by Jen Katemi
I may not like being around crowds overly much, but these are still a decent bunch of people and as close to family as I’ve ever really known.
The memory of a set of hazel-green eyes staring almost directly into mine in the hallway of my building flashes in my brain, and I wonder what it would be like to actually meet one of my siblings. Or even, several of them? Maewen. She must be tough, to work with SUDAP when, presumably, she is as affected as I am by the call of death. She must face death practically every day in her job. How does she protect herself from what must be sheer hell? Why would she choose to put herself through such torture?
What was the other name Tarrien mentioned? Aleah. What is she like? He said she lives out in the country, on a farm somewhere. Has she done that deliberately, to reduce her interactions with people? Our mother has a lot to answer for, populating this world willy-nilly with half-banshees all over the place, and then leaving us to fend for ourselves in whatever way we can.
Would my half-sisters like me? Or would they think me prickly and brash and wish we weren’t related at all?
I down a third drink and decide to get the welcome speech over with. I approach the corner stage that currently holds a quartet playing dance music. Before I can step up to join them at the waiting microphone, Brady, one of the male dancers from our troupe, drags me by the hand into the middle of the crowd on the dance floor.
‘Time to let loose, Indie,” he says, twirling me around with great aplomb.
Music from quartet washes over us and my muscles relax as the wine begins to take effect. It won’t last. My fae blood means I’ll process the alcohol a little more quickly than a human might, but for now, the tension that has held me tight for the past several months begins to dissipate at last.
I sink into the moment. The speech can wait. I even smile at Brady, and he takes the encouragement and steps close, sliding his arms tightly around my waist. I sway against him, wondering if he thinks it would be unhealthy to be with me. Judging by the growing hardness in his groin as he mashes it against me, I’m guessing he would be really keen to take it further.
I want to feel something for him in return, but I don’t. Not one whit of desire. It feels like I’m dancing with my brother. What is wrong with me? I’m half drunk, in a cozy club, being held close by a handsome man, and all I can think about is my desperate need to see Tarrien again.
My thought patterns are so annoying I tip my head to the side and let Brady nuzzle at my neck. I so want to feel something—anything—but my body remains unstirred—until I stare over the top of the nuzzling guy’s head, and meet a stormy silver-gray gaze directing fiery judgement my way.
Tarrien? What the devil is he doing here?
My heart jumps and my whole body switches on as if I’ve just stuck my finger in an electric socket. Moments ago, I was craving desire, trying to prove a point to myself. Just like that, knowing he’s in the club and only meters away, there’s an instant ache between my legs and the delicious flutter of butterflies in my belly.
God damn it! Why does that fae—and only that fae—have such an effect on me?
To my horror, a tiny moan escapes me and my dance partner squeezes tight, thinking my reaction is due to him.
“No, please.” I struggle in Brady’s arms, trying to push him away. “I need to—”
“My turn now, sir.” Tarrien steps smoothly between us, wrestling me neatly out of the other man’s grip and twirling me away until we reach the far side of the dance floor.
“What on earth—”
“You looked about as happy as if you were sitting in a dentist’s chair, ready to face the drill,” he says.
I raise a brow at the analogy. My banshee blood means I’ve been lucky enough to never need a dentist, but from what I’ve heard from my human friends over the years, he’s probably not far wrong. I don’t need to admit that to him out loud.
“So, you decided to swoop in and rescue me?”
“I am a warrior, after all. Rescue is my thing.”
He says it with such seriousness that a chuckle pops out before I can stop it.
“Your thing?”
“Yes. And that’s better. Now your smile is genuine.”
Despite my annoyance with him, and confusion as to what he’s doing here, I can’t help but realize he’s right. For the first time since I arrived, I actually feel genuinely at ease, and it has nothing to do with alcohol.
“All right. You win. I admit that I’m not...displeased to see you, warrior. But why are you here, Tarrien? Where did you go, and why have you reappeared now?” A thought strikes me, and my grin becomes a frown. “Has something else happened in relation to...you know?”
I don’t feel like I can mention the abominations in the middle of this crowd, but he knows what I’m asking.
“No. At least, nothing that I’m aware of. And I never went anywhere. I’ve been keeping a discreet distance all week, but I’ve been making sure you’re safe. I—”
“Wait.” I stop swaying to the music and pull back from him. “You’ve been following me? Since that night? Sneaking around and spying on me?”
His eyes flare with what looks like irritation. “I’m not a sneak. Nor am I a spy. I’m simply doing my job—as a protector—and ensuring that you remain safe.”
I want to be angry with him. I should be angry with him. It’s creepy to know I’ve been going about my normal life—and missing him intensely—while he has been there all along in the shadows watching without my knowledge. But he seems to honestly care whether or not I’m safe, and as much as I want to tell him off, I manage to bite my tongue.
I’m not used to someone else caring about my safety and wellbeing. Even if his care comes from a place of duty rather than any other reason, at least it’s there. And it’s real.
Just as I open my mouth to make a joke about how his icicles must be back in place if he’s able to protect me so dutifully, he lifts a hand and caresses my cheek. The words freeze in my throat, but everything else turns hot. That touch does not feel like duty. My shiver is one borne of desire, not cold, and I suck in a shaky breath and hold it far too long.
