The Reaping (The Moondreamer Chronicles Book 2)

by Tamara Mataya

  She’s stopping me from acting out and stopping this. Her hand snakes around mine and squeezes. Ashria's taken my hand, both as a warning and as support. I hate her and love her for taking away this choice I can’t handle making.

  We came here to oversee the demise of an enemy. We were to be the sword. This is what we've found instead. We're not here to exact revenge, we're here to bear witness and allow it to happen.

  Turns out the hardest thing I've ever done in my life is nothing at all.

  It doesn't matter what he's done. There had to have been some way we could have helped him, healed him, fixed this situation.

  Any other way.

  Instead we watch him swallow the poison and quietly wait to die.

  I will never be okay with this. Nothing about it feels like justice, but I don’t know what else he could do to make amends or give the people he’s hurt the justice they deserve.

  I squeeze Ashria's hand, drawing what strength I can from it. For all her stoic appearance, her hand is icy in mine and the trembling matches my own.

  Coren slumps to the floor and savage cheers ring out.

  I can’t do this. They deserve their revenge and I can’t speak out against it, but I also can’t pretend I feel anything remotely resembling okay about it.

  I don't speak another word but Ashria knows.

  My mom knows and pulls me into a hug. “Syxx, you go ahead. Go home. I'll finish up everything here and get all the information Brannon got. Are you okay to travel alone?”

  I nod, feeling like I might fly apart at any moment. If I stay here another hour, I will never get over this. Maybe I’ll even completely lose my shit on the people who made me bear witness to something I never could have predicted I'd see.

  She gives me another squeeze. “Of course you’ll be fine. I'll be home as soon as I can.”

  I lean into her, trying to draw from her strength, grateful when she weaves another spell around me, something to make me feel better, even though it won’t be enough.

  I don't want to be alone, but there's no alternative.

  I can't stay and she can't leave yet.

  It takes two days and a night to get home.

  I cry most of the way.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  My pace quickens the closer I get to the safe house, to home.

  Strange that it's gotten to feel like a home, but it's something good I desperately cling to after the lonely journey back with too much time inside my thoughts.

  Half a block away from the safe house, I’m no closer to clarity than when I left the Sprites. I don’t believe that everyone deserves second chances or that rehabilitation is always possible—some people are too evil or have seen too much—but I want to believe that we’re all capable of coming back from the edge of evil. I want there to be a way back to goodness for all of us because it would mean that no one else has to die—that I and those I love wouldn’t have to kill anyone else.

  I want it, but the longer I live, the less of a contrast there is between black and white. Everything’s muddied together into bleak grey swirls that are impossible to navigate. When bad people do good things and good people do bad things, don’t they all become the same? Aren’t actions what matter most, or is it all about our intentions?

  I feel like I need to live three more lifetimes to get more wisdom about this whole damn fight. With a sigh, I kick a rock up the sidewalk. It stops a few feet short of the flashy town car lingering in front of the safe house. The deeply tinted windows protect the identities of the passengers inside. Most of us don't use a vehicle near the safe house; loitering at the entrance draws too much attention.

  An idling car does not breed confidence.

  Trying to project fearlessness, I keep my posture relaxed as I approach the car.

  Maybe it's a coincidence that they're parked here. Yeah right—as if I still believe in those. I can't ignore them and enter the safe house if they're watching. Shit.

  I could go around and use the back, but I want to know who these people are and what they want. There’s a large tree thirty feet ahead. If I can get past without being jumped—if it is a trap—I’ll duck behind it and keep an eye on them using some magic.

  The door swings open as I pass, sweeping me toward the hood, making me stumble. Whoever is on the other side of the door uses it as a shield to obscure my view. A woman tumbles to the sidewalk, landing hard on her side and facing away from me. The car door slams and a window lowers enough for me to peer inside and make eye contact with someone.

  The car's pulling away before I realize who it was.

  Mare.

