Where the Veil Is Thin

by Alana Joli Abbott

  Rhenna exhaled, comforted by the familiarity, and made her way to the bar, choosing a seat at the end. She glanced at her reflection in the mirror. A heart shaped face, medium brown skin, and brown eyes edging towards hazel stared back at her. Heavy eyeliner gave the face a tired quality. Going forward, she’d just stick to mascara.

  A broad chest blocked her vision. She tilted her head up to take in the bartender. Tall, lean, arms corded with muscle visible beneath the rolled-up sleeves of his flannel shirt. Half a dozen leather bracelets graced his wrist.

  “Blaise,” she said, giving in to the smile that pulled at her lips.

  He squinted at her. “Rhenna. New look?”

  She shrugged and placed her palms on the bar top.

  “The usual?” he asked.

  He’d trimmed his beard. It looked nice. A safe step away from mountain man territory, where he’d been headed. She wanted to tell him so, but instead replied, “Yeah, the usual.”

  He moved away to make her drink, and she once again faced her reflection. Sad eyes, she decided. A figure settled on the stool next to her. She looked over and did a double take.

  While the rules of The Loophole stated no fighting, they didn’t prohibit weapons, and her new neighbor had taken this to heart. Two scabbards crossed his back, revealing the handles of dual swords above his wide shoulders. Judging by the vaguely revolting vibrations coming from them, their blades were forged of demonstrife, one of the few substances able to kill a demon.

  The man was young and widely built. Based on that and his choice of weaponry, she judged him to be an Omen—half-human, half-demon, trained by the covens to protect them from Elsewhere’s more violent residents, when they dared crossover to the human world.

  Rhenna looked away. The Omen seemed a bit keyed up, probably demonborn. The humanborn ones she’d come across tended to be more mellow. That is, when they weren’t trying to wipe her off the face of the earth. But she hadn’t crossed paths with a member of any covens, and this was The Loophole, so she decided to forget about the kid.

  Blaise came up with her drink and gave the Omen a glare, noting his weaponry but not saying anything. The bartender merely raised an eyebrow, awaiting a drink order.

  The Omen clasped his hands together on the bar top as if he were at a business meeting. “Are you the fairy?” he asked.

  Blaise’s other brow rose to meet the first one. Where was this kid from, blurting out a question like that? So rude.

  Blaise crossed his arms, and Rhenna took a sip of her drink. This might get interesting.

  The aggrieved motion of the bartender caused more than one head to turn. Blaise wasn’t the most effusive fairy she’d ever met—and she’d only met a handful since they were very rare in the human world—but she figured it would take quite a lot to anger him. If he didn’t have a strong grip on his emotions, this building probably wouldn’t be standing. But every single creature in the bar had a vested interest in him keeping his temper.

  “Who wants to know?” Blaise shot back.

  The Omen sized up the fairy, thumb tapping nervously, hands still clasped. “My name is Wilhelm—Wil. I was told you might be able to help me. I need a talisman.”

  Blaise raised a hand out to stop him, then pointed to the large sign in block letters taped to the mirror. NO FIGHTING. NO SOLICITATION.

  Blaise glared icily at Wil for one long moment before stalking away.

  “First time here?” Rhenna asked.

  Wil swiveled in his seat, noticing her at last. Inexperience wafted from him like body odor. This might even be his first mission.

  “It’s that obvious?” he asked. If he were human, he would be in the military, straight backed and solemn.

  “Kinda,” she said, sipping her fruity drink. The little umbrella was missing, but she wasn’t about to tell Blaise that. “Never ask anyone what they are. It’s considered impolite.”

  Wil unclasped his hands and grimaced. “So, I offended him? There’s no way he’ll—”

  “Nope.” She popped her ‘p’ and set the empty drink down. “Another!” she shouted down the bar. Blaise nodded as he placed a freshly pulled beer in front of a gremlin.

  “Did someone tell you to come here for a talisman?” she asked Wil.

  “No. They just said this bar is fairy-run. Thought it was worth a shot.”

  “Fairies are hard to come by. So you can understand that if he started doing talismans for everyone who wanted one, he’d never get anything else done, right?”

