by Smith, H. D.
“That makes total sense,” I muttered, more to myself than him. “You really do pass me around. First you, then him, now her.”
“You don’t have all the facts,” he said.
“Did you trap her—it—in the mirror?”
He became unnaturally still.
I took that to mean yes. “She called me your pet.”
“It means nothing.”
I snorted and sat back down on the cot. “Right.”
After a long pause, he sighed and rubbed his forehead. His eyes were closed.
Regret or pity—did I care?
When he opened his eyes, Mr. Harrison’s softer gaze met mine. “The power is yours, Claire, but—”
“I’m bound by Winter—yeah, I’ve seen the memo. Life sucks.” Winter’s blood will break the curse. Did he know that?
“Don’t speak of things you don’t understand,” he warned.
I was sick of this cryptic bullshit. “Then explain. Make me understand.”
Harry pursed his lips. “You’re special—”
“Special,” I shrieked, glaring at him. “I ask you to explain and you tell me I’m special! What am I really?”
“You’re unique.”
“Un-fucking-believable.” I shook my head. “He switches out special for unique. Hallelujah, I’m getting answers now.”
He rubbed the back of his neck.
I wasn’t letting him off that easy. I wanted real answers. “Something’s different about my blood,” I prompted.
He stilled, but remained silent.
“The seers know about it,” I continued, but he still said nothing. “What am I? What do they know?”
He stood there, impassive. This wasn’t the man I knew. The man I’d known as a child would have answered me. He’d have explained—like always when I had questions.
I exhaled, thinking of the Keeper. She’d made it seem like they all had a hand in what I was or what I had become—not human. “Spring’s pet. Bound by Winter. Protected by Summer. Screwed by Fall,” I muttered.
Harry sucked in a sharp breath. His nostrils were flared—all passivity gone. I’d never seen him this angry. “You speak of fairytales and myths,” he snarled.
“Fall is a fairytale?” I asked. “I must have missed that part in your book.”
Harry’s eyes flashed amber. “Speak of it no more.”
“Then explain what makes me special. Why the Keeper's trapped and seers are so interested in my blood they seek proof of its existence.”
Harry turned away from me, lips pressed together, as if he stopped himself from saying something.
“I’m not even human. Am I?”
He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. After a minute, he started toward the door.
“Mr. Harrison, please tell me. Help me understand.” I stood, rushing to the bars. “I trusted you once. At least explain to me why Mab wants me. What does it mean that I belong to her? How is this the second claim? It can’t all be so bloody sacred.”
His brows were drawn together when he faced me. He took a deep breath. “You were born with magic, which gave Mab the right to claim you at birth.”
My eyebrows shot up. Born with magic? Claimed at birth? “How can she do that?”
Harry sighed. “It is our law. It is to maintain balance and prevent magic from being in the hands of humans.”
“What kind of—”
“We will not debate its merit,” he said, cutting me off.
“Okay—so why didn’t she take me then? Did she want something else instead?” She must have gotten something to leave me alone. Although if the rule was to maintain balance, it seemed odd she had a choice at all.
“Hardly,” he murmured, pushing his hand through his hair. “Nothing that simple, I’m afraid.”
“What happened?”
“Bargains were struck. Sacrifices were made. You were spared your fate.”
“Sacrifices?” I asked, thinking of what humans knew of druids, but Mab wasn’t a druid, and I was fairly sure the sacrificing tendency of druids was urban legend. I pushed those thoughts out of my head. “Why now?”
“You broke the rules,” he said, but offered no details.
“What rules?”
“You returned to Purgatory...uninvited.”
“What? That’s it. Just like that she can claim me?”
“Yes.”
“How was I supposed to know this rule?”
Harry stared at me as if I were missing the obvious. “You were given the book.”
“The fairytale book—the one that never got lost,” I quipped. “That was my warning.”
He nodded.
