by A. R. Kahler
Eli just laughs, but he doesn’t say anything else. Just goes over to a shelf and begins looking over books, as though a bloodbath isn’t about to erupt behind him.
“Before I kill you, how did you know I’d be back?” I ask. “Are you spying on me?”
“You’re Mab’s bitch,” she replies. “Your entire life has been about contracts. I figured you would put the pieces together and realize that without this you couldn’t kill the Pale Queen. As for how I knew you were alive”—she looks at me dead on—“I’ve known Mab since the very beginning. I know how she meddles in human affairs. She likes keeping her toys around, especially those prone to self-destruction. You having an immortality clause was inevitable.”
“If you knew that, then you know that Penelope negated the contracts.”
She smiles.
“The Pale Queen can do many things. But your contract . . . yours is bound on more than paper. You should feel honored. Mab only does that with those she plans on using the most. Like Penelope.” There are layers to her look, ones I’m not able or willing to sift through. I don’t have time.
“I’d say give over the book and no one gets hurt but I’m not in the business of lying,” I say. “The question is whether you want to hand me the book yourself or have me rip it from your cold, dead fingers.”
“And you chastise me for bad clichés,” she says, walking toward me. “You know your fight isn’t with me. And it’s not with the Pale Queen. Killing either of us won’t assuage you of your guilt. You still killed your mother in cold blood. You still played into every one of the Pale Queen’s plans. You will never remedy that, nor will any pain you inflict on others negate it.”
“Maybe not.” I twist my wrists and the daggers slide into my waiting palms. “But killing you will still feel really fucking good.”
I don’t wait. I’m on her a second later, but she’s faster than I gave her credit for. She slides away at the last second, sending me staggering. My body doesn’t move as quickly as it used to, and it takes me a moment to right myself, to gain my bearings before twisting around and striking again. Something smacks into me hard, and I have just enough time to realize it was a book before the air leaves my lungs and stars explode across my vision. I stumble, try not to drop my blades. Then another force slams into me, knocking me backward to the floor.
“I should have killed you when you were a toddler,” the changeling hisses. She’s on top of me, her weight settling like a boulder over my wrists. There’s a pressure against my throat, one that’s making it hard to see and harder to breathe. Her shin. “The day I came and took you from your bed. I should have murdered you and thrown you in the trash where you belong. Then Vivienne would still be alive. We’d still be a family.”
And oh, that makes the darkness turn red. I don’t think, just react—I jab my knee up, not caring where it connects, and shift my weight over. At least, I try to. All I accomplish is making her adjust her weight, moving her leg to my chest. I gasp when she releases the hold on my neck.
“You were never a family,” I mutter. My words taste like iron. I want to cough up a lung. “Your entire relationship was a lie. Just magic. Magic and contracts and deceit.”
“No,” she says. “She loved me. She grew to love me. More than Mab ever did. She was my mother, and you took her—”
There’s a thud, and the changeling crumples to the side.
Eli stands over me, the book of contracts in his hand.
“Oh look, I found it,” he says, completely deadpan. Then he looks between the two of us. “I grew bored of her delusions. I hope you don’t mind the interference.”
I shake my head and roll to my knees. Then promptly begin coughing.
“I assumed you wanted her alive for the torturing,” he says. “But I must insist you make this quick. She is close.”
“Who?” I ask, though I realize it’s a stupid question because there’s only one person we’d be worried about. Eli answers the question I should have asked.
“She’ll be here shortly. I would venture to guess she has felt our presence. Most likely, one of our comrades triggered a trap.”
“Shit.”
“So unless you wish to drag this one with us . . .”
In answer, I drag my blade across the unconscious changeling’s neck. She doesn’t even spasm. Just falls apart at the seams in a pile of leaves and dust. It feels terribly anticlimactic, and she was right: I don’t feel the slightest bit better. But, I guess, she was just a pawn. I need to take down the queen.
