The Fountain of Truth (Tales of the Dark Fae Book 1)

by Hadley Weaver

  "You go! I'll hold them back," Raven said, wielding his swords at impressive speed and cutting everything that moved from all sides.

  "Are you joking? I'm not leaving you here alone."

  "If you don't get out of here with the stone, this will all have been for nothing. Go!"

  Dorian hesitated for a moment. He would never have abandoned a comrade in the middle of a battle but his mission, the only thing that kept him alive throughout his miserable life...

  "Stop dwelling on it and go!" Raven ordered.

  "Are you sure?"

  "No one kills the son of a king."

  "Former king."

  "Semantics." Raven jumped, bent and twisted in the air like a professional aerial dancer. Dorian suspected that some of those moves must have been taught to him when he was still a child but the rest had to come from Raven's nature. He wondered how many times his friend's blood heritage came to their rescue and felt guilty at the thought of leaving him there.

  "I thought you counted them," he said, stalling, trying to come to a decision. In the meantime, as if by an unspoken agreement, which Dorian knew was the result of them battling gruesome enemies side by side for two years, they were both heading towards the exit, still back to back, still fighting.

  "I did. Fourteen vampires," Raven said, slicing the arms off a heavy vampire. His twin swords were moving in tandem in his steady hands, as if one were the other's reflection in a mirror. "I didn't know they were going to turn someone. It's so unlike them."

  "You were supposed to keep them under surveillance." Dorian was fighting three angry vampires and a rain of cold iron arrows coming from the first floor. Max, who had probably realized by then that they weren't dealing with your usual intruders, had procured himself a crossbow and was now determined to end the fight before Dorian and Raven did away with all of his men.

  "I did," Raven said. Without his hands, the vampire launched himself at Raven with his teeth and that was the mistake the boy was waiting for. In a clear sweep, Raven separated head and body, smiling satisfied. "Well," he went on, "99 percent of the time. I also had to work on the silent dust."

  The vampire that Raven had just decapitated must have been Max's right-hand man because, as soon as he went down, the remaining eight of the clan let out a group cry, like a pack of mad wolves howling at the moon, and, armed with all manner of cold iron weapons, probably kept for just this breed of invaders, launched themselves at Raven and Dorian, their eyes empty, their faces contorted by blind hatred.

  "Well," Dorian said, tightening his fist around the sword handle, which was slippery from the blood that gushed out of a deep cut on his upper arm. "Thanks to that 1 percent you didn't, you just screwed us. Royally, Your Highness."

  Iris sat on the bed, her feet dangling over the edge, waiting for her heart to settle to a normal rhythm again. It was just a nightmare, she kept telling herself, her eyes closed, her mind focused on her breathing evenly. It was a daily routine that her father had taught her when she was four, and which she'd been practicing ever since, to the point where it had become a morning ritual, like jogging or having a healthy breakfast before coffee. Or meditation. Her mantra? A nightmare a day keeps boredom away.

  The rain drops hit the windows with violent force and an incessant crackling that covered every other sound in the house, like in a gun range open to the public. As soon as the blood stopped pounding in her temples, she got up and went into the bathroom. Her reflection in the mirror clearly hated her. Again. Dark circles under her eyes, her bangs pasted to her forehead with sweat—not a pretty sight indeed.

  She slipped out of her pajamas and into the shower. The hot water relaxed her muscles and washed away nearly all memory of the nightmare but, when she stepped back into the semi-obscure bedroom fifteen minutes later, the sound of the raindrops crashing against the windows like rocks, threatening to break the glass, revived in her that overwhelming feeling of impending doom. It was only when she noticed the display of her phone lighting up a corner of the room that she realized it was ringing.

  "Hey, Marion," she said as she was browsing her closet for something to wear. She picked a pair of dark-blue skinny jeans, a grey hoodie and a white T-shirt with a string of multicolored butterflies flying diagonally from the left side hem to the right shoulder. It looked a little childish on her but it was a present from her grandmother, which meant she had to wear it every once in a while. She threw everything on the bed and sat next to the pile.

  "You sound gloomy," Marion chirped on her usual upbeat tone and Iris could suddenly picture a ray of sunlight piercing through the heavy and dark blanket of clouds. Marion's voice had that effect on people and, combined with her perpetual optimism, it could light up a funeral hall.

  "Have you looked outside?"

  "Oh, come on. If you were to hide every time it rained, you'd be spending two thirds of the year indoors." Iris contemplated the idea for a moment. "Anyways," Marion went on, "I wanted to let you know that we have to make a stop by the store before we get to school. My mom forgot to take some pots for today's flower deliveries. That means we need to leave a bit earlier." Marion spoke in her usual three-phrases-in-one-breath style that made whoever met her for the first time worry she might faint from lack of oxygen.

  "I'm not ready yet," Iris said, juggling her phone from one hand to the other as she was trying to put on her T-shirt.

  "Of course you're not ready."

  "I swear I think I heard you rolling your eyes right now."

  "I was. Seriously, you should wake up earlier. Like me."

  "You wake up at 4 a.m."

