Cham locked the cell. "You better keep your promise."
"I'll tell you everything I know and get us into the bunker," the sniffer said. "Taking out the leaders and broadcasting our faces is on you, though."
"You're not broadcasting me," the woman hostage hissed.
"What choice do we have?" Weeper said.
"I stand with the Motherland, as should you," the woman spat. "I am committed to peace and light and excellence. I'll die before aiding traitors and sadists."
Cham pointed his rifle through the bars. "Interesting. Those are your two options." Weeper backpedaled. The woman glared into the barrel, chin lifted in defiance. Cham's finger tensed on the trigger … then relaxed. "Pft. I don't waste time on morons. Vina! Execute her."
Vina blinked up from her notes. "Me? But—"
"Yes you. Get over here!"
"There's no need for this," Kager said as Vina skulked to the cells.
"She must prove herself," Cham said.
Kager sneered. "Vina did prove herself, which you would've seen had you fought beside us."
"If I die from unnecessarily fighting beside you, the Realm will broadcast my corpse, destroy morale, and this unit will collapse without my strong leadership." Cham snatched Kager's rifle and shoved it into Vina's hands. "Do you want our mission to fail?"
"No—"
"No, what?"
Kager's eyes slitted. "No, sir."
Cham held Kager's stony stare, then said: "Vina, shoot her."
"Th-th-this doesn't feel right. She's duped from lies the Realm told her." Her brow furrowed. "Lies I helped spread."
"Follow orders or run alone. Your choice."
"The hostages were blindfolded when brought here," I said. "Blindfold her and release her."
"So she can kill us later?" Cham snarked. "You're the reason we're in this predicament."
"You should've ordered them killed in the field," Delano snarled. "You assumed you could use them against the Realm. This is your mess, Mr. Brilliant Leader."
"I'll execute her."
Cham smacked Kager's chest as he stepped forward to fulfill his pronouncement, but his glare remained on Delano. "No. Vina will."
"Good leaders don't dump their dirty work on others," Kager snapped.
"Excellent leaders teach when opportunities arise," Cham snapped back. His expression darkened and my spinal fluid froze. "Moreover, you both need to remember who your leader is."
Kager's lip curled. "I know exactly who my leader is."
Cham held Kager's stare. Both men refused to blink. "Shoot her, Vina. Or starve alone like before."
"But—"
"You got five seconds!" Cham roared.
"Light is inexhaustible!" the hostage preached. "The Realm shall destroy those who side with evil and darkness!"
"No! It's a lie!" Vina said.
"Five!"
"Devotion to the Realm means purity! Dying for the Realm is honor! Only light liberates!"
Vina's chest hitched. "That's not true! You must see!"
"Four!"
"I know it's true," the hostage said.
"No! You believe it's true because of fae like me!" Vina's voice was shrill. She yanked up her shirt, exposing her wings to the hostage and her breasts to the crowd. "Look! I was a taleteller! I know it's a lie!"
"Three!"
"A deserter's spirit is weak, but our spirit is strong."
Vina's head swiveled, tugging her shirt, searching for an archangel to save her. The rebels shuffled uneasily, looked away. Tears streamed down her cocoa-box face. I tensed. Delano snatched my shoulder, alarms screaming inside his squeeze.
"Two!"
Vina wheeled on Cham, the blue bead tied to her bootlace whipping. "You're a coward! A cruel, unworthy coward!" she screamed, her tone as crisp as a death warrant signature. "You're why we're failing!"
Cham aimed his rifle at her face, screaming at her to shut her trap. Kager lunged. Cham whipped the butt; Kager whirled, blood spurting from his nose. Cham swung the rifle to bear on Vina. Everyone gaped, myself included, and the endings to the Sesame Street episodes I loved as a kid flashed through my mind: This episode brought to you by the letters W, T, and F!
"Only I had the guts to step into my position!" Cham shouted. "Without me, you'd be in a pit or prison. Without me, you'll never reclaim home." His rifle jabbed Vina's chest; she stumbled backward, crying. "I refuse to fail because you're weak. Enough faeries have died at the hands of these tyrants. Last chance, Vina. I'm your leader. Obey me or you're a collaborator. She dies or you both do."
