by Laney McMann
“Layla is in danger because of me. Is everyone just forgetting that fact? If I hadn’t told her who she was—who I was—”
“But you did tell her.”
“Are you trying to piss me off?”
“You’re putting your faith in the Demon Gods.” He kicked one of his crutches with his good leg.
I stared at him. “You’ve never called the Fomore that before.”
“I didn’t think I had to. I didn’t think you’d be …” He threw his hands up. “… pairing up with them. But that’s what they’re called—what they’ve always been called. It’s what they are.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You mean what I am.” I chucked the pie plate on the coffee table. “That’s what you’re trying to tell me.”
He lowered his gaze. “That’s not what I said.”
“Whatever.” I exhaled. “If this has even a remote chance of protecting Layla—”
“You can’t believe that.”
“Why do you even care?”
“Why do I care?” He leaned forward with a deadly glance, his eyes growing dark. “Because I’ve been helping you protect her for … years. Because I’m looking at you right now, and you look half dead. Half dead, while Layla is still safe. So, if something were to happen to her—” He shook his head. “I don’t want to imagine it, but I know Justice and I would be the ones picking your sorry miserable ass up out of the gutter.” His eyes were glazed, and he looked slightly unsteady, as if he might fall back against the couch cushions or pass out. He reminded me of Ryan. “You’re taking the word of a madman. The Fomore aren’t just the enemy race of the Tuatha Dé—it goes far beyond that. You don’t know who else Elethan has working for him.” He lifted a brow. “They could slaughter Layla in her sleep. And I don’t want to clean up the pieces when it kills you.” Breathing heavily, he sank back on the couch.
“Even if it frees you?” I said under my breath, meeting his cold stone glare.
“Don’t pull that shit on me. You don’t even believe that. You’ve never believed it.”
I glanced away “Do you?”
“Good god, Max. Do you really think I’d be doing all of this—keeping my word,” he seethed, “if what I believed mattered? If saving my own neck was my goal?” He shook his head. “I took an oath! We all did.”
I raised my gaze, meeting his, guilt weighing on my shoulders. “Ryan hates me.”
“Ryan hates the situation. But I’m not Ryan—or Sam. I won’t be turning my back on you.” He exhaled. “You know that.” He placed a hand over his chest like he couldn’t catch his breath.
“Tris—” I leaned forward. “Are you okay?”
He motioned for me to sit back down. “Stop.” His voice strained. “Don’t fuss over me, too. You and me … we don’t do that.”
I held his stare for a few beats and swallowed hard. “Tristan.”
He shook his head again. “Don’t.”
I gritted my teeth. “This is why I haven’t come over here to check on you, yet. Because all you ever do is piss me off.” Pushing to my feet, I kicked his crutches out of my way and strode to the front door.
He grinned. “Love you too, Bro.”
“Eat your damn pie. I’ll be at Layla’s.”
He slowly reached for the plate on the coffee table. “And what the hell is that thing on your neck? Looks like an Ogham gone wrong.”
My hand flew to the spot that had burned for days while I was incarcerated—the spot Elethan had assured me was healing from the Leanaan Sidhe’s poison. It was raised like an etching under my fingers. “Son of a bitch!”
Racing to the mirror hanging above my grandmother’s fireplace, I eyed the Fomore’s Crest. A mismatch of spears had been seared into the side of my neck— like a third degree burn. Their Coat of Arms.
Tristan snickered. “Tracking device, maybe? Make sure the little demon Prince does what he’s told?” He took a bite of pie, color returning to his cheeks.
“Shut up. I swear to god, Tristan. Shut the hell up.”
He smirked and lifted his brow, taking another bite. “I rest my case. Court dismissed.”
I was out the front door in two steps. Slamming it behind me, I heard him laugh.
It wasn’t as if I hadn’t patrolled Layla’s house a hundred times before I’d left. The boundary lines were sound, I knew that, and Justice was protecting the perimeters as an added precaution. Nothing could get in. Still—I couldn’t shake off the uneasy sensation. I wanted to claw the Fomore’s Coat of Arms off my neck, but it was deep—like an Ogham was deep, and they were permanent. I prayed the brand, or whatever it was, wasn’t.
