Wicked Legends: A Dystopian Paranormal Romance and Urban Fantasy Collection

by hamilton, rebecca

  I open my mouth to tell him they will help us. Metal crunches behind me. Franjo's eyes snap past me as I spin around. The boy from the shed has sprung through the opening. He trips as he pulls his feet through and takes off in the opposite direction.

  Franjo yells, and I drop to the ground as the scythe wooshes over me. The blade catches into the side of the shed. I dart from under his arm.

  “You!” He yanks the scythe free, spinning around to face me. The light in his face has snuffed. “You left the portal open!”

  I stumble back a few steps, stuttering over his accusation. How did I leave the portal open? What does that even mean?

  “You activated your own curse?” His top lip pulls back into a beast-like snarl. “Lies! You planned to use the shadows for your own!”

  He trudges toward me, scythe raised. My gaze hops along the darkening ground, landing on the ax that had been propped against the shed before it was sent tumbling. I lunge for it, fumbling to pick it up.

  “Did you think you'd know how to use it? You dumb little changeling.” He storms toward me, closing the gap as I hold up the ax in some half-assed form of self-defense. “Only the witches can show us how to use our magic, how to channel the curse without letting it consume us.”

  “I didn't open. . .I didn't. . .Why would I. . .?” I can't formulate complete thoughts. My brain struggles to analyze his advance, to guess his next move to so I can block it, the whole while trying to figure out how to escape. I don't have the capacity for his added riddles.

  “Or did you just want the portal open, at any cost?” He swings the scythe just out of reach.

  I take a few more steps back, my ankle twisting slightly on a rock. He swings the scythe again.

  “I didn't open the portal!”

  He growls, pulling back his weapon.

  I can't keep retreating; it'll be right into the crowd of dark fae closing us in.

  How can he possibly think I opened the portal? Why does that not make any sense?

  “I'm a changeling!” I say on impulse. “If I wanted to open the portals, I could without the curse!”

  He halts, realization sinking into his expression, and I'm proud of myself for understanding at least one rule in this topsy-turvy world.

  “I only had to convince a witch,” I add. “And they'll do anything for the right price.”

  He lowers his scythe. “Why the Glenwood boy, then?”

  My small victory is smashed. What is he asking about Remy? Why don't I ever fully understand this damn place?

  My attention flicks past Franjo, into the direction the shed boy had run.

  Oh, crap. Franjo isn't talking about Remy. He's talking about his brother. The one who didn't return with the beacon—because he was locked in a shed.

  “I didn't—” I'm cut off as Franjo charges me.

  I take a step away, stumbling and falling. The small of my back hits the ground. The weight of the ax in my fingers smashes my hand into rocks. I try to lift it up to block the scythe coming down at me. The scythe blade plants in the ground next to me, Franjo standing over me with an unmistakable expression: he missed on purpose, and it won't happen again.

  He glares down at me. “How did the Glenwood boy make it over the wall?”

  “We paid for him,” a voice says.

  I glance up, tilting my head back as Mama approaches from the direction of the house. Papa is on her heels.

  “We waited so long for you to do your job,” she spits at Franjo. “You were supposed to bring our baby home, and you wouldn't. No matter how much we tried to. . .convince. . .you.”

  I cringe; the similarity between the marks on Franjo and the boy's arms was not a coincidence. My fae parents had tortured more than one person.

  “Then you lied to us,” Mama says, glaring at Franjo. “Told us she was dead. But when the curse started, we knew where all our family members were except one. She had to have been alive to trigger it.”

  Franjo had tried to fake my death, but hitting Remy on the head at the convenience store had inadvertently notified my fae family I was alive and well. Who knew a moment of stupidity had such far-reaching results.

  “We had no other choice.” Mama givs me a sorrowful look. “He wouldn't. . .”

  I shake my head. “Why Dell and Oliver, then?”

  She understands my question and has no reason left to lie. “We paid Gwendolyn to bring us a Glenwood from the other side of the wall, since we couldn't go ourselves.”

