Plink.
I gritted my teeth as forceps poked and explored. I'd spotted at least seven adults in camp, but no one spoke. Several rock tumblers rumbled in the far corner beneath the stairs and a shelf of what I assumed were jars of coconut oil. I had tried initiating conversation with the medic, but she was completely business. Everyone else kept their distance.
I rubbed my forehead, wanting the sun to set. I knew Raina would punish me for the battle, and thinking about the future made my headache worse. Delano had promised he'd stay beside me in the darkshine, but reality felt slippery, and I yearned to see his face, hold his hands, feel his shadows. I needed proof we could survive anything, and not even the Realm could break us.
Plink.
The medic blew chopped, dark hair out of her eyes. Her forceps dug and her bunny-like face blurred behind my tears. Adrenaline had faded, and I hated how I yelped and cried, hated how I lacked control. I felt chaotic, like the wires snarling along the walls and ceiling, reminding me of an octopus mosh pit, and capable of giving electricians hives. I doubted even the camp's hinges would pass building code. The disorganization gave the space an air of paranoid madness, as if the walls muttered to each other, and the doors swung only to assure no one watched.
Plink.
Five adults peeked down from the upper level banister, as if the sleeping quarters was a gallery and I was the performance. Worry punctuated their whispers, and words like darkling, sundown, and territorial seeped through. I clutched the bed-sheet to my bare breasts and pretended I was alone.
The camp's open floor-plan forbade privacy. Two cinderblock jail cells stood catty-corner to my feet, sharing space with the dining area to my right. Tables filled most of the area; a stack of solar panels, mismatched cabinetry, and a grotty kitchenette crammed the remaining space. The dining area's closed door hid the hallway to supplies and Cham's quarters, the camp's sole private room. A blue curtain beside the owl concealed the restroom, which I had stupidly asked to use after my arrival. The narrow room consisted of a drain and hose, six toilets, and no partitions. The toilet seats sat over five-gallon buckets, layered with sawdust. I'd almost passed out from holding my breath.
A door clacked. Orin led his nine soldiers and four hostages down the stairs. He was still shirtless, a rifle clutched in his hand, a dandelion tucked behind a pointed ear. Three gnarly, pink scars cut from shoulder to hip. Unlike Delano's flogging scars, which had healed in ridges and paled over time, Orin's had channeled like ruts. The retriever tattoo he'd strove and sacrificed for had become meaningless, broken lines.
Broken lines for a broken life.
Sacks were pulled off the prisoners' heads before they were thrown into the cells. A male and female sentry in the one closest to me, the mining master and a sniffer in the other. The woman sentry grinned as if she'd won a prize when Kager cut off her long, chestnut curls. The male sentry sniveled, and Greeson, the mining master, paced the bars spitting empty threats. The sniffer sat silent.
Two rebels wrangled the sniffer's hound with ropes in a tug-of-war, each yanking to protect the other from being mauled. The hound was a tornado of gnashing teeth, bristled beige fur, and bloodshot eyes. The children hugged beneath the tables. Kager fetched a collapsible kennel from storage and assembled it near the side door. After creative maneuvers, and using a chair like a lion tamer, the rebels forced the snarling hound inside.
Plink.
Orin scooted a chair to my bedside. He plucked the dandelion from his ear and tickled my nose with the petals. I smiled, then the forceps twisted. I clenched the mattress and cried.
"What pain reliever is she on?" Orin asked the medic.
"Ibuprofen."
"Ibuprofen!" Orin gasped. "She's in agony! Why isn't she on opap or a healer like—?"
"Cham refuses," she said. "We have limited Realm meds and, uh, you know."
She isn't one of us, her unspoken words whispered.
She dug the forceps into another wound. I squeezed my eyes and bit my pillow, tears streaming.
"This is ridiculous!" Orin spat, turning people's heads to the commotion. "She's been tortured enough!"
"I can't do anything," the medic said. "Only Cham releases those medications. If you want to beg him, go ahead."
Plink.
Orin clasped my hand. He glared at the medic, but I was relieved she refused to obey Orin's wishes. It helped me feel less intrusive. If someone was denied meds because they'd been used on me, I'd never forgive myself.
"I'm okay," I told Orin. "Really. I—" Forceps dug, and I clenched Orin's hand so tight his bones clicked.