Unbelievable. My life hinged on a book I didn’t know I needed to heed. I laughed and shook my head. Un-freaking-believable. “Next time, maybe a list. You know, something like, ‘Things to Avoid. Number one is stay out of Purgatory, so the psycho sister of your ex-social worker doesn’t drag your ass off to her realm to torture and maim you’. Something simple like that.”
As if he’d seriously made note of my request, he inclined his head.
I gawked, slack-jawed, although I’m not sure why his attitude surprised me. “So that was the deal—not to break the rule. What was the sacrifice?”
“Your mother,” he said.
Huh? “She died giving birth to me. Is that what you mean by sacrifice?”
“No.”
“What happened to her?”
Harry seemed reluctant to tell me.
“You can’t throw out that grenade, then refuse to tell me.”
He dropped his gaze.
“Tell me. Please!”
Harry blew out an exacerbated sigh. “You were born with your power, and like all others, Mab took you to live in her realm. To be a pagan.”
“Took me? How exactly?”
“You died.”
“Er?” I choked for a minute, unable to draw air into my lungs. “If I died—how—” I didn’t know how to ask the right question.
“My brother,” Harry said. “He stole you from Death and returned you to Melinda.”
Death—that’s when I saw him the first time. When I was innocent.
Harry continued, “Mab retaliated by killing your mother, but it didn’t end there.”
Tears welled in my eyes. My mother was the sacrifice.
“Things had gotten out of hand,” he said. “I was forced to intervene and resolve the issue to prevent war. I forced my siblings to compromise and stop their childish squabbles over one tiny human.”
Ignoring his obvious jab at my insignificance, I asked, “The Boss was fighting because he loved my mother?”
“It would appear so.”
“He would have gone to war for her?”
“Yes.”
“Did she love him?” Part of me wanted Mace to be wrong.
“Very much. She still does.”
I thought of the angelic beekeeper. “Is he my father?” I whispered, afraid the answer was going to be yes.
“Mab couldn’t have claimed you if you’d been his,” Harry answered.
His words caused some relief, but I would have rather heard him simply say no.
“What did Mab get?” She’d never walk away empty-handed.
“She would have gotten you had she not killed your mother. Instead, she was given the right to claim you in the future if you broke the rules by returning to Purgatory uninvited.”
“Why did my mother hide herself from me in the hotel? I wouldn’t have recognized her. And if she’s able to visit the hotel—”
Harry held up his hand, stopping me. “She shields herself from everyone. Mab took her beauty before killing her, and she is not allowed to contact you.”
“Part of the truce?”
He nodded.
“So, I’ve died. Good to know,” I said, trying to push my thoughts from my mother. “But that doesn’t explain my blood.”
“Your power is in your blood. Your blood is unique. That is all I
can say.”
“Is that why Mab bound my powers?”
“She bound your powers to make you human. It was her concession for losing you.”
“I changed things when I entered Purgatory? My powers started coming back. That’s why it was forbidden?”
“One of the reasons.”
“But the binding’s not broken?”
“No, just weakened. The watch let you access some of the power, but the trip to Purgatory widened the gap. It may continue to expand over time, but it will never be broken. Part of you will always be human.”
I thought of the Keeper’s words. She’d said, “Winter’s blood would break the curse.”
If the binding was the curse, which according to Harry couldn’t be broken. How would Mab’s blood change that? And why wouldn’t Harry know her blood would have that effect? Of course, I had no clue how I’d get any of her blood or what I’d do with it once I had it.
“The seers know about my blood,” I reminded him. “The blacksmith took a lot of it.”
Harry’s forehead wrinkled. “She shouldn’t have been allowed to take any.”
I shrugged. What did he expect me to do about it?
“Did you give it willingly?”
“Um—It’s complicated.”
He breathed out a frustrated sigh. I didn’t care if he was angry. I wasn’t willing to let Jack die.
Harry spun to leave.
“Wait,” I said. “Why is it so important?”
He stopped. Glancing back, he said, “It’s forbidden to discuss. Speak of it no more.”
Forbidden? Harry’s shoulders shifted. He was leaving.
