Into the Rain

by Fleur Smith

  I pressed my finger to his lips. “We’re both here now. That’s all that matters.”

  He rested his head on my shoulder and issued a shaky breath.

  “I can ask them to leave if you’d really prefer?” I said, regardless of any debt I believed I owed them, Clay was more important to me than either of the fae who’d come to visit.

  He held me closer. “You couldn’t do that, you’d feel too guilty.”

  “I would feel guilty,” I agreed. “But if that’s what you need me to do, then I will,” I said, kissing his lips softly before standing. “She’s going to be here soon though, so . . .”

  I waited to see what he’d decided to do.

  “I’ll go cut some firewood while there’s still some light, if that’s okay with you.” He climbed to his feet behind me and walked to our little tool shed right outside the back door.

  “You’ll be careful out there?” I asked. I hadn’t forgotten about the shadow that I might have seen earlier.

  He lifted the axe. “I’d like to see someone try something.”

  I wasn’t sure whether he was referring to the shadow or the fae, but was certain his training would leave him prepared to deal with either. I reached for him and held my hands around his waist for a few moments.

  “Will you be okay?”

  “I can handle myself if I need to,” I said to reassure him.

  As soon as the words left my mouth, I saw my mistake. He was already distrustful of fae and on edge because of the shadow. I shouldn’t have hinted that there was any risk to me. “Not that I’ll need to,” I added in a rush.

  “Shout if you need me,” he said, grabbing the axe on his way out the back door.

  Watching him leave, I doubted he’d have much success chopping firewood, figuring he’d be more likely to have his ear close to the back door, listening for any signs of trouble. I was guilt-ridden over the fact I was doing something that so obviously made him uncomfortable, but I couldn’t alter my course now. Even as I wondered once more whether I would be better off asking Fiona to leave, the part of me that was born to protect needed to know what help she wanted and whether we would be able to offer it.

  Maybe he’d understand if I explained that need a little better? I know he feels that himself.

  The idea was strong enough to make me want to follow him outside, but I considered my guest and was able to rein in the desire. Instead, I headed toward the front window. Watching the white, snow-covered expanse, I saw Fiona walking toward our little house from the forest we’d attempted to hunt in earlier.

  Although her hair bounced loosely around her shoulders like always, her face showed obvious signs of being careworn. The smile I’d grown accustomed to seeing on her lips during the time I’d lived among them was absent, and the light in her eyes—which used to be especially bright like most fae—seemed muted and dull. Despite the changes in her appearance, she floated toward the cabin with typical fae grace. Only in the last second did I see the set of her chin was angled lower than I’d ever seen it before. Any hints of the proud woman she’d been were all but swept away. At the bottom of the stairs, she closed her eyes and took a handful of deep breaths. She purposefully straightened her back and set her features into a mask of calm before taking the final stairs to our door.

  I wondered what could have happened to cause her such obvious distress and believed that I’d made the right decision. If Clay and I could help lift some of her worry, it was worth a little discomfort of our own.

  The instant I opened the door to welcome her, she reached to embrace me. The gesture seemed strange given how much time had passed since I’d seen her last, and everything that had transpired since, but I returned it willingly. Leaning into her arms was like inhaling the scent from a huge bouquet of flowers. I’d forgotten how wonderful the atmosphere was around the fae.

  When I’d first moved into the court, I assumed the fae had selected the East Meadow of Central Park because of the delightfully floral scent. It wasn’t until I’d been out with Aiden a few times that I discovered it was the other way around—the scent was in the air because of the fae.

  “I’m afraid that I don’t really have anywhere to offer you to sit,” I muttered, my words an embarrassed apology.

  “That’s fine, I’m happy to stand,” she said sadly, as she glanced around the small space. “But where’s—” She stopped and stole another deep breath before focusing back on my face. “Where’s Clay?”

  “He . . .” I tried to think of the best explanation for his absence. I didn’t want to tell her the truth—that he wasn’t ready or overly willing to help a fae, or that I wasn’t sure that he ever would be. “He’s gathering some supplies that we need before nightfall.”