  No wonder Gwendolyn went into hiding. She was afraid Remy would figure out she sold his brother—literally. And that she had been playing on both teams.

  Mama continues. “The first two boys, we tried, but nothing happened. The witch got it wrong, probably on purpose. Each trip was more money. No guarantees. Funny how when we threatened to give up and stop paying her, she found the right boy. But she wouldn't take the other two back. What were we to do? Turn them out like orphans?”

  I stare up at her until my neck develops a pinch, and then I keep staring at her. Did she really pay to have three children kidnapped and then play it off like she did them a favor by not dropping the wrong ones off on the street?

  I blink, slowly. I can't stop the crazy around me, and it makes me nauseated. Not just the back and forth, the answers to questions I hadn't been smart enough to formulate, but the realization stirring in my gut:

  “You tortured Remy's brother,” I say from my spot on the ground, too incredulous to try to escape.

  “We didn't have a choice. He wouldn't bring you back,” she snaps, gesturing at Franjo. “We had no other way to open the portal but to keep the curse active.”

  “By torturing. . .Remy's. . .brother. . .” The reality is setting in, all too fast but not quick enough.

  “For you, honey,” she coos at me.

  She's more than just confessing her sins with nothing to lose. She actually thinks I will understand, I will approve, if she explains their side. If they illustrate how Franjo had wronged them.

  These people keep doing horrible things for me that I didn't even want. But it really isn't for me. They wanted to bring me back to what they considered my home, even though I didn't. I never asked for that, and I still don't want it.

  And Franjo didn't ask how I felt about the changeling tradition—I never had a chance to formulate my own opinion—and started his reign of retaliation pretending it was for me.

  It was all about them, though, and yet both parties think I should join them. The way I see it, from my spot twisted around and pinned to the ground, they are both on the same side.

  It's me and the handful of good fae left against them.

  “But why Matteo?” I look at Franjo. “You paid Gwendolyn to send someone after me, but you didn't want me to return here.”

  “I had a plan to take you off the grid, to make it look like you really had died,” he says, and I know logic had burned out in his brain a long time ago. “But you idiots,” he snarls, his head tilted to look at Mama and Papa, the scythe still dug into the ground next to me. “You continued the curse just to open a portal.”

  “You seem to have profited from the shadows,” Papa chimes in.

  “I only seized an opportunity when I saw one.” Franjo glowers at them. “I would have never intentionally gone so far.”

  Mama smiles at him, but there's nothing happy or nice about it. “Coward.”

  Franjo yanks up the scythe, barreling over me, and swings—twice. I roll forward into myself like a caterpillar as blood sprays my face and the top of my hair. Thud, thud. And it's over.

  “They are right,” Franjo says from behind me, but I don't dare to look. “I was a coward, or I would have removed their heads years ago.”

  The air shifts, lightens up, and I dare to peer from under my arm at the skyline. The shadows are lifting. The Glenwoods and Hawkers are no longer harming each other, so the curse will retreat.

  I turn just enough to get a better look. The distant crowd of dark fae are tipping their
heads back, arms at their sides, and extending their jaws, taking in gulps. . .of the shadows from the sky. The dark faes' throats work up and down as they swallow in the shadows in big pulls.

  “What...” I finally lift my head and turn to see Franjo. I try to block out the sight of the two fallen bodies and their heads at an unnaturally long distance away.

  “As I told you, the fae embraced their darkness,” Franjo says, wiping the scythe blade on his robe. “Even when they are promised freedom from the shadows, they drink them in for a final taste, to extend their darkness until the very end. It gives them back their magic. They don't care it's the bad kind.”

  It is really difficult to like the fae. If I was smart, I would take the option to run and never look back. Except there's still Remy. . .

  “Forget the others,” Franjo says, as if reading my mind. His warning is disguised as a bit of advice from one changeling to another.

  I swallow hard. “I can't.”