  "I only need four hours of sleep," Marion replied as if she was stating the most common thing in the world. Iris sighed, pulling up her jeans, her phone between her ear and her shoulder. "Come on, chop-chop. I'm expecting you in front of my house in ten minutes."

  She hung up without saying goodbye, like someone who was too pressed for time to bother with such trivial social conventions. She did that often, especially with people close to her, Iris in particular, but they all found it part of her charm.

  Iris dropped her phone in her messenger bag and tried to decide which shoes would go best with the flood outside. She settled on a pair of mid-calf flat boots—she didn't need to add any more to her already 5'7" height—and then took a quick look in the mirror. She ran her fingers through her hair to give it a bit of volume since it fell straight down to the middle of her back like it had weights attached to the ends. Next time I'll use an electric brush instead of a hair dryer, she promised herself, like she did every time she washed it. After a few more failed attempts she gave up. She touched the thin dark circles under her eyes. The contrast with the rest of her skin was shocking, even for her, who was used to it. She opened the middle drawer of her vanity table, took out the concealer and applied some over the gray areas. There, now you don't look like a raccoon anymore. As soon as she was done, she grabbed her bag and darted out of the room.

  In the hallways she stopped and hit her palm on her forehead. Ah, my lucky charm. She ran back to her bedroom and picked up a delicate silver and gold bracelet from the nightstand. It was the only thing she had left of her mother and she never left home without it. She put it on her wrist as she ran downstairs, two steps at a time.

  The foyer was invaded by the overwhelming smell of freshly-brewed coffee, bacon and eggs coming from the kitchen.

  "Good morning, honey," Iris' grandmother greeted her with her usual warm smile. "I made breakfast for you." She said that as if it was meant to be a surprise, although she did it every day ever since Iris was five years old, when Elizabeth Davenport moved to Forest Hills to take care of her only granddaughter following the death of Iris' parents.

  "Morning, Grandma. I'm afraid I'll have to skip it," Iris said with an apologetic frown, then pointed at the coffee pot. "But I will have a sip of that." She opened one of the cabinets above the kitchen counter by the sink, took out a mug and half-filled it with coffee. She took a sip and then m
ade a wry face. It was burning and lacked sugar.

  "I don't get teenagers' need to consume so much caffeine," Elizabeth said, shaking her head. "As if they don't have enough energy already."

  Iris smiled, dropped her mug into the sink, gave her grandmother a quick kiss on the cheek and darted out of the kitchen. "See you later, Grandma," she called from the foyer. She grabbed her hooded faux leather jacket from the hanger behind the door and her keys from the peg next to it and stepped out into the rain.

  "Drive carefully," she heard her grandmother shout from the kitchen as Iris slammed the front door behind her.

  She stopped for a moment, sheltered by the balcony of her room on the first floor, and slowly put her hand out. She closed her eyes and let the first drops of rain touch her palm. They felt like cold, sharp needles piercing her skin but she didn't withdraw her hand. It's just water. It can't hurt you. Then, as the pain started to fade, she opened her eyes and ran towards her brand-new blue Chevrolet Spark resting in the driveway, a gift from her grandmother on the day Iris got her driver's license a few months back.

  As soon as she got inside and closed the car door, everything became a blur. She started the engine and turned on the wipers, but even at maximum speed the windshield still seemed as if it had been covered by a wet plastic sheet. With her grandmother's words of caution still ringing in her ears, a thought crawled into Iris' mind as she pulled out of the driveway and turned to park in front of Marion's house across the street. I don't think I should be driving at all.

  "Come on, Lorelai," Connor said, knowing that his sister could hear him from upstairs. She and their grandmother kept criticizing him for having picked up too many human habits, but Lorelai was exactly like any other seventeen-year-old inhabitant of that world—careless, moody, constantly on defense, like the whole world was against her, and, most importantly, always late. How could they be twins and yet be so different? Sometimes he could swear that the only thing they had in common was their blonde hair color.

  He was sitting at the kitchen table, bouncing his leg up and down and sipping from a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. He didn't like it really, but it was one of those many habits he had to adopt years back in order to blend in, and now he did it even when there was no one around to see him.

  He picked up the Forest Hills Daily, still intact in its plastic bag on the table. They had a subscription because, after all, everyone in town had one, but they rarely read it. It was always filled with trivial things about the town that didn't concern them directly—ten pages of unimportant human events that, unless they affected their cover, he and his family would rather not get involved in. Grandma's rule. The Elwoods were very well seen in town, mostly thanks to his grandmother, Aeryn. She had mastered the art of blending in and made sure that the children too learned and applied every single rule about human interaction and what it took to pass for one. But, unless the situation really required it, they preferred to keep their distance.

