to meet the sponsor?”
Aiden didn’t look up at me. “When they want to meet with you.”
Careful to avoid pronouns. Smart.
“Peachy.”
“Sure is.” Aiden swiped a cool, damp rag over my side. “You’re done.”
As soon as I glanced down at the completed symbol, it faded from sight. It took me another second to realize Aiden had made a butt joke.
My peach was mildly sore when I lowered to the ground and crossed my legs.
We surrounded the log for what felt like forever, waiting for Ethan to show back up. I was in a daze halfway through as Sierra discussed a masquerade she’d convinced the Academy to throw.
“They want the façade of normalcy so bad they have us sleep in dorms, but the whole academy is notoriously empty of any kind of social event. It’s about time, right? I’ve been working with the aid, Eliza, on the decorations. It’ll be held in the General Advancement Grounds …”
Her voice faded for the first time in hours.
Then, I caught movement in my peripherals. My ears hadn’t miraculously closed—Ethan’s sudden appearance had frozen her vocal cords.
He wasn’t a pretty sight.
An angry gash cut clear across his cheek, and his clothes were in worse shape. They were so tattered and muddy that I’d believe him if he said he’d been mauled by a bear. His weary frown aged him about ten years.
“What …” Sierra started, and then she gasped.
Ethan opened his fist, tilted it, and a handful of crumpled green fae-flies fell to the ground.
“The sprites.” Sierra barely found her voice. She had tears in her eyes, which seemed to be backed by fear. “What have you done?”
13
The Sleepover
Sleep was for the lucky souls who didn’t have chips on their shoulders. I had boulders on mine.
And if I had anything to say about it, a chunk of that weight was about to get plowed. That weight had a name: Damian.
I understood if he didn’t want to word-vomit his life story to me. Hell, I even appreciated it, but sending me into the grips of a society he’d once been a part of and had since betrayed, and not making even an eenie meanie mention of his membership, was another matter altogether.
That deserved a whack upside the head and my wrath in all its glory.
Well, someone could slap a red hat on me and call me Santa because those were gifts I was more than happy to dish out.
I darted through the castle walls at top ninja speed, a motivated delirium thrumming through my veins. Spots of light twinkled in my peripheral vision and I was pretty sure they weren’t real.
It was like I had shotgunned five spiked Red Bulls. My senses were all over the place, but one thought stayed in focus: Find the rogue.
It took a while, but I eventually found the secret door to David Forrester’s suite.
I put my ear to the edge and heard nothing through it. Then, I hammer-fisted the thick wood until a grumpy, muffled response came from the other si
de.
I’d woken him up. Good. The lock clicked and the door cracked open.
Damian’s half-open eye barely registered me in the dark. “This must be another nightmare.”
“Still dreaming about me? I must be a frequent flyer,” I managed to slur out. I pushed my way in and glanced around. A single lamp cast the room in an ambient glow. Nothing seemed to be out of order. Except for my target.
Damian had his staple disheveled look back. Upon second glance, he was extra tousled. His dark locks stood straight up from being smushed against a pillow. He wore his tattered black tee, which exposed slivers of pale skin.
He rubbed a palm through his hair like he was tired. “To what do I owe the displeasure?”
I had no interest in answering his question. I grabbed his right arm and inspected it. There was no tattoo, so I moved my search to the other one.
Still, no Illusionist marking, distorted or otherwise. I could have sworn I’d seen it on him. I may have been seeing things now, but I wasn’t then.
“Ah.” Damian shrugged off my probing fingers. “You must be in the club now. Congratulations.”
I went to slug his shoulder and missed. I was feeling a wee bit dizzy, but in a floaty way that made it hard to complain.
“Yeah, thanks for the rec, sponsor. Now where’s your brand?” I pointed an accusatory finger at his nose and stepped close. “I know you have one.”
I attempted to pull my face into something intimidating, but Damian’s displeased expression blurred. Fatigue smacked into me like a freight train. My conviction stretched into a thin, delicate sheet, barely there.
I swayed, and Damian gripped my shoulders and nudged me backward; I wasn’t in any state to care where he was guiding me.
“It’s there and it’s not there. I’ll tell you about it when you’re sober. By the way, you smell weird.”
“No, you smell—” As I yawned, my ankle clipped a hard edge. My butt plunked onto a mattress.
A dreamy, dreamy mattress. Oh, this was a cushion plucked from heaven. My head gave an involuntary bob.