“Let’s go,” I say. Eli reaches down and takes my hand and helps me to stand. Then there’s a twist of magic, and the next second we’re standing in Roxie’s apartment, where we had planned to meet with Kingston and Pan on the chance our shot-in-the-dark mission was successful.
“What the shit, Eli? You can fucking teleport?”
He shrugs.
“I can do many things. I have layers.”
“And you never thought it pertinent to mention this, in all of our missions?”
“You liked doing that little chalk thing.”
I open my mouth to bitch him out, but then there’s a flash of light and Kingston stumbles into the room. He’s covered in sweat and panting and no longer in disguise.
He’s also alone.
“Where’s Pan?” I ask.
Kingston looks around like he’s seeking out attackers. The only danger in here is the bad decorating.
“We were ambushed,” he mutters. “In the garden. I thought they were just statues . . .”
I swallow hard.
My brain wants to churn up the dozens of memories Pan and I made—late-night hide-and-seek, the snacks he brought in when Mab was starving me because I wasn’t behaving, his brave rescue of Kingston—but I’ve had a lot of practice with moving forward. I shove the memories down.
“Is he dead?” I ask.
Kingston nods. “I think so.”
“That’s not an answer.”
He looks up at me. I can’t tell if he’s tired or if he’s been crying. He doesn’t seem like the type of guy who’d weep over crumbled statuary. Even if it did save his life. Maybe that’s it—maybe it’s the guilt that, even after Pan saved his sorry ass, Kingston couldn’t rescue his.
“They were tearing him apart when I left,” he says. “I managed to knock down a couple of them, but there were too many, and more coming back. So yes. I hope he’s dead.”
I can’t help it—the idea of Pan getting torn apart makes vomit curl up at the back of my throat.
“Lest we forget the reason we went there,” Eli says, drawing my attention back to him. He holds up the book and gives it a wiggle, then tosses it to the ground beside me. “Losses aside, we were successful.”
Pan just lost his life, but it was for this. It was worth it. I have to convince myself it was worth it. Mab, Vivienne, Pan . . . hell, even William. How many other parts of my past am I doomed to lose in all of this? My hand shakes as I flip open the cover and sift through the contracts. In the nature of faerie magic, most of them are impossible to read—words twist or fade on the page, some in English or Latin, others in scribbles and scratches that look less like language and more like angry modern art. Some pages are written on pressed leaves, others are gold ink on feathers that tumble to my lap. There doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to the order: no index, no alphabetization. As I skim, I wonder how the hell Mab kept track of everything. And how long it’s going to take me to get to the right one. Then I open to a page and feel my heart drop.
Penelope’s name is written at the top.
I can’t read more than the first few lines, but I can infer the rest. It’s a fairly standard contract for Mab’s performers, entailing a life of servitude in exchange for safety. Immortality in exchange for eternal work. It’s one of the few contracts that looks like it’s intact.
We did it. We got the book. We got her contract.
And now, we end her.
Nineteen
/> I flop down on the floor, letting the book drop to my side. Car lights swirl over the ceiling, the distant hum of traffic failing to drown out my inner tirade. This is supposed to be The Moment. The moment we rid the world of the Pale Queen. The whole world should be standing still for this, because everything is about to change. Instead, cars honk outside the window and people call out on the street. But in here, it’s silent. Reverent.
And, honestly, more dangerously hopeful than any of us want to admit. We have the book that makes Penelope immortal. We cancel her contract, and yes, she’s still powerful. She’s still alive. But then we can vanquish her. For real. She was just a mortal before she got sent to the netherworld. With her immortality out of the way, she’s finally back on our playing field.
“How do we negate it?” I ask.
Kingston sighs.
“Technically, we can’t. Contracts can only be terminated by the one who wrote them. Look at the other contracts—Penelope didn’t erase them. She couldn’t. She just changed them.”
“Well, Mab is dead. So we change it?”
“Can’t . . . we need a certain astrological phenomenon.”
