by Laney McMann
“I don’t care about a plan.” My words were faint. The pressure of some foreign weight pushed down on my shoulders. “I have to find him … help him. I can’t stay here.”
“You must—you are not well.”
“I am so sorry, my sweet niece,” my aunt started. “Had we known, we would have sent reinforcements to your aide. It was always you who the Fomore sought. The Light Bearer. We did not think they would come for MacKenzie alone—nor that the boundary lines could be breached.” She bowed her head.
“Reinforcements?”
My aunt raised her head. “The Guard,” she said. “The World of Light’s military guard.”
My jaw dropped. “You have a military guard?”
“Two are watching over you as we speak. Outside the doorway.” She pointed.
What? I glared at her—at both of them. “A guard? All this time, Max and I have been fighting—fleeing—hiding, and you have an arsenal of your own—my own, that could have been used against the Fomore? Used to protect us?” What is wrong with these people?
“Using the Guard for any kind of protection would have alerted the Fomore not only to your whereabouts but of your existence.” My aunt glanced toward the window. “Your mother has hidden you well for several years. The Guard was not to be involved in your protection, per her order.”
The revelation made me want to throw something at her. “You’re the Queen! What about your order?”
She took a deep breath and glanced toward the window again.
“The choices were not your aunt’s to make.” My mother’s voice boomed from across the room. “They were my own. Perhaps you should be angry with me.”
That would be nothing new. I shifted to face her.
“Flidais did as she was instructed,” she continued.
“Well, everyone knows who I am now! Send the Guard!”
“Sending the Guard would be a mistake,” my grandmother said, as she flicked a syringe with her wrinkled finger. “They are not known for stealth—and such an act could incite a full-scale war. Furthermore, we have several other … pressing issues at hand at this point.”
“What issues are more pressing than Max being missing?”
My mother scoffed from her seat by the window.
Ignoring her, I looked at my grandmother. “So, you’re just giving up?”
“We are doing no such thing,” my aunt said. “There is simply no trail to follow. A plan must be formulated before we go on a blind search.”
I remembered how I’d screamed Max’s name after he’d been taken, disappearing like smoke on the wind, still able to hear him shouting in my head. The Leanaan Sidhe’s taunting cackle rang in my memory, too, along with the black fury I’d seen in Sam’s eyes. We would have been safe had it not been for Sam. Max would be safe.
“I’m going to find him.” I stared at my aunt and my grandmother in turn. “I’m not just going to lie here. Neither of you saw what I saw. You don’t know the amount of danger he could be in right now.”
“On the contrary,” my grandmother eyed me, “we do know. But you must heal, Kindred. And while you are healing we will formulate a plan to retrieve MacKenzie.” She inserted the needle she’d been holding into one of the tubes piercing my arm. “Your good health is our best defense on many fronts.” Her gaze shifted toward my mother and back. “You are far too weak and upset to be of any help right now.”
My vision slipped, an instant warmth feeding throughout my body, and I fell back against the pillows on the narrow infirmary bed. “Grandmother?”
“Yes?”
“I thought a fall couldn’t hurt … our kind?” Words mumbled out of my mouth, sleep pulling me away from reality again. “Aunt Flidais … told me that.”
“And she was correct, Kindred.”
“Then … why am I—I thought … we were young eternal?” What does that even mean?
She patted my hand, silencing me. “Indeed we are, however, young eternal does not mean indestructible. Only one’s soul is truly immortal. And although a fall alone cannot harm us, the Accursed Arts—well, that is a different matter, and something I have not seen in many, many years.” Her voice was strained. “It seems we have underestimated the Fomore’s reach.” She faded off and there was nothing but silence again.
The Shadow Realm’s looming gates rose above my head, rusted and ancient—a symbol of the world beyond. A castle stood in the distance, silhouetted by the setting sun, its towering height lost in the darkening heavens above. Misshapen trees dotted the barren stretch of landscape and grew in wicked, twisted ways beyond the gates, their charred limbs extending outward as if they were clawed fingers, searching for the last drop of dying light.