Tristan’s words rattled around in my head. I’d always known he would stand by me, no matter what. Like a brother would. Still, it felt good to hear him say it. Good to know that, even if he did believe what Ryan believed—what almost all the other fallen angels believed—what I refused to believe, he would stand by me, anyway. Stand by Layla. Problem was, Tristan was sick, and no matter what I chose to believe, I couldn’t ignore that. Neither could he.
As many times as I’d called up to Layla asking her to jump down from her window, I’d never actually tried to climb up the side of her two-story house to get in. Calling up the wind was an option—but a loud one, so I tried the old-fashioned way instead.
My foot slipped for the third time, finding no leverage on the worn cedar shingles. If I pushed too hard with the toe of my shoe, they just slid out completely. I thought of what Lorelei would say when she realized multiple shingles had been ripped free from the house directly under Layla’s window.
After several attempts, I found purchase on the ledge. There wasn’t quite enough room for me to sit, but if I crouched at a lopsided angle, I could hang on long enough to see through the window.
Layla slept with her blonde hair in its usual tangle splayed out over the pillow. Her shirt was twisted awkwardly around her small frame, like she’d been thrashing in her sleep, and the stark green of her Oghams blazed like beacons on her shoulders in the dark. Maybe they were still burning her—the way mine continued to burn me.
I wanted to break the window, to crawl in bed beside her, to tell her I was sorry. That everything would be okay. Instead, I dropped to the ground, and settled myself in the sand for the night.
23
Layla
I wasn’t sure how long I’d been sitting on the edge of my bed staring at the floor without really seeing it. Hours. Days. All I knew was that I couldn’t move.
The letter still lay on the floor near my feet. Where it had fallen from my hands.
Lay ~
There’s nothing I can say that will make you forgive me. I know that. But your safety is more important than forgiveness. There was never a choice to make. I’ll always pick you. Every time. And I pick your life over mine.
Max
My mother had come home at some point. I couldn’t remember when. I thought I’d heard her talking to me once or twice, but I wasn’t sure what she’d said, and I didn’t care.
A sickness had filled my heart. My soul. Eating away at me like some incurable, awful disease. My mother had explained that she’d spoken with Ms. Trudy, who was awaiting my attendance to the ballet workshop, and would keep my slot open until I was well enough to resume. My mother told her I had the flu—a severe case. She was closer to correct than she probably realized.
Toast with butter, hot tea, and strawberries sat untouched on my desk. I barely remembered what food tasted like. Cardboard, I thought. Spongy. The kind of texture that never broke down no matter how long you chewed it—a foreign substance that should be spit out rather than swallowed. My mother kept bringing me plates, though. Chicken noodle soup. Crackers. Orange juice.
Days had passed—maybe more—since I’d seen Max. I didn’t know, and I still couldn’t breathe—couldn’t move. Whoever said time healed all wounds was a liar.
Some days, I wished Max had never come back into my life, that I’d never learned the truth. Some
days, I wished I’d been crazy all along.
I flicked on the desk lamp and sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor—my usual spot. Kaevnor jumped up beside me, nuzzling my hand and purring. She’d showed up at the doorstep the morning after Justice had brought me home as if she’d never left. I’d heard once that animals knew when something was wrong, that they could sense it. I wondered if she did. I scratched behind her ears, and she settled down beside my leg, her slight weight hugging my thigh.
My Oghams still tingled, like a burn that had almost healed until it accidentally rubbed against something the wrong way and tore open again. The forest green colors remained, which I guessed meant I was still in danger. Maybe that would never change.
With a weight in my heart, I trudged into the bathroom and got in the shower. Steam filled the space, water sluicing down my body, hot enough to burn away my tears. I’d thought about leaving—running away from the house, but I had no idea where to go, and I knew Max would find me, anyway, and make me come back.