  “Do they really work?” His round eyes seemed skeptical.

  Rhenna snorted. A baby, this one was. Was he even old enough to wield those swords on his back?

  “You’re asking me if a fairy-kissed talisman actually protects its bearer from harm? If you don’t believe it, why’d you come down here?”

  He pursed his lips and looked off. “My Prior told me to come.”

  “Was the head of your coven perhaps trying to haze you?”

  She watched the thought cross his mind and he frowned, considering. “He’s usually not the playful kind.”

  “Were you, I don’t know, annoying him, maybe? Being too…” She waved a hand in his direction, “…earnest?”

  His face fell. Poor thing. She could see it playing out now. A newly trained Omen, ready to do his duty and protect his coven. A Prior a bit annoyed by the headstrong, overgrown warrior eager to test his skills. But with no experience, only hunger.

  “Don’t feel bad, newbie,” Rhenna said, patting his overgrown arm. “Everybody has to start somewhere.”

  Blaise dropped off her fresh fruity beverage, and she smiled brightly in response. The bartender’s eyes widened a fraction, but he just grunted then returned to the other end of the bar. She spun around on her seat, taking in the view.

  “Might as well enjoy it while you’re here. A little slice of Elsewhere in the human world.” She sighed, unable to keep the wistfulness out of it.

  Wil’s close perusal was heavy as a touch, taking her in. Wondering what she was, but after her admonishment earlier, likely too chagrined to ask. Others in the place were more obvious. She could almost feel the gears spinning in his head as he noticed the goblin, the gremlin, the shifters, and wights.

  He tensed, and a hand went to the dagger at his belt. Rhenna grabbed his wrist before he could pull it loose.

  “Is that a demon?” he asked through clenched teeth.

  The demon in question, a female named Mazhira, sat in the corner laughing her ass off at something a centaur said. She showed off her rows of razor sharp, filed teeth. The tips of pointed ears just peeked out of her dark green hair.

  “Yes, there are plenty of demons here. But those weapons won’t be necessary. Didn’t you read the signs?” Every wall held a large placard with the rules written in English, French, and half a dozen tongues found only in Elsewhere.

  Wil remained rigid for a long moment and then finally relaxed, dropping his hand to his leg. Rhenna released her grip on him. The Twenty-two Enigmas only knew what would happen if this tender-footed child started a brawl in The Loophole.

  “Besides, she’s a Grim demon,” Rhenna said. “The treaty between them and the human covens still stands.”

  He worriedly scanned the room. “Are Shade demons allowed in here?”

  “Yes,” she said slowly. Wil’s jaw ticked. “And they follow the rules as well.”

  “Demons don’t follow rules,” he muttered under his breath.

  Rhenna sighed and pulled another sip of her drink. “So prejudiced.”

  He turned to her, affronted. “Prejudiced? Against demons?”

  “Yes, Omen. Are you or are you not half demon? If I’m not mistaken, your mother was a demon.”

  He backed up. “How did you know?”

  “The demonborn have a certain… rigidity about them that humanborn Omens lack. At any rate, I should hope you would take the time to get to know some of us before forming opinions about a whole species.”

  His jaw
unhinged, and he looked at her with even more scrutiny. She shot him a what-are-you-going-to-do-now? expression, and his shoulders relaxed a bit. “I suppose you’re right. It’s just that I was trained—”

  “You were trained to fight demons who want to fight you. Does anyone in this bar look like they want to fight?”

  Just then the pouch at Rhenna’s neck began to vibrate. She closed a hand over it to still the movement. A firework of pain exploded behind her eyes followed by wave of dizziness. She swayed, holding a hand to her head.

  “Are you all right?” she dimly heard Wil ask. “Hey! She might need some water or something.”

  The cocktail glass was plucked from her grip, and strong hands spun her around on her stool.

  “Here, drink this.” A straw reached her lips, and Rhenna sipped. The cool water eased her parched throat, and the dizziness faded.

  When she opened her eyes, Blaise was gazing at her, concern creasing his brow. She could feel Wil at her back, nervous energy sparking.

