Resistance

by Allana Kephart

  Could it be a bit of leftover ‘anxiety’ from having a rock thrown at me when she saw me sitting in her pathway? Or maybe her instinct was to start throwing knives, had her brother not laughed it off and drug her away? Yes — yes, that is a good assumption.

  I huff at myself and leap down to another branch. This is stupid. If I’m not going to get my shit together and at least offer my assistance, I might as well leave and find a group that might not shoot to kill on sight.

  As I am considering how long it will take me to get to Chicago or maybe Denver, where the people might be a little saner, I see the sleepy guard — Sean I think his name is — lingering around the Dolan’s backyard. He should be out patrolling the perimeter again, I remember. Once again I am intrigued by something that is none of my business, and I jump down lower on the tree to see him better. He’s with someone, but the leaves shield them. Sean is speaking. “…sleeping. We could go in, get freak-o, and get out without even waking her up.”

  “I don’t know why you’re attached to her,” a flat voice replies. “Her parents are gone. Stage a break-in and slit her throat.”

  “You’re saying you don’t want her?” Sean hisses. “And I’m not ‘attached’.”

  The other man doesn’t reply for a moment and I lean forward on the branch I’m perched on, trying to get a glimpse of his face, but I slip and end up hanging by one paw. An involuntary yelp shoots out of my mouth and I abandon trying to see the man; instead vaulting myself up and away from them before I am seen.

  “What was that?” the faceless man says, an edge of concern giving tone to his words.

  Sean looks up in the trees and shakes his head. “A bird or something. No big—”

  “I’m out,” the other man says. “Grow a pair and handle her, Sean. Don’t make me tell you again.”

  Sean opens his mouth to say something, but retreating footsteps stop him. He groans and looks between the houses sharing the darkened yard and shakes his head before rushing off in the same direction, back towards his post.

  Handle her? I think to myself. Who could they be talking about besides Fi? The only other ‘her’ that lives in either house at this time is a mother of four, and with the content of their conversation that simply makes no sense.

  The girl is a moving target, and I’ll bet money she doesn’t even realize she’s got a rat in her midst. Leaving now is no longer an option. I can’t walk away when I know someone is going to get hurt or killed if I do. I sigh and make up my mind — it’s time I grow a pair of my own and enter the picture.

  Early the following morning I sneak out of the compound, passing Sean as I go. He’s asleep and therefore does not try to kill me again. I am almost disappointed that I didn’t get to see him start crying for mama over one tiny little fox, but I suppose it’s for the best. An animal dragging back clothing might raise suspicion, and I need none of that today.

  It isn’t even dawn yet. There is a light mist hanging in the air, creating a dampness I find uncomfortable. I hate spring. It’s not a far fetch to believe — I am meant to be in an autumnal atmosphere, and well…pollen and daily rain just doesn’t fit the bill. I shake the dew out of my fur and carefully morph back into my humanoid form. Joints crack and pop back into place and I wince a little. It’s never been a fun part of being Fae — the shifting aspect — but it’s usually easier when I’ve done it more than once in over half a year.

  The humid air sticks to my skin immediately and I scowl, but I slip into the clothes I have nonetheless. I am thankful I had the forethought to bring my jacket; an old charcoal gray thing I lifted from a friend of mine. It was probably the nicest thing he owned, but he never wore anything to keep warm, anyway. He probably doesn’t even realize it’s gone, and if he does, he’s smart enough to know I borrowed it…and that he will probably never get it back.

  I pull the coat tighter over my shoulders and take a seat on the grass. It, too, is wet from last night, and it seeps into my jeans. Ignoring it, I rest my head against the old oak and wait. The shadows lead me to believe dawn is just breaking, meaning she will be leaving her house momentarily.

  I am watching the outline a white dandelion has made, keeping track of time, when I hear oncoming footsteps. I don’t look up until the steady beating of her feet on the dirt path slow and then stop. She’s panting from her work out; her shirt is dark with sweat, her long, dark hair tied up behind her head. She’s watching me, and she knows full well I don’t belong here. I expect her to draw a knife, scream, or lunge at me, but what she does…is smile.