  “I really hoped that he would be here as well,” she said, the disappointment in her tone told me that she understood more of my explanation than I’d wanted her to. Her voice seemed tinged with desperation as she continued, “I hoped . . .” She sighed heavily. “I can’t even really articulate exactly what it is that I had hoped for, but I am in desperate need of assistance. From the both of you.”

  “I understand,” I said. “And I promise we’re not ruling out helping you. But you do have to understand how difficult it is for someone with Clay’s background to trust us.” I whispered the last word to let her know I counted myself as an outsider to the human race as well. By all rights, I should have faced as much of Clay’s ire as any fae and even though I knew he loved me, I still had moments where I wondered why he’d been able to look past what I was long enough to find the love in his heart. “I’m sure he’ll come around once he knows what you need. Will you tell me what that is, so that I can try to convince him?”

  She dropped her head into her hands, and her shoulders slumped forward as a sob escaped her body.

  “There’s so much I need to explain to both of you,” she murmured.

  “Try explaining it to me. I’ll make sure the message gets to Clay.” I put a hand on her arm to offer her some support. Whatever she needed to say was obviously causing her distress.

  “It is the Rain,” she whispered with a strained voice. “They stole my daughter.”

  “Why?” I asked, not to press her for more details but because I was in shock. My heart was in my throat as I processed her words and considered the dreadful circumstances. I knew the Rain was capable of despicable acts—I had a long line of them committed against my family and me—but to take a child was completely unforgivable. I thought about Luke, the boy who’d been murdered—together with his mother—just for helping me. My father. All the lives that had been lost to the Rain.

  Maybe nothing they do should surprise me.

  “Because she is fae,” Fiona sobbed quietly. “But above all, because she is my daughter.”

  “Why does that matter?” I asked, wrapping my arm around her shoulders and offering her every bit of sympathy I could. My own fear of the Rain made it easy for me to empathize with her.

  “How much do you recall of our court?”

  I grimaced. I didn’t remember as much as I probably should, considering the length of time I lived there. Instead of paying attention to their society, I’d focused on trying to convince myself to be happy with Aiden despite the persistent dreams I’d had of Clay. I’d spent months drifting in a haze of self-delusion. “Not much really.”

  She lifted her head and smiled sadly through her tears. “That is not at all surprising, dear; if I recall correctly you were otherwise occupied most of the time.”

  A warmth that had nothing to do with my abilities and everything to do with embarrassment crept over my cheeks. She was being so sweet when I had unwittingly been so rude to her during my time with her family. At the time, I hadn’t been concerned with how much I was holding myself separate from the majority of the court because I was trying to hide from my past and was too scared to hope for the future.

  Since leaving the fae, I’d barely given any consideration to Aiden or his family. When I le
ft though, he hadn’t been the only one I turned my back on. I’d abandoned the very people who had welcomed me openly into their lives. Worse, I’d done it with barely a second thought.

  “I’m sorry for how it ended,” I murmured, remembering the sight of Aiden with Willow and how it made me feel nothing but a desperate need to have Clay back in my life.

  “I understand, probably more than most people in the realm could. Especially now, after what Aiden’s told me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I left once too. I turned my back on everyone I knew and, just like you, I did it all for love.” She touched my face gently. “Anyone could tell that you and Aiden were not meant to be. It is a shame you could not remain friends in the end, but I really do not think anyone blames you for leaving to find your true happiness.”

  Meeting her eyes, and hearing her kind words of forgiveness, I immediately felt worse. She’d come to us for help, and I’d twisted the conversation back around onto me. It hadn’t been my intention, but that didn’t stop me from feeling guilty.

  “Forget about me,” I said. “Why do you think the Rain targeted your daughter specifically?”

  I regretted the question instantly because her face fell and the darkness that had inhibited her earlier seemed to fall on her features again. It was almost as if our talk of the past had given her something else to focus on, even for a moment.

