Fire and Bone

by Rachel A. Marks

  She gives me a derisive look. “Are you shitting me? You attacked me. You burned me and—”

  “It was merely the iron collar. You’re fine. The pain is temporary.”

  She shivers and puts her palm in my face. “I’ve been branded like you own me, dickhead.”

  “Look at your hand,” I say.

  She scowls, so I grab her wrist and turn her palm to face her, showing her the healed skin.

  She struggles to break away but then looks at it, her mouth opening in shock.

  “You aren’t human,” I say. She doesn’t seem to react to my words, still blinking at her healed skin, so I continue my speech. “Your life has been a lie. Everything you knew until this night is forfeit. Your true blood, your magic, began to surface several weeks ago. Tonight, with the full moon, you’ll start opening up to it further. The pixie’s potion is speeding up the process, but it was bound to boil to the surface with the lunar pull.”

  She reaches up to hold her wrist like she doesn’t recognize the hand in front of her face. “What in the hell?”

  I release her and step back. “I know this is difficult,” I say without emotion. Familiar words I’ve said hundreds of times to hundreds of Otherborn over my centuries as a hunter. Maybe I’ve been doing this too long, introducing Others to the truth about themselves. I’m hardened to their feelings—if I ever cared to begin with. Marius says he appreciates my cold nature, which is why he sends me out more than the other hunters, like I’m some sort of statement to the rest of the ruling deities of the Penta. But I tire of these creatures and their tantrums and childishness—which is the main reason I requested the job of gatekeeper in the hidden realms for the next century. Long past time for retirement.

  The demigods, druids, and underlings I pull from the human world are usually spoiled brats by the time I get to them, having had their way most of their false human lives. This girl, though . . . I don’t know, she’s not what I expected.

  Of course, the normal order’s been tossed out the window with her. She’s far past the age to be collected, which is usually twelve or thirteen. She appears to have been forgotten somehow. Lost. As if the Penta, even the Cast, were ignoring her existence entirely, letting her live a human life. Unless they didn’t sense her Other blood at all, though that seems unlikely.

  It’s amazing that Marius felt her magic, given how repressed it is. He sent out several of his best spies to find her three moons ago, when he dreamed of her sleeping in an alley. But we had to wait, to be sure she was what we thought before contacting her. It’s cutting it very close, with her eighteenth Samhain playing out over the last few days, but it looks as if we caught her in time, before she could hurt anyone.

  Somehow she locked away her goddess blood and forged her own way through the grime of earth over the years. I’m not exactly sure how to traverse an introduction to our world with a spirit that’s already so strong.

  “I just wanted a shower,” she mumbles, now cradling her hand in her lap and studying the bedspread.

  “You’ll never want for anything again after tonight,” I say.

  She still doesn’t seem to hear me. There’s no look of fear, no understanding or glee, like I usually get.

  “I’m going to take you to a safe place where there’s a man who wants to help you,” I add. “He’s rich, very powerful. Under his protection, you’ll learn where you come from and discover where you belong. The dark prince won’t be able to control you and—”

  She barks out a laugh, interrupting me.

  “What’s so funny?” I ask.

  “Dark prince? Seriously?” She laughs again. “Can you even hear yourself?”

  I study her and wonder if the potion that Star gave her was too strong. That pixie is so flighty.

  The demi stands from the bed and folds her arms over her chest, looking guarded but determined. “Look, muscleman, I can buy this whole you’re-not-who-you-think-you-are thing, since my life has basically sucked ass from the start and I’d love to believe that it was all some huge cosmic error. But you’re trying to tell me I’m going to meet Daddy Warbucks, who will explain to me that I’m a weird alien or something? And he’ll protect me from a dark prince? Pardon me if I don’t leap to join your cult so I can get a chance at cushy digs. That’s not my style.”

  “You’re not an alien.”

  She just smirks at me and huffs out another derisive laugh. I move to the door and open it wider, yelling out to the others, who I know are listening, “Bring Ben in here.” I turn back to her and slide my knife from its sheath.