After putting on my clothes, I brushed my wet hair out, and made the slow walk down the hallway and into the kitchen.
My mother sat at the table, eyes downcast, seeming lost in thought. “Hi, honey.” She sighed, her tone unusually gentle. “Hungry?”
“No. I’m going out onto the beach for a while.”
She nodded. “All right. Stay close.”
I continued toward the back door.
“Teine?”
I tuned back.
“I am sorry.”
Without a word, I stepped outside.
The warm ocean breeze washed over my face, through my hair, and I breathed in the sweet salty air, remembering the last time I’d stood outside my house with Max—the night he’d kissed me. He told me he missed my face. The memory made my heart ache. The thought of him in the Shadow Realm, as if he were one of the Fomore, ate at me. We should have been fighting. Together. I shouldn’t have been preparing for the Ballet summer workshop. It seemed so trivial to resume dance classes. So far from who I’d become. Had Max been with me, maybe I would’ve been excited about it, but without him, dancing had lost its luster. Everything had. The world looked dull. Dim.
Settling in the sand, my eyes closed, and the warm evening air coursed over my skin.
“Alone on the beach at night again?” The voice came up behind me, and I jumped to my feet, spinning around.
“Sam.” Glancing toward my porch, a fair distance away, I backed up a step.
“That’s me.” He smiled—an uncharacteristic gesture for him—and the breeze blew his dirty blond hair off his forehead. “I would’ve thought you’d learned your lesson by now. It isn’t safe for you to wander alone.” He stood a few feet away from me. “Where’s your boyfriend these days?” Glancing toward the sand dunes in the distance, he chuckled in a friendly way. “Hiding in the dunes, maybe?”
“I haven’t seen Max.” I planted my feet in the sand, hands open at my sides.
“No? I find that hard to believe.”
“I don’t care what you believe.” Glancing around again, I wondered if he was alone. I doubted it.
“You know, you’ve always been hard to deal with. Always. I never understood why everyone liked you so much.”
Huh?
“I mean, all this time, I look at you, and I wonder, what’s the fuss about?” He smiled again, but the dimming light cast ugly shadows down his cheek.
“No gargoyle guise tonight?” Sparks flitted from my palms and lit up the evening sky.
“Feeling brave, little Fire Born? If you had any idea what it means to be you, maybe I’d take you more seriously. But you don’t.”
“Just spit it out, Sam. Whatever you’re trying to say.”
He shrugged. “It took me a while to see everything clearly, to understand the sides in this war. To understand the reasons behind everyone’s actions. But I get it now.”
“Well, that’s good to hear. Really. Next time I see Benny, I’ll let her know you’ve taken up stalking people. It goes nicely alongside traitor.”
“Laugh it up. I can’t touch you. You obviously know that.”
No, I don’t.
“It won’t always be that way, though. So, watch your back, your highness.” He bowed, and a thud rattled the ground next to me.
“Well, look who it is. The Betrayer.” Justice crossed his arms over his broad chest, coming to stand beside me, gargoyle wings wide. “What’s up … bro? You lost?”
Sam sneered. “You wish.”
“Not really.” Justice shrugged. “I wish I had something to eat. I wish my house hadn’t been burnt to hell. I wish you had a shred of loyalty.”
“Will you shut up?” I hissed under my breath. “What are you doing here?”
He raised an eyebrow at me, in his usual way, like I was stupid.
“Always a follower.” Sam glared toward Justice and laughed. “Heard you took her to Rebellion the other night.” He thrust his chin in my direction. “Even I’m not that stupid.”
“Oh, right. I forgot you’d rather sell your soul to the devil, outright.”
“Soul’s already been sold. Just like yours.” His eyes darkened. “At least now I might be able to get mine back.”
“I thought you said you weren’t that stupid?” Justice grinned.
Sam redirected his attention toward me. “When you see Max, let him know Daddy isn’t a patient man.” He eyed Justice with clear hatred, before his horns protruded from his scalp, claws replaced hands, and he transformed into his gargoyle guise. “Heard your brother’s not doing so good. Might wanna rethink who you serve.” He glanced toward me.
