Moribund

by Genevieve Iseult Eldredge

  She took off her helmet…for me. It’s got the same violet lightning motif on it, and it feels surreal to even be holding it. Holy cats, I am the world’s biggest dork. And…my cheeks are burning again. Darn it. But Euphoria only smiles, laughing gently. I laugh with her, and it’s all okay. She’s looking at me with those electric-blue eyes. We’re so close I can smell the leather of her jacket and bike oil.

  Oh yeah, I’m so dead. And not just because Mom will probably catch me.

  In that moment, I don’t care. I put the helmet on. I just want to be close to Euphoria. Now who’s the creepy stalker, Syl?

  I get on the bike and wrap my arms around her waist. At least the helmet hides my shameless blushing. She guns the throttle, and we’re off. Of course she drives like a bat out of hell. Does anyone actually own a motorcycle to act responsible?

  Spoiler alert: no. No, they don’t.

  She peels out, just short of a wheelie, and I’m embarrassed by the girly squeak that escapes me. Laughing, she tears across the parking lot, cutting in front of Fiann’s Porsche.

  Euphoria waves at Fiann. I wave at Fiann.

  I laugh wickedly.

  Oh yes, I like my new lab partner.

  Hours later, sweaty and stinking of peanut sauce, spices, and satay, I step into the back alley of Elephant Thai for my “smoke break.” I don’t actually smoke, but when I noticed smokers got twice the number of breaks, I jumped on that bandwagon faster than you can say, I’m a dirty Liar McLiarface.

  Whatever. Fair is fair.

  I take a deep breath, trying not to smell the rancid Dumpster, and lean against the grungy wall. Today has been crazy-bananapants. First Fiann all up in my ladybusiness and then Euphoria, and no one knows it’s her? And then she gives me a motorcycle ride—the Euphoria, glam-Goth rock star. I didn’t even know she was my age. She seems so much older, and yet, I saw her schedule. She’s definitely in my grade.

  Aaaaaaand…attending high school for some publicity stunt? It makes a weird sort of sense. I mean, she could be doing research for a new album or even a movie role.

  All I know for sure is it’s all super-surreal, like I’m the one who’s stepped into a movie where the ordinary dorky girl discovers she’s not so ordinary. I mean, seriously, what is going on?

  I wipe my sweaty hands on my apron. I should get back inside.

  The crunch of a soda can.

  I spin around, staring into the dark alleyway. The streetlight barely penetrates the far side of it, casting thin light in slats all the way down to where I’m standing. Anything could be lurking there.

  Quit it, Syl. It’s probably a homeless guy.

  They do hang out here on Mondays to raid the Dumpster. I usually triple-bag the leftover food and set it on top with smiley faces on it. The restaurant only throws it away anyway.

  A bottle tink, tink, tinks…and comes spinning out of the alley.

  I stop it with my foot.

  A dark shadow stretches and hunches against the alley walls. Panic prickles the hairs at the back of my neck, and a fresh layer of sweat breaks out all over me.

  I can’t see what it is, but my body knows enough to be afraid. From the alleyway, a low growl rumbles. A jolt of fright spears me. Two glowing-green eyes wink open in the pitchy-dark, then two more, and two more…

  Daaaaaannnnnnnggg… I back up fast and fetch against something solid.

  A hand lands on my shoulder. My scream echoes down the alley.

  “Syl!”

  I jump and turn, looking up into Euphoria’s face. “Euph—”

  “Nope,” she cuts me off, but her gaze is on the alley. Does she see the freaky eyes? “Off-stage, I’m just Roue.”

  Apparently not.

  “Roue.” Cautiously, I peer into the alleyway, but the shadows and glowing eyes are gone. I’m panting now, leaning over, hands on my thighs. The fear still having its way with me. “Wh-what are you doing here?”

  “I came to pick you up.” She shrugs a shoulder and manages to look both sheepish and super-cool all at once. “I know you left your bike at school.”

  “Yeesssss…” I drag the word out while I wait for reality to kick in. There’s no way I’m standing in a dirty alleyway outside my takeout job, talking to Euphoria. And there’s certainly no way on Gaea’s green Earth she’s here to pick me up.