  FOUR

  SAGE

  The guy steps closer, his fist clutching a dagger at his side. The glinting silver blade is all I can see. He was babbling about moons and pixies or something, and now he’s decided to kill me because I’m not buying his bullshit?

  I scramble back, pressing myself against the dresser. “What’re you doing?”

  “Since you won’t listen, I’ll show you the truth.”

  A scream rises in my throat, but all I can do is choke in horror. I can tell by his hard gaze that if this strange guy wants me dead, I’m dead. I could fight, but I’ll lose.

  He pauses a few feet from me. Instead of attacking, he puts the blade to his own forearm. Then he presses hard and slices deep. I stare in horror as blood bubbles up in a rush of deep red.

  Panic jolts through me. But before I can move, the bedroom door opens and one of the pale blond guys comes in, propping up a limp and ashen Ben.

  Faelan’s arm is dripping with blood now—it pitter-patters as it hits the floor. He points his red-tipped knife at Ben and looks at me. “Do you see what you’ve done to him?”

  I swallow hard and stare at the guy I was dancing with. He looks half-dead. His dark brown hair has even turned gray.

  I didn’t do that. I couldn’t have . . .

  Faelan puts the tip of his blade to Ben’s shirt and uses it to lift up the hem. There are burn marks all over Ben’s abdomen where I was touching him. My throat goes tight. I can’t stop staring at the mangled skin.

  “Ben’s a shade,” Faelan says. “Fairly hardy, for the most part. A being created by the goddess of death, the Morrígan, from a human whose life was cut short too soon. I believe he’s young, only seventy-five years old. His origin is the reason you didn’t kill him with your hunger. You pulled Ben’s life energy into your own body to feed your cells and keep your magic satiated. If Ben were still a human, he’d be a pile of ash right now.”

  Faelan holds his dripping arm out like he’s presenting it in offering. Ben’s breath speeds up a little, his eyes opening more, his pupils dilating, as he sniffs the air. “However, Ben needs blood to survive and heal himself,” Faelan continues. “So you’ve harmed more than the shade with your carelessness.” He directs his next words to the limp young man. “You have my permission to feed.”

  A low growl emerges from Ben’s throat.

  I grip the edge of the dresser behind me, recalling the fangs I glimpsed in his mouth, knowing what I’m about to see, terrified to watch. But I can’t look away. Even with my crazy imagination, I never imagined anything like this.

  With a guttural moan, Ben grabs Faelan’s bloody arm and chomps down on it. Faelan hisses in pain and leans closer to the guy who’s suddenly feeding from him. A vampire . . .

  My whole body shakes as I watch. Ben’s strength becomes a force in the room. His body seems to grow a little with each gulp of Faelan’s blood. His skin regains its color. His hair turns silky and shiny again. His burn marks fade, and the twisted flesh perfects itself like I’m watching everything happen in reverse. Until the healing is complete.

  “Enough,” Faelan grunts out, his voice weaker.

  Ben immediately pulls back, dropping Faelan’s arm. He looks shocked, unsure of what happened, of what he just did. “Forgive me, hunter,” he says, shame filling his eyes. He uses his shirt to wipe the blood from his face. “I was weak.” When he glances at me, fear replaces the shame in his gaz
e. “I should’ve resisted her.”

  Faelan cradles his wounded arm against his chest. His words are less formal, his Irish accent very clear, when he says, “Just be sure nothin’ gets through the barrier I set up. I’ll finish this and then we’ll leave you be.” I can tell he’s in pain, but his voice is steady. He gives Ben a nod and they share a look, like they have some sort of strange camaraderie.

  I don’t understand any of this. I just watched a guy suck another guy’s blood and heal himself because I burned him?

  I think of my connection with fire, how it whispers to me, how I saw flames behind my eyelids, felt heat when I touched Ben.

  I burned him. How is that even possible?

  A soft whimper comes from my chest, and my legs turn liquid.

  I sink to the floor, my back scraping against the dresser. “What’s happening to me?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper.