I groan. “And let me guess—we don’t have whatever astrological phenomenon we need.”
Kingston shakes his head and crouches down beside me, staring at the page.
“I can’t believe it’s here. Right here. After everything, it all came down to finding a book.”
“Occam’s razor,” I mutter. “The simplest answer is usually the best. How long do we wait?”
“We don’t,” Eli says. He sighs. “This is the most frustrating part about mortals and faeries. You believe in rules.”
“That’s because they’re bound by—”
Before Kingston can finish, Eli’s lips are on his. Eli’s fingers twine through Kingston’s hair, gripping tight. It lasts for a lot longer than I expected, mainly because Kingston doesn’t pull away, or maybe Eli’s just holding him too tight to refuse.
Finally, I cough.
“Couldn’t you have done that after the bath last night?” I ask.
“Who says we didn’t?” Eli says, not fully pulling away. “You’re a very sound sleeper.”
But he leans back on his heels and grins at me. “Thought that would shut him up.”
Kingston opens his mouth, but Eli barrels on before he can get a word in.
“As I was saying, this is a faerie contract. Faerie contracts are bound by faerie rules and the laws of nature. And if you are as keen as I hope you are, you’ll remember that all of Faerie is royally screwed up, and nature herself is following suit. Neither of you seem to understand that the mortal and faerie worlds are entering a time when there are no rules. It starts with the unraveling of contracts. Then we sit back and enjoy the fun.”
“So what are you saying?” I ask.
“I’m saying, this contract is holding by the skin of its teeth. The magic binding it is weakened, especially without Mab to renew it. Shred the thing, and its power will be released.”
“Seriously. That simple?”
He nods. “Why not? Why must you make everything so much more complicated than it needs to be? You want to kill, kill. You want to screw, screw. You’re in control.” I don’t miss the gaze he casts at Kingston for the last part. Even in the darkness, I can see him blush. Huh. Another thing I thought to be impossible.
Tonight’s just a night for breaking the rules.
“Okay then,” I say. I reach out to the page. I’ve seen Mab cancel contracts before—it’s never a pretty process. At least, not for the contracted party. “I cancel your contract, Penelope. The magic that has held you all these years is no longer yours.” I make a long, slow rip down the page, and mutter, “Welcome to mortality, bitch.”
There’s a hiss of power between my fingers, a curl of smoke that rises from the seam. Magic simmers through the page as the words that make up her contract peel from the paper, incinerating the moment they touch the air—a thousand tiny wisps of fire and ash. A thousand threads unraveling.
Again, the moment feels as if it should be bigger than it is. There are sirens outside now, and the arguing’s gotten louder, and it’s not just lights casting flashes across the wall, but lightning.
“So,” I say, dropping the book and watching the page turn to snow. “Now what?”
“Did you really think that was going to work?”
Penelope steps from the shadows. Eli and Kingston jolt to attention, practically bristling like cats.
“I don’t know whether to be ashamed of you or embarrassed for you,” Penelope says. She looks between the three of us. “You most of all, Kingston. To think you could end my reign so quickly.”
She’s bluffing, I try to convince myself. You won. She won’t admit that.
But she’s forgotten I still have the upper hand.
I’ve seen her contract. I’ve read her true name.
When I speak it, the consonants and vowels jumbling in a language older than humanity, there’s the usual flare of power on my tongue. The steam of magic. A name to control her. A name to bring her to her knees and rob her of her power and free will. Penelope pauses, staring at me.
“Did you really just try to do that?” she asks.
“I didn’t try,” I say, using her name once more. She flinches. “I did. You’re done, Penelope. We’ve won.”
Her red lips quirk into a smile. It’s cold and seductive, knowing and fearful. Exactly like Mab.
“Have you, now?” she asks.
And the room goes up in flames.
There’s a moment when I feel panic, the heat and the fear of this situation, because she should be bound, she should be under my control—that’s how true names work. That’s how they’ve always worked. It’s a magic older than magic itself.
