The Sharpest Blade ml-3

by Sandy Williams

  I really need to learn the trick to knocking someone out like that.

  “You have a car I can borrow?” Naito asks, using the dagger to cut through the duct tape binding the vigilante’s wrists and ankles to my bed.

  My jaw clenches. Naito needs to drive Glazunov to a gate so that the vigilante can survive fissuring to the Realm, but I don’t want him in my car. If he wakes up and catches someone’s attention, the license plate will lead back to me. Again, the last thing I need is cops knocking on my door.

  “We can take my car,” Lee offers from just behind me.

  Naito slices through the last of the duct tape, then looks up. His nostrils flare slightly, and the grip he has on his dagger’s hilt makes his knuckles turn white. The gate is only fifteen minutes from my apartment, but I’m not sure Naito and Lee can make it that far without someone ending up dead.

  Naito shoves his dagger back into its sheath.

  “Help me get him out of here,” he says.

  I let out a breath, then move out of Lee’s way. When I do, a familiar, tingling sensation moves across my skin. I step back into the living room, but the fissure has already closed. It was Aren’s fissure.

  I bite the inside of my cheek while the shadows his fissure left behind twist through my vision. My hands itch to draw them out. If I had a pen and paper, I could pinpoint where he’s gone. Without it, all I know is that he’s in the Realm. I don’t know whether to be hurt or pissed off. I know he has things to do back in Corrist, responsibilities that he can’t put off, but he needs to . . . He needs to get over the life-bond and talk to me.

  I wrench my gaze away from the shadows when Naito and Lee drag Glazunov out of my bedroom. The vigilante is slung between them, one of his arms thrown over each of their shoulders and his head lolling with each step they take. To me, he looks half-dead. To my neighbors, I hope he looks passed-out drunk.

  I open the door, then follow them out. From the second-floor landing, I watch as they make their way down the stairs, gripping the rusty rails for balance. They manage to avoid the beer bottles and trash my lovely neighbors have left on the steps. I scan the parking lot, looking for anyone who might see them. It’s dark and empty right now—the landlord seriously needs to fix the lights—but that doesn’t mean someone isn’t watching from a window. If they are, hopefully they’ll believe Naito and Lee are just helping out a friend.

  Of course, most drunk guys’ friends don’t stuff them into trunks.

  “I don’t like this place,” Kyol says from behind me. He has his emotions locked down tight, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel him. There’s a steady pull, a constant awareness, of where he is.

  “It’s affordable,” I say, watching as Lee pulls out of the parking spot. Truthfully, I don’t like this place that much either. At least once a week, the police show up to settle some argument or domestic dispute, but this is the first home I’ve ever paid for on my own. Before Atroth was killed—and before I realized how violent he’d become and how much he had misled me—he paid for my college tuition and my apartment in Houston. That never sat well with me because the money wasn’t exactly obtained legitimately, but I couldn’t have survived without it. I can now, and if I keep my job and watch my finances, this apartment will be temporary.

  When the taillights of Lee’s car disappear around the corner, I head back inside. Kyol follows, closing the door behind him.

  “I want you to move in with Naito,” he says.

  “What?” I ask, not bothering to hide my surprise as I turn to face him. “Naito’s house is in Colorado.”

  “It would be safer for you,” Kyol says.

  “This place is safe.” Safe-ish.

  The protectiveness Kyol feels toward me leaks through his mental wall. He plugs the holes quickly, but that doesn’t stop a warm, yearning feeling from swirling through my stomach. I draw in a slow breath, doing my best to quiet my emotions.

  “Look, I’m okay here, Kyol,” I tell him gently. “You’ll fissure Glazunov to the Realm, and the other vigilantes don’t know where I live. Neither do the remnants.”

  “Or Lorn,” Kyol says. “Or the false-blood. Many people want you dead, McKenzie.”

  “You’re worried about Lorn?” I ask, trying to divert the conversation.

  “He might not be entirely responsible for the war,” Kyol says, “but he’s not a good man, and he knows you had something to do with his imprisonment. He’ll sell information on you to the false-blood if he has the opportunity.”