  Faelan is silent for several seconds as he looks down on me, his blood dripping onto the floor beside my foot. His shirt is soaked with it, the black cotton shimmering in the dark room. “As I said, your origin is Emerging. You’re not human. You’re what some call a demi, or demigoddess. In this case, your mother was a goddess, and your father was a human.”

  “But my mother—Lauren, she—”

  “That woman wasn’t your real mother.” He releases a tense breath and moves to sit on the bed, leaning closer to me. He lowers his voice, like he’s trying to be gentle. “According to our knowledge, the woman—Lauren Spencer—had a child, yes. She gave birth, and the baby girl lived for three years. But then it died. For some reason, you were put in the child’s place, her life given to you. Perhaps your watcher at the time hoped it would ease the woman’s pain, hoped it would hide you and your magic. Whatever the reason, the human woman never knew she was raising a holy creature.”

  “She didn’t raise me,” I say bitterly. I wonder if that’s why she looked at me as if I were a stranger. She knew I wasn’t her Sage. Her little girl had died. Maybe somehow she saw the truth.

  Bile rises in my throat. “Oh, God,” I whisper. A wave of memories floods through me. So many times people seemed like they couldn’t stand being around me, seemed to fear me. I was never able to connect with anyone. They always pulled away. Always. Like they could tell I was wrong. Everyone except—

  “Ziggy!” I say.

  “What?” Faelan’s brow pinches in confusion.

  “I came here with her. I need to be sure she’s okay.”

  He studies me for a second. “She’s human?”

  “Yes, she’s . . . well, she’s my only friend.” And if something happened to her in this mess, it’s my fault.

  “If I ensure her safety, will you surrender, demi? Will you come with me willingly?”

  “Don’t call me that. My name is Sage.” At least I think it is.

  “You’re willing to come with me, then?”

  My skin prickles in fear at the thought of giving in and going with this guy. But knowing what I did to Ben, and what Ben did to this Faelan guy . . . I need to figure this out—whatever it is. God, could I really hurt someone that badly? Maybe kill them?

  “I’ll come with you, yes,” I say, defeated.

  He stands, and I notice the blood on his arm is sticky, nearly dried. He’s not bleeding anymore because there’s no wound now. He’s completely healed too.

  “Very good,” he says. “Stay close to my side until we can get you someplace safe.”

  “But Ziggy—”

  “I’ll show you she’s fine.” He moves to the door and looks at me with stern emerald eyes. “If she’s the human you came with, then she’s right out here.”

  My heart beats faster at the layers of meaning in his words. I stand, and the strange metal ring around my neck shifts, the ache in my skin flaring again for a second. But I grit my teeth at the pain and follow him into the hall.

  Star pops her head around the corner, her blue hair bright in the poorly lit space, her face a glowing mask of concern. “Oh, sweetie, you okay?”

  The urge to kick her fills me. I’m so pissed, so horrified at what she’s done to me. I would’ve been perfectly happy never knowing any of this. And I felt fine until I drank that potion she gave me. I don’t care if she’s some sort of magical freak. She’s a traitor. A liar. And if she comes any closer, I’m going to stab her with one of her red stilettos.

  She must see the intensity of the emotions on my face because the brightness in her eyes dulls, and she backs up a few steps when I walk past.

  And then I spot a familiar figure emerging from the kitchen into the living room, shoving a cheeseburger into her mouth.

  “Ziggy?” I say, confused.

  She’s fine. She’s . . . eating? Hasn’t she been paying attention? Did she miss me being thrown across the room by the commando freak, Faelan?

  Ziggy pauses midbite and mutters around her meat. “Aw shit.” Her eyes turn sheepish. “Hey, girl. How’s the tits?” When I don’t move, she adds, “I would’ve told you about all of this, but . . . well, I’m not exactly in charge. I was just watching you for the big man, Marius. But now that it’s all out in the open . . .” She shrugs and takes another bite of cheeseburger, then says with her mouth full, “we can chill for reals.”