  He comes at me, ready to end this discussion for good. I scoot out of the way, grabbing up the ax, and dive in the direction of the treeline. As I pick up speed, praying that I don't fall again, I find myself veering away from the forest. Where the pregnant woman and her daughter are hiding. Franjo is on a rampage, and he will destroy anything in his path to get to me now that he knows I won't side with him. I can't lead him to the last of the good fae.

  But keeping him way from the good fae means heading straight into the crowd of the dark ones. I pull up the ax and dive into their midst. They whirl around, deformed arms reaching for me. Long claws slice through my jacket, into my upper arm. I twist out of their hold and swing the ax. I catch one in the throat, another in the chest, a third in the face. But it doesn't matter, because all they do is stumble back and go at me again. Only sage oil stops them for good, and I have enough for one, maybe two. I don't even have time to grab it and apply it to the ax, anyway.

  I keep shoving forward, the little bag beating against my leg. I have darts. I can try to use them, but still not enough sage oil to make those worthwhile, either. Not when there are dozens. I can only keep swinging the ax, knocking them back long enough to push through. They rip at my clothes, at my skin. Their claws try to grab me by the jaw, gouge out my eyes.

  A hard gush of wind rushes over me, fluttering my hair into my face. I look up as I swing the ax again. The ax connects with a bony torso. My gaze lands on the feathery underbelly of the giant bird.

  The bird careens toward the tool storage, talons the size of airplanes extending on approach. The talons sink into the roof, crushing the building, then ripping off the top half—wall and everything. It flaps a heavy wind a few times, turning around, and glides back toward where I'm still swinging my ax. I push forward, urgency growing. The bird lets go, dropping the crushed building over us. I put up one arm, shielding my eyes from the dirt and debris. The bird twists back around.

  I wipe my arm over my face and raise the ax again. I halt; the horizon is dense and moving, coming toward me. It's dark fae. And there are thousands of them.

  A long arm wraps around my waist. I scream, beating at the hold. I paused, a second too long. They have me.

  The dark fae suck me into their midst, arms and feet coming from every direction. I'm pushed down, stomped in the legs and chest. I struggle to breathe. Blood gurgles from my face, and I choke on it.

  I catch a glimpse of Annevieve. At least, I think I do, but then she is replaced by a skeletal appendage smashing my face. I shake my head and push up from the ground. I'm shoved back down. My fingers feel something long and hard; the ax handle. I grapple for it.

  The dark fae to the side part to make Franjo a path.

  “They do this because they love this,” he says over the sound of bones crushing and the giant bird stirring up wind at it continues to drop segments of the building. “They don't care about this world, so why should you?”

  “Some do,” I say, gasping and sucking in blood. I choke so hard I begin to gag, then I manage to roll over long enough to vomit on the ground. I look up at Franjo, blood and thick spit draining from my mouth. “I'm not joining you.”

  I push up and charge at him, ax raised above my head. The only way to finish this is to end him. I bring the ax down. He scoots out of the way, effortlessly.

  A smile threads across his face. “I didn't drink the shadows, but I did harness them. You are better to resign now.”

  Why does he keep giving me chances?

  I growl, swinging back the ax. But I miss again. It's useless, but I try, and he dodges. Then he's gone. I spin around, disoriented. He's behind me. I charge at him, trip and nearly end myself on my own ax.

  He laughs. “Stop being valiant. It will only get you killed.”

  I open my mouth to protest, but the big picture settles into my brain: he's a vindictive man with a horde of dark fae lusting after violence. Even worst, he has fortified himself with the curse but never let the shadows near him long enough to consume him.

  In contrast, I have an ax.

  He can dodge, dart, and duck under every attempt I make.

  My ribs feel crushed, and my chest bone might as well be thrust through my heart. My knees and shoulders feel like they will pop from their socket with a sneeze. My head is full of such vile tastes and sensations that I'll never be able to purge. I'm fighting for a world I barely know and a man I haven't even had sex with yet.