  “Hi,” she says sweetly. Her smile grows wider at my complete confusion; her perfect white teeth on full display for the world to see. I slowly raise a brow at her as she takes a few steps closer, still beaming like she’s running into an old friend. “That’s close enough,” I say sharply once her shadow crosses over my feet.

  Her chest is still rising and falling at an increased pace, but the smile remains firmly in place. She has a ring piercing her left brow and a smattering of freckles over her cheeks and nose. I’m not sure I like being close enough to see all this right now, but at least she stopped moving. “I don’t think I know you, sir,” she says, as if I didn’t say a thing. “Are you new?”

  I almost laugh. As if she doesn’t know everyone who comes in and out of this place. “Not really,” I admit, smirking when her brow furrows. “You can drop the cutesy act. It really doesn’t look good on you.”

  Her smile is forced now, and it falls off her face after I hold my ground. I suddenly understand that she was trying to convince me she was harmless, non-threatening — she must have immediately realized she didn’t just stumble upon me. “Who are you?” she asks; her once sweet tone now harsh and blunt. “How did you get in?”

  “A friend,” I answer. “I’ll tell you how I got in later. Any other deep and personal questions you’d like to ask?”

  Her hand inches down her thigh as she leans down ever so slightly and hitches her shorts up. Knowing full well she isn’t going for a sexy show, I inhale and realize just how many iron weapons she has hidden beneath her shirt and shorts. “I have all the friends I need right now, and if you don’t tell me how you got in here within the next ten seconds, I’m afraid you won’t have much of a later to look forward to.”

  Her statement might have been more nerve shattering had she been able to look me in the eye when she said it. I roll my eyes and wave my hand at her. “Keep that thing in your pants, okay? I’m not here to play with your ego, or cause you bodily injury, or any other terrible thing I’m sure your mind is dreaming of right now.”

  She pulls in a deep breath and huffs at me; her emerald green eyes narrowing in irritation. “Your name—now—or you’ll be digging this out of your gut. I’m NOT fooling around with you.”

  I can’t hold in the chuckle at that, and I bite my tongue to keep from pointing out her use of words. I’m well aware we haven’t fooled around before…I would remember, is fighting to get past my tongue, but “Flint,” falls out of my mouth before I can stop it. I pause; choking on air, in total disbelief that I really just told her my real name. Everyone — including most of my family — believes my first name is Keegan. I do that to keep my true name from coming out. Once you have a Fae’s full name you pretty much have them on strings, and it never ends well for the former. But I can’t exactly take it back now, can I? So I just sigh and add, “My name is Flint.”

  She shakes her head, as if unimpressed with my answer. I narrow my eyes and she says, “My name is Fianna and I am in charge here. Why are you here, Flint?”

  The way she says my name sets my teeth on edge and I smirk at her again, knowing it’s unsettling. “I know who you are,” I say, shitty grin fully in place, and she bristles. “And I can guarantee you won’t believe me if I told you.”

  She’s still for a moment, watching for any movement I might make, and then the blade previously sheathed on her thigh is out and at her side, ready for use. I suppress a sigh. “This is iron, Flint.
” No shit, really? I thought it was plastic wear. “I’m not afraid to use it. I don’t care if you think I’ll believe you or not — tell me now. Why are you here? How long have you been inside the city? Who are you looking for?”

  She edges forward as her voice grows louder, and animalistic instinct tells me she isn’t planning on waiting for any answers. I raise a hand and the grass beneath her feet comes alive with hot, wild flames, inches away from her legs. She yelps, scrambles backwards and somehow manages not to fall on her ass. Her eyes are comically wide as she looks back at me, the confusion and shock making her look her age for the first time.

  “I said you were close enough,” I explain, and let the fire die away. It reignites in her eyes when the realization that I could have lit her on fire hits her, and I know telling her I had them completely under control, that she was safe, will get me nowhere. “You’re not very fond of conversing, are you?” I ask instead. I am very good at digging myself deeper into piles of crap.

