In this mortal realm, where vampires and fairies are part of pop culture, something like that would draw a lot of attention.
Still… “It had better be a cargo train.” I don’t trust him as far as I could throw him.
“Rouen.” He’s smooth as he avoids the subject. “The hearthstone needs her.”
I fix him with my patented dark-Fae glare. “So you’ve been saying.” I mean, it seems true enough. In its lingering death, the hearthstone grows ravenous. The five princesses he’s fed it weren’t very strong—barely enough to stave off a day of its darkening.
But I can’t shake the feeling that there’s another way. One that doesn’t involve murder.
Agravaine’s shark-black eyes glitter hungrily. “You know what we must do.”
I do. Unlike him, I can feel the hearthstone, feel its dying pulse, sluggish and guttering, in my bones. If it fails, UnderHollow will crumble and collapse and take our people with it into the Harrowing void.
Still, I’ve always questioned his plan. “I know what you’ll Command me to do.” My gramarye is more violent and destructive than his. Plus, I know he likes to use his power over me to get me to hurt people, to kill.
Even if I could be free, do I deserve it after all I’ve done? So much blood on my hands.
“It had better not be a commuter train, Agravaine.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
A darkling glimmer glints as he turns. Beneath the leather jacket, the black circuits crawl and shiver, and I realize with a shudder…
The Moribund is spreading.
My own hand aches painfully, a numbing chill lacing the circuits that have infected my flesh. Will I become like him, more machine than girl, nothing more than an empty, hollow Huntress living for the chase and kill? A weapon forged in blood and fire, sorrow and shadow?
I will not become that.
“You’re stalling.” Agravaine’s deep baritone throbs through the night, thick with frustration at having to always Command me.
“Just waiting for the train.”
He gives me a threatening glare, and everything about him intensifies. “Don’t test me, Rouen.”
“Why? Afraid you’ll fail?”
He growls but stops talking.
Good. I hate it when he goes all Mr Chatty on me.
I look out over the city of Richmond. The sleeper-princess is out there somewhere.
The thorny ache in my heart cries out for her.
I will find her. And I will try to help her. No matter what Agravaine wants. No matter what the consequences are.
We wait beneath the viaduct, an awkward silence blanketing us.
The iron tang wafting off the tracks sickens me. If I stay too close for too long, it will drain me of my power. I strain to hear through the night, but all I catch is the Moribund thrumming hungrily inside me. I clench my fist so tight my knuckles crack.
And then, a horn blares, shattering the stillness, the slight rattle of the tracks above shaking me from my reverie.
The train is coming.
Even now, I feel the vibrations as it rushes toward us. The metallic stink of cold iron stains the night, the sweaty stench of steel and the belching sooty-smoke blackening the stars. I see train cars flashing all chrome in the streetlights.
The train is coming.
Agravaine moves to stand directly beneath the viaduct. Oil drips from the girders above, the entire structure trembling on its supports. Beneath the sallow yellow light, he unslings a very familiar instrument case from his shoulder and thrusts it at me. “You left this behind after the show.” Accusation lines his every word.
Damn it. The violin is my focus. Without it, my gramarye isn’t half as destructive. “Gee, thanks.” I reach for it as I eye the shivering tracks above.
I hope to the hearthstone that Agravaine picked a freight train.
“Come on. We’ll meet the train before it reaches the city’s edge.” Agravaine picks up the pace again, a shadow cutting through the night on a track of destruction.
I sling my violin over my shoulder and follow.
We pelt toward the train as it rushes by on the viaduct above, the thrum of steel wheels racing over iron. Anticipation tightens the Moribund circuits in my right hand. From the violin comes an answering thrum.
All that dark Circuit Fae magic. It can’t wait to be unleashed.
We’re nearing the city’s edge now. The buildings here are old but far from abandoned—warehouses turned into apartment complexes and condos. We flash past in the night, throwing up Glamouries to cloak us. The humans will see passing shadows, ghosts on their periphery. A few, the rare Wakeful that can see through a Glamoury, might see the face of a loved one long past. Perhaps it will bring them terror. Perhaps it will bring them peace.
