"That is not what I meant," I said. "What are you doing in here, anyway?"
He placed the fallen shampoo bottle back on the shelf. "I fell asleep."
"In the shower? That sounds uncomfortable."
"I figured it was out of the way, so if the sun fell before I woke I wouldn't be caught. Besides, I slept well." Delano's eyes twinkled. "I dreamt of you."
I dropped my gaze to the floor. "Um, why don't you merge with shadow?"
"Too intense. Orin will sense the magic this close, and I'd rather not fight the mockingbird."
"Well, you'll be caught the next time he relieves all the root beer he's chugging." I frowned, then a thought hit me. "Hold on. I have an idea."
I peeked my head around the bathroom door. "Hey, guys? May I take a nap in the bedroom? I feel ill."
"You're sick?" Orin leapt to his feet. I'd seen smaller eyes on an owl. "How can I help? Water? Tea? Wet rag? Med—?"
"No!" I took a deep breath "No. I just need to lay down for a bit. Car sickness."
"Go ahead." Kayla glanced over her shoulder from the driver's seat, her eyebrows lifted, silently asking if I needed another talk. I smiled and shook my head, then swung the bathroom door open to block everyone's view of the hall. I motioned Delano into the bedroom. He obeyed, staggering when the RV hit a dip in the road.
I followed him and locked the bedroom's accordion door behind us. "Now, maybe we—Oh my God! What happened?"
Silver scars crisscrossed from Delano's shoulders to his hips, slicing apart the tribal wings on his back as if he had been flogged. Unlike Orin's tattoo, Delano's black lines were thick and crude, perfunctory instead of ornate, the puckered scars making them resemble puzzle pieces with the cracks in-between. I slid my hand down his spine without thinking, as if my fingers were erasers capable of healing the past.
Delano turned to me with a wan smile. "Freedom happened. But don't you worry. It was many years ago and worth all the pain." He hitched the sliding towel up on his hips. "I am more concerned about making it to morning unnoticed. I doubt the bed is less conspicuous than the shower."
"I meant the closet," I said, and slid open its mirrored door. The narrow floor was crammed with sleeping bags and comforters and stuffed plastic bags.
Delano frowned. "Not quite how I imagined spending my night."
"Do you have a better idea?"
"Maybe." Delano placed a cold hand on the crook of my neck. My breath caught in my throat as his finger slid down the back of my shoulder, tracing the bra strap beneath my black shirt. "You know," he said, "you never did thank me for the present."
The closet's mirrored doors rattled, reflecting the bare chested man behind me. I cleared my throat and said: "We haven't seen each other since I opened it."
Delano slid his hand under my shirt's collar, his cold fingertips slipping beneath the strap. My skin broke out in goosebumps. "I saw you."
I wheeled on him, trying to appear indignant. His grin told me I was a terrible liar. He pushed my hair behind my ears. Folded ears, just like his. Whispers danced across my skin. Was it Delano's magic or mine? Or were we pulling together like moon and tide? Outside the bedroom, the men hollered at the television. Inside, the thin carpet hummed beneath our feet. Delano stepped closer. My back pressed against the mirrored door; our chests nearly touched. He leaned over me, the tip of his nose caressing my neck. His stomach muscles clenched when my fingers brushed his skin.
"Was the gift a poor choice?" Delano asked. He hesitated, then kissed my throat, soft and cautious.
"Terrible," I said, my pulse throbbing against his lips.
"Mmm. You better tell me what you want instead, then."
I closed my eyes and clasped Delano's sides, his skin icy beneath my hands. The RV rocked our bodies together, and I realized I knew exactly what I wanted. I wanted his towel to drop. I wanted his lips on my lips, his body against mine. Skin on skin, and sin on sin. I wanted to throw him onto the bed and try to make his cold flesh sweat, see how deep his shadows stretched. His hand cupped my lower back and pressed my pelvis against his. The hair on my arms prickled, as if I stood beneath the thunder of a midnight storm.
"Tell me what you want, changeling," he whispered, and brushed his mouth over mine.
I inhaled his breath, cold and filling, a deep sigh on an icy, winter night. I closed my eyes and felt my words vibrate against his lips. "I want you to leave."