  “Well excuse me,” she says with a scowl. “I don’t normally converse with strange Fae men that just show up out of nowhere on my morning run. I guess I’m out of practice.” She eyes the slight char on the grass, affirming what just happened was real, and takes a few cautious steps back.

  I slowly shift onto my knees and pull myself up into a standing position. Her fist clenches tighter on the blade in her hand and she takes another step away from me. I lift my hands in a surrendering gesture before resting them in my front pockets and leaning back on the tree. “I wouldn’t say I’m ‘strange’, really,” I mutter lightly.

  “You’re strange enough, in my opinion,” she says, eyeing me like a wild animal.

  “I’ll take it as a compliment, then,” I answer, keeping my voice light and teasing.

  “What do you want?” she asks again; the words coming out as a shaken sigh. She’s rocking her weight back and forth from foot to foot, ready to bolt.

  “I’d like to help,” I finally say, and fully expect her to laugh. “Enlist, so to speak.”

  She stares at me for a full minute and bats her eyes. Judging by the look on her face, she expected me to say something else. I’ve stumped her. “What exactly do you think you can help us with?”

  “Oh, the list is long, Fi. But if things don’t change, you’ll be drowning in much nastier Fae than myself in no time,” I reply, and watch as her whole body tenses. “And something tells me that’s not a common goal around here.”

  “Other Fae? Coming here?” she asks. The thought has already crossed her mind, and now that someone, one of the Fae, has confirmed her suspicions, she’s terrified. Her eyes move from me to the path she was just on, trying to figure out if she can outrun me. “Why would they come here now?”

  I’m about to answer her, but her constant twitching is making me nervous. I huff. “God, love,” I snap, and she looks at me funny. That was the desired effect. I’m not sure why ‘love’ is her new nickname — I haven’t used that on anyone in years — but it irritates her, so it fits. “If I wanted to hurt you, I would’ve done it by now, don’t you think? Take a breath.”

  She watches me a moment longer before taking in a slow breath, nodding and slightly softening her death grip on the dagger. She is far from calm, but she seems to have relaxed just a bit. She puffs up again, stands as straight as she possibly can and says, “I want your word that you mean no harm to anyone in this city. If you can give me that, you can come with me and we will discuss how you can help us.”

  Ah, she’s so official. Adorable.

  Thing is, I am well aware there is at least one rat in this city, and where there’s one, there’s a family. By telling her I mean no harm to anyone, I am lying, and being Fae, that is impossible on my part. Telling her I can’t agree with that statement is also out of the question, so instead I say, “I mean no harm to anyone who means no harm to you or myself. I’ll promise you that.”

  She nods, aware that I can’t lie to her, and puts her knife away; casually wiping her hands on the fabric of her shorts. “I can accept that. I won’t let any harm come to you from my people if you stay true to your promise.”

  Part of me wants to remind her I’m fully capable of taking care of myself, but I let her have the moment and shrug. “I’m full-blooded Fae, sweetheart. I made you a promise. I physically can’t break it.”

  She shakes her head and walks past me, back towards the city, and glances back when I don’t immediately follow. “Well come on, Flint.”

  I edge forward slightly to make sure she’s serious before I fall into step beside her. The crunch of gravel is the only sound between us and I am almost grateful. She isn’t exactly what I expected — she’s far stealthier than I would have bet, and makes my paranoia look practically non-existent — but I suppose she’s close enough. This will be great fun, I can already tell.

  “Oh, and one more thing,” she adds suddenly as we get closer to our destination. The familiar headache picks up again at the overwhelming amount of iron and I hide a wince. “My name is Fianna, but most people call me Fi. I would appreciate if you’d stick to that as well.”

  I chuckle and shake my head. She turns to look at me; quirking a brow and daring me to say anything other than agreement. I’m tempted. “I’ll do my best,” I say instead, and smirk at her. She rolls her eyes and continues forward, itching to punch me in the jaw, and I follow.

  Great fun, indeed.