We race on. I push myself hard, calling my fairy wind. In a gust of Winter, it boosts my speed. My heart pounds in my ears, my blood thrumming with the rattling roll of the train above us. I race Agravaine, and we both race the train.
The ruttering roll of the train taunts me. Sleeper-princess, sleeper-princess, sleeper-princess.
We flash past the buildings close to the tracks, and for a moment, the train passes out of sight. Agravaine cuts down a narrow alleyway. This is our track, our shortcut. Without slowing, I launch at a fire escape and clamber up it, my long legs serving me well.
I race to the edge of the building and hurtle myself across the gap. My boots smack down on the other side. I am running again.
I push myself faster, farther, fairy wind rushing me along as we race the train, him on the ground and me topside.
The train speeds onward, and so must we.
It better not be a commuter railway.
In our little race, he is still in the lead. He glances up at me and chuckles. I feel the vibrations of his disdain even over the chugging of the train. It spurs me even faster.
One more leap to go. The train snakes through the darkness toward the curve. I dash to the edge of the building and make the leap.
We are ahead of the train.
And I am ahead of him.
I alight on the tracks, stamping my cockiest look on my face. After all, why not? Baiting him is the only defense I have. “What kept you?” It’s a cliché thing to say, but it strikes his pride as keen and true as elfshot.
“Heh.” He shakes his mane of wild white hair. His skin gleams like marble beneath the lights, the rippling play of muscles something I’m sure no other girl could resist. “One day, that conceited attitude of yours is going to get you into trouble.”
“One day. But not today.”
The train shakes the viaduct beneath our feet as it comes on. Our feud will have to wait.
Showtime, as the humans say.
My skin prickles painfully, the iron around us already siphoning off my powers. I don’t have much time before the iron drains me completely. I unsling my violin case, unzipping the leather, and take out the instrument. The tracks beneath us shiver, shake. My teeth rattle, but the caress of the instrument soothes me.
I position my fingers, raise my bow to the strings. One chord, I tell myself. One lashing strike of my gramarye to sunder the tracks, derail the train, and send it careening into the night.
I will destroy the ring of iron protecting the sleeper-princess.
After tonight, she’ll be mine. Mine. With that word, a riot of images and emotions stir, sharp and poignant, digging like a thorn into my heart—red hair and freckles, those summer-storm-grey eyes…
What is wrong with me?
I steady my bow and stare down the train.
It rushes toward us, whistle blowing, streetlights flashing across its windows, revealing glimpses, pale and dark and in between.
Faces. People.
I lower my bow. Bloody bones.
“One-fifteen. It’s on time.” Agravaine steps up behind me, looming. “Is there a problem?”
Rotten liar. “I told you I wouldn’t attack a commuter rail. Did something ge
t lost in translation?”
“I understood you perfectly.” He’s so smug, the damn slimeball. “We’re not picking another train. And you shouldn’t want to, should you?” His cruelty is casual. Like all dark Fae, he doesn’t care one bit about the lives of mortals.
I do, though. “You rotten little maggot.”
His smirk is something I’d like to slap off his face.
“Now, Rouen. Most dark Fae would slaughter every one of those humans and revel in it, especially if it gave one more second of life to the hearthstone. Think of your people.”
I raise my eyebrow at him. “Don’t push it, pal.”
Slowly, I bring the violin to my chin. The glassy surface shimmers, and I feel my gramarye rising, the pulse of violence thrumming inside me, driving me on, the strings humming with leashed power.
I don’t need to look. I won’t look. I won’t think. I’ll just do. For my people. For my people.
It becomes a mantra as the train rushes down on us.
In the span of three heartbeats, we will be crushed. I raise my bow, breathe out, and the power rushes around me. The circuits in my right hand stretch and pull, hungry for the destructive chord.
For my people. For my people.