Orin petted my hair as Cham strutted from his quarters, wearing a flannel shirt closed with fabric ties, and a black beanie. He clapped his hands together when he saw the hostages, his grin hungry. "Excellent! Who surrendered?"
"Two sentries, a mining master, and a sniffer," Kager said.
"A mining master? Why do we have—?" Cham shook his head with a laugh. "Ya know what? I don't even care. That's at least ten grand in ransom money." He punched the air, grinning. "We'll feast in a week! Did any not surrender?"
"There were twenty more than yo—we—expected. Raina escaped. Everyone else, except the hostages, perished." Kager glared at Cham, his voice rough. "No casualties on our end."
Cham's smile vanished. His eyes darted across the rebel faces he'd sent into battle. Color returned to his complexion and his smile fanned as wide as a peacock's tail. "Great job, fae!" He clapped Kager's shoulder. Kager scowled. "I knew a full frontal assault would be victorious!"
"We didn't do a frontal assault," said a fourteen-year-old girl.
Orin's head wheeled, his eyes wide on the kid. I watched, speechless, unaware someone so young had fought.
"Orin had us perform flanks while he ran distraction." The girl grinned. Her fluffy short hair reminded me of a chocolate rose. "It was great! We totally worked as a team and kicked their butts!"
Cham blinked. "Orin…? Perform…?" His jaw clenched; his narrowed eyes shifted to Orin, who stared at the dandelion twisting between his fingers.
"Kager, establish a jailer schedule," Cham said, his voice thin and strained. His fists clenched. "And Orin…" Orin peeked up from the flower as if expecting the whack of a newspaper. "Report. Now. Before Delano throws a tantrum over his girly staining our linens."
"Yes, sir," Orin said. They held each other's stares, then Cham spun on his boot-heel and disappeared behind the door.
Orin released a long breath.
"Are you in trouble?" I whispered.
Orin shrugged as if to say who cares? He twirled the dandelion against my nose, his smile as bright as its yellow face. "You and my soldiers are safe. It's a good day." He tucked the flower behind my ear and left to report to Cham.
Plink.
Hours passed. My heart seemed to pump ten beats for every second. The medic removed as much birdshot as possible, but I'd carry pellets inside me for the rest of my life. My thigh and back were now both stitched, my scrapes and bruises treated. Vina blessedly brought me an oversized T-shirt and loose cotton shorts, worn and stained, but clean. I thanked her for fighting, but she shrugged it off and left without conversation. I sighed. The whole time the male sentry cried and blubbered in his cell's corner. I remembered him beneath the gallows-tree, his smirk when his big bad gun made him feel invincible. Now he was a sniveling puddle of fear and regrets, and annoyed me so much I nicknamed him Weeper. The woman kept her forehead against her knees, and the sniffer appeared to be meditating. The mining master finally shut up, but glared so noxiously I concentrated on my drinking glass.
Orin had emerged from his meeting looking disgruntled, then disappeared outside until ten minutes ago. Cham clicked on a television bolted in the corner near the cells. The faeries gathered around it expectantly. The screen hissed black and white snow. The sniffer's hound growled and gnashed, bar-shaped wounds ringing its muzzle.
A red-headed man glanced around the camp. "D-do you think the darkli
ng is here?"
"Of course he's here. Darklings protect their partners viciously. He hasn't left her side." Cham sneered at Orin. "It's a good thing you rescued her. Delano might've blamed us if you failed."
"It's a good thing we rescued her," Orin agreed through gritted teeth.
Cham glared as if he wanted to boot me out of his camp, but he didn't, which gave me hope. The television hissed snow. Delano's backpack had been recovered and sat beside my bed. The contents—his phone, notebooks and pens, a few tampons, some cash—were the remainders of our lives. I'd handle Cham's attitude and medication forbiddance if it meant I might become a catalyst for the start of a working relationship. Especially after witnessing Orin's leadership. If I could convince Delano to fight with the rebels, I knew we'd have a shot against the Realm.
Heck, after today, Del will probably join them willingly.
A trumpet sounded. A red R flashed on screen, and my eyebrows jumped when Raina's face appeared. One would never know she'd been in battle hours before. Her hair was perfect, her makeup perfect, her scarlet blouse probably tailored for her curves. "Greetings, brothers and sisters…"
Orin sat beside me. Most of the faeries clustered near the screen, eyes glued. Vina sat at a table, jotting in a spiral-bound notebook.