He chuckled. "Back to the shower so soon? How dirty do you plan to get?"
I twisted my head; his lips struck my jaw. My knees weakened and I pushed him away. "I mean for good. I need you to leave me alone, Delano."
The corner of his mouth twitched. "You don't mean that."
"Wh-what I want is unhealthy. I have made my decision. I am going to the Realm. I am going to become a healer and help—"
"A healer?" Delano barked a laugh. I glanced at the door, fearing the others had heard. "The Realm will never let you become a healer. Human life made you too independent, a liability. They will force you into the mining pits as they forced me. Anything to control you."
"You lie."
"I do not lie! Which is why I haven't made any happy promises like the idiot mockingbird outside."
My fists balled. "Leave Orin out of this."
"Orin is this!" Delano said, his teeth clenched to keep from shouting. "You have been forced into stormy times and feel the only escape is to follow the sunshine. But you cannot deny our connection. For God's sake, you wielded darkness! I saw you freed through it."
"Only because you infected me with your magic. Your sly, seductive magic."
Delano stepped away from me, his eyebrows raised. "Oh-ho. Is that what the mockingbird now sings?" He motioned his hands down his body. "Are shadows coiling around me? Do you see anything other than flesh and blood?"
"No," I said, cautiously.
"No. You don't. And that is my proof. I am not using magic right now, as I told you in the shower. This is me. Stripped and vulnerable." He unballed my fists and laced his fingers together with mine. "Do you still feel nothing between us?"
Whispers tingled my skin; I felt the pulling sensation like moon and tide. I wanted to say to hell with the Realm and a promising life. I wanted to sneak off into the night with Delano's arm around my waist. I wanted to take on the world with him at my side. The chickadee had told me to follow my instincts, not my impulses. Which was this? Maybe my heart has pointed the way all along. I stepped closer to Delano and peered into his eyes.
Delano's ruddy eyes.
Delano's ruddy eyes which still waxed and waned.
My heart hardened. No magic? Here he was, caught in a lie.
"How stupid do you think I am?" I snapped. Delano recoiled, as if my words had struck. "Are you trying to tell me your eyes followed the moon before you became a darkling?"
His brow wrinkled. "I am confined to the night. My eyes are a reflection of my existence. I cannot help that."
I yanked my hands away from his. "So magic is still working within you. Dark magic. Seductive magic. Just as Orin said."
Delano's chin quivered, then his nostrils flared. "I am a darkling, not an incubus! What the hell do I have to do to prove myself to you?"
"Nothing." I turned my back on him and unlocked the accordion door. "If you want what is best for me, then leave me alone."
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
"Stop! Stop! Stop!" Orin said.
"What? Why?" Clayton asked. We had stopped for the night at a rest stop, and a late lunch at a greasy spoon. We had just finished refilling the RV's gas tank and now passed a city welcome sign as we trundled back toward the freeway onramp.
"I know someone in this town," Orin said. "They will give us a ride straight to our destination."
"You got it, man." Clayton pulled the RV over, idling in a red zone and blocking half an intersection. A Civic blared its horn as it darted around us, the driver's middle finger pointing to the roof.
Orin grabbed his backpack; I did the sa
me. Kayla threw her arms around me. "I am so glad the Universe crossed our paths," Kayla said. "Best of luck to both of you." She leaned back, giving my upper arms a firm squeeze. "Stay true."
I watched Orin hop from the RV to the sidewalk. "Already am." I smiled, then joined him.
Hugs and goodbyes and no-thank-yous for marijuana made the rounds. Then Orin and I stood on the side of the street, waving to our road warrior friends as they disappeared into their adventure without us.
"Who do you know here?" I asked as we headed back toward the gas station.
Orin picked up a glinting bottle cap from the sidewalk and placed it in his pocket. "I don't know yet."
"That's a bit disconcerting. Care to explain?"
He pointed to the community display beside the town's welcome sign. It was a typical community display, with brown boards forming a mount to display the town's local organizations, churches, clubs, and societies. Between the emblems for the Free Masons and the Girl Scouts was a white, round medallion, smaller than the others, with a red cursive R in its center.