  Chapter 5—Fi

  April 2102

  Glancing at the man walking next to me, I find myself studying his face and form. Part of me feels like I’ve seen him before and I am racking my brain as to how that could be possible; fingers tapping against my bottom lip as I think, instincts in overdrive. My eyes take in the not quite short, slightly messy, rusty-blondish hair, move over the sharp planes of his face, down to his full lips, and then his startling golden brown eyes meet mine. When he catches me studying him, he smirks.

  “Goodness,” Flint says in a teasing tone, his Scottish accent making his voice far too appealing for comfort. “You could at least offer me a drink before you start undressing me with your eyes, love.”

  That’s when it hits me and I feel the insane urge to go shout at my brother that I was right. “Oh, get over yourself! You’re the fox from that tree! I knew there was something off with that animal!” I sputter and he smirks again, making me consider the merits of punching him in the mouth for a moment.

  “I was hoping you’d figure that out,” he says, looking way too satisfied with himself for my liking.

  I silently count to ten like my Gran taught me when I was a girl and I found myself wanting to hurt someone, and fight to keep my face blank. “Oh? Why’s that?”

  “For starters, it tells me you have good instincts.” He looks at me intently and seems to be waiting for something to happen. “It makes me believe in you a bit more, even if you do have horrible aim. And honestly it’s a weird topic to work into a conversation, and I wasn’t sure how to bring it up.”

  My irritation reaches new heights for the day and I hear the blood pounding in my ears as I stop walking altogether and turn towards him with my hands balled into fists. “I do not have horrible aim! My brother messed up my shot!” I force myself to breathe deeply and shake myself a little. I will not let this pain in the ass faery get under my skin.

  He takes a small step back, lifts a brow and tries not to let me see his grin. “Hey, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Don’t get so rattled.”

  Seething silently, I turn and start walking towards home again without looking to see if he’s following. My hands itch for my dagger so I can show him how ‘horrible’ my aim is. I hear him chuckle behind me as we round the final corner before my house and I take a deep breath, reminding myself that I couldn’t very well leave a faery in the park for someone else to find. Our community vegetable gardens are there, and people will be on the premises working within the hour. I did what I had to… right? I wonder what my mother would have to say about thi
s turn of events and then wish I hadn’t. I cannot afford to show any kind of weakness right now or ever; one of the many things she taught me. I keep calm. He’s promised me he means us no harm, and I know he cannot break a promise. Unfortunately I know I won’t be comfortable with my decision until I talk to someone about this, which means it’s time to see Uncle Seamus.

  My father’s brother is an excellent judge of character, and while he doesn’t want to be in charge, he is more than happy to offer an ear whenever I need it. He’ll tell me if I’m making a mistake by allowing this faery to join our ranks. I thank my stars daily that I have him. If it weren’t for his unwavering support, I don’t know what I would have done over the last few months. Still, as open-minded and level-headed as he is, even my uncle might take issue with me bringing a faery directly into his house. I catch myself before I can sigh and glance at Flint. Maybe I could knock him out for a little while? At least that would shut him up. However it also might get me set on fire, so I file that plan in the ‘not a good idea’ pile and move on.

  The backyard we enter is situated so it connects my uncle’s and my outdoor area, and there is always a guard posted there as much as I wish it wasn’t necessary. Today it might be a very good thing, depending on who’s on duty. I rack my brain and try to remember what day it is and what time it is and who should be stationed in my backyard enjoying a boring spring morning. Some of these men have lived their entire lives inside these walls and have never seen an actual faery. Most of them would like to keep things that way. They were raised—hell, most of us were raised—to believe all faeries were the enemy of humanity.

  I see Matt Nelson leaning on the picnic table in our backyard and curse my rotten luck. He is a burly father of three who was good friends with my father. He is also one of the refugees we’ve taken in from faery camps over the years. He still bears the mark of the Summer Court on his forearm and isn’t exactly the forgiving sort, not that I can blame him. It will take him mere seconds to figure out Flint is a faery if they are left in close proximity. I refrain from stomping my feet in irritation. Not one single thing has gone right since I left my bed this morning.