  He was listening in to see if his sister showed any sign of coming down anytime soon when he noticed the heading on top of the front page of the newspaper. He ripped off the plastic bag in a hurry and read: Teenagers Stumble on Massive Pile of Human Remains. He went to the page that detailed the article with a bad feeling rising in his stomach. A group of high-school students gathered in the woods near Forest Creek stumbled on a pile of what looked like human remains last night. The forest rangers suspect that the victims were hikers who got stuck in the woods overnight because of the massive storm and were attacked by a wild beast. There were traces of burned grass on the ground. The sheriff thinks that the hikers lit a fire to stay warm and keep the wild animals at bay, but it didn't last long because of the heavy rain. An investigation is underway. In the meantime, the sheriff advises everyone to steer clear of the woods.

  Connor was so caught up in the article that he didn't hear his sister come into the kitchen. He only noticed her when she sat in front of him and started tapping her long, porcelain-white fingers on the mahogany table.

  "What could possibly be so interesting about humans that would make you stop scolding me for being late for training?" she chirped. Connor turned the newspaper upside down and pushed it towards her. The girl took it and read the article.

  "So?" she said flatly a few seconds later.

  "Do you know how many supernatural killings have ended up being classified as animal attacks over the years?" he said, lifting his arms and making air quotes as he was pronouncing the words animal attacks.

  "I know that not all animal attacks were supernatural killings. We live in a town surrounded by forest-covered mountains. It's natural that every once in a while someone gets eaten by a wild beast."

  "Still, don't you think the timing is a bit strange? Less than two weeks before the Harvest Supermoon?"

  "What I think is that you're being paranoid."

  "I'm being cautious, Lorelai," Connor said, raising his voice. His sister always managed to make him mad with her carefree nature. Sometimes he could swear she forgot what they were and why they were there.

  "What are you two fighting about now?" a soft voice said from the kitchen door leading into the back alley of the house. Aeryn was holding two massive bags filled with groceries. Human food was disgusting compared to what they ate in their own world but, since they couldn't bring anything with them here, they had to get used to it.

  "A wild beast helped itself to a bunch of lost hikers last night and Connor thinks it's the Apocalypse coming," Lorelai said, rolling her eyes.

  "I'm saying we should check it out, that's all." He rushed to give Aeryn a hand with the bags. The woman didn't need any help, but that too was a habit he'd picked up because human old people were weak and they often did. She gave her grandson the bags and headed towards the newspaper on the kitchen table.

  "So?" Lorelai said, impatient. Aeryn often served as arbitrator whenever they got into a serious argument and Connor hoped that she would side with him this time because he was sure that there was something strange about the killings. He felt it in his bones and his instinct had never failed him before.

  "I don't see anything suspicious here," the woman said a few seconds later.

  "I told you," Lorelai chirped, not even bothering to hide the satisfaction in her voice.

  "Grandma," Connor insisted. "Don't you think we should at least take a look? We have less than two weeks before the Harvest Supermoon."

  Aeryn looked at her grandson. His eyes were begging her to change her mind. In the end, it looked like it worked.

  "It wouldn't hurt to take a look," she said. "Connor, you go into the woods. Lorelai, you stop by the morgue and look at the remains."

  Lorelai raised her arms. "This is ridiculous! There's nothing to suggest a supernatural presence."

  "I just want to make sure," Connor said.

  "No, what you want is to catch the beast that did this so it wouldn't hurt anyone else," she said, pointing her finger at her brother. "But allow me to remind you that that's not your job, it's the sheriff's. We're here to guard the Fountain, not your precious little humans from their wildlife."

  Connor tried to defend himself but he didn't get to do it because, as soon as she was done talking, his sister was already out the front door. He turned to his grandmother who was taking out the groceries and carefully placing them on the counter next to the sink.

  "She's not completely wrong, you know," the woman said, without turning to look at him.

  "Grandma—"

  "No, no. You've become a lot more attached to them than it was necessary and I carry some of the blame. I should have stopped you a long time ago."

  "That's not true."

  "That poison that they consume all day like it's the elixir of life—you drink it too, even when they're not around to see you."

  "We live in their world, under hidden identities. If we're going to pretend to be like them, shouldn't we act like them too? Isn't that what you taught us? To make friends, be nice to the
neighbors, make small talk in line at the supermarket…"

  "That's true. I also specifically asked you not to form any romantic relationships with them."

  Aeryn's words hit Connor like a punch in the stomach but he tried not to show it. He knew that she was talking about Iris but how did she know how he really felt about her? He'd never talked about it with anyone. So how had Aeryn found out?

  "But Agatha said—" he started.

  Eleven years earlier, right before the accident that killed Iris' parents, Agatha, his grandmother's friend, had asked Aeryn to keep an eye on Iris. Now, Connor hoped that her request would serve as a good explanation for why he'd gotten so close to the girl. He knew that he was doing something he shouldn't, though. After all, wasn't that the reason he'd kept quiet about his feelings? He also felt incredibly frustrated because it seemed unfair. Humans had it so easy...

  "I know what she said." Aeryn turned to face her grandson before he could continue. Her voice was as calm as always, but the look in her eyes was harsh, like a general's on the battlefield. "But she didn't say you should date her. That's wrong, especially for someone like you."

  "Why is that so wrong?" Connor struggled to hide the anger that was rising in his chest.

  "She's clouding your judgment. You can't tell, but I see it in your eyes every time her name comes up."