The Shattered Dark

by Sandy Williams

  “You’re alive in this city,” Aren says.

  “What?” I ask, turning. I was walking beside Shane, but I must have slowed down to take everything in. Aren’s beside me now. Trev and Shane are a few paces ahead.

  “You’re more mesmerized by this place than by any place I’ve seen you in the Realm.”

  “That’s because no one’s trying to kill me here,” I say.

  No one’s trying to kill me here yet. I’m surprised Aren doesn’t point that out, but he just smiles as he watches me, and my stomach does a little flip. It’s as if seeing me here like this makes him happy, and just for a moment, I let myself think about what it would be like to walk down this street with Aren without any worries about the remnants or Paige. That’s what we need, time to be together without all the pressures of the war.

  “That’s the address,” Shane says, pointing to a section of a brick building about thirty feet in front of us. We pass a tiny convenience store and an even tinier restaurant serving lamb and chicken kabobs. A long line of people blocks its entrance, but they’re not waiting to order anything. They’re waiting to get into the white-walled building just ahead. By the way the humans are dressed, it has to be a club or a rock concert. I really don’t get the girls’ clothing choices. It’s cold out here, and they’re all dressed in short skirts and skimpy tops.

  Shane stops before we reach the front of the line, staring down at his phone before looking back up again. A metal door is set into the plain brick wall. It’s dented and has orange rust stains at the top and a streak of something black and sticky-looking in the middle. It’s the kind of door you don’t touch because you’re afraid of what you’ll find on the other side.

  I look up at the second story. The four evenly spaced windows are dark. The building is probably deserted—completely deserted. If the remnants were here, they’d have a light of some sort, either a candle burning or a magically lit glass orb. We’ve come this far, though, and I need to be certain Paige isn’t on the other side of the door.

  When I step forward, Aren stops me with a hand on my arm.

  “Behind me,” he says.

  I was going first just so I could get us through the line of humans, but he parts the crowd with his shoulder. He’s careful not to let his skin touch anyone else’s. A few girls protest, thinking that we’re cutting in line, but Aren flashes them a smile, and says, “Just passing through.”

  Of course, they don’t protest then. One of them even returns his smile. She reaches for his arm and says in a heavy British accent, “No need to hurry off.”

  He barely manages to dodge her touch. I’m beside him the next instant, and the girl’s expression turns sour. My action was more to keep them separate than to claim him as mine, but I don’t mind if that’s the way she’s seeing this.

  Her gaze shifts to Trev, but before I have to rescue the other fae, the line moves. She forgets about us the second she turns away.

  We reach the door, and Aren looks down at me. “Are you sure you want to go inside?”

  I could let Aren go in without me. He could do a quick search and be out here in no time. But if I’m wrong and the remnants are actually here and one of them happens to be an illusionist, Aren and Trev won’t see an attack coming. I won’t let them be vulnerable like that.

  “Yeah,” I tell him. “I’m sure.”

  His jaw clenches, but he discreetly takes out a dagger from under his shirt.

  “Shane, wait out here,” he says. “Warn us if you see fae.”

  He reaches for the door but doesn’t turn the handle. He looks back at me. “Tell me you’re armed.”

  I’m so, so close to saying I’m not just to see how he’ll react, but it’s not the time to kid around. I reach behind my back and take my dagger out, keeping it concealed beneath my coat.

  He nods once, then twists the handle.

  I don’t expect it to move. I expect us to have to break in somehow, but the door swings open without a sound, a fact that creeps the hell out of me. The door looks old and heavy; it shouldn’t glide open like a well-oiled hinge.

  I have to force myself to step inside the dark, musty-smelling room. When I do, I’m immediately on edge. This place doesn’t feel right. The air is dense. It tastes like a warning, and the way the door clicks shut behind Trev triggers a memory. That’s how the door to the girls’ locker room sounded ten years ago when I entered it. Volleyball practice was over. I’d forgotten my gym bag and had to borrow the key from the janitor. I couldn’t find the light switch, so I blindly felt my way along the lockers, counting them off until I reached the sixth one. It took only a second to grab my bag, but when I turned around, I wasn’t alone.