  I mean, seriously. I’m just ordinary Syl Skye, geek, nerd, the weird “girl who lived.”

  “Um, I can leave.” She jerks a thumb at her Harley sitting there not ten feet from the door I came out. I swear, only Santa Claus is better at sneaking in and out of places.

  Say something. She’s going to leave, dummy! My brain finally kicks in. “Oh! No… I mean, yes. I mean…” Good going. I take a breath. “What I mean is that I still have half an hour left.”

  “Okay, sure.” She nods. “I’ll just wait here for you.”

  Holy—! She’s going to wait for me. “You can come inside if you want. The kanom jeeb and stuffed chicken wings are pretty boss.”

  She smiles almost shyly as she shakes her head no, and my heart seizes.

  “All right. I’ll be back in a half hour. Don’t…” I swallow my uncertainty. “Don’t disappear on me.”

  A soft, rolling laugh. “I won’t.”

  “Okay.” I stand there, drinking in the sight of her leaning against her sleek black Harley. I could look at her for hours. You’re staring, Syl. I yank myself away and head back to the door.

  “See you soon,” she calls.

  I go back in, my heart soaring like maybe I am in that movie, after all.

  Chapter Six

  Rouen

  Your face, your lips

  So tempting

  Transfixed, I’m tempted

  I should run away

  Transfixed, I stay

  - Euphoria, “Transfixed”

  Please don’t let her be the sleeper-princess, I pray as I watch Syl slip back into the Thai takeout place. Please let it be that other girl. What’s-her-name. Fiann.

  I lean against the Harley, the glinting of Moribund circuitry in its engine winking at me. It’s one of Agravaine’s dark machines, this motorcycle, meant to infect the rider.

  Joke’s on him. I’m already infected. The only thing that can make the Moribund worse is me.

  As if in answer, my right arm aches to the elbow with phantom pain. Case in point. I grit my teeth, sweat beading on my brow. It’s not real, Roue. The pain, it’s not real. I’m like a soldier who’s lost a limb. Difference is, my dead arm is still attached, glittering with dark-magic circuitry. The Moribund’s spread farther up my arm since the sixth sleeper-princess.

  Since I used my power against her. Since I failed to save her.

  There is no saving them, Roue. Agravaine won’t allow it. And face it, without them, your people are as good as dead.

  Please, I pray, looking at the closed screen door where Syl vanished. Don’t let it be her. I don’t think I could take it. Seeing the Moribund swarm over her, watching the light drain from her eyes. Giving her over to Agravaine…

  “Daydreaming?” Agravaine’s deep voice rolls out of the darkness like sinister smoke.

  Speak of the devil.

  He steps snickleways into the alley—or should I say, drives snickleways? His huge Ducati emerges with him as he peels back the shadows like a shroud. He’s a pro at traveling like that, tapping into the mortal realm’s natural ley lines to speed his way through the winding Snickleways of UnderHollow and through the gates that link both worlds.

  And not only did he bring the motorcycle, he brought…

  Dinner, my mind unhelpfully supplies as I eye the semiconscious pair on the back. A blond boy and a brown-haired girl. I remember them from the group hanging out near Agravaine in the parking lot. They were talkative, full of life. Now they’re on the back of Agravaine’s motorcycle, blissed-out, sweating, and hollow-eyed, holding each other up.

  Drunk on dark Fae Glamoury and faestruck.

  He’s going to inf
ect them with Moribund, blow the fuses, devour them.

  Fury rises inside me. “It’s against the rules, bringing them through the Snickleways. Dark Fae do not truck with mortals.”

  “What?” A sly smile slides over his face. “I only gave them the ride they asked for.”

  That stops me cold. In days past, it was not uncommon for mortals to ask favors of the Fae. So long as they paid the price. If they knowingly asked for this, then there’s nothing I can do. It’s one of our oldest rules: Consent, once given, is consent taken.

  Still…Glamoury ravages mortals. They could die if they don’t get medical attention. I take a threatening step forward.

  Agravaine heaves a sigh. “Very well.” He snaps his fingers before the boy’s face, and when the boy wakes, Agravaine hits him with another Glamoury. “You’re quite dehydrated and possibly going into shock. You will take your friend and you will seek medical attention. You will not remember anything that happened.”