Huh?
Justice tensed. “You might want to haul ass now.”
Sam chuckled and flew up into the sky like evaporating smoke.
“I can take care of myself, Justice. You don’t have to follow me around.” I eyed him.
“Apparently I do. Stay off the damn beach, already.” He flew off, shaking his monstrous stone head as he went.
“Teine?” my mother shouted from the back porch. “I’ve made some dinner. I think you should eat something.”
“Okay.” I tore my gaze away from Sam’s stone form as it crossed the horizon, blending grey with a pink-blue tinge. If I could shift, I’d follow you, Sam. Scratching at the Evil Eye Ogham in the crook of my arm, I wished I could gouge it out.
I still couldn’t eat much—a piece of potato, two bites of chicken, chased by iced tea. Excusing myself from the kitchen table, I set my dinner plate in the sink, and my mother did little more than sigh, as I headed to bed early, knowing I wouldn’t sleep.
Like so many nights before, I stared at the white ceiling, tracing the lines in the wooden beams, until my vision blurred and everything became indistinct.
“Teine, come along now. We mustn’t dawdle.”
“I’m not dawdling, Mother.” I picked at the embroidered flowers randomly dotted on the front of my sunshine yellow dress. The lace collar and trim made my skin itch. My neck must have been bright red from scratching. I hated dressing up. Hated it more for the reason I’d had to do it. Trying not to scuff up my finely made shoes, I hurried along behind my mother, down the cobbled walk.
Businesses lined the winding streets, everything from bright pink and red flowers, to slabs of curing meats were displayed in hazy windows and along the sidewalks. Pushing wooden carts filled with woven baskets and baked breads, peddlers shouted out their daily goods for sale.
At the far end of the street, a castle loomed over the town. Its stone steps seemed to rise into the heavens as we approached. I shaded my eyes from the blistering sun overhead, a trickle of sweat running down my back, as I come to a stop and looked up.
“All right,” my mother said. “Now only speak when spoken to.” She straightened the pleats running down the front of my dress, and pressed my hair flat on my head, where it’s fastened with a silver barrette, away from my face. Presenting a pair of pristine white gloves, she motioned
for me to hold out my hands. “Use your manners and smile.” She tugged the gloves on and hurried me up the steps. “Go on. You mustn’t be late.”
Folding my hands together, I grudgingly climbed up the steps, lifting my dress in the proper way, so as not to trip. Glancing back over my shoulder, my mother motioned impatiently for me to continue. Steeling myself, I lowered my shoulders, raised my chin, and proceeded alone.
Double doors glittered in the midday sun, as I reached the top of the stairs, huffing and covered in sweat. Two guards dressed in white bowed as I came near, and swung the doors wide. From the open hall, a rounded, gilded ceiling soared overhead, and row upon row of empty seats flanked a long entryway. Sunlight bathed the smooth stone floor in yellow light through windows set high on the exterior walls. At the far end of the hall, two gold thrones rested side by side. A woman stood, the broad smile on her welcoming face easing my nerves slightly. I took a deep breath and entwined my white-gloved fingers. With my shoes clapping a steady rhythm against the hard floor, I continued toward her.
Through the empty space separating the pews lining the hall, a rustling sound, like someone softly shuffling their feet, shifted my attention, and I turned. Light grey eyes caught the sunlight and peeked at me before disappearing behind the wooden seats. I stopped and stared to my right, as a boy with golden brown hair stepped from behind one of the pillars supporting the castle’s tremendous weight. A tentative smile lifted the corner of his mouth. My fingers loosened their entwined hold, arms hanging at my sides, and I gazed at the most beautiful boy I had ever seen. His smile broadened, brightening his entire face.
“MacCoinnich, meet Teine,” the Queen said from the throne.
The usual ray of morning sunlight filtered into my room and flooded my bed in a yellow glow.
“Teine. You need to get moving. Class starts in an hour,” my mother shouted through my bedroom door with a quick knock.