Keeper

by Kim Chance

  “It appears we Fae aren’t as strong as we seem,” Gareth replied coolly. “We break fairly easily given the right amount of . . . encouragement.” He grinned.

  “Oh, allow me,” the Master said. He snapped his fingers, and then, with a blinding flash of light, the world split open.

  At first there was nothing but darkness and haze, but when the perspective shifted, images and figures shot before my eyes, moving so quickly they seemed to blur.

  I could still feel the Master’s eyes trained on me, could tell I was still standing in the ballroom, but I was lost in a sea of swirling color—blind except for the flashes he was sending through me.

  A swirl took shape, and Gareth stood before me with his back pressed against a brick wall, three of the Master’s men surrounding him. Blood poured down the side of his face, and he was weaponless, but his face twisted in rage and determination as he launched himself at the Guards. He fought like a man with nothing to lose, though I could see his strength was failing. “Lainey,” he said, seconds before they overcame him.

  I opened my mouth to scream his name, but before I could even squeak out a syllable, the flash was gone, replaced by a new frame: Gareth, bent and broken, lying on the floor of what looked like some kind of holding cell.

  “You will tell me what you know.” A voice, strong and melodious, ripped through the air. My body jerked, reacting to the voice: the Master.

  Gareth winced as he tried to move, to sit up. His movements were jerky as though he were fighting against invisible restraints. His face was a swollen mask of blue and black, and blood poured from a wound in his shoulder, but I could tell that it was neither of these that was paining him enough to move like that. He smiled, his teeth coated crimson. “Go to hell,” he spat, and blood splattered the floor.

  “Bravery only gets you so far,” the Master fired back, laced with fury. “I guess we’ll have to see how brave you really are.”

  Gareth’s body began to twitch and arch violently. His limbs contorted and twisted while his face was a picture of pure agony. As he began to scream, I felt my knees give way and I cried out for him through the haze of colors. “Gareth! Gareth!” It was no use, though. He couldn’t hear me. Instead I watched the man who raised me endure more suffering than I could possibly imagine for one reason only: me.

  The terrible wail of his screams punched a hole in my chest, and tears rolled down my cheeks as the scene faded away.

  The Master released me, and I doubled over, covering my ears with my hands, desperate for the echo of the screams to end. I was trembling violently, and every cell in my body seemed at war with the images that flashed through my mind like a movie on repeat.

  I couldn’t speak, my heart trapped in my throat. I knew I’d never forget that sound; it was tattooed upon my soul.

  I waited until I could breathe again, choking down my tears, and looked back up at the stranger in front of me.

  “He tortured you to death.”

  Gareth nodded, and the Master gave a delighted giggle. The sound was a slap in the face. I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I cried out, unable to stop the tears. “Gareth,” I sobbed.

  I put my face in my hands and let the tears take over. It was all over now. “I’m so sorry. . . . This happened because of me. . . . I’m so, so sorry.” Each word punched a hole in the fragments of my heart.

  “Lainey?” The voice that called to me was soft, familiar.

  I looked up from my hands. Gareth was staring at me. My Gareth.

  “I’m still here, Lainey,” he whispered. “Underneath the darkness and beyond death, he has me bound. He promised to bring me back to you if you just do what he says.” A tear rolled down his cheek. “We can be a family again.” He took a step toward me, his hand outstretched. “Please, Lainey, I don’t want to die. Do this for us, Lainey. Do it for me.”

  The tortured expression on his face broke me in two. My hand started to lift to meet his.

  But another voice, from another time, echoed those same words in my head. I clenched my hand into a fist and forced it down to my side. I looked over at Josephine. Her hand was pressed against her heart, and she was staring at me with such understanding eyes that I nearly lost it completely. “I don’t know what to do,” I whispered.

  “Just unlock it, Lainey. Give him what he wants,” Gareth pleaded with me, thinking my words were meant for him.