“Was watching me your job while I was little?”
He ran his hand through his hair.
“Was it your job to save me from the Keeper? I seem to remember you saved me a lot.” I studied my hands, not wanting to look at him. “But you never actually helped me.” He’d always brought the police, rescued me from the latest bad foster situation, but he never made my life better. “Was helping me forbidden too?” I looked up.
He rubbed his forehead and opened his mouth as if he were going to say something. Pain flashed briefly before he turned and headed toward the stairs.
“I guess you really are the Druid King—the monster, not the saint. Did you think this form would be easier for me? It’s not. I would have rather died believing my Mr. Harrison was real.”
Abruptly, as if my words had struck him, he stopped but didn’t turn around. After a few seconds, he continued up the stairs and out the door.
Damnit. More questions; no answers. I started pacing. The energy from the power shake was making me restless. I wanted out of this hole. I backed against the wall when the basement door opened.
It was Quaid. He was alone.
“Why are you here?” I asked.
“Because Harry is in a mood,” he said.
“No, jackass, I mean, why are you here helping them?”
He glanced back toward the stairs. “Why do you care?”
“Wow.” My eyebrows raised. “For one, let’s consider who’s on which side of the bars. And if you were going to betray The Boss and help them, what reason would you have to lie to Mace?”
Quaid’s smile faded. “I didn’t lie.”
“If he didn’t believe your beloved story then it was a lie.”
“He can’t read me. It pisses him off, so he makes a point to insist I must be lying.”
“Whatever.”
Quaid checked his watch.
“What, are you late for a meeting?”
Ignoring me, he pulled out his phone and typed several messages, something I’d seen him do more than once at the office.
I peered at my own watch. “What day is it?”
“Monday,” Quaid said, without looking up from his phone.
“Monday!” I’d lost a whole day. Had I been that drained?
Quaid stopped what he was doing and shoved his phone back into his pocket when the door at the top of the stairs opened. I felt the tingle of his proximity from his mark before I saw him.
Mace didn’t appear happy Quaid was with me. His gaze darted back and forth between us. “I thought I told you to wait for me upstairs,” he said, glaring at Quaid.
Quaid snorted. It was obvious he had no respect for Mace.
“Go!” Mace ordered.
Quaid gave him a tight smile, then flashed a glance at me before leaving.
“What were you and he doing?” Mace asked, his stare pinning me in place.
“Doing…nothing. We were talking about what a dick you are.”
His nostrils flared. Using his will, he forced me to stand and walk toward him. He focused on my belly as I approached. His fingers curled into claws. “I’ll take this now. Maybe that will help you understand your place.”
I fought to resist his pull. “Back off, asshole. Don’t touch it.”
“It…doesn’t sound like you’re all that attached to it.”
Mace grinned, his will overpowering my struggle. I clutched my belly. He sent a pulse of energy through me. Like before, it felt as though the energy bounced around, until it found the knot in my stomach.
I took in a sharp breath. “Please don’t.” Now I was pleading.
“You still want it? Knowing what you know about Jack? He’s a demon, Claire. He lied to you. He was just doing his job.”
Every word struck me like a blow. I tore my eyes away. I didn’t want him to see the truth. The truth about Jack and how I felt—still feel, about him.
Mace’s will wrapped around me forcing me to look at him. “You still want him. And you would have his demon child too.” He chanted in Ancient.
The energy coalesced into a sharp stab of pain in my gut. I wailed an ear-splitting cry. “No. Please stop. I’ll do anything you want.”
He dropped the pain to a dull throb. “Anything?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
His eyes brightened, lips curving into a wicked smile. “Will you kill Junior for me?”
I gasped. Oh, god...did I kill Junior? My mouth went dry. I struggled to free myself, but his will tightened. Nausea rose to my throat. No, I couldn’t have done it. I wouldn’t have.
Mace clutched my chin, staring into my eyes. “You look guilty,” he growled. “But Junior isn’t dead yet.”