My eyes widened. Holy crap, Cham's crazy. Not seeing-leprechauns crazy, but narcissistic-to-the-point-of-psychosis crazy. He cared about retaking the Realm, but cared more about his part in playing it out. He wanted everyone to survive because he'd look bad if they died. He desired to exceed the generals' expectations so he could reap the glory. He'd hurt anyone to assure himself a noble place in history, to avoid becoming a weak footnote, or worse, not remembered at all. I should've hated him. I felt ashamed I didn't hate him while watching Vina tremble at gunpoint. Instead I felt pity, and relief I'd never feel that weak or alone.
Vina turned to the jail cell, her rifle trembling. The hostage smiled a fool's grin, full of defiance and demented prestige. "Glory to light! Glory to purity!"
"One!"
I spun and buried my face in Delano's chest.
"Long live the glorious Realm, freedom, and peace!"
Vina sobbed. "I'm sorry."
"Long live—" A shot fired, and I jumped inside a cold embrace.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Only one place in the United States was so artificial and gaudy that Earth's energies surrendered to humans, allowing darklings to conjoin without discomfort or magical conflict. And as we drove Las Vegas's bustling strip, I grinned, feeling I hit the vacationland jackpot. Excitement and anxiety battled inside my chest. I was thrilled with this holiday, but also scared to meet the darklings and Delano's friends.
Unlike the still, engulfing darkness of the Sierra Nevada, Las Vegas's shadows jumped and jived to flashing bulbs and dancing fountains. Natural rhythms felt off, although I couldn't explain why, exactly. Time seemed fluid. No day, no night, despite what the clock and sky insisted. I'd become so accustomed to the forest's stillness that the city's clang felt deafening and chaotic. I jittered watching throngs of people rush beneath towering hotels like creek water in unnatural gullies, the atmosphere buzzing with the exciting feeling of possibilities only desert neon lights create.
The rebel generals had consented to the consulate attack, and Delano and I had fled camp before the influx of rebels. I'd started our drive during daylight; Delano slept on the passenger seat in the darkshine. Talk-radio filled the car before sunset, then we rocked out to 90's grunge until Coast to Coast AM crackled through the airwaves, prickling our napes while we scrutinized the skies for UFOs and developed a plan in case of extraterrestrial invasion. The likeliest of threats in our lifetime. James, Las Vegas's darkling and the meeting's organizer, had reserved a block of discounted rooms at Caesar's Palace to keep the darklings within an elevator ride away from the meeting tomorrow night. Thus, Delano and Weldon agreed to room next-door at The Mirage.
I parked in The Mirage's garage, then opened the backdoor to recollect the food which had toppled out of our snack bag. Delano fetched our duffle-bag from the trunk. A souped-up white Ford F-350 with Texas plates my husband—
Ex-husband! He's your Ex. He's your Ex.
—would've killed for stopped beside him. The driver leaned out his window, wearing a black cowboy hat and mirrored aviator glasses.
"What's with your hair?" his southern twang asked Delano. "Ya look like a goddamn beatnik."
A woman's voice chirped from the passenger seat: "They're called hipsters now, dear."
The cowboy hat turned. "I thought hipsters had beards."
"It's optional."
The driver sighed. "Fuckin' hell, I can't keep up."
"Son, this here is a luxury vehicle." The driver stretched his neck to peek around Delano. My reflection glinted in his lenses. He whistled low. "No wonder everyone's antsy."
"They're antsy?" Delano closed the Beemer's trunk. "Good."
"Park the truck, Weldon," the woman said. "I wanna say hello."
"Alright, alright. Meet y'all in a second."
My eyes followed the F-350 down the parking garage. They must've been the size of poker chips because Delano asked: "Nervous?"
"No," I lied, rubbing my palms on my jeans. The F-350 parked at the end of the aisle. A door slammed and my stomach churned. Please let them like me. I already caused rifts between Orin and the rebels, Delano and his darkling neighbor. I didn't want to strain the relationship with Delano's friends.
I smoothed out my hair. "What did he mean everyone is antsy?"
"When a faerie passes into the darkshine, the energies shift to incorporate the new darkling and blasts a hard ripple. Everyone believes I retrieved you, but you not crossing into the darkshine is like expecting a punch without knowing when."
"How long do most changelings wait to cross?"