  In the end, I really just wish I could see Mom again. But she is far away, in another realm, and I'm exhausted.

  So I drop my arm and let the ax fall to the ground with a solid, resigned thud. The shadows still slink about the grass, and they silently cheer my defeat.

  The last sight before me is so appropriate: Franjo in his robe with his scythe. My reaper, indeed.

  I'm going to die.

  I close my eyes and begin reciting the first prayer that came to my lips. The only prayer I know. The one Mom always said before work: “God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”

  What can I change? I can't change being a changeling; I certainly didn't pick that. I can't change the shadow curse. I can't change Franjo.

  My eyes pop open.

  Change Franjo.

  I can't defeat him in his current form—he's learned so much from Gwendolyn on how to take the strength from the shadows without their weakness—but I can defeat him if he's a true dark fae.

  Yes, yes, give him to us.

  Without another thought, I barrel toward him. My shoulder meets his chest, and we stumble backwards—into the shadows.

  They pull open his mouth and force themselves inside, funneling in with such speed, I know they have been waiting for this. Their chance to get him down. Their chance to take him over. They don't have long before the curse fully vanishes, but they will take their last stab at the world—and the man who evaded them.

  I roll off Franjo as his chest arches. His head turns to the side to look at me, and his eyes reveal the shadows peering out. His jaw extends, his ears pulling back like a goblin. His legs twist and snap, elongating and bending unnaturally. His arms grow and produce multiple elbows. His hands cup, digging into the ground, then snap into claws. A bare ribcage bursts from his chest.

  His body raises up with ease, and at first it seems to be carried on the wind generated by the bird circling overhead. But then his wispy wings knit together, solidifying and growing to support his increased form. The wings come together, no longer traces of a magical ancestry, but a symbol of his current state. His power. His dominion over this world.

  He moves up into the sky, working with the bird induced storm. His maw smiles down at me. What have I done?

  I thought it would make him a form I could destroy, but he just seems to have personified the curse. He moves up to the farmhouse roof and lands on it, crouching, his wings black sails puffing from his back.

  “You are like the others,” he says, voice boo
ming down from the roof. “I was mistaken in thinking that all changelings were worth saving, but I realize now, you are still fae, and you are still like them.”

  My head grows heavy along with my stomach. I drop to my knees, tears erupting down my face.

  “I didn't want this,” I say between gasping sobs. My body shakes harder in the storm. “Please just let me go home. Please.”

  “Now you want to make a deal?” He sounds infuriated.

  Is it still an option?

  I shudder through my tears, head bent down, trying to think. Can I go home now? Can I let myself off the hook because I tried? I really did try, after all. Doesn't that earn me the right to go home?

  A scream cuts through the storm, hitting me right in the chest. It's the girl hiding in the woods. Franjo's head snaps in the direction of the sound. Of where I had hid her with her mother. Not long ago, I had been so righteous about what that mother should be doing to protect an innocent little girl.

  And now I was going to flee?

  “Tell me you will leave this world to me,” he shouts down at me.

  And I finish the sentence in my head: to torture, to destroy, to get revenge on people who don't deserve it.

  I raise my head. “No!”

  The giant bird veers toward the farmhouse. Franjo rears back as the talons sink into the roof, tearing off the top of the house—walls and everything. The bird twists to the side, coming back around to dump the debris on the ground.

  Franjo is pinned to the roof by one of his wings. He flails and pulls to get away. The wing rips, and then shreds as he breaks free. He plummets to the ground. I yank out the sage oil and smash the bottle into the ax blade on the ground. Glass grinds into the split in my hand. It feels like my arm is on fire.

  I grab the ax and charge where Franjo is descending. I tuck the blade under my armpit. I only have one round of sage oil. Can't accidentally use it on the wrong dark fae.

  As Franjo tumbles into the ground, I raise the ax and bring it down. The blade connects with the chest plate. He jerks upright, but he's already turning gray.

  “I did it for you,” he whispers, “and you betrayed me, sister.”