  Josephine’s face was smattered with tears, but she nodded resolutely at me. What you must, her face seemed to say. What I could not do.

  A fresh wave of tears poured down my face. It was all I could do to keep my face from showing the anguish that was ripping me to shreds on the inside.

  I stepped forward, closing the distance between Gareth and me.

  I stared into his face, looked at the man who’d been my only family for my entire life. I could hear his voice in my head, hear his laugh. What I would’ve given to have him wrap his arms around me one last time, to go back to the way things used to be.

  As I looked into his eyes, what was left of my heart shattered into a thousand tiny pieces.

  “Gareth.” My voice was low, but he could hear me. “I love you so much.”

  His eyes softened and he reached for me, pressing his palm against my cheek. “I love you, Lainey Bug.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I whispered, pulling back just far enough to reach the dagger I’d hidden in the bodice of my dress.

  When he reached for me again, to pull me close, I yanked the blade from its hiding spot and pointed it at the soft skin of his neck.

  The kind face went flat, and my Gareth was gone. The face that looked at me now was one of pure evil, the eyes full of hatred and cruelty.

  He grabbed my wrist and pushed the blade in just enough to send several rivulets of blood coursing down his skin, where a brand new triangle tattoo was branded into his skin.

  “Do it,” he sneered. “Go on.”

  My hand was shaking, and the tears made it hard to see. I gripped the handle of the dagger.

  He laughed seeing my struggle and released my hand. “You’re weak. You always have been.”

  The Master’s face came into view over Gareth’s shoulder, his eyes alive. He was positively gleeful.

  “Poor little Lainey,” Gareth continued to taunt me. “Such a scared, weak little girl.”

  Just as I was about to lose my nerve, my fingers already loosening on the hilt, a hand reached out and touched my back. Lainey.

  I didn’t hesitate.

  With renewed strength flowing through me, I let out a wail and thrust the dagger up under the corner of Gareth’s jaw.

  You must strike hard and fast, he had once said in our training session. Never lose the opportunity to take down your enemy. He won’t hesitate and neither should you.

  The memory was sharp and clear as a spray of warm blood coated my hands and ran down my arms—the very maneuver he had taught me.

  Gareth’s eyes went wide as blood gushed from the wound, the color immediately leeched from his skin. His legs gave way, and he swayed forward.

  He would’ve fallen face-first, but I caught him and wrapped my arms around him. I couldn’t hold his weight, so we sank to the floor, blood pooling around us.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered over and over again, rocking back and forth, choking on my own tears. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Lainey.” His voice was faint, and there was a sickening gurgle as Gareth suffocated on his own blood. I stared into his eyes, and as the last bit of darkness faded away, he was my uncle again. My Gareth.

  The room was silent. The crowd stared at me as I held my dead uncle.

  Maggie had both hands clamped over her mouth, and tears streamed down her face. Serena was standing a few feet away, at the front of the crowd. Her head was down, but her shoulders were shaking with quiet sobs. Ty stood a few feet away, stoic and
unfeeling. I hated him, hated everyone in the room.

  I would’ve sat there forever, the whole world titled on its axis, if it hadn’t been for the laughter, such delighted, overjoyed laughter.

  I picked my head up.

  The Master was clapping his hands, almost doubled over in merriment.

  He stood up, whipping his arms out, and addressed the crowd. His smile was so feral the crowd shrank back from it.

  “Now,” he said, his voice loud and booming, “how’s that for entertainment?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  The words hung in the air like smoke.

  No one moved; no one breathed a word. The only sound that filled the room was the rise and fall of the Master’s laughter.

  Gareth’s head lay cradled in my lap. His blood—still warm—stuck to my skin. Heat pulsated through me, enflaming the gaping hole where my heart had been.

  Time itself seemed to stop. There was only this moment, every detail searing itself into my brain, etching into my bones. Only this.