"Raina broadcasts reports every night to Earth workers who must, by law, tune in," Orin whispered to me. "Last time a hostage was captured, Raina eventually pretended a rescue occurred, alerting rebels where to meet. We collected three thousand dollars for a single sentry. Mostly, though, these reports are propaganda."
Propaganda indeed. Raina spewed about the Realm's strength and perfection, and how their citizens enjoyed more prosperity than every known world, and darklings were demons hell-bent to destroy it. She bloviated about agriculture and production (all wonderful, of course). Her political insights made no sense to me, but I couldn't concentrate, anyway. Sundown neared. Let me end this horrible day in Delano's arms. Let's return to sanity.
Fifteen minutes later, Raina stopped spewing lies, and the television hissed snow.
"We-we didn't make the report?" Weeper said, blinking his moist eyes. The sniffer's eyebrow lifted, then he chuckled, a slight throaty sound.
"Give her a week," Kager said.
"A week?" Weeper wailed.
"Or two."
"What? But—!"
"Save it." Cham watched the wall clock. "Sunset is in ten seconds."
The faeries tensed, some fearfully, others to fight. Finally! I smiled through pain, eager to smother Delano with kisses, uncaring who saw.
"Three. Two. One."
All watched my bedside as if twilight were a séance summoning a demon.
Delano didn't materialize.
My heart pounded. Oh, God. He's trapped in the mine. The stones—
Screams pulverized my fears, and I jumped with a gasp as Delano's fists tried to drive the mining master's face through concrete.
CHAPTER TWENTY
My hand fanned over my chest as Delano's fist jackhammered into the shrieking master's eye. White frothed the corners of Delano's mouth. His nostrils flared and his veins bulged, making him appear every bit the demon Realm propaganda insisted.
"Open the cell!" Cham shouted.
Shock broke. Voices hollered. A woman cried to hide the children. Shoes squeaked in rapid succession as Greeson shrieked like a tortured rabbit. Whap! Whap! Whap! The meat-smack of fist on face. His scalp split against concrete. The sniffer's eyes flicked when blood speckled his shirt.
Keys jangled in Kager's hand. Delano wheeled on the door, snarling. Ice crackled over the lock before the keys found purchase, then climbed the bars, creating a prison of icicles.
"Del!" I shrieked as three rebels aimed guns at his head.
"Don't shoot him! Melt the lock!" Cham demanded. Arrogance edged his voice, but his eyes widened on the shadows bouncing like chuckles along the wall. Faeries tiptoed backward as fern-frost spread across the floor.
"I'm trying," Kager snapped. Heat shimmered off his hands, but the drips froze instantly, creating a glass-bead effect around the lock.
The smacking stopped. Greeson groaned on his back. Delano straddled his lap—naked flesh against stiff uniform—and unbuckled his belt.
"Get away, demon!" Greeson writhed. Delano yanked Greeson's collar up, their noses touching, icy starbursts crackling across his uniform. "Stop or—"
"Kisses, master," Delano sneered, and shoved his tongue down his old master's throat.
Delano's magic surged; my magic lusted to join him. Greeson's body bucked beneath the darkling. I clenched the cot's sides, restraining magic which begged to gobble the draining warmth.
Shadows bubbled like tar pits across the floor. Cham screamed to melt the lock, melt the lock, goddammit melt the lock now! The faeries hesitated, pale and wide-eyed, as if the tarry shadows might grab them, slurp them, drown them in darkness.
Delano pulled back, his head rolling from the high. Greeson's frostbitten mouth froze in a silent scream. His iced lungs wheezed.
Three rebels futilely worked the lock. Delano appeared in shadow, snatched a rebel's scalp and rammed their face into the bars. Kager gasped. Delano nabbed the rebel's rifle when he collapsed.
Delano wheeled on his old master, racking the bolt handle. "Do to Miriam what you did to me, huh Greeson?"
Greeson scrambled, but the floor became a skating rink and he crashed onto his stomach. "Do thumthin," he begged the sniffer in airy gasps. His toe-treads squeaked on ice. Delano violently yanked Greeson's pants and underwear to his ankles; buttons skittered across the ice. "Thtop him! Kill him! Uhnythin!"