"Usually hours to a few days."
I blinked. "So everyone's been on edge for five months because of me? Great."
Delano shrugged. No big deal.
Weldon wheeled a suitcase down the parking garage. His partner darted ahead of him, her bejeweled flip-flop wedges clopping in an excited, shuffling run. "Deeeel!" she squealed, then threw her arms around him. Delano puffed an umph! before returning the hug. "Ya rescued your changelin'!" she said, bouncing in his arms. "I am so, so proud of you!" Her accent made it yeew. She kissed Delano's cheek, then threw her arms around me as if we were reunited best friends. "Hi! I'm Thida! I am so excited to meet you!" Yeew.
"Er, I'm excited to meet you, too." I returned the hug, Thida's body as dainty as a .308 bullet. She looked like someone who loved horses, who wasn't complete without wind in her hair and grit on her boots. I could almost hear saddles creaking in her joints, smell alfalfa on her white capris and off-shoulder blouse. Her plaited hair was the pale brown of toasted oats, streaked with hay and apple cores, and her lack of a tan seemed out of place. She stepped away and pushed her tortoiseshell sunglasses to her head, exposing sexy, intelligent moons swollen with kindness. I instantly liked her.
Scratch that. I wanted to be her.
Boots and a squeaky suitcase approached. Weldon's stiff limp accented a stride belonging on backcountry roads and dusty hoodoo trails, an old bird-dog tagging along at his side. He stood tall, like Delano, dressed in faded blue jeans and a black button-down. A crucifix was tattooed on his right index-finger, the blue ink faded; a crown of thorns ringed his left wrist. Burn scars sprayed from his shirt collar. His hat shaded the gruesome scar cutting across his hairline from ear to ear, as if someone had used an old-fashioned can-opener to broach his skull.
Weldon hugged his old cellmate, whispering something I couldn't hear. The two men slapped each other's back. Weldon pulled away, clutching Delano's shoulder and smiling. "It's good to see ya, buddy."
Weldon turned to me, and my heart pounded. He removed his mirrored glasses, revealing stern, uneven eyes. The right eye shone bright and alert, but the left was blind—a harvest moon in an overcast sky. Weldon crossed his arms and twisted his lips as if judging livestock, ensuring his best friend invested in the highest grade. He jerked his thumb at my bruised cheek. "That the Realm's handiwork?" he asked. I nodded. He grunted. "Those fuckers did a number on a ya."
"You should see them," I said.
Weldon laughed. He slapped his hand into mine and shook, his grip a bear trap. The tip of his right index finger was missing. "I'm honored to meet ya. Del speaks highly."
A car alarm chirped as we headed toward the hotel doors like two sets of partners. A group of friends. The rhinestone horseshoes hanging off their luggage's zipper clinked and glittered as we strolled to the hotel lobby. Weight melted off my ribs, and I silently laughed at myself. Of course they trust Delano's opinion and accept me, even though I'm not a darkling, I thought. Changelings are used to dysfunctional families. Abnormality is their normal.
I became a cliché tourist when we strolled into the hotel, gawking at the earthy-golden hues, the enormous saltwater fish-tank stretching across the reception wall, the mermaid statue and atrium peeking ahead.
"Checking in?" the receptionist asked as we approached the stone and wood counter.
"Yes, ma'am. Two rooms, two nights." Weldon smiled at me. "Your room is on us. Consider it a welcoming gift to the dark side."
"Credit card and identification," the receptionist said.
"No credit card. Cash." Weldon removed a wad of hundreds in a money clip from his jeans, and pushed a teal passport across the desktop.
The receptionist lifted an eyebrow. "The Republic of Kazakhstan?"
Weldon tipped his cowboy hat. "Да. Казахстан, юная леди," he replied in his Texan twang.
The receptionist blinked, then continued the check-in. "Smoking or non?"
"Non."
"One king or two doubles?"
"Kings, please."
Delano coughed. "Er, doubles for us."
Weldon and Thida stared at Delano. Weldon peered at him from above his glasses, one eyebrow raised. Delano shrunk into his shoulders with a shrug. I glanced away, tucking my lips. Weldon snorted a laugh and pushed his glasses into place. "Ya heard the man. Give 'em doubles."