Touching an iron chain securing the looming gates, it crumbled to dust in my hand, and the gates swung wide, welcoming me into the midst beyond. I hesitated before taking a step, steeling myself for what I might find, and like a ray of sunlight, there he was.
All the blood and soot cleaned from his face and arms, Max grinned and beckoned me forward. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.” His voice cracked with an unsteady timbre. “I’ve been waiting.”
“I’ll always come for you,” I said, eyeing the wicked landscape behind him.
“I’m counting on that.” His eyes darkened, shifting toward the ground. “The way you looked at me before. Like I was a stranger.”
“I thought you were dead.” I choked on the words; they tasted like venom in my mouth.
He grinned again and his fingertips brushed my hand. “Come here.” He pulled me forward, but I held my ground, an unease creeping through me.
“What’s wrong?” His black-eyed gaze met mine. “I won’t hurt you.”
“Hurt me?” I took a step back, yanking my hand out of his grasp.
“I just mean, you’re safe with me.”
I eyed him, refusing to move.
“Layla, come through the gates.” He motioned me forward.
“Who are you?”
His cold fingertips brushed my cheek. “Your enemy.”
My eyes shot open and I shoved the blankets off of me, shaking. Beeping droned on my left side, and the sting of the I.V. inserted into the crook of my arm continued. A soft hint of dawning sun bathed the stiff, white sheets on the bed. My hospital room was empty.
The dreams and visions hadn’t stopped since I’d been in the infirmary. Dreams that made no sense at all—a Max I knew but didn’t know. Strange voices—and Agrona.
The Gatekeeper.
Removing the needle puncturing my skin, I dropped it on the floor, thankful that whatever sleeping drug my grandmother had administered had finally worn off, and noticed the red and black burn streaks up and down my arms, from wrists to shoulders. The hard stone chilled my bare feet as I pushed to stand unsteadily from the bed and tiptoed toward the bathroom.
The clothes I’d been wearing the day of the attack sat folded neatly on the counter beside the sink. I plopped down too hard on the side of the bath tub and grabbed hold of the towel rack to keep from falling. Pulling my jeans on, glad to be rid of the rigid hospital gown, I threw my shirt over my head, careful of my arms, and peeked back into the hospital room. Still empty. No sounds came from the other side of the large door, where my aunt’s guards were supposedly stationed, so I yanked on my old Converse, strode into the middle of the room, spun to traverse and … went nowhere.
I hadn’t tried to travel from one place to another since the Fomore attack. Maybe my grandmother had been smart enough to make sure I wouldn’t be able to traverse out of the infirmary. I spun again but remained standing in the middle of the hospital room.
With a groan, I leaned against the side of the bed, staring at the floor. A tinge of dappled pink light bled across the toes of my shoes. I followed the sun’s rays toward the white petaled gardenias sitting in pots on a round table underneath the cracked window. A light breeze from outside made their glossy green leaves quiver and sway.
Eyeing the large door on my right, I
stood still for a few beats, the weight of Max’s disappearance burning through my soul, and shifted into the Raven, flying through the small opening in the window, and into the early morning air.
4
The ariel view of Max’s house struck me like a whip, bitter fumes tainting the atmosphere as I landed on the ruined back deck, the stench of burnt wood choking me. An emptiness penetrated the house upon walking through the busted French doors—almost as if a sorrowful cry sang out through the walls. The dawning sun cast a haze of ghostly red light over the wreckage. Fire and rescue had to have come and gone because a powdery white substance dusted everything in sight.
The scene was identical to the vision I’d had only a day or two before. Like a bomb had gone off. I took in the interior of the house in a trance, my gaze roaming water-stained walls and a myriad of dangerous spikes that used to be wooden floors. Thick black soot mingled with white fire extinguisher powder caked most of the surfaces in a dirty film. Looking toward the highest point in the gutted ceiling, I breathed easier and shifted back into my human form from the Raven.