The sniffer coughed in his corner. Shadows stilled. Ice melted beneath the rebels' hands and splashed to the floor.
"Never harm a darkling's partner." Delano rammed the rifle between his old master's cheeks and fired.
Chik! Chik! Chik! Chik!
The neighboring hostages flattened themselves against the floor as bullets blew through the master's back and shoulders, chipping the cinderblock. Rebels gawked and cringed, oblivious to Cham's shouts for control. The sniffer watched dully from his corner, motionless.
Delano emptied the rifle, then threw it at his dead master's head. Shadows reanimated like a maelstrom around the cell. Ice flakes glittered in clouds, creating a macabre, snow-globe effect. I gaped at Delano, who panted over the bleeding corpse, literature and myth and legends pouring out of him. I saw not only a darkling, but a demon punishing a sinner, a vampire who'd sucked warm life from his victim, a werewolf who'd slain his mate's attacker, an incubus who'd wielded weaponized sex. Delano was the Grim Reaper collecting, a Jack Frost jailer in a prison of ice, Old Man Winter choking the world with cold. He was Satan himself, ruling darkness and creating hell. He was every protective and destructive dark fable the Realm taletellers wove into human culture since the dawn of whispers and fear.
Yet no magic had churned when Delano pulled the rifle's trigger. He took revenge as a man.
"Dammit!" Cham yanked off his beanie and slapped it on the floor. "There goes a chunk of our ransom."
Blood and gunpowder permeated the small quarters. Faeries talked of worlds and frequencies running alongside each other, but they ran within each other, too. If humans witnessed this, there would've been screaming and shock, police called, arrests made, investigations conducted. Heck, five months ago I would've been the first to dial 9-1-1. But everyone murmured with annoyance instead of horror, as if Delano merely piddled on the carpet. The human world of laws and prosecution existed. We lived there. Yet we didn't.
The cell door groaned open. Kager aimed his rifle at the sniffer in the corner, demanding he not move. The sniffer seemed more concerned with the wall's sloppy mortar than with his dead cellmate or having his face between iron-sights.
Delano wheeled on his heel and shoved a rebel out of his way. Faeries scampered as he strode through the base, giving him a wide berth. Orin glared, chin down, at the nude, muscle rippling darkling stormi
ng toward my bed. I'd heard of war-lust, of men who grew hard during kills. For a split-second I breathed easier, discovering Delano was not that kind of man. Then his eyes locked on mine and my chest hitched. What dark fable is this? Delano's carnal face suggested I was about to be thrown over his shoulder and marched to his den where he'd ravish me, injuries and civilities be damned.
Delano leered down at me, his bare chest heaving. "You're okay?" His deep voice sounded thunderous compared with everyone's gossipy whispers.
I nodded.
His hand slid down my hair, the knuckles iced with blood. "You're okay."
"Yes."
His shoulders eased. "You're okay."
Um, was he asking me, telling me, or convincing himself? "Yes. I'm okay. We're okay."
Delano plopped onto the bedside chair with a heavy breath. I sighed, easing with him. The demon was exorcised, the werewolf shot, the vampire staked. The burning rage inside him snuffed, and I prayed this terrible day would snuff, too. I hoped from here we'd build up, recreate our life, march out of here to find a new mine and be as the Sierra Nevada mountains—chipped and sometimes gutted, but never moved or destroyed.
I caressed Delano's arm to display my alliance. Instead, my touch brushed a castle of cards. Delano pulled me close, then crumbled against my breasts and sobbed.
I stiffened, startled. My heart raced as Delano's body wracked against mine. I'd been so prepared to be comforted, I didn't know how to be the comforter. Tentatively, I wrapped my arms around his quaking body. I focused on wadded gauze on the floor, trying to ignore the increasing stares. Pain rocketed through my thigh and back and head. My thoughts raced to match reality's shift.
Delano was my mentor who wielded darkness and who'd survived abuses and tyranny, genocide and persecution. I was a floundering changeling he'd held together with infinite patience while I tried making sense of everything. I clenched my jaw and hugged him, as if bruised arms could prevent him from crumbling. For I realized, somehow, I became an emotional kingpin, and if I broke with Delano our relationship might shatter.
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