  She had to have known my movements, or she wouldn't have been here now. How do the Vamps know everything? I tense to fly after her for answers, but if Mare's here that means...

  I step carefully around her prone body and squat down.

  “Trina?” The days that have passed since I saw her in Mare's memory have given more bruises time to form. One cheek is sickly green, the other swollen and eggplant-purple. Her nose is crooked, and I can't tell if it's because the swelling is distorting her face or because it's broken. Every injury is a knife wound to my conscience. Trina’s trauma is all my fault.

  She stares up at me, turning her head stiffly. I crush her to me in a hug. She winces and I immediately let her go. “Oh, god, I’m sorry.”

  “Syxx? What are you doing here?” Talking splits her lip open, and a ruby droplet of blood oozes down her chin. She doesn’t seem to notice, too busy staring at me like she can’t believe I’m real.

  What do I say? I need to get her safely inside, healed and cleaned up. Right now all I see are her bruises, I can't even focus enough to assess her injuries, and we’re vulnerable here in the open right in front of the house.

  “Syxx?” Her voice has shrunken down, withered like her confidence, her pride. Her terror is stamped all over the way she's holding herself, twitching at the slightest breeze. She’s been brought so low by what they’ve done to her.

  I reach out to touch her, keeping my hands to myself at the last second. I doubt there's anywhere I could touch that wouldn't hurt.

  Please let Draven notice I’m here and come outside.

  Throwing off the stupor enough to move, I try to smile reassuringly. “Damn, Trin.” I gesture to her face. “Your makeover sucks.”

  She smiles at my pathetic attempt at humor, which splits her lip more.

  Anger and forced jokes are the only things keeping me from falling apart. “Can you walk?”

  Her blink lasts a second too long. She finally shakes her head. “I'm too weak. I can't even sit up. I haven’t eaten in a while.”

  My jaw clamps shut. “Have you been starved as well as hurt?”

  She shakes her head. “I didn’t take the chance on eating anything they offered me.

  I would have done the same in her position. How could you trust the person who beat the shit out of you and held you captive not to poison you? “Someone will see us and help in a second. We’ll take you inside.” I could use my powers to fly her in the house, but I don't want her to go into shock at seeing something like that in her condition. My powers can heal a body; I have no idea how to repair a broken mind. The Vampires have seriously fucked with Trina, who knows how she'll react when she learns I'm not completely human. She might flip out and not trust me, or not trust it’s actually me and not an impostor.

  One step at a time. I need to get her into the house. I stand, and the space beside me glows with warmth at Draven’s arrival.

  “What's going on?” His curious glance turns to a horrified expression when he sees my friend. “Trina?” He quickly masks his features. He’s seen the pics I had of Trina on my phone, so he knows how messed up her appearance is right now.

  “Yeah, I’s her.” I bite my lip to stop the tears. “Help me get her in the house.”

  He nods, squeezes my hand, and squats in front of my bruised and broken best friend. “Is it okay if I carry you inside?”

 
She looks to me and I nod. She sighs a yes, lacking the strength to project her voice or nod.

  “I'll be as gentle as I can, but it may still hurt. Try to relax as much as possible.” He carefully gathers her in his arms, lifting her like she weighs nothing. She’s thinner than the last time I saw her in person, and maybe even since the way she looked in Mare's memory. Rage simmers beneath my skin, filling me with pockets of seething like the emotional bends. It's the Fae war that's done this to my best friend as much as the Vampires.

  I'm so sick of all of their bullshit. I’m sick of all of this.

  Walking in front of Draven so Trina can see me and hopefully feel reassured by my presence, I work the charm to get inside the protection spell. Trina gasps as the safe house becomes visible. It's another amazing thing I've gotten used to. Magic becoming ordinary. A little over a month ago I'd have marvelled at it too. Have I changed so much since The Sowing?

  Opening the door, I leave the self-reflection outside. Kaya and Skortia step out of the kitchen as I lead Draven down the hall.

  Skortia smiles. “Hey, how was—”

  “Later.” I keep walking.