  My body goes cold. She knew this party was a trap. She’s with these creeps. She’s a part of the con. “Ziggy, what the fuck?” My voice cracks, as every belief I’ve had over the three months that I’ve known her crumbles into dust. My one friend in the whole world. She’s a lie too.

  I cross the room in silence until I’m standing right in front of her.

  And I punch her in the face.

  FIVE

  FAELAN

  The demigoddess has been silent the whole drive into the city. The only clue that lets me know she hasn’t gone catatonic from shock is the way she keeps shaking out her hand and flexing her fingers, likely because of pain from striking the human girl’s jaw.

  She doesn’t hit very hard. I’ll have to be sure her tutor works with her on self-defense during her transition. Still, I’m fairly sure that the human, Ziggy, will have a bruise on her jaw for a few days.

  It’s odd, but the demi seems more disturbed by the human’s betrayal of her than by the revelation of her origin. Her energy went a thick dark gray when she walked across the room to slug the girl. It’s resting in a heavy fog on her shoulders right now.

  “The human was sworn to secrecy,” I say, feeling the need to dampen the swirling cloud as it starts to roll down her arms and fill the car. “She was only following orders. She’s what we call a watcher. Her job was to keep a close eye on you for us, and it would have meant her death if she’d spoken a word of the truth.”

  “I don’t care,” the demi says through her teeth.

  I shrug and go back to focusing on the road. I didn’t see any signs of Prince Kieran or his minion wraiths when we were leaving the safety of the house, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t watching. The prince is crafty and determined. Since this demigoddess is the daughter of his mother’s rival, she—along with her possible power—would be a great prize. All he’d have to do is convince her to ally herself with the House of Morrígan rather than Brighid at the Emergence ceremony. History is pretty clear: another Bond between Morrígan and Brighid kin would be deadly. But Kieran likely doesn’t care. And he’s well known for his dark and effective ways of persuasion.

  The idea of this reed of a girl in his talons stirs an unusual amount of unease in my gut.

  But I’m guessing Marius plans to earn this girl’s allegiance at any cost, especially with our ranks in the House of Brighid being so depleted. There’s no way he’ll allow her to be cajoled away from her origin, where she belongs—not this gem. She’ll need to be contained, controlled by whoever helps her transition.

  A task I wouldn’t wish on anyone.

  Marius was right when he said we should be cautious. We’re far outside of normal right now, thanks to the rarity of her blood al
ong with her late arrival. We aren’t even sure how much power she’ll possess or how it might sway her soul as it bubbles up. And after what her sister became, the danger of her following suit and going mad is very real for everyone.

  I pull the car into the parking garage and up to the valet booth. The young man, a shade who’s been working the night shift at Marius’s building for a few weeks—I think his name is Samuel—opens the door for the demi.

  No, not “the demi.” She wants me to think of her as Sage. I need to get used to that. I’m not normally on a first-name basis with the demi elite, but this is the deal I made with Marius: to open myself to her a little upon meeting her, to help gain her loyalty for our House from the very start. I need to help her feel comfortable and safe while she’s with me—get her to trust me.

  I may have allowed that part of the plan to go a bit sideways back at the house. I don’t like her energy, the way it makes me unsure and uneasy. It’ll be a relief to hand her over to Marius so he can match her with whoever ends up picking the short straw. I heard it was my old teacher, Cias. Poor bastard.

  I toss Samuel the keys to the Audi and point Sage toward the elevator. “We’re this way.”

  She follows. When we’re inside and the doors close, I feel her emotions shift a little, her nerves going from smoky anger to a slight chill of fear. “Who exactly is this guy we’re going to meet?”

  “His name is Marius. He’s the leader of the House of Brighid—though he’s a child of Lyr, the god of the sea. Marius has chosen to give his allegiance to the goddess of fire instead. At times a demi will choose a House that isn’t their origin after they Emerge. There’s a lot that goes into it all, but you’ll learn.”

  Sage gives me a sideways glance and hugs her middle. Ice crystals form on the wall behind her from her fear. She’s more vulnerable than I expected her to be. A delicate waif being sent to the gallows. I need to say something to calm her.