No woman with skin hanging from her bones stared down at me from the rafters. No reddish eyed glare, or lopsided grin—no Gatekeeper.
Rubbing my hands down my arms to quell the unrelenting stinging sensation slithering underneath my skin , I took the stairs two at a time, racing to the top, and threw Max’s bedroom door open.
All shades of whites and creams covered the bed. Gauzy sheer curtains adorned the massive French doors, which opened onto the balcony overlooking the ocean. Two of the windows near the bathroom had been shattered, but there was no glass on the wood floors, no sign of scratches or damage, only the fresh scent of salt air and gardenias. His room was pristine.
Brushing my fingertips across the white down comforter, an overwhelming sense of loss crashed over me. Unable to breathe, I closed the bedroom door and ran back down the stairs, through the ruined family room, careful to step in the few places the wood floors remained intact, and back outside onto the beach.
The rising sun shed a pure pink light off the sand and stretched for miles up and down the deserted coast. No blank grey eyes stared into oblivion—no dead body adorned with shiny black feathers and wilted gardenia petals.
Max wasn’t there.
I sank onto my knees with a desperate cry of relief, and half-buried in the sand, identical to mine in every way, lay Max’s bracelet, untainted and gleaming. Three perfectly woven leather bands entwined together to create the symbol of eternity.
The sign of The Fire Born.
Reaching for it, tears dripping off my cheeks onto shaking hands, I slid it onto my wrist, winding it around my own bracelet. Binding them as one, I yanked the cords so tight, the rip of pain in my right wrist blistered further up my arm.
Together we forge the Tie.
“I will find you.”
Storming back into the house, a newfound fire burned through the pain, and I raised my head toward the exposed rafters in the ceiling, eyeing the destroyed beams.
I know I saw you before, Agrona. Where are you? I’m not crazy. Where are you?
I turned in a circle, and a flash of white sped past the blown out French doors. Rotating on the ball of my foot, I followed the color, trying to find its source, and within seconds, a fleet of fifty guards dressed in white uniforms inundated the house. A sentry dressed in gold lapels with an embroidered emblem of a sword, a spear, a cauldron, and a stone sewn in shiny green thread stepped forward.
A flash of a memory streaked through my thoughts. The Tuatha Dé Danaan’s crest.
My aunt’s military guard.
I backed up.
“My Lady.” The sentry bowed. “We do not wish to alarm you. The Queen requires your presence. If you will accompany me back to the Underground.” He held out his hand.
Taking him in from head to toe, I noticed the points of his ears peeking through strawberry blonde hair, and vibrant green eyes. He looked like an oversized, and formerly dressed, elf. Turning away from him, I eyed the house’s ceiling again, but there was no one there. Nothing to see besides the ruined rafters.
“My Lady?”
“Don’t call me that.” I faced him.
“Yes, my … Princess.” He bowed again. “We mean no disrespect. Flying is our safest mode of transport.” He gestured toward the grey sky. “If you will hold my arm, I will escort you. The Queen asks that you not … fly yourself.”
“Are you the Fae?” I didn’t remember any other race who could fly, besides gargoyles.
“We are, My … what shall I call you?”
“Layla.” With an annoyed sigh, I wrapped my hand around his arm. My grandmother would only send more guards to find me if I resisted going with them.
“Very well.” He gave me an odd look like he knew my name wasn’t Layla, but Teine.
Following him outside, the fleet of guards fell into rank around us, and as one, we rose into the skies. In every size and shape imaginable, the sentry flew in our wake. Some had wings that fluttered wildly, frantically, like a butterfly’s, while others wings were long and fluid, similar to the Raven’s.
With a heaviness in my heart weighing me down, I fought the urge to slip out of their grasp and traverse back to Max’s house, but consigned to follow my grandmother’s request, I remained with my unconventional wardens, and continued toward the Underground.