  Misty meets me at the top of the stairs with Ibor, Janska, and a couple other Fae—likely they're the other soldiers she wanted to free.

  Her smile is huge. “Syxx! Hey, we—”

  “Not now.” I push past them down the hall to mine and Draven's room. Though we have plenty of other rooms, I want Trina with me. I throw back the covers and move so Draven can set her down. Trina winces as she makes contact with the bed, and I flinch with her. I have no objectivity right now and understand why doctors don't operate on their own family or friends, but there’s no one else here who can help so I’ve got to suck it up. She needs rest and comfort and to be healed.

  And food.

  And not in that order. When I adjust the pillows for her, I catch sight of all the Fae soldiers who have followed us into our room and a wave of irritation jolts through me.

  I get it. They want to lend support, or are curious or bored and want to watch the show.

  Maybe the last one’s a bit harsh, but I have completely had it. My tolerance with all the bullshit I've had to go through, the missions, the fighting, the putting my life on hold, and finally, my patience, are at saturation point. I literally can't take them for another minute. “Everyone get out.”

  “Syxx—”

  “Now!” I don't even know who spoke, I just want them all to get the hell out of my sight.

  Everyone except Draven high-tails out the door, and I close it with a bump behind them, then lock it. I like how Draven knows I wasn't including him with 'everyone.'

  I cover Trina with the blanket.

  “Who were all those people?” Trina’s voice is weak, though steadier than it was outside. “Is this...do you live here now?”

  “I—” Shit. I don't even know where to begin. “I—” I suck at this. How am I going to explain? “I've wanted to tell you every single day that's gone by. So much has happened, Trina, I don't even know where to start.”

  “You’re clearly not a hostage here. Why haven't you come home?” As usual, she cuts to the heart of the issue. Astute motherfucker.

  “I'm fighting a war.”

  Her hands curl into fists around the top of the blanket. “Is it against the people who did this to me?”

  “Not directly, though they're a part of it.”

  “They took me to get to you.” She doesn’t say it maliciously, but guilt incinerates my insides.

  I slump and nod.

  “How long have you known about all this? Magic?”

  “Since the day after the Beajenn concert. Some things happened and I was thrown into it all. I screwed a lot of things up. People got hurt.”

  “Not true,” Draven says to me, and then addresses Trina. “Syxx saved lives and started a revolution.”

  I shake my head. “I didn't! It wasn't like that, I was just there.”

  “And were yourself. Which freed a people and exposed our true enemy.”

  I shrug. “Out of the frying pan and into the fire.”

  Trina chuckles. “Sounds like you, though.”

  “Well. Whatever. So, that happened. And I've been fighting weird shit ever since then. I wanted to tell you about it right away, but I didn't know what to say without sounding crazy. I couldn't show you anything over the phone; I wanted to have the conversation in person—and I wanted to stay away from you until this was over and we were all safe. I didn’t want my lives before and after all this to touch. It made it all real, somehow. And I thought if I kept you out of it, you'd be safe.” My voice wobbles on the last few words. I was so stupid. “All of this is my fault. If I'd brought you here right away instead of thinking I knew best, we could have kept you safe.”

  “How? You didn't know this was going to happen. Besides, you're a lover, not a fighter.”

  Draven grins. “Oh, a bit of both, I'd say.”

  Trina shakes her head. “Maybe a little from column A, but she's no fighter. She can dance, but she gave me a black eye doing a Tae Bo DVD once. Epic flailing.”

  I snort. I’d forgotten all about that. “Actually...”

  “You fight now?”

  “I've had some combat training.”

  “That's so cool!” She winces through the excitement, and I inwardly kick myself.

  I sit beside her on the bed. “Yeah, I suppose it is. That's not the coolest, or most fucked up, part. I think it will be easier for me to show you, rather than tell you. Okay?”

  She nods without hesitation, and my heart squeezes inside my chest at the pure trust we have. I’ve found that with Draven, but it’s so damn rare and precious.