  “I’m all right. I’m fine. Just…” She took a deep breath. “Still acclimating.”

  Blaise nodded, understanding, and moved away, but Wil sat down next to her, frowning. “Acclimating? Did you just arrive?”

  “From Elsewhere? Oh no, I’ve been here for years. Just…” she cleared her throat. Her pouch had come out from beneath her shirt and she tucked it back in, then pushed up her sleeves to get more air.

  Wil tilted his head. “What’s that?”

  She looked down at a tattoo on her arm.

  “‘So it goes,’” he said, reading. “What does that mean?”

  Rhenna stared at her arm, wondering what other tattoos this body bore. People rarely had just one, not at this age. She shrugged and drank the rest of her water.

  “You don’t know what your own tattoo means?”

  “New body,” she said, smiling.

  Wil froze beside her. Rhenna felt her headache deepen. It had been quite a while since she’d rejected a body, but she had a strong suspicion that was happening.

  What could cause such a thing? She vaguely remembered her youth and the endless warnings her oma had given, ones she hadn’t needed in her many years of life. She’d had one rejection when she was first kicked out of Elsewhere, but since then everything had been smooth.

  She had no desire to repeat those terrifying days. If this was a rejection, she had to get back out there and find a new body. She might have enough breath left for another change. Maybe.

  She stood, wobbling on the stupid heels. Wil shot a hand out to steady her, but she brushed him away. Instead she closed her eyes and breathed deeply, trying to force this body to catch hold and not spurn her. Hoping for enough time.

  “I know it’s rude, but,” Wil began in a low voice, “what are you?”

  Slowly, she straightened to her full height. The rolling in her belly was a bad sign. There would be no more time. She sighed and caught Blaise’s eye. Nodded with her head for him to come over.

  “Feeling better?” he asked, taking in Wil’s cautious demeanor.

  “Need to settle up. Gotta go.”

  His brows rose, but he moved over to the register to pull up her bill. Rhenna fished some cash out of her purse.

  Blaise returned, frowning. “You don’t look so hot.”

  She shrugged. “Don’t feel so hot either. Seems like my last meal isn’t agreeing with me.” She gave a wan smile and took another breath.

  That simple act was getting harder. She needed to go, now.

  What were the chances of her finding a suitable body in the time she had, with the breath she had left? Virtually none. How could this be happening to her? She should have fed again before coming here. She’d gotten overconfident.

  As she stumbled towards the exit, she realized she had an unwanted shadow. Spinning around to face her young stalker made the dizziness return. “What are you doing?”

  “Making sure you get out of here safely,” Wil said.

  Rhenna sighed. “So chivalrous. But I don’t need it. I assure you that I can take care of myself. Everyone in here can, one way or another.”

  He looked down. “I know, it’s just that…”

  “What?” her voice came out exasperated. A hot pain was burrowing its way through her insides.

  “I don’t know what you are.”

  So, it was less her safety he was concerned about and more the safety of the public at large. Laughter bubbled up through the stabbing in her middle. It hurt, but she couldn’t help it—the look on poor Wil’s face was comical.

  Tears streamed from her eyes. She clenched her sides and then bent over, gasping for breath. Her heel slipped and her palms hit the ground as she tried to steady herself. This time, the arm that helped her up was Blaise’s. She gripped him like a lifeline. But the furrow on his brow wasn’t good.

  “Sorry,” she said. “Thank you.”

  He blinked, his severe face growing more so.

  “Uh oh,” she whispered. “You don’t look happy.”

  “I’m not happy,” he gritted out. “What exactly do you need?”

  “A dead girl would be nice. 5’4 to 5’8, under 180 pounds. Body mass makes a difference, especially since I’m short of breath.” She tried to pat her pouch, but her hand missed.

  From somewhere nearby she heard Wil suck in a breath.

  “Figure it out yet?” she asked, as her vision swam.

  “Holy Enigmas,” Wil swore. “You’re a Boo Hag.”

  And then she passed out.

  Maintaining consciousness in a body that was rejecting your essence was hard. But though the flesh she wore lay motionless on the ground, Rhenna was still aware. Aware enough to be mildly offended at being called a Boo Hag.