  I shake my head. “I have a job here.” At least, I did this morning. “I can’t move in with Naito.”

  He doesn’t respond to that, he just stands there as grim-faced as usual. Or maybe, more grim-faced than usual. He’s always been a solemn man, one with a million responsibilities on his shoulders, but the weight he carries seems heavier now.

  “Then . . . be careful,” he finally says. “Please.”

  I give him a little smile. “I promise I won’t go fissuring around with a tor’um again.”

  Amusement leaks through the bond. It doesn’t alter his expression, though. He’s too much the perfect soldier. Always has been.

  He says a silent good-bye with his nod, then steps away from me to open a fissure. When he does, Sosch chirp-squeaks from somewhere behind me. I turn, but the damn kimki scurries between my legs. I reach for the arm of the couch to catch my balance, and my hand knocks against the hilt of the unsheathed sword I leaned against it earlier. It starts to fall, and the image of a bleeding kimki flashes in my mind.

  It’s a ridiculous image—the worst Sosch might get is a nick—but I’m already moving. I catch the end of the blade on the top of my sneaker, flip it up. It arcs end over end in the air. Me around flying swords? Not a good combination. But my right hand darts out and wraps around the hilt as if I’ve done the move a thousand times before.

  I stare wide-eyed at the blade as Sosch disappears into the fissure. Kyol’s still standing here. His jaw clenches as he meets my gaze, and I know he’s thinking exactly the same thing I am: three weeks ago, there’s no way I would have caught the sword.

  * * *

  I don’t sleep in my bed. I don’t sleep much at all. After I shower, I toss my dirty and bloodstained sheets into a laundry basket then curl up on the floor with a pillow that, fortunately, wasn’t used by the vigilante. Not surprisingly, my dreams are unpleasant. My recurring nightmares about Thrain, the false-blood who dragged me into the Realm a decade ago, aren’t the worst this time. The worst are the ones where my friends are dead. Lena’s been made tor’um, I find Naito skinned alive and hanging from the rafters in the palace, and the head of Shane, the Sighted human I haven’t seen since I lost him in London, is delivered to me in a box.

  As for Kyol? I watch an executioner stab a sword through Kyol’s chest over and over and over again, feeling every wound as if it’s piercing my own heart. The high nobles are looking on, satisfied grins on all their faces because they’re killing the fae who killed their king.

  I can’t wake from any of those visions. It’s only my last nightmare that wrenches my soul so hard I lurch upright, sweat-soaked, wheezing, and with Aren’s agonized scream echoing in my ears. He’s locked in silver-plated shackles and forced to watch as I’m thrown onto a bed in a tjandel. We’re both fighting, him trying to get to me and me trying to get away from the sick bastards who want to rape and skin me. The dream only ends when one of those assholes draws a dagger across my throat.

  Wide-eyed, I stare at the foot of my bed from my pile of blankets on the floor, attempting to calm down my racing heartbeat. How much of my fear and horror Kyol felt, I don’t know. He isn’t in my world, but his wall is down. He’s worried.

  Just a dream, I think, reassuring both him and myself. I’m okay.

  After a few deep breaths, I am for the most part all right. I’ve had nightmares my whole life. They’ve never predicted the future. There’s no reason for them to become premonitions now.

  I shove away the
last traces of the dreams, then climb to my feet. I’m lucky I woke when I did—it’s later than I expected—and I have to throw on my work clothes and skip breakfast to make it to work on time. Judy’s there and waiting. When she asks what happened yesterday, I tell her I had a seizure. It’s clear she doesn’t believe me, but she lets me stay on the condition that, if it happens again, I either need a note from my doctor or I’ll be let go. Considering how I left and the fact that I practically kidnapped Kynlee, that’s more than fair, so I thank her and park myself behind the reference desk.

  I’m by myself for the first hour, so I go through my normal routine. I check my e-mail, hoping that I finally have some news on Shane. Not only have I contacted all the London hospitals, but I’ve talked to the police and even the U.S. embassy. None of them have seen or heard from him, and they’re sick of my calls. It doesn’t help that he didn’t enter the country legally.