  That wasn’t the first time I had seen Thrain, but it was the first time he knew I saw him. Even though I didn’t know anything about him then, when he smiled in the dark, the way the edarratae flashed across his sunken eyes and the hollows of his face made him look menacing.

  “McKenzie?” A whisper from Aren. He’s stopped just in front of me. Chaos lusters flash across his face, and I squeeze my eyes shut to block out the remainder of the memory, reminding myself that this isn’t my high-school locker room. It’s an empty foyer to what must be a bankrupt hotel or apartment building. I think we came in the back entrance because a glass door is on the opposite side of the room. The glass is painted black. A few scratches in the paint let in a miniscule amount of light. Now that my eyes are adjusting, though, that light is enough for me to see what might have once been the check-in counter a few paces to the right of the door.

  “Upstairs?” I whisper back to Aren, nodding toward a narrow staircase on the left side of the room. A tiny elevator with a gated door that you manually open and close is next to it, but even if tech didn’t bother fae, I wouldn’t want to use it. It doesn’t look extremely dependable.

  Aren studies me. I try to force the tension out of my shoulders and to relax my grip on my dagger, but I’m sure he notices how stiff I am. He looks relaxed, but alert, and by the slight tilt of his head, I can tell he hears every creak and groan of the building despite the rumbling bass from the club next door.

  Trev walks past us and climbs the stairs. I give Aren a tight-lipped smile and follow, feeling the beat of the music on my skin as I step into a long hallway. This hotel must extend over more than one shop. A slant of street-light comes in through a boarded-up window, providing just enough illumination to see a dozen closed doors lining both sides of the hall.

  Aren stops beside the first door, puts a finger to his lips, then slowly reaches for the handle.

  It gives the softest click as it turns.

  I hold my breath. I don’t know if it’s better for him to throw the door open or to open it slowly, hoping that if someone is on the other side, they won’t hear him enter.

  He opts for the second method. The door silently moves, inch by inch, until the whole dank, empty room is revealed. A single bed occupies more than half of the space inside. It’s made, but the flowered comforter is faded and moth-eaten. At the foot of the bed, a sliding door leads to a bathroom barely big enough for a sink, toilet, and stand-up shower. It’s obvious no one’s here. No one’s been here for months, maybe years.

  “Check the other rooms,” Aren whispers to Trev.

  Trev moves to the door opposite us and turns the handle. Just like the first one—and just like the metal door we entered through—it turns without the least bit of resistance. Goose bumps prickle across my skin because that’s wrong. Even if the owner deserted this place at the last minute, he or she would have locked up. There should be some sign of a break-in. Honestly, there should be some sign of life. This is definitely not a Hilton, but if I had no place to live, I’d stay here. London is a big city; there should be squatters in an abandoned building like this.

  Aren moves to the next door. Once again, it opens and, once again, the room is empty save for a bed. Trev’s second room is the same, but it’s not until they’re both opening their fourth doors that I
breathe a little easier. If the remnants were here, they would have made an appearance by now. I don’t know if I’m more frustrated or relieved. I want to find Paige, but I’m glad we’re not going to start a fight in the middle of this city.

  I walk to the other end of the hall. A second staircase occupies the space where Aren’s last door is. It’s steep and narrow, and I think it leads directly outside. Maybe an emergency exit or something.

  I slide my dagger back into its scabbard. Aren is still opening his doors quietly, but Trev has given up caution. He holds his dagger ready in his left hand as he pushes his last door open with his right.

  No remnants leap out, but Trev just stands there in the doorway.

  I move to his side.

  I stare inside the room.

  It takes a millennium for me to process what I see.

  “Oh, God,” I choke out.

  FIFTEEN

  MY HAND COVERS my mouth. I stare at the four blood-soaked bodies just long enough to know they’re all human, then I have to turn away.