  The Master’s laughter grew louder, echoing in my ears like a drum. I was moving, before my mind even registered the movement. I slipped out from underneath Gareth’s body, laying him gently against the ground, and stood up.

  His blood had soaked through my clothes, staining the fabric of my gown. I didn’t care, though. The crimson banner was my war paint now. Inside me, something was taking hold. It was surging through me, eating away at my senses. Green lightning crackled between my fingertips, and I shivered from the flashes of energy and heat that swelled within me.

  “You killed him.” My voice didn’t sound like my own. It was cold and flat. The crowd had grown restless, but quieted at my words. “You. Killed. Him.” The heat underneath my skin was getting hotter, boiling me from the inside out.

  The Master stopped his cackling long enough to plop down in his chair, throwing his legs over the armrest. “Oh, no, love.” He smirked at me. “You did that.”

  I could hardly hear his voice over the sound of my own blood rushing in my ears. I was on fire, every cell within my body drunk on the flames that no one could see. Power. Pain. Heat. It wouldn’t take much now. Lighting a match into my endless supply of gasoline. I could feel it rising, and I welcomed it.

  “You killed him.” My voice was louder this time, and energy surged through my body, taking hold. I stepped forward, a burning inferno, every part of me engulfed in flames and fury.

  “You killed him!” I screamed, letting go of the last ounce of control I had left. I threw back my head and unleashed the magic within me. It shot outward, a massive shock wave of electricity that exploded from my fingertips.

  The sconces on the wall reacted first, growing brighter and brighter until they shattered in a rain of sparks. The guests screamed as the lights overhead began to burst, one after another.

  My screams grew louder, and I raised my hands over my head, consumed by my own power and magic. I wasn’t in control anymore. There was no Lainey, nothing but the insatiable heat, the conflagration of flames that consumed me.

  The crystal chandelier hanging in the center of the ballroom detonated like a bomb, showering the room in broken glass and tiny sparks that danced with a life of their own. They floated through the air like fireflies, setting fire to everything they touched. The tapestries on the walls went first. The flames spread like wildfire, devouring everything in their path. They moved unnaturally fast, and screams filled the room as it quickly turned into a firestorm.

  I stared unseeing, as everything began to blur together into hazy patches of gold, crimson, and amber. I couldn’t make sense of anything anymore. There was nothing but the flames. As the last ounce of my strength evaporated, I sank to my knees.

  My hands were red and blistered. Black spots swam in front of my eyes, and when my vision finally failed, I welcomed the darkness.

  I didn’t fight the hands that caught me, yanking me to my feet. I didn’t resist when I felt the swaying motion of someone carrying me.

  Just let me go. I wanted to stay in the comforting darkness forever.

  The last thing I heard before I sank into nothingness was a terrible wail, a visceral scream of rage that resonated in my bones.

  Then, at last, stillness.

  It was the light tap of fingertips on my face that woke me. I opened my eyes to a glittering sky, the moon a shining silver orb nestled among a blanket of stars. Maggie’s face appeared then, blocking out the moon.

  “Lainey?” she said, her voice hoarse, as though she’d been screaming for hours. “Can you hear me?” She prodded at my face again, unsure if I was really conscious or not.

  I nodded, though I didn’t speak. Seeing the movement and realizing that I was at least somewhat coherent, Maggie’s face crumbled and she began to sob. She launched herself at me, squeezing my shoulders and gripping me as though she’d never let go.

  It was her tears that broke through the fog inside my head. I struggled to sit up, but Maggie’s weight made it nearly impossible. “I’m okay, Mags,” I said, wincing at the rawness of my throat.

  I managed to push her off of me enough to pull us both upright. Her face was pale, and her nose was red from crying. “Are you okay?” I ran my eyes over her, landing on the wound on her arm. I yanked the arm closer for inspection. The wound had stopped bleeding but was puffy and red. Bluish-black lines ran in all directions like a spiderweb from the indentation that looked like . . . teeth. All of the blood rushed from my head. I looked up at her face.