"That's the Realm's traveler symbol," Orin said. "It means a faerie lodge is near." He twisted the medallion, popping its face off the board. On the back was an address with a simplistic map and a warning which read: Level Two Rebel Threat.
Orin twisted the emblem back into place. "This way."
The sky was slate-blue and cloudless, but the air had bitter teeth. Giant wreaths hung from lampposts wrapped in silver garland, twinkling in the late winter sun. The snow had been cleared through downtown, the uneven sidewalks busy with pedestrians. Am I walking among faeries? I wondered. I kept my face down and scanned the streets from the corner of my eyes for hidden magic. People bundled in coats and scarves meandered between brick cafes and antique stores, emptying their wallets on post-holiday sales, cups of coffee, and steaming fresh baked goods. Every exposed ear was curved, however. And none of them were folded.
Then we rounded the corner and found an image straight from a child's popup book. A white Victorian styled home, three stories high with a rounded tower, a blue slate roof, and glittering icicles hanging off its gingerbread trim. Beside a three tiered fountain stood a Christmas tree half the height of the house, bedecked in frosted garland and crystal orbs so clear they looked like bubbles floating on the boughs. A golden winged angel perched on top of the tree's crown, her trumpet pointing straight to the heavens.
"Wow," I said. "That has to be the faerie lodge."
"Huh?" Orin followed my eyes to the house. His nose wrinkled. "No," he said. "Absolutely not."
We strolled past several more blocks, away from the festive downtown, away from the Victorian and craftsman houses, away from the humans and their shops with painted windows and after-holiday sales. The lampposts' lights popped on. We stopped only when Orin picked up an earring from the gutter, its orange glass bead glinting in the dying sun before he slipped it into his pocket. We trudged through unplowed grimy snow, past mechanic shops and warehouses, and cut through unfenced empty lots.
Orin pointed ahead. "There it is."
At the end of an industrial cul-de-sac was Bob's Mini Storage. Several long buildings with blue corrugated roofs and rollup doors stood behind a ten-foot chain-link fence topped with spirals of razor wire. A small office with an Open sign blinking in the window stood beside an electronic gate. To the left of Bob's Mini Storage was an abandoned towing company. To the right was Bob's Pick-N-Pull, with a huge vinyl sign hanging on the front gate stating they were closed until further notice.
"Are you sure this is the right place?" I asked.
Orin grinned a big-tooth grin. "Oh, yes. Definitely. I hope they have a room for the night."
My nerves started to fray as we approached Bob's Mini Storage. Orin was the only faerie I knew and I was uncertain if he was an accurate representation. All of my previous knowledge of faeries came from fairytales, movies, and cartoons. Lies of the taletellers. If we were in a fairytale, we would approach a castle or a house made of candy, most likely in a glen inside an enchanted forest. Not a storage unit in Anywhere, USA. What if I didn't fit in? What if the other faeries thought I was too changeling? I swallowed, and wished for all the rooms to be full.
A buzzer sounded when Orin opened the office door, and the scent of new carpet struck, hard. There were no candy walls or gingerbread trim, no enchanted castle that appeared to unlucky travelers who stumbled into a ring of toadstools. The left wall was crammed with moving boxes, packaging tape, and bubble-wrap for sale. An electric heater whirred in the corner with a glowing orange face. To our right was a long desk with a credit card reader, a single paperclip, and a computer. A daddy longlegs sat on top of the monitor; a young woman sat behind it, her nose buried in a newspaper. My muscles tensed.
"No new rentals. All storage units are full," the woman said, her eyes on the paper.
"We were more interested in room and board," Orin said.
The woman's head jerked up, striking me with that familiar faerie-tingle. She was around my age. (No, I reminded myself. She could be older than this country. She might have even watched the Mayflower set anchor.) Her ears were pointed and her eyes gleamed like beads of amber. "Och! Of course!" She smiled, whipped a huge leather bound book up from beneath the desk, and dropped it on the desktop with a startling whap. "Names. Divisions. Purposes."
"Orin Grian. Border sentry," Orin said, and passed the woman a paper card from his pocket. "On a probationary retriever assignment for changeling recovery."