One corner of his mouth curves up in a sardonic grin, as if recognizing and approving my reaction. “I reappeared, as you put it, because it seemed like the right time. You seem less angry than you’ve been all week, and I’ve been wanting to say something to you ever since the last time we spoke.”
Wow. He really has been keeping a close eye on me all week, then.
His gaze softens. “Indie, I really wanted to apologize for—”
His voice is cut off by the sound of a huge explosion. Then a whole series of smaller explosions follow and the noise and smoke and flashes of light turn everything in the club into utter chaos.
Tarrien
STUN GRENADES. HUMAN ones, at that, but no less of a threat, because where there are flashbangs, trouble is sure to follow. Plus, the majority of the crowd here are human and therefore far more fragile in terms of their mortality than Indie or me.
I can’t worry about the others. I push Indie to the ground and throw myself over the top of her, intending to create a protective bubble. Before I can cast the magic, a deep growl reverberates through the screams and chaos and the tripping and falling humans all around us. Then another growl, lower and even more menacing than the first, and I realize there are two loups in the building, and they are stalking us.
Stalking her, to be accurate.
Even through the chaos of running people, smoke from the grenades and the dim lighting in the room, two sets of eyes, red tinged with purple, are visible. Both sets are clearly fixed on Indie. Werewolf shifters, with the twisted promise of madness evident in their features. No modicum of civility or reason is left in these two, even though they have retained the half-form often preferred by their kind at the time of the full moon. Part man, part beast. No humanity.
My heart rate speeds up. Not because I can’t take these two—I can, of course—but because I�
�m not sure I can do so effectively while keeping an eye on Indie. I doubt these two loups used human flashbangs, which means they are not the only attackers.
The stakes seem so much higher now than when Lady Renna first gave me this assignment.
“Stay down,” I whisper in her ear, “and get yourself under one of those tables. I’ll take care of these abominations and come back for you.”
“What table? I can’t see a goddamn thing after those flashes.” She rubs her face and then stares around. “Except for those awful reddish-purple eyes. I can see those. Unfortunately.”
Her half-human senses must have been affected by the flash. Luckily, being full-fae, I am immune.
“Blink hard a few times. Your sight will come back in a minute or so. There are two loups about to launch, over there to your right where you can see those eyes. I need you to drop completely to the floor and roll away, to your left.”
“No, wait, I—” She grabs at my arm but I have to trust that she’ll do as I say. I can’t fight them from down here on the floor.
“Now!” I yell.
Indie drops and rolls. I jump to my feet and swivel to face the twin abomination threat. One of the giant creatures launches at the spot just vacated by Indie. I drop the surface glamor I had donned for the party, and call for my armor and weapons.
Metal fills my fists and I twirl as fetid breath and a spray of hot mucus fans across my face. Indie is gone, thank the winter gods. I can only hope she’s sheltering under one of the club tables.
The loup swivels back and roars in rage. We are only about eighteen inches apart. I can’t use my sword in here, not with all these humans rushing back and forth in panic. Close work calls for the dagger.
I thrust forward and up with my silver blade, burying it to the hilt in the chest of the were.
For a moment, we are eye to eye, and I stare deep into that bloodshot gaze, looking for a trace of its soul. Nothing remains but darkness, and pain, and rage, beneath a strange purple miasma that roils inside the creature like an oily ooze.
Why won’t it fall?
“Damn you!”
The abomination’s top lip curls up on both sides, to reveal canines almost four inches in length. Not good.
“You will not stop us, fae,” the were hisses. “We will get her in the end. We will get all of them.”
“Not while I live!”
I twist the knife as the creature opens its mouth wide—wider than my head—and readies itself for the kill. I drop the sword and grab another silver dagger from my etheric arsenal. This one I angle up and into its throat. The start of a roar becomes instead a wet gurgle. Blood gushes up and out of its mouth, coating me and the floor, as a piercing wail on the edges of my consciousness begins to make itself heard.
Indie? Has my action just set off her banshee cry?
The wail rises, hurting my ears, as the were collapses to the floor, dead. Quickly, I pull out the daggers and turn, looking for the other monster. It hovers over the table that Indie has managed to roll beneath. The giant head bends and sniffs at her with that half-wolf, half-human snout. She is curled up into a tiny ball, rocking back and forth, wails still slipping out of her. She is obviously in the throes of a death call.
Is that still for the were? Or are there others around us who have been injured or killed in the melee?
I cannot afford to remove my gaze from the abomination to see what else is happening around us. I stagger toward them, slipping in the dead loup’s blood and stumbling sideways. The other one’s gaze snaps to me.
Good. Keep looking at me, abomination. Don’t you dare go near the banshee.
The monster launches toward me in a huge leap. I don’t quite have enough purchase on the blood-soaked floor to twist away in time. It lands squarely on my chest, the weight of it knocking me backward into the edge of the bar. Hot breath and one of its canines grazes my neck as I arch away and stab blindly.