  Paige swears the remnants didn’t take him. She doesn’t have a reason to lie.

  But someone had to take him. If she’s not lying, then . . .

  Then I don’t know what the hell happened to him.

  I click off my e-mail—the three new messages I received were all spam—and scan the library. There’s no sign of Kynlee. That’s not unusual given that it’s a Saturday morning, and she’s usually only here after school. I totally abuse my position and access the library’s patron records. Her last name is Walker, her dad’s name is Nick, and apparently, they’ve lived here for at least the last six years. He’s only checked out a few books over the years, nothing interesting. Even with a fae as a daughter, he’s doing a much better job at living a normal human life than I ever did.

  “Excuse me.”

  I tear my gaze away from the screen. A woman is standing at the desk.

  “Sorry,” I say, clicking off Nick’s account information. “Can I help you?”

  Hers isn’t the last question I answer. We get busier during lunch, so I don’t get a chance to call Paige until my break. I need to tell her about my conversation with Lee, but mostly, I want to ask her about Caelar. If he is working with the false-blood, Lena needs to know—and Paige needs to stay the hell away from him and all the remnants. The false-blood is skinning humans. Paige chose her side, but she was my only human friend for almost a decade, and I’m the reason she’s become entangled in the fae’s world. She at least deserves a warning.

  Paige doesn’t answer my call, though. This is the longest we’ve gone without talking since I left the Realm. I’m sure she’s probably okay—her cell phone might be dead or lost—but I can’t completely shake off the feeling of dread that crawls across my shoulders.

  I leave a voice mail telling her we need to talk.

  * * *

  A day passes. Then another and another. I should be relaxing into my normal, human life, but every morning, I wake up more tense and stressed out than the last one. Paige hasn’t called me back. Neither has Lee, and the time I spend not working drags by almost as slowly as the time when I am. Hell, I even miss Sosch, who abandoned me when he leaped into Kyol’s fissure.

  I check the time on my computer screen—it’s just after 3:00 P.M. A little less than an hour until I get off and go home to an empty apartment.

  The thought has crossed my mind that today is a weekday, and if Kynlee sticks to her normal schedule, she should be here this afternoon. I have half a mind to make her take me to the Realm again. I won’t. Not only is it dangerous for both of us, but her dad seems like a sling-a-shotgun-over-his-shoulder kind of man.

  Still, my gaze keeps going to the teen section. I’m curious about her, and I want to know if any other tor’um live in the area. Do they know any fae at all? Or is her dad keeping them one hundred percent isolated from her people?

  “McKenzie?”

  “Yes? Can I help—” I choke off my words when my gaze swings toward the voice. There, standing just in front of the reference desk, is Trev. I open my mouth to ask what’s wrong, but close it quickly because I’m not on reference duty alone. A librarian named Rachel is here, and since she’s not staring at Trev’s jaedric armor or protesting the presence of the sword belted around his waist, he has to be invisible. Fae almost always are when they’re in my world.

  Rachel’s helping a patron, so I give Trev my best questioning look.

  “We need you in Tholm,” he says.

  “Tholm?” I cover that question with a cough. Trev nods. Normally, I’d balk at fissuring to that city. Tholm isn’t exactly in the middle of nowhere, but the nearest gate is in Corrist, a full day’s walk away. That’s fine if you’re fae, but not if you’re human. Twenty-something hours of nonstop walking pretty much sucks. It doesn’t, however, suck as much as watching the clock in my world while wondering what’s going on in the fae’s.

  And, fortunately, tomorrow’s my day off.

  I’m about to stand up when an older man approaches the desk. Trev steps out of the way at the last second.

  “Can you help me find information on World War II?” the man asks.

  “Um, yes,” I say. My brain is so wrapped up in the Realm and the fae, it’s hard to mentally shift gears, and his request is vague. I should ask him questions to narrow down exactly what he wants, but I just point to the nonfiction section and say, “940s.”

  He thanks me and moves on, but there’s a woman in line after him, and another man waiting. It figures that we’d be busy at the most inconvenient time.

  “How can I help you?” I ask the woman.

  “The computer won’t let me sign in.”