  If she could have controlled her mouth and vocal chords, she would have informed the young padawan that her kind preferred the term Breath Witch. But she could do nothing more than perceive the new body she’d so carefully chosen being lifted into Blaise’s arms. Wil held the door as Blaise hustled her outside into the biting cold. Her essence didn’t feel the temperature, but she sensed the breaths of the two males puff as they walked.

  “So, she’s… she’s…” Wil stammered, cheeks turning red.

  Blaise’s expression was tight. He wasn’t straining under the weight of Rhenna’s body, the body she now felt so protective of, but he didn’t seem to be in a talkative mood.

  Rhenna wished she could ease the tension evident on his forehead. A line had formed there, right down the middle. He was certainly the frowniest fairy she’d ever met.

  “She eats the dead and wears their bodies,” Wil finally got out.

  “Not exactly,” Blaise said, turning onto a busier street. It was late enough that those around didn’t look twice at a man carrying an unconscious woman down the street.

  “She steals the breath of the dead,” he said. Rhenna bristled. Steal was a strong term. The dead didn’t really need what she took anyway. “It’s how she survives. And every so often, when she needs a new body, she’ll taste their flesh in order to wear their skin. She doesn’t eat the dead, she just needs a bite.”

  And that’s the part she hated the most. People tasted awful.

  “How can the dead have breath?” Wil asked.

  “Newly dead. Heart stopped, unrecoverable but with a final wisp of life still trapped in their lungs.”

  “The one that comes out with the death rattle?” Wil asked.

  Blaise shrugged.

  “What happened to her?”

  “Sometimes the bodies are rejected, the way that organ donations go wrong.”

  Wil thought about that. “So, we have to find another dead girl for her to take? How are we going to do that?”

  “We’re not,” Blaise answered. Wil looked as confused as Rhenna felt. She wished she could talk to him. He did seem to know quite a bit about her kind, but he must not know everything. This body was trying its damnedest to push out her essence, and she was holding on by a thread.
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  If the body succeeded, Rhenna would be set adrift without any tethers. No body meant no teeth, no way to consume flesh. No way to steal breath. She would be a wandering essence that would either die of starvation or, perhaps impossibly, find a portal to Elsewhere, where her original skin was kept. But if she was discovered back home, she might as well be dead.

  Blaise stopped in front of a brownstone and shifted Rhenna’s body to pull a set of keys from his pocket. Was this Blaise’s house? The windows were all dark. It was as nondescript as the bar, but nice, on a quiet street.

  He got the door open and they all spilled inside. Lights turned on of their own volition, sparked, no doubt, by the fairy’s magic. Classic, high quality furnishings of dark wood and heavy embroidery greeted them. This did not appear to be the home of a bartender, though it did fit the aesthetic of a centuries-old fairy. The Omen stopped short. “This is your home?”

  Blaise ignored him, setting Rhenna on a plush antique couch and sitting beside her, brushing hair off her face. She thought she sensed some emotion play across his face, but in her current state she couldn’t be sure.

  “How can you help her?” Wil asked.

  “Sit there,” Blaise instructed, pointing to the armchair next to the couch. “Drag it over.”

  Wil obeyed obediently, dragging the heavy chair so his knees touched the sofa near Rhenna’s head.

  Blaise kept rubbing her forehead, stroking it carefully. From Rhenna’s perspective, his face was blank, but she thought she noticed a spark behind his eyes.

  “You came to the bar because of what you heard that fairies can do, right?”

  Wil tore his gaze from Rhenna to peer at Blaise. “Yes.”

  “And what, exactly, do you think that is?”

  “Your… your joy emits a protective energy. A happy fairy can protect anything they kiss.”

  Blaise nodded. “And an unhappy fairy?”

  Wil paled. “Is a ticking time bomb. A destructive force beyond even demonstrife.”

  “Hence the rules of The Loophole.”

  Wil nodded, but even through the haze of her perception, Rhenna could tell he didn’t quite understand. He’d never seen the aftermath of fairy fury. Never walked through a mile-long crater created after one gave into their grief or rage.