I wanted to turn away from him.
A sneer twisted his lips. “Clearly, you’re willing to do it.”
His smug confidence scared me. He didn’t understand why I was guilty—not that I’d killed Junior yet, but I’d seen the video. He’d called out my name just before he was shot. It could have been me. Tears welled as I cried for the family I wouldn’t have. Even if Mace let me keep the baby, he wouldn’t let me go. I’d never have a normal life. He’d make sure of that.
He studied me. His brow furrowed in confusion, but he held the power, and he knew it. “Are you ready to obey me now?”
I flinched as he moved his hand back toward my belly. He didn’t try to hurt me, but the implied threat was there.
“Maybe if you’re very good,” he said, brushing the hair back from my face. “I’ll let you raise the little bastard.”
“Fuck you,” I said, trying to blink back the tears.
He opened the door to my cell. Continuing as if I’d said nothing, he added, “I must deliver you to Mab, but I expect her to let me keep you.”
I tried to school my emotions. I didn’t want him to know what I thought of his plan. He was a fool to think she’d just let him have what he wanted.
He squeezed my arm as he pulled me from the basement. “Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Once upstairs, he shoved me toward Quaid. I didn’t see Harry again as we left the house. A car was waiting for us outside. Quaid hustled me into the back of the car. Cinnamon and the twins were already there. None of them acknowledged me, which was fine. Part of me wanted to warn them, but the other part knew it was useles
s, so I decided to keep quiet. Cinnamon’s hair was still up, and Sage wore the green tie I had seen him ironing at the bungalow. He and Sorrel looked a little banged up, but neither of them seemed to care—or remember?—that I had caused the crazy fans to attack them.
“Why do we all have to go?” Cinnamon asked, scowling.
“Aunt Mab requested it,” Sage said.
“Requested—commanded is more like it,” she scoffed.
“She can’t command you. You should have refused,” I said, as Mace slid onto the seat.
Cinnamon’s lips pursed together, and her eyebrows dropped into a line. Had she not even considered refusing?
I started to say as much, when Mace said, “Enough,” and looked at my belly.
I turned my gaze away. Challenging him right now wasn’t an option.
He leaned back against the seat and placed a hand on Cinnamon’s arm. “It’s just a request for a visit.”
Her face relaxed as she nodded. “Of course, you’re right.” She was still trapped by his spell and trusted him.
I knew when we crossed over into Purgatory. We’d driven down what appeared to be a dead-end alley in Underworld, only to end up in an ice-covered forest in the middle of nowhere. I had no negative reaction to the threshold this time, but I wondered how dangerous the portal really was. Mab said it wasn’t safe to travel between Earth and the realms directly, but travel between Underworld and the realms was more stable. Actually, she’d said it wasn’t safe for humans, so maybe I didn’t have to worry as much about that now. That was if I ever got to leave, of course.
The tires of the town car crunched on the ice and snow as we drove to the castle. My stomach was full of ants—not butterflies; those would have been too tame for what was going on in the pit of my tummy. I just hoped I wouldn’t get hungry anytime soon.
An arctic cold ran through me as we stepped out of the car. My clean change of clothes at Harry’s hadn’t included a pair of shoes. I was freezing.
Quaid ushered me toward the large doors of a huge castle. The stone structure was so tall and sprawling it made the forest around it seem small. I shivered when I registered where we were, and it wasn’t from the permafrost beneath my bare feet. Mab’s castle. Her claim had been granted. I was in Purgatory—maybe for good this time. The fear of what she could do to me—what she’d already done to my mother—came rushing back.
Trembling, I followed Quaid inside the great hall. The temperature inside wasn’t much different from the frosty outside, but at least we’d left behind the biting wind. I was frozen to the bone, and the scrubs weren’t providing any heat. It may have been my imagination, or the fact I’d just walked on ice outside, but the stone floor had warmth I wasn’t expecting—not that it helped much, but at least I wasn’t worried about losing any toes to frostbite.