5
“Must I have the Guard follow your every move, Kindred?” A concerned sigh mixed with a trace of anger escaped my grandmother’s lips as she shuffled toward my canopied bed and flicked on the table lamp.
“No,” I said, not looking at her. “I asked you to send them after Max.”
“The Raven is not your ally.” She dabbed my face where remnants of dried and fresh tears glazed my cheeks, sticky with the residue of salt. “She will only feed upon your anger. We have been over this, I believe.”
Glancing at the untouched food on the bedside table, I focused up toward the ceiling without saying anything, the weight in my heart so heavy I thought it might crush me.
Apparently, the Underground was the only place my family felt safe keeping me after I’d fled the infirmary and the Guard found me at Max’s house, but I knew where I was didn’t matter anymore. The Fomore had what they wanted. I’d seen the vision of their King telling his henchmen to capture Max and leave me behind the day of the attack. The thought was unbearable. I should have done more.
I should have saved him.
“You must gather your strength. Please try to rest.” My grandmother sat down on the edge of the bed and gently spread salve over the red and black streaks still covering my arms—the places where it looked like soot had interlaced with burns and blood. The combination created ghastly marks that resembled the pattern of military camouflage.
Allowing her wrinkled hands to lightly touch the injuries, I was impassive to her presence other than the biting pain. Days had passed since the attack—I wasn’t sure how many, they all blurred together—and the discomfort in my arms had become familiar, almost as if my body welcomed it, needed it.
Sweeping the hair away from my face, she peered closely at me. I’d never understood how my grandmother could see me, but as the whites of her blind eyes penetrated mine, again I knew it was the case. “Do not let the darkness in. It knocks—I see it. You must not open the door.” She pulled my blankets up, leaving my arms open to the air. “Sleep now.”
“Are you going to tell me what you’ve done to me? Why my skin feels like this—looks like this?”
She gave a gentle smile. “Why I saved your life, you mean? I think the answer is an obvious one.”
A soft thump shook the bed beside me, accompanied by a rumbling purr. My cat nuzzled against my thigh and settled herself into a ball on the bed. “Kaevnor?”
“She’s been waiting for you, I believe.” My grandmother petted the cat between the ears. “She showed up a little while ago, just before you did, to be exact.”
I
laid my hand on her shaggy rough fur. “How’d she get here?”
My grandmother shrugged. “Cats are very instinctive creatures. She would know how to find you.” Patting my knee, she smiled. “Rest now.”
I exhaled. I didn’t want to rest—didn’t want to sleep. As many times as Max had warned me my dreams or nightmares could be dangerous, I was determined not to have another one. Functioning as a semi-insomniac was doable; I’d become accustomed to it for years, before Max had come back into my life. I could do it again. Like a trained athlete whose muscle memory snapped back into action.
Continuing my usual upward stare, I traced the lines in the ceiling and concentrated on the prickled bite running through my arms, Kaevnor’s constant purr rumbling at my side, and a vision streaked through my thoughts.
Sinister cackling echoed through the arched hall of the castle, and the Crone entered, her woolen black cloak hugging her body like a finely tailored suit. Dark hair, pulled severely back from her face, highlighted the choker of shiny black feathers hugging her throat. Climbing the stone steps toward a golden throne, she bowed before the Queen’s feet.
“Have you considered my offer?”
“I have,” the Queen said without warmth.
The Crone rose, a gracious smile upon her face. “And? Please, do not keep an old woman in suspense.”
“I am afraid the answer is no. The same answer you were given by the King.”
“No?” The Crone scoffed.
The Queen steeled her posture, head held high. “No. The Prince has made his decision, as have we.”
“Very well.” The Crone gave a short bow of her head before turning away. “Please do not let it be said that I did not warn you.” Her heels clacked off the stone floor, and the large castle doors opened before her. “I do pride myself on being … fair.”
Sitting up, I rubbed my face, exhausted by everything, and heard the drawl of my grandmother’s ancient voice calling to me again. I didn’t try to make out her words; they were always the same.