In this moment, time dilates, spiraling outward. I open my eyes and see past the conductor, into the first car, and lock gazes with a mortal girl. Storm-grey eyes, her hair like molten flame, brightness all around her. No. My heart gives a nasty jolt. It can’t be her. But it is.
I promised her “after,” and now I am supposed to destroy her.
I lower my instrument. “No. No way.”
Agravaine heaves a sigh and runs a hand through his silky white hair. His black eyes gleam. “Rouen Rivoche, you will attack that train.”
The Command laces my limbs with obedience. I grit my teeth, trying to fight back, but my arm raises, my fingers poised on the bow. The bow hanging over the violin.
He makes a sawing motion in the air, and the gesture drives me to obey.
The first note strikes the air, sweet and ringing, and then I turn my wrist, letting the bow drag, letting the note go wrong. The circuits in my right hand lick with violet lightning as I shear at the violin, the bow sawing away, discordant notes flying free.
The night warps. The train comes on.
And then everything goes to hell and Harrowing.
Chapter Five
Syl
A sleeper-princess can only
Be Awakened in moments
Of extreme duress or danger
- Glamma’s Grimm
Sleeping on a train is about as convenient as skiing and playing video games.
I’m rattled awake by the train switching tracks. Ugh. I crack open my eyes, slide my phone out of my boot, and check the time. One a.m. Double ugh. I’m all groggy and out of sorts, still half caught in sweaty, desperate dreams. I run and run through the night like a teenager in one of those 90’s slasher flicks—you know, the one where they kill the main character in the first two minutes.
And even though it’s kind of cliché and all, I’m pretty scared, hauling butt down the graffitied alleyways of Richmond, chased by someone, something…
Being hunted.
Cliché or not, it’s got me feeling a little wild around the edges.
Ka-chunk, ka-chunk! The train rattles some more. “Okay, I’m up already. Sheesh.” I’ve left handprints on the window, and there’s a teeny bit of drool on my bottom lip. I wipe it away.
Real classy, Syl. I shake off my slasher-flick dreams. Whoa. Those were too real.
One last shiver claws my spine as I peer out the window. It’s dark, but I catch a glimpse of the city lights up ahead. Gotta be way past one a.m. by now. Next to me, Gina is asleep, her head bouncing gently against my shoulder. I shift in my seat, fidgety-stiff but not wanting to wake her.
The train car’s pretty dark. The conductor dimmed the lights way down just after we pulled out of DC. Everyone is either asleep or tucked down in their seats.
Everyone, that is, except Fiann.
She’s staring at me.
She sits in the semidarkness, streetlights whipping by, flashing over her pretty face, and I swear she doesn’t blink. Not once. My shivers come back in full force, making me squirm beneath the glare in her über-creepy gaze. Those green eyes like that spooky doll’s in—
Oooookay, no more horror-movie references, Syl. You’re imagining things.
But am I? Fiann’s looking at me all weird, like I’m the one who has what she wants.
But that doesn’t make one bit of sense.
Fiann’s rich, popular, smart, pretty. She’s captain of the cheerleading squad. She’s dean’s list with straight A’s. What do I have that could possibly compete with that?
But there’s something.
I see it in her crazy-gleaming green eyes. I’ve got something she wants. And she’s just now realizing it.
Maybe those slasher dreams were trying to warn me… Aaand we’re right back to horror movies.
“You’re special, Syl.”
Her whispered confession floors me. For a sec, I wonder if I heard right, what with the chugging of the train and all. No. No way she just said that. The dread roiling around my stomach like a ball of weasels tells me differently.
Relax, let it go, let it goooooo…
“Did you hear me? Did you hear what I said?”
Ugh, can’t a girl ignore her BFF like a normal person? “Wh-what?” My voice comes out in a breathy wheeze.
She glares at me coldly, then folds her arms and looks away. “Nothing.”
So. Awkward. A million responses whirl in my mind: laugh it off, tell her to quit teasing me, ignore it. Yeah, that last one sounds good. I’ll just ignore her.
But…she’s staring again. Goose bumps prickle my skin, and my fight-or-flight response—learned about that in freshman bio—grows wings. Helloooooo, flight!