Bullseye. Somehow, I manage to slide my dagger between two ribs directly into its heart. The monster is already dead when it collapses on top of me. By the time I manage to push it off and leave the carcass propped over the bar, I realize I can no longer hear Indie crying. Shouldn’t she be singing about the second abomination’s death? Shouldn’t I be able to hear her above everyone else in this crazy, smoke-filled room?
I turn toward the table that sheltered her, and she’s no longer there.
As I swivel back and forth, searching frantically for a sign of where she might have disappeared to, the overhead lights switch on fully and a team of SUDAP-suited police officers rush in. Leading the way is a woman who looks almost exactly like Indie. Similar, and yet different. Maewen. The sister.
She stops short when she sees me. I’m no doubt a horrific sight, covered in loup blood and still sporting my winter warrior armor. Her eyes narrow and she points a finger directly at me.
“Grab that one first,” she directs two members of her team. “And use the special cuffs.”
Indigo
THE DEATH CALL IS STILL upon me when multiple sets of hands drag me out from beneath the table and across the floor of the club. These aren’t abomination hands, or paws, or claws. They are human hands, and they are dragging me along the floor against my will.
There are too many of them to fight off. I kick and wriggle as much as I’m able, given the keening call of death has turned me to jelly. One of them picks me up and throws me over his shoulder. Before I can say anything between the crying bouts, I find myself out the door and on the street, being bundled into the trunk of a large black car.
Just before the lid of the trunk is slammed shut, I catch a glimpse of a team of police officers rushing into the club. Is that...Maewen? My sister? Why is she not pretzeled up like me, crying at the deaths that befell some of those in the club?
At least she’ll be there to help Tarrien. Oh God. Tarrien! He’s facing those abominations on his own. Will he survive?
A blast of powerful heat washes over me. Is that magic? It doesn’t feel like anything I’ve ever experienced before. Another blast and my vision fills with purple, even in the confines of the trunk.
What is happening? What...?
My thoughts disintegrate into nothing.
Chapter Six
I BLINK AND RUB MY eyes. Where am I? What happened? Memories tumble back in and I start to sit up, only to bump my head. I am still in this goddamn car trunk. Fear and anger war in my chest, both causing my heart rate to speed up.
At least the banshee cry has calmed. It must mean we are now quite a way from the club—or anywhere else where people might be dying.
Tarrien, I hope you’re okay. I hope you ripped those abominations to shreds.
Worrying about Tarrien and all my human friends—my almost-family, as I’d been thinking of them only minutes before the attack—will not help my current situation. I try to put the worry to the back of my mind, and wriggle around the space looking for something I might be able to use as a weapon.
Nothing, of course. Not even a tire iron. Whoever these people are, they came prepared. Not to kill me, as now seems obvious. At least, not immediately. They must want something from me first, and it appears that they’ll do anything to get it. Even hurt or kill my human workmates.
I contort myself so I can reach my stiletto heels in the tiny space, grateful they somehow stayed on my feet during the initial attack. I feel more in control with something in my hand, even if it is just a spiky shoe heel.
These suckers can take out an eye, I figure, so in the end I remove both shoes, clutching one in each hand, and wait. As I do, I make a mental note to myself. If I get out of this alive, I am ordering a special delivery of shoes that feature spiked silver heels, preferably wrapped around a core of wood. That should cover many of my bases when it comes to those abomination creatures.
I hear voices muttering from inside the car and I roll closer toward the back seat, trying to piece together what they’re saying. Even though it is muffled, here in the
trunk, I can make out a few words here or there. But none of them make any sense. It sounds like they are talking in a language I’ve never heard before. Given languages are a hobby of mine, and I can speak seven of them fluently, I don’t understand.
Is it fae? Is it the language of my mother’s people? In all the years of dabbling in language classes, I’ve deliberately steered clear of that one. Now, I wish I hadn’t been quite so quick to spite my fae heritage. If I’d swallowed my pride, I might know something of what my kidnappers plan next. Instead, I remain in the dark, literally and figuratively.
I remember the last attack and what the abomination said. It wanted my name. My real name. If I give them my real name—the one Mother told me about all those years ago and that I can hardly remember, now—will they leave me alone? Will they leave my friends and work colleagues alone? Will they leave Tarrien alone—presuming he’s still alive, that is.
My gut says they won’t. My gut is telling me that these people are playing for the highest of stakes, and once they have what they want, they will discard me, and everyone I care about, like trash.
I will not let that happen again. Not this time.
I’m not sure how, but I’m going to get myself out of this predicament, and I’m going to fight with everything I have.
As I come to that conclusion, the rocking motion of the car begins to slow and I guess we must have reached our destination. Wherever that is.
The engine switches off and silence fills the air, but it is not the pleasant silence of peace. Instead, tension cuts across the nothingness, and my fear escalates as footsteps click on a hard surface outside before the snick of the lock on the trunk sounds.
As the lid begins to open, I launch myself up with a feral scream. Banshees can scream louder than most, and I do have the advantage of surprise in this instance. I channel all my angst and terror into that scream. The man who opened the trunk staggers backward, clutching at his chest, before a determined look removes the shock that briefly colored his features.