  I hold on to the doorframe, digging my fingernails into the painted wood. The smell…It’s sour and stagnant and sickening, and suddenly, the air feels too hot. Too humid. It’s like the spilled blood has moistened everything. I look at my arms, expecting to see my skin misted red.

  “McKenzie?”

  I barely register Aren’s voice. It sounds distant, cavernous. I can’t respond; I just turn back to the tiny hotel room without saying a word. I focus on the body nearest me because I can’t look at the one that’s sprawled across the bed, the one that’s missing its skin. The cuts on the body near my feet aren’t straight lines. They’re small and jagged, like tiny bolts of red lightning. I’ve seen death before—fae who were beheaded before entering the ether, humans who were caught in the cross fire of the Realm’s war—but I’ve only seen this kind of twisted torture once. It was in Lyechaban, a city on the eastern coast of the Realm. The fae there loathe humans, and when I was in the city with Kyol nearly seven years ago, two humans were tied up on a dais. The Lyechabans tried to cut the lightning from their skin. I thought they were dead until one of them twitched and…

  With horror, I force myself to focus on the person on the bed. Please, please let him be dead.

  “What’s wrong?” Aren freezes beside me. He’s close, but I don’t feel the warmth of his body, just a bone-chilling dread that makes my stomach churn. Is the guy’s chest moving?

  “Sidhe,” Aren whispers.

  I think it might be moving, but the way the light from the room’s single window slants across his chest, it could be my imagination.

  Aren takes my arm. “We’re leaving. Now.”

  Did a lip twitch? I hold on to the doorframe, refusing to move.

  “Aren,” I say softly. “Make sure they’re dead. Please.”

  “They are.” He urges me to move again; I stand my ground. Two of the bodies are female. One has hair bleached the same shade of blond as Paige’s. She’s propped up against the foot of the bed, but her face is turned away. I can’t tell if it’s her.

  Aren squeezes my arm. “Okay.” He kisses my temple. “Okay.”

  He steps into the room. The soles of his shoes leave tracks on the blood-drenched floor. He’s wearing casual, high-ankled fae boots. I didn’t notice them before, but they look odd paired with his jeans and shirt. Foreign. Atroth didn’t include shoes in his stash of clothing. I should tell Lena to add footwear to the collection.

  Why the hell am I thinking about shoes?

  I shake my head, attempting to reboot my mind so I can focus. Aren is squatting by a body. He touches a wrist, checking for a pulse. Jaw visibly clenching and unclenching, he rises then moves to the next body. When he squats beside that one, I swear I see movement from the next, the blond girl who looks like Paige.

  I take a step toward her. I know I saw movement, but she’s in the same position as she was before. I don’t know what…

  Oh. Her hair. A lock of it flutters, caught by the draft coming in from the window. The window’s lower portion is pushed out, allowing air in. Allowing air out, too. How is it possible the people on the street can’t smell this death? How could they not hear the screams? The humans had to have screamed. None of these deaths were quick. They were slow, painful.

  “Look at me, McKenzie,” Aren says. He’s standing in front of me. He cups my face between his palms, and edarratae tickle down my neck. “We have to get out of here. You can’t panic right now. Do you understand?”

  I feel a crease wrinkle my forehead. I don’t think I’m panicking.

  “These are the missing humans,” he says. “The ones who worked with Atroth.”

  What?

  “Are you sure?” I ask. The remnants need Sighted humans as much as we do.

  “I’m sure,” he says, “The walls list their names.”

  My stomach churns, but I look over his shoulder at the blood painting the walls. Now that I’m focused on the smears of red, I recognize the Fae symbols. I still can’t read it, but it’s definitely their language.

  “Why would the remnants slaughter them?” I ask, focusing on the blond girl. I recognize her now. Her name is Anya. She is—was—Russian. Sixteen years old. The same age I was when I began working for the Court, only she started when she was fourteen. While working for the king, I met fae who disapproved of my presence in the Realm, but they accepted it because I hunted down the Court’s enemies. I can’t imagine any of those fae doing something like this. This is beyond barbaric.