When the transaction finished, Weldon grabbed his luggage and slapped his hand on Delano's shoulder. "When was the last time ya got drunk?"
"Uhh."
He handed Delano a key-card. "Ya'll meet us in the bar when you're ready."
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Thida wanted food with her alcohol, so we agreed to meet at a nearby all-night joint. Weldon and Thida were in a rear booth when we arrived. Weldon nursed a bottle of beer; two empty bottles stood in the table's center. Thida sipped a drink with a pink umbrella, wiggled her fingers in a wave when she saw us. We slid into the bench across from them. Delano set a Ross shopping bag in his lap.
"What do y'all wanna drink?" Weldon asked.
"Water's fine," Delano and I said in unison. We stole a furtive glance.
Weldon's glare narrowed on my face, as if trying to pluck my thoughts with his mind. My throat tightened. His presence was like an expansive stretch of desert. Plain, bare, and capable of destroying you if you didn't respect it. It was partly physical. His scarring and mismatched eyes intimidated, though not through looks. The pink flesh and cataract carried history, proof life existed before this moment. A life at one point he shared with Delano in a dank, oppressive pit.
If I could crack Weldon's shell like a fortune cookie, I might glimpse Delano's past as well.
A waitress delivered a plate of nachos. Weldon wagged his beer bottle. "Three more of these, please."
"You bet," the waitress said. "Cool contacts, by the way."
"Why thank ya." Weldon winked. The waitress collected the empty bottles and departed. Weldon pushed the nachos to me and Delano. "Eat."
"I ate already," Delano said.
"Me too." We both smiled.
"Riiiight." Thida ate the pineapple chunk off her umbrella's toothpick. "Shoot us straight, Del. How broke are ya?"
Delano stiffened. "Well, uh."
"That bad, huh?"
He ran a hand through his hair, smiling sheepishly. "It's been a weird year."
Weldon leaned back and crossed his arms. "Uh huh."
"The Realm sicced a retriever on Miriam faster than I expected, so I ditched the Subaru in Utah to travel during daylight. I needed my savings to buy another car."
"Uh huh."
"I've also been teaching everything the Realm should have, so mining dwindled." Delano laughed nervously. "And the vein's practically dry."
"Minin's beneath ya, anyway," Weldon said. "How broke are ya?"
"Then a mountain fell on my stash."
"Cut to the chase," Thida said. "How much ya got?"
Delano sunk into his shoulders. "About $250."
Thida sighed. "Well, it's more than we expected."
"I'm, uh, doing a job for the rebels."
Weldon pressed his eyes against his palms. "Oh, Jesus."
Thida's frown quivered. She dug a rolled wad of hundreds the width of a pop can from her purse and tossed it to him. "Here."
Delano pushed the money back. "Oooh no, no, no."
"Take it!" Thida insisted, slapping the wad into his hand. "We don't need it. You do."
"But—"
"You're why Weldon ain't slavin' in a pit, and ya gotta think about Miriam, too." Thida grinned impishly. "Besides, our wind farm is producin' above public expectations and I gotta feelin' we'll have fantastic cotton crops this year. Unlike our local competitors."
Delano plucked the wad's rubber-band, smirking. "You're terrible."
"Call it their darklin' tax," Weldon said. "We also brought y'all clothes for tomorrow's shit-show, but we didn't know—" Glasses shattered. A group of frat boys whooped across the bar as everyone glanced to the red-faced bartender. "We, uh, uh—" Weldon's brow furrowed. "What was I sayin'?"
"Clothes for shit-show," Thida said, and popped a gooey chip into her mouth.
"Right. We didn't know your shoe sizes, so Miriam can buy those durin' the day."
"I brought three of my favorite dresses," Thida told me. "I'm sure they'll fit, but I understand if ya prefer somethin' of your own."
I admired Thida's simple, classy blouse and braid. "I'm sure what you brought is fine. Thank you."
"I have a gift for you, too." Delano tossed Weldon the plastic shopping bag.
"Got it at Ross, I see."
"Not quite."
Weldon pulled out the mining master's hat. He stared, blinking, then dropped it like a live coal. "Where the hell'd ya get this?"
"Off Greeson's corpse."
Thida gasped. Weldon slapped a hand over his mouth. "You're lyin'."
Dark Ember Page 19