The woman read the card and handed it back to him. Her eyes shifted to me. "I take it this is the changeling?"
Orin nodded. "This is Miriam Thatcher. Realm name Aluala Liath. Awaiting placement."
I blinked. "Aluala Liath?"
"That's what your parents named you and what is recorded officially," Orin said. "The Realm will make you change your family name to keep the generation-records consistent, but you can keep your first if you prefer."
Miriam Liath. Not bad. The thought of shedding my married and maiden name felt surprisingly freeing.
"Please remove your jacket," the woman told me.
"Why?"
"This is Miriam's first visit to a faerie establishment," Orin said, quickly. "She is unfamiliar with procedure."
"I understand," the woman said as she came around the counter, yet her amber eyes were hardened with irritation. "Due to elevated rebel threats in the area, I must check your wings to ensure you are allied with the Realm."
"But I don't have wings yet," I said.
She shrugged. "Procedure is procedure. Take off your coat. It just takes a second to see if your back is scarred."
I hesitated, then complied. She lifted the tail of my shirt, then Orin's, sparing us hardly a glance. She then scurried back around the counter and studied the book. "We have two singles left with a shared bathroom," the woman said.
Orin groaned. "No doubles?"
Orin and the woman turned to the daddy-longlegs on the monitor. I strained to hear what it said, but heard only the whir of the heater. "It's not that!" Orin blurted, blushing. "I've been sworn to protect her and must remain nearby."
A darkness entered the woman's stare. "We are fully Realm protected," she said. The last word came out in harsh chunks. Pro-tec-ted.
Orin's spine stiffened, like a soldier in front of a commander. "Of course. It has been a wearisome travel. Two singles are fine. Thank you."
"Back building. Use the red doors on the ends." The woman handed us each a key, our room numbers burned into their leather tags. My stomach churned and I wanted to flee, but I convinced myself what I felt was merely nerves—impulse, not instinct—and that I was at the start of something wonderful. Something magical.
"Meals are held in the restaurant at the end of the hallway." The amber-eyed faerie smiled sweetly. "Please enjoy your stay."
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Heat struck like a sauna when the red door opened and I instantly started to sweat. The hallway was long and d
im and lined with locked doors, springing unearthly images to mind. Secret vaults. Long lost tombs. Treasures hidden in the dust. I clenched the straps of my backpack as Orin and I searched for our rooms, the canvas moistening beneath my palms.
Beyond the narrow entryway at the end of the hall a guitar trilled and an unseen applause erupted.
We found our rooms halfway down the hall—numbers twenty-three and twenty-four—and separated to store our belongings. I clicked on the light and was surprised with what was revealed. My room was tiny, barely large enough for a twin bed and a four drawer dresser, but other than the size it was nothing like a storage unit. The walls and ceiling were white plaster, the beige carpet thin but clean. A sachet of red tulle dangled above the doorway and scented the room with mothballs.
I set my backpack on the bed, shed my clothing to a long sleeve tee and jeans, and ran my fingers through my hair. Orin was waiting for me when I reentered the hall. He had changed into blue cargo shorts with a pocket half-torn off and a tight-fitting, faded yellow tank top which dipped to his sacrum, fully exposing his tattoo wings. All he needed was a surfboard to be ready for sand and waves.
I pushed my sleeves up to my elbows and pulled the shirt off the sweat at the base of my spine. It's gotta be ninety degrees in here, I imagined. "I feel improperly dressed."
"Nonsense. You look great," Orin insisted, as he always did, whether I was freshly showered or caked in mud with sticks and leaves in my tangles. I smoothed out my hair as we headed down the dim hallway to the restaurant's blaring light.
How fitting, I thought, my chest fluttering. What better way to leave one existence behind and begin another than through a light at the end of a tunnel?
I halted, realizing I was steps away from my whole life changing. Again. "Um, Orin?" He stopped and turned, his eyes on mine as if I were the only thing in the world. At the end of the hallway a guitar hummed and a cymbal started to ching. "I realized I haven't thanked you and I want to. For watching out for me. For your truthfulness. For your kindness. For everything. Thank you."
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