But then there’s a hand on my arm, and a pop of magic, and just as the book of contracts bursts into serpents of fire, the room vanishes in a whirl of searing smoke.
I’m coughing on my knees. Coughing or maybe trying to vomit, I don’t know. Because I can’t tell if it’s the smoke or the true name burning in my throat. I can’t tell if I’m clearing it or making it worse.
“What the hell,” Kingston says. I blink through the tears—it must be smoke. That has to be it—and see him squaring off against Eli. “How the hell did she do that, Eli? You said her contract would be moot.”
“It was,” Eli says smoothly. “You saw it yourself. The whole book went up in flames.”
“Which she shouldn’t have been able to do!” Kingston yells. His feathered serpent tattoo writhes around his neck, begins peeling off from his skin, becoming a golden necklace that hisses like steam. “I knew it was too easy. That wasn’t her true name, was it?”
“Clearly not,” Eli replies.
Kingston swings.
His golden familiar shoots from his neck, wraps around Eli’s body as Kingston’s fist connects to the demon’s face. I can’t speak through the burning in my throat. I don’t want to speak. It feels like Kingston is defending me. Us.
Kingston’s fist connects and Eli’s head snaps to the side. The golden familiar binds his arms to his body, but I know without a doubt that Eli could dodge both if he wanted. He’s playing with Kingston. Letting the guy think he has the upper hand.
Kingston grasps Eli’s throat and pushes him against a wall. What wall? Where are we anyway? Wherever we are, it’s pitch-black save for the light cast by Eli’s eyes.
“You knew, didn’t you? You’ve been working with Penelope ever since she stole you away. You planted a false page in that book. You’re a spy! You nearly got us killed!”
My heart drops. I hadn’t thought of that. Then again, I didn’t demand another contract when I summoned Eli this time; I thought he’d be riding the rules of the last one. What if I was wrong? What if Eli actually was working against us?
Kingston swings again. This time, when his fist connects, there’s a horrible crunching noise. The next thing I know Kingston is
jumping back, cursing, and holding his hand, which has more than one bone sticking out of it.
Eli actually chuckles and raises an eyebrow.
“That looks like it hurts,” he says, reaching out and grabbing Kingston’s wrist. “Here, let me look at it.”
His other hand curls around the wound. Kingston screams.
“Stop it!” I yell. Or try to yell. My words are still raspy.
Much to my amazement, Eli does. He drops Kingston’s hand and steps back, looking at me.
The three of us stay that way for a very, very long time. Too long, seeing as we just fled from a seemingly still-powerful Penelope who could be on us at any moment.
I can’t tell if Eli stopped of his own volition or because he’s under contract. If the latter, he has to obey me.
“Tell me the truth,” I demand. “Are you working for Penelope?”
“No,” he replies.
“He’s lying,” Kingston says. “If he’s not under contract, he could say anything.”
Eli rolls his eyes dramatically—the effect is even more dramatic than usual, since it makes the light in the room swirl.
“If I wanted you dead,” he says, “I could have delivered you to Penelope a thousand times already. Or killed both of you myself without breaking a nail. If you’ll remember, it was me who dragged you both here.”
“Where is here, exactly?” I interject.
“His house,” Eli says with a smile. Kingston’s face drops. There’s a halo of light around his hand as he tries to heal himself.
“What?” Kingston gasps. “How? This place is—”
“Impenetrable, yes. Well, I’ve penetrated quite a few things in my lifetime. This was cake.”
Eli turns his attention back to me. The wicked grin drops.
“I’ve had many opportunities to kill you, Claire. Years ago, I might have taken them, too. But we are contracted to work together, and of all the mortals I’ve been bound to, you’re the one I don’t wish to see dead. Why would I have saved you so many times if Penelope controlled me? She wants you out of the way. She wants you dead. There is literally no reason for me to pretend to serve you. You are of no use to her anymore.”