“You’re special, Syl.” Just thinking of those words creeps me out. Maybe she meant it as some kind of backhanded compliment? Whatever it was, it only makes me feel more lonely and isolated. My chest tightens as if the Hulk’s trying to play my ribs like an accordion.
Outside, the skyline of Richmond is lit up bright as our train races toward it, cloaked in darkness. School’s in three months, but Dad’s money will run out long before then. Mom and I’ll have to move.
There won’t be any darkness to hide in.
Fiann’s ignoring me now, thank goodness.
The train chugs its way into the outskirts of the city. The slums flash by, all graffiti tags and street-art murals, beat-up Dumpsters, and broken cobblestones. The food pantry with the LGBT rainbow on it. Old, tattered signs hanging from billboards. The abandoned building they tried to make into a skate park. When the homeless swarmed it, they shut it down, leaving it a wrecked skeleton.
It looks like my slasher-flick dreamscape. Okay, now my goose bumps have goose bumps. Not to mention, there’s a weird sense of loneliness tonight. My heart’s all achy.
I want…so much.
I reach for Glamma’s iron nail pendant and give it a squeeze. My hand, the one that touched Euphoria’s, tingles weirdly. Was any part of what I felt between me and Euphoria real?
It was like a spark jumped between us in the darkness.
Just a tiny spark, but it ignited this bonfire inside me. I’m burning up just thinking about it, about her.
I want the “after” she promised.
Too bad, Syl. She totally ditched you. I slump in my seat, deflating like a balloon with a slow leak.
Outside, the wind seems to howl like a pack of hungry dogs. The train lurches as it heaves up along a viaduct, chugging up the incline all grindy-slow, streetlights flashing overhead. Below, on the wet streets, I catch a glimpse of a single person standing alone—a girl my age, tall and gothed out in black leather pants, leather jacket, motorcycle boots. She’s got long black hair, and smoky eye shadow makes her eyes stand out, sapphire-blue—
Wait, Euphoria? I jerk upright, Gina sliding off me to fwump onto the seat.
“Syyyyyyl!” she groans.
“Did you see that?” I press my face to the window, leaving nose prints. It can’t be Euphoria. That’s impossible.
But my heart instantly shoots into the stratosphere, hoping, hoping…
Fiann lunges over the seats. “See what?”
I crane my neck, trying to catch another glimpse. You’re losing it, Syl.
And then, Fiann gasps. “Oh, my God, that’s Euph—”
With a sharp pop, pop, pop, the streetlights explode, glass and dust clinking against the window in a rain of deadly glitter. Shadows close down over us, and the temperature drops weirdly. The train groans. It shudders on the tracks.
Right away, I feel the wrongness of it in my bones. Ruh-roh. Our car jolts and bounces, my stomach barrel-rolling with every bump. The river’s a shiny black ribbon below. I try not to imagine the train jumping the tracks, pitching us into the inky-dark murk of the James.
Calm down, Syl. You’re freaking out. I’m holding on to the seat so hard my knuckles are cracking. A black flash passes the window, and wind gusts, chilly like winter. Ice crackles and forms over the glass.
Suddenly, I can see my breath. Holy--! What is happening?
Again, I press my face to the window, using the warmth of my hand to melt the thin layer of ice. A fuzzy image appears—and now, the dark-haired girl is standing on a service platform ahead. She’s got something in her hand, something glassy catching the streetlights.
A…violin?
“It can’t be.” I whisper it to make it true.
But Fiann wrecks it because she’s Fiann. “Euphoria.”
Is it, though? I can’t make out her features, the glassy violin glinting, glaring. And the hand that holds it… There’s something messed up with it. An inky black ick coats her fingers, running up the back of her hand and around her palm, all shiny and glistening. Like insects when you turn over a rock. I strain to see.
No, not insects—circuits. Her hand is spliced with dark circuitry.
Am I still dreaming? Because none of this feels real. It feels like my nightmare is coming true.
Derailed: A Prequel Novella Page 5