  “Maggie . . . is that . . .” I broke off, unable to say the words.

  “Yeah.” Maggie nodded, eerily calm about it. “The Scavenger bit me.”

  Somewhere nearby, I caught the sound of a whispered conversation, but for the moment all I could do was stare at my best friend’s face. The best friend I had willingly thrown into the lion’s den. Shame colored my face. I had no idea how dangerous a shifter bite could be, or what might happen as a result, but if the black lines running from the wound were any indication, it wasn’t good.

  “This is all my fault.” My voice cracked as the weight of my guilt threatened to crush me. I felt a surge of energy but forced it back. I took a deep breath. “I’m so sorry, Maggie. I never should have let you come.”

  “We both know you couldn’t have stopped me.” Maggie took her own deep breath and wiped her cheeks clean of tears. “And look, we don’t really have time for this right now. We’ll deal with it later, okay?”

  I nodded, finally looking around at my surroundings. “Where are we?” We appeared to be outside in a small wooded area. Everything was fuzzy, but my memory was clear enough to remember the fire. “How did we get away?”

  Maggie smirked at me. “Well, after Gareth . . .” She faltered as a fresh wave of tears filled her eyes, but she swallowed and went on. “You incinerated the plantation, Lainey. Everything went up so fast, I thought for sure we were all dead.” Her eyes were wide. “They said you were powerful . . .” There was awe in her eyes, and it made me feel uncomfortable. I looked away.

  “So how are we alive now?”

  A voice rang out from behind me. “I believe we had a little something to do with that,” it said. I turned around and four figures—three men and one woman—moved toward us. Serena was with them, her face covered in soot, her eyes sad.

  The woman had thick red hair that hung down her back in tousled waves. Her eyes were ringed with black, and her thick, prominent eyebrows were knitted in disgust. She was glaring at me.

  “The Hetaeria,” I whispered, recognizing her face from the ballroom.

  The woman nodded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Of course, and you’re lucky you didn’t burn yourself out up there, little witch.” The words were sharp and full of mirth. “Don’t you know how foolish that was?”

  “Don’t you talk to me like that,” I snapped, in
dignation welling up inside me. “You have no idea . . .” My voice cracked and I swallowed, unable to say anything else without bursting into tears.

  The woman’s face was still severe, but it softened slightly. She knelt down, her face level with mine. “Oh, I do know, little witch.” There was understanding in her eyes. “I do know.” She held out her hand. “My name is Zia.”

  I hesitated for a moment before shaking her hand. “And you work for the Hetaeria?”

  “I do,” she nodded. “And my orders are to get you somewhere safe.”

  There was something in her face that made me nervous. I looked at Maggie and Serena and then back at Zia.

  “How do I know I can trust you?”

  Zia leaned forward, her brows furrowed. “You don’t. But consider your alternatives. If you’d rather, I’ll have Julian here skip you right back to the ash heap you created. I’m sure the Master is dying to thank you for . . . redecorating.” Her tone was cold, and she waved her hand in the direction behind me. I looked, and through the tree line I could just make out the dark pillar of smoke.

  “Is that how we got away? We . . . skipped?”

  Zia shrugged her shoulders. “Well, you pretty much brought down the house all on your own. We just provided the getaway car, so to speak.” She motioned her comrades forward. “Julian, Blake, and Morgan are Skippers,” she explained.

  I eyed the men carefully. One was tall and stocky with broad shoulders and tan skin—he could have easily passed as a linebacker. The one in the middle was fair skinned and short, but what he lacked in height he made up for in girth. He looked like one of those bodybuilders from the supplement infomercials. The third man had dark onyx skin and short, cropped hair. His eyes were cautious, but friendly.

  “Skippers?”

  “Teleportation,” the linebacker answered. “We can ’skip’ from place to place.” He smiled at me then, and I nearly cried at the kindness I saw in his face.

  A chorus of deadly cries broke through the night air.