  I watch, my stomach rolling sickly as the boy goes glassy-eyed, repeats Agravaine’s words, picks up his girlfriend, and totters off down the alley. I feel only slightly better once they’ve vanished into the darkness.

  I turn to Agravaine and size him up. Glamouring mortals is easy. It’s taking machinery betwixt and between that’s hard. Normally, only flesh and blood and bone can pass—and he’s riddled with the Moribund, dark circuitry running up his arm and shoulder, across his chest.

  A spike of dread bolts up my spine. He’s growing more powerful.

  He grins, parking his bike next to mine. Smug jerk.

  “Stepping snickle with machinery now?” I pretend to consider. “What’s your secret? You drinking milk?”

  “What does milk have to do with it?” He seems amused, though the joke passes him by. He loathes the human things as much as I am drawn to them. “Rouen…” He looks at me, those shark-black eyes placid. For now. Good. There’s something we need to get straight. But he can’t know I care as much as I do.

  He only wants me to care about him.

  Like I said, joke’s on him. I’m not wired that way.

  I lean back on my Harley, tracing the violet lightning on the gas tank. I am a Huntress, and I must lure him in. “Is this a social call, or did you actually want something of me?”

  He shrugs, and even the slight movement makes the dark circuitry on his left arm and shoulder ripple with indigo lightning. I know what he wants—for me to be his mate.

  I’d rather gargle with Moribund circuits.

  And I know what else he’s been doing tonight. I saw those glowing eyes in the darkness, watching Syl, stalking her. But I play the game with him. It’s always a game with him. “Stalking teenage girls now?” I ask.

  What he doesn’t know is, this time, I’m going to win.

  “Just checking up on our little sleeper-princess.” He looks to the back of the Elephant Thai building, narrowing his eyes. He doesn’t like the rich, spicy smell of human food. The more his body takes on the Moribund, the more it becomes machine over man, the more he detests things of the physical world.

  Whatever. More stuffed chicken wings for me.

  “You sent the cú sluagh.” I say it calmly, but I can’t quite keep the accusation from my voice. I’m the advance scout, the Huntress—not those mangy hounds. After all, isn’t that why he betrayed me, so I’d become the Huntress? And now he’s undermining me?

  No way, buddy-boy.

  He fixes me with that shark stare, as if trying to discern whether or not I’ll start my rebellion early this time. “You’re not able to sniff her out, so…the cú sluagh.”

  I give him my best glare. That’s not how the Wild Hunt works, and he knows it. The Huntress tracks down the prey; the hounds chase it to the ends of the earth.

  It’s my job to flush out the sleeper-princess.

  We both know it, but I have to be careful calling him on it. Even now, he senses my uncanny attraction to this girl. And it’s not like my previous track record of trying to free every single sleeper-princess is any help.

  I shrug. “Whatever. The hounds can take the girl’s scent all they want. She’s not the one.”

  “We’ll see,” he says slowly, watching my every movement.

  I still my restlessness, throwing up an air of casual calm as I look into his eyes. “We certainly will.” About a lot of things, pal.

  He leans back on his bike, tracing the Moribund circuits running up from the engine, threading indigo veins across the gas tank and handlebars. The humans will only see the tribal decaling that is Agravaine’s signature. This is his gramarye, his personal magic. Even before he was a Circuit Fae, he had an affinity for machinery.

  It makes sense that he’d be the one to want to revive the ancient forbidden magic in the Moribund. It was Agravaine who first put forth the idea. At first, the arch-Eld denounced him as insane, but as the hearthstone began to go black and dead, as parts of our world crumbled, collapsing like brittle, sugar-coated spiderwebs, they started to listen.

  They agreed to let him infect himself, and then me, with Moribund. We became Circuit Fae, capable of harnessing the killing machine in technology, capable of infecting other living creatures with the Moribund and then blowing their fuses to consume their life-force.

  We’re no better than parasites.

  I want a better way for my people. One that doesn’t turn us into dark, soulless machinery.

  I think of the hounds of the Hunt, their bodies riddled with Moribund, living flesh spliced with circuits. They are no more than dark machines, expendable. Agravaine can blow their circuits and devour their energy at any time.