  She wrapped her arms tightly around her body. “I am responsible for our court. The Matriarch of the family if you will.”

  I nodded. That much I did remember. It was hard to forget the regal air she carried at all times.

  “That fact alone makes my family extraordinarily important to the Rain, but that is not the only reason . . . At least, it is not the real reason . . .” She paused again, needing a moment to compose herself. “Many, many years ago, I fell in love with a human.”

  “That’s when you left?” I asked.

  Her head bobbed sadly. “More or less. However, it was clear I would be unable to be with him and stay with my family. I had to choose, and I chose him.”

  “What happened?” I asked.

  Before she had a chance to answer, the back door swung open.

  “I waited as long as I could, but the sun’s setting, and I don’t want to risk being alone in the dark right now,” Clay said as he entered through the back door.

  My gaze swung toward the sound, watching as he moved from the small alcove with arms still filled with firewood. An involuntary smile crossed my lips before it occurred to me an instant later that I should probably have been concerned that he was back so quickly and that our guest was still in our little house. The next few minutes were bound to be awkward as I tried to pry the information I needed from Fiona in a hurry and get her outside before Clay could become too uncomfortable.

  “You’ve finished haven’t—” His voice cut off as the firewood and axe in his arms crashed to the floor with a loud bang that echoed through the house.

  “Oh my God! Clay, are you all right?” I leaped toward him, but something on his face stilled me.

  He was staring straight ahead as if caught in a spell. I followed his gaze to where it fell, squarely upon Fiona. She stared back at him with a similar shocked expression on her face.

  I was about to tell him we shouldn’t be much longer when Fiona spoke, cutting me off.

  “Clay,” she breathed, clearly recognizing him from somewhere.

  How does she know him? I wondered what I’d missed until Clay’s voice rang out with both disbelief and horror.

  The emotions were clear in his incredulous questioning, despite the fact that he uttered only one, single, solitary word.

  “Mom?”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  MOM.

  THE TITLE hung awkwardly in the air as I twisted my head back and forth between Fiona and Clay. Time had stopped the instant the word had left Clay’s mouth and had yet to restart.

  Magnolias. The scent of the fae was overwhelmingly floral. I glanced at Fiona. Could this be the reason he associated that scent with his mother?

  My head whipped back toward Clay. There are floral perfumes too. Maybe his mother wore one of those and it’s a coincidence.

  His utterance didn’t make any sense, and yet as it raced through my mind on a repeated loop, it began to make perfect sense. So many unanswered questions were laid to rest with the simple understanding that she was indeed his mother; so many more flooded into the void they left.

  “My baby,” Fiona whispered softly as time restarted. Her voice shattered like glass under the weight of her emotions. Her body quivered, as though it was taking all of her strength to refrain herself from racing across the room to hold him.

  Clay swayed on his feet for a moment or two before leaning heavily against the doorjamb, ashen-faced and barely breathing. Noticing his obvious distress, I ignored the feeling that had stopped me in my tracks when he’d first whispered the word and raced to his side to help. Touching his cheek soothingly, I whispered his name.

  “Are you okay?” I asked in a quiet tone, certain the concern I had for him colored my voice.

  His eyes, darker against his sallow skin and more shadowed with pain than they’d ever been before, moved to meet mine. Everything I saw in them spoke of hurt and betrayal, of lost years and the pain of abandonment. In the depths of his gaze, I saw an amplified echo of the same pain he’d shown when he discovered Louise had faked her own death to give him motivation to hate me. I saw doubt and questions and heartbreak so devastating that it seemed impossible to be contained in one body.

  And there was nothing I could do to help him.

  I wanted to rewind time and have some sort of warning about what Fiona's presence would reveal. If only I had the ability to do something, anything to save him from the pain he was in now. If I could, I’d happily reverse the clock and begin again with a series of more poignant questions for Fiona.