  My nostrils flare. I clench my fists at my sides and feel the fury sink in with each blood-tainted breath I take. Lena has been trying to make contact with the remnants to negotiate with them, but screw that. Anyone who can do something like this can’t be reasoned with. Once we find out who’s organizing them, I’ll track him and his supporters down. I don’t care how long it takes. I won’t let something like this happen again.

  This time, when Aren urges me to move, I do, turning my back on the desecrated bodies. We retrace our steps down the hall and are no more than four paces from the staircase when Shane’s voice rings out, “They’re here!”

  He sprints into our hallway a second later. “They saw me.”

  “The other staircase. Go,” Aren orders, pushing us down the hall before taking up position in front of the steps Shane just ran up.

  I stumble, brace a hand against the wall, then turn, looking back at Aren and Trev. Trev remains in this world only for a second more, then he disappears into a fissure.

  I turn to Shane. “How many remnants—”

  “Come on!” He cuts me off, grabbing my arm and forcefully yanking me down the hall. I shake him off but run for the second staircase. Trev will bring back help, and Aren won’t fissure out until I’m safely away from here.

  My heart beats in time with the hard, fast music pounding next door. We sprint to the other end of the corridor then down the stairs. Shane reaches the bottom first. A glass door leads outside, but, of course, this one is chained shut.

  Shane doesn’t hesitate. He sidekicks his foot through the glass. I’m right on his heels, ducking under the chain after he does.

  We don’t exit onto a street. We exit into the tiniest courtyard I’ve ever seen. There’s just one door, wooden and curved on top, in the wall opposite us.

  Shane runs to it, grabs the handle, attempting to pull it open.

  No luck.

  I scan the area, feeling boxed in by the four brick walls. The music is louder out here. Between drumbeats, I think I hear fissures opening in the building we just left.

  Shit.

  My gaze locks on a metal ladder. It’s almost hidden behind an outcropping of a chimney. It climbs the wall, stopping at a small platform one level up. There’s a door there, cracked open.

  “Shane. Here.” I jump, grabbing the highest rung I can reach, then I climb, making it to the platform in a few seconds. I make sure Shane’s following me before I slip inside.

  Strobe lig
hts flash in the dark. I’m in the club. Backstage. Thick curtains hang from floor to ceiling to my right. To my left, a writhing, screaming horde of people crowds the floor.

  “Go!” Shane yells, slamming into me. “Go!”

  I run, sprinting for the packed dance floor. It will be easy to get lost in the mass of revelers, and with the near-deafening music and all the tech in this room, the fae will be disoriented.

  We have to jump down from the side of the stage to the floor. I catch a quick glimpse of the band as I do. The bassist, a tall, skinny guy covered in tats, is headbanging as he plays. A cord runs from his bass to the equipment behind him, a cord that, apparently, a remnant doesn’t see. It rips out of the instrument as the fae trips over it. The last thing I see before I shove into the crowd is a baffled look on the human’s face.

  “Go! Go!” Shane yells, shoving me deeper into the crowd. I’m trying, but the place is packed. I slip between two dancing girls, then look over my shoulder.

  Shane’s gone. I have no idea where, but I keep moving, trying to get to the center of the dance floor. Everyone is pushing and dancing and not making it at all easy for me to get anywhere. Somehow, I end up near the front of the theater. I look up at the stage, see a remnant standing there. He’s in fae clothing and holding a sword as he scans the crowd. I have to assume he’s invisible since security isn’t doing anything to remove him.

  I think I might be safe where I am. I can’t see the fae spotting me here. When the concert ends, I can file out with the crowd. I should be able to avoid the remnants.

  If I survive the concert.

  Despite the cool air outside, it’s hot in here. I can barely breathe in this mass of people. My nose wrinkles when someone lights up something that’s definitely not a cigarette nearby. The smoke gets into my lungs, makes them itch.