  That is the true danger of the Moribund—becoming nothing more than a dark battery, soul-stripped and consumed.

  His low, rumbling chuckle breaks my reverie. “Daydreaming about a girl, Rouen?”

  His jab strikes close to my heart, and I volley back before thinking. “Maybe. She is awfully cute. It’s too bad she’s not the sleeper-princess. The blonde is. You should go stalk her. That’s your style.”

  His answering growl tells me I probably shouldn’t remind him that he’s a creepy stalker, that rarely do I get a few hours without his intrusion. Checking up on his premiere Huntress, he says. In reality, he’s worried that I’ll find a way to break the Contract, that his will isn’t enough to keep me prisoner.

  I’m supposed to be his Huntress, his fated mate, but not even a Contract of Bone and Blood can force love.

  And he knows it. The rules of the Winter Court are absolute. Consent given, and all that.

  His eyes burn with black fire. Indigo lightning purls off the Moribund circuits infecting him. “You like girls so much.” He spits the words like venom as he reaches into his jacket. “Here.” He tosses me something.

  Instinctively, I catch it. It’s a microphone. What the—?

  “Toss it to a girl at the end of your next show.”

  Oooookay. I flick the switch. A dark hum lights up the mic in my hand, and my right hand prickles with pins and needles.

  The Moribund.

  He wants me to infect my fans. What for? “We’re supposed to be here for the sleeper-princess.” I flash my fangs. “What makes you think I’m going to infect a bunch of innocent kids?”

  A glimmer in his shark eyes is the only warning I get. Then he’s on me in a flash of black leather. He slams me back into the wall, crushing the bricks beneath me. My breath goes out in a whoosh. His hand is around my throat. I glare at him, my eyes burning with fire. I raise my right hand and breathe a single note. Licks of violet lightning ignite the air around us.

  “Shall I sing you a song?”

  He recognizes my threat, and his hand tightens painfully. “I could rip your throat out.”

  “Before I tear your body apart with one note?” I smile wickedly.

  “Heh.” He does the math—my Circuit Fae gramarye is more powerful than his, more outwardly destructive—and relents, letting me down. “Why is it always so hard with you, Rouen?�
�� Sighing, he laces his voice with Command. “Throw the mic to a girl at the end of your next show.”

  A jolt shoots through my bones and blood. I have no choice. The Contract will make me obey him. The next time I play, I’ll throw that mic to a girl as surely as I live and breathe. Anger pulses up inside me. I want to launch at him, but with one word, he could stop me cold. And he would.

  Agravaine doesn’t brook what he calls “insolence.”

  I call it calling him on his BS.

  “Fine, I’ll do it.” I kick one leg over the other and lean back, pretending I have a choice. “The next time I play. Don’t know when that is, though.”

  “It’s tomorrow night.”

  I glare at him.

  “I booked you for the entire month at the Nanci Raygun. It’s the local high school hangout. Don’t worry, Euphoria, I’m sure you’re still popular with all the girls.” He hides his bitterness by viciously kick-starting his bike and roars out of the alleyway in a full-throttle-fueled display of aggressive bro-dudeness.

  Rock on with your bad self, Agravaine. It’s like the air gets lighter when he leaves.

  I look down at the mic in my hand. He wants to infect the students for some larger plot he’s got cooking in that twisted mind of his. But what’s he up to?

  And then there’s Syl.

  Guilt seizes me. I should leave, run away from her before she gets drawn in, or worse, infected with the Moribund. I clench my fist, and in that moment, I feel the truth in my bones, in my very blood. Command or not, I’ll never let that happen to Syl. Tossing a mic off the stage, letting a stranger become infected—that’s bad enough. But Syl…?

  No. Just no.

  Hating myself, I kick one leg over my Harley, one hand on the ignition switch, the other on the clutch. I feel bad about leaving her like this. You’re a huge jerk, Roue. But what’s jerkier? Leaving now and keeping her safe or staying and putting her in the worst danger of her life?

  She’s safer with you, Roue. But is she? I have to do Agravaine’s bidding. Then make sure he doesn’t find out.

  “I’m done.”

  Her bright voice and bright smile snare me.