  Reaching deep, I focus on her injuries before my head nearly explodes from anger at the things that were done to her. Okay, I need to change tactics.

  Let pain relief cover her like a warm, cozy blanket.

  Heal.

  Seeing every wound pisses me off to the point I can’t focus, so this is the best way.

  While they look awful, her wounds are fairly superficial, and it doesn’t take long until she perks up. Her inflammation-distorted features go back to normal as the bruises fade from her face. It's like erasing an accident and makes me feel slightly better about the situation.

  She sits up and gently prods at her face and ribs, her eyes having grown to anime-size with surprise. “Dude!”

  “I know. And, um, check out your appendix scar.”

  She lifts her t-shirt and brushes at the scar from her surgery. It comes off. I motion to the chicken pox scars on her cheek that I know she's always hated. She grins and brushes those off too.

  I took care of my own scars that bothered me—the least I can do is the same for her.

  She tucks her hair behind her ears and sits up. “So, you can heal people?”

  I nod.

  “What else can you do?”

  “Nearly anything. Turns out Janelle isn't my real mom.”

  She grins. “You told me that. It's outstanding.”

  “What I couldn't tell you is my real mom isn't human at all. She's a Moondreamer—a Fae who can grant wishes, will things into being, and bring lightness of heart.”

  “And fly,” Draven adds.

  Trina’s mouth drops open. “Show me!”

  I float up into the air. “I’ll never have to climb on the counter to reach things from the top shelf again!”

  “Wow. So you're telling me your mom is a fairy?”

  I wrinkle my nose. I’d asked Tipper the same thing when he said I was a Moondreamer. “No, but we share a few characteristics.”

  “So she's a fairy, which makes you one too, basically.”

  “I'm not a fairy, you jerk!” I land.

  “Lightness of heart? Sounds pretty Tinkerbell to me.”

  “No, it doesn't!” I laugh.

  “We need to get you some body glitter. And a tutu.”

  “Trina!” She’s taking this so well. I guess her e
xperience with the Vampires makes it impossible to deny the existence of otherworldly beings. I'm surprised and relieved she's cracking jokes. Irreverence is a good sign, silence is not. “You're really okay with it?”

  “It's not like I have much of a choice. And you're the same Syxx, right?”

  I nod even though that feels like a lie.

  Her stomach unleashes a loud growl.

  “Are you smuggling a dog under that t-shirt?” I ask her.

  “Oh my god, brutal.” She pats her stomach. “Now that everything no longer aches, I guess the beast has awoken.”

  Draven heads for the door. “I'll bring you something to eat.”

  “Thank you...I don't think I caught your name.”

  “It's Draven,” I say as he shuts the door behind himself.

  She waits until he's gone, then leans forward and grins. “So. You're a Moondreamer. What is he?”

  “He's a Cambion. Half-Incubus.”

  “Really. Aren't Incubi, like, sex demons?” She wags her eyebrows lecherously. I nod. “And is that him?”

  “What?”

  “Come on. Now I understand why you weren't all broken up about not seeing me for weeks on end. You've got a new guy with a sexy accent! What is it, British? It’s not quite British.”

  I can only grin wider.

  “And he's a sex demon? Oh my god, you dark horse.”

  I can't stop the dopey grin from completely claiming my face.

  Trina laughs. “I knew it! So what's the deal? Is it luuurve?”

  “Yeah, it is. I love him, Trina.” My heart could crack open with happiness at finally being able to squee about him with my best friend.

  She waves her hands. “I can't believe it! Finally.”

  “Right?” We narrowly restrain ourselves from dancing around like a couple of cackling Witches.

  “And he makes you happy?”

  I nod. “He's my soul mate.”

  She sighs happily. “I'm glad.”

  I come down a bit. “I'm sorry I didn't call.”

  “You texted.”

  “It's not the same.”

  She hugs her knees. “No, it isn't, but would you have said anything differently?”