  “I need an answer now,” Trev says.

  I throw Trev the tiniest glare, then say to the woman, “The pin number is the last four digits of your phone number.”

  Nine times out of ten, that solves the problem, but I use the excuse to leave the reference desk and follow the woman to her computer terminal.

  “I won’t wait any longer,” Trev grates out.

  Chill out, I want to say to him as the woman sits in her chair. There’s only half an hour until I get off work. Rachel can handle the reference desk on her own. She might not even notice I’m gone. On the other hand, she might, and I’m already in trouble with Judy. I could lose my job if I leave now, but if I’m needed in the Realm . . .

  There’s always a ticking clock when it comes to tracking the fae. We never know how long a target is going to stay put.

  My choices are to wait half an hour and risk Trev leaving me behind or to leave, risking my job and the normal life I’ve always thought I wanted.

  The seconds tick by as the woman types in her pin number. When the computer turns on, she thanks me. I nod, then look at Trev, whose expression is rigid and impatient.

  After one last glance at the reference desk, I slide my keys out of my pocket. I can’t abandon the fae.

  EIGHT

  I DON’T KNOW if it’s the cold punch of the In-Between, the icy bite of the driving rain, or the sudden surge of Kyol’s emotions that makes my breath whoosh out of my lungs. Maybe it’s the combination of all three that throws me off-balance. I slip on the cobblestones underfoot and land on one knee, stifling a curse when my pant leg gets soaked.

  By the time I get back to my feet, Kyol’s reined in his emotions. Obviously, he didn’t know I was coming to the Realm.

  I draw in a deep breath, willing myself to feel nothing, then I pull up the hood of the cloak Trev gave me. He gave me a sword and jaedric cuirass, too. The latter is cinched tight around my torso, and swung over my shoulder is my leather-strapped notebook. I haven’t touched it since I moved from the hotel suite to my apartment—I almost forgot I’d stowed it under my driver’s seat—but the familiarity of it pressing against my side is oddly comforting.

  Trev squats down behind a low, stone wall. Reluctantly, I do as well. We’re standing in almost an inch of cold rainwater. It seeps quickly over the top of my black dress shoes—fae always forget the shoes—instantly numbing my toes.

  Lovely.

  “T
his way,” Trev says, leading the way alongside the wall. He stays crouched down low. I’m not sure why. It’s night here, and with the rain driving down so hard, no one will see us. I can barely see the edarratae on my own skin, and that’s not an entirely good thing. If the weather doesn’t change, I’m going to have to practically be on top of any fae I track. If Trev had commented on the weather when he asked me to come to Tholm, I might have gone straight back to my desk.

  I’m not sure exactly where we are, but I remember the wall. It circles half the western portion of the city. Supposedly, sometime back before the Duin Bregga, it was topped by melted silver and contained all of Tholm, but five millennia of rain and erosion have nearly worn the silver away, and due to the fertile soil and its close proximity to the Imyth Sea, the city has long since overflowed the confines of the wall.

  The rain increases as we climb a slope. I keep one hand on the wall in case I slip on the smooth cobblestones. It’s odd being in such a heavy downpour with no lightning or thunder, just the torrential rain and a wind strong enough to twist my heavy cloak around my legs. Only the outer part of the cloak is drenched. The inside is lined with the soft, waterproof skin of a sikki, a sea animal that lives in the Realm’s oceans. I wrap my hands into the wet folds of the material and try to keep it from tangling around my legs.

  Trev doesn’t seem to have any problems with the weather. He’s sure-footed on the slippery stones. He has an advantage, though: his boots get far better traction than my dress shoes. The heels are the shortest I could—

  Trev stops so suddenly, only a quick grab at the wall keeps me from falling on my ass. I grip the hilt of my sword, start to pull it out as I look for the threat, but then I see him—Aren—crouched down behind the wall.

  He looks from Trev to me. It’s dark, and with my hood up and the continued downpour, he can probably only see the flash of edarratae across my skin, not my actual face. He moves forward, then whips off my hood. His silver eyes meet mine for one heartbeat—for two—then he turns back to Trev.