  “You . . . you lived with them,” he said breathlessly. The darkness in his gaze was a heavy weight on my heart. “You said you knew them.”

  I tilted my head in confusion, uncertain over the course of his thoughts. Why was the story I’d told him important now?

  “Did you know this?” Accusation, directed squarely at me, dripped from every syllable.

  Despite the hurt that stabbed me with the knowledge that he could think I’d deliberately withhold something like this, I shook my head and tried to silently communicate that I was as blindsided as him.

  Was there something I should’ve seen when I lived with Aiden? But how could I have known? “I swear I didn’t. She was just Aiden’s aunt. The court’s leader. I never even thought . . .”

  I trailed off as Clay squeezed his eyes tightly shut, probably in an attempt to block out the confusion that was certain to be circling viciously in his mind. To allow him his peace, I stopped myself from comforting him. It was a physical ache not to offer support when it was evident he needed it more than ever.

  Despite the years that had passed since I learned the truth of what I was, I could easily recall the sting of betrayal. At least I’d been ready to accept the possibility I wasn’t entirely normal. I could only begin to imagine how much worse it was for him to learn that his mother was fae when he’d been raised his whole life to hate all things other. That definition now included himself.

  It was sure to ratchet his usual undercurrent of self-loathing—which had finally receded in the months that had passed in Sweden—to new, dizzying heights. Unable to resist the urge to help him any longer, I reached for his free hand. Once I’d entwined my fingers around his, I spun to meet Fiona’s gaze.

  “I think you owe us an explanation,” I said, perhaps a little unkindly. I hadn’t yet forgiven the fact that she hadn’t told me the truth so I could prepare somewhat for the fallout. “Now.”

  Clay’s fingers tightened around mine, and he seemed to draw some strength from my proximity. I was in awe that he hadn’t completely fallen apart given the
circumstances, especially coming less than a year after Louise’s reappearance from the dead. Sure, he wasn’t exactly himself, and I’d borne the brunt of his initial anger, but he was now remarkably calm. Almost eerily so. I glanced at him once more to check he was okay. The ghost of hurt still rested heavy on his brow.

  “I do,” Fiona said. “I do wish I had the opportunity to explain this to you years ago. It would have saved a lot of heartache. However, I was unable.”

  Something in her words indicated she was referring to her own heart as much as Clay’s. My anger subsided a little, but I couldn’t help being more than a little discourteous toward her considering the damage her presence had wrought and the fact that she hadn’t given any indication to me that her secrets could cause a rift between Clay and me.

  I recalled Aiden’s statement about the strength of our relationship and the world seeming topsy-turvy. Did he know?

  My anger grew again to encompass both of the fae who had rudely interrupted our idyllic life. “Well?” I prompted.

  “When my mother was still in charge of the court, I made the biggest mistake of my life,” she said. “I was young and reckless, and I found amusement in spending time with the Unseelies. My mother had warned me about them, but I refused to listen to reason. Instead, I accused her of being old-fashioned and out of touch. Drawn to the danger, I even ignored the warnings that my own sixth sense flashed at me. One day, those whom I had counted as friends considered it to be amusing to push a crazed man over the edge of his sanity and convinced him to set a fire. I could not see the enjoyment in the action, and I refused to take part. Neither did I inform my mother, nor anyone who could have stopped them, of their plan.

  “The next day, I found out that ninety-seven people died in the fire that they had incited. The deaths disgusted me. I had assumed that my friends would regret their deeds when they learned of the loss of lives.

  “When I located them, I discovered I had been mistaken. Remorse did not rest heavy on their consciences as it did on mine. Rather, they shared stories of the final plight of humans desperate to flee from the flames. They made merriment of it. I attempted to make them understand, but it was a futile attempt. My anger and disappointment grew, not only in them but in myself for befriending them. In my innocence, I warned them that I would tell my mother of their deeds. No sooner than the words were free did they turn on me. Their attack was violent and ferocious. I believed they would kill me. I was helpless, alone, and far from my court.