Institute of the Shadow Fae Box Set

by C. N. Crawford

  Ruadan’s dark magic thickened. “You said you wanted something from the Shadow Fae in return for your help. Is that what you’re building up to?”

  She blew a strand of pale blue hair out of her eyes. “Yeah. I want protection. If I help you, I want to live freely in London. I don’t want any Shadow Fae stabbing me with iron just because I’m not in a locked realm like a good little girl.”

  “Agreed,” said Ruadan. “But you know that if the current knights die, they’ll be replaced by new knights. And those knights won’t honor this agreement. So we need Adonis to heal them now.”

  She smacked her hand on the countertop. “Then I guess we’d better find him.” Without taking her eyes off me, she bellowed, “Cora! Get your butt out here. We’ve got some witchery to do.”

  A minute later, a girl with peach-colored hair stumbled into the room through a beaded curtain, rubbing her eyes. Like Aenor, tattoos covered her pale skin. “Are you kidding me, Aenor? This had better be important. In my dream, I was just about to kiss this super hot incubus. I think he was a demigod—” She blinked, staring at Ruadan, then me. “Who are these people?”

  Aenor pointed at Ruadan. “Well, he’s an incubus, for one thing. And I think possibly a demigod.”

  Cora stared at him. “I was just joking. I hate incubi. I mean, I find you repulsive.” Then she looked away, muttering something that sounded like, “Too much.”

  “He has a World Key,” added Aenor. “And he is promising us amnesty from the Shadow Fae in return for our help.”

  “The both of you, then,” said Ruadan.

  Aenor straightened. “The both of us require amnesty. Permanently.”

  “Fine.”

  Cora was staring at his chest, where the World Key glowed. “Bloody hells.” She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. “Just so I’m clear, we don’t need to attack the Shadow Fae?”

  “No.” Aenor drummed her fingernails on the countertop. “I know her dad. They need our help.”

  “At this hour?” said Cora. “Why?”

  I met her gaze. “At the risk of sounding dramatic, you’re going to help us save the world.”

  “And more importantly,” added Aenor, “that whole bit about amnesty.”

  Cora heaved a sigh. “Fine. What do we need to do?”

  Aenor turned away from the counter. “We need to travel to another world and disintegrate its magical defenses. Let’s get our things together, shall we?”

  Chapter 119

  It was only a few more minutes before we were deep in the watery portal, swimming our way to the surface.

  I climbed out of the portal, then whirled around to help Aenor and Cora out. I gripped their arms, hauling them up. Both of them had their own bug-out bags now, full of their own witchy stuff. Probably waterlogged hearts of men.

  Aenor dropped her sodden bag on the earth, catching her breath, and Cora hunched over with her hands on her knees as she recovered.

  Ruadan called up a ball of silver light that illuminated the clearing a bit more. While the two witches caught their breath, I surveyed the woods around me.

  It looked so much like the home I remembered. Moonlight streamed between the leaves, and the wind rushed over groaning boughs of ancient oaks. To my left, outside the wood’s edge, were the village homes, silent and still as graves.

  I wrapped my arms around myself, shivering. I knew the desolation of this landscape was just an illusion, but the forest’s quiet felt wrong. The only sound here was the low song of the wind through the trees. It was like I was standing in the hollow carapace of my former home.

  I glanced at Aenor, who’d started pulling things out of her witch bag to lay on the moss. So far, she’d yanked out a demon heart, a few bones, wax candles, a jar of salt, and a few jars of herbs.

  “Can I help?” I asked.

  “No,” said Aenor. “Just stay out of the way while Cora collects a crow.”

  I glanced at Cora, who was making a cooing sound, holding her hands up to the tree branches. I stared as a dark bird fluttered onto her finger. Cora held onto its body, whispering into its ear. The crow’s eyes closed as it relaxed. Then, she released the bird above us. It flapped over our heads, the sound of its wings oddly loud.

  As she did that, Aenor poured the salt in a circle around us, muttering quietly in Angelic. She placed four candles in the center of the circle, then snapped her fingers to light the candles.

  Aenor looked at me and curled a finger to beckon me to her. “Everyone come closer. Join hands with us.”

  “We need all the power we can get,” added Cora.

  Aenor’s blue hair—and mine, too—wafted in the air. The hair on the back of my arms was also standing on end as the air charged with magic.

  Cora’s peach hair snaked around her head as if she were underwater. She closed her eyes. “This glamour is powerful. Can you feel it?”

  Ruadan stepped into the circle of magic, his pale hair lifting in the breeze. He traced his finger through the air, leaving a trail of dark magic that glimmered faintly. “It’s not just fae magic. There’s night magic here, too.”

  What on earth? “How? Neither of my parents could use night magic. We had no night demons in Eden. Are you sure?”

  He shot me a sharp look, which I quickly interpreted as I am a demigod of the night; do not question my knowledge of night magic.

  Aenor held out her hands to either side. “I guess we’ll find out when we break through the glamour.”

  My entire body felt taut as a bowstring, buzzing with tension. Nothing about this seemed right—the night magic, my father’s mysterious disappearance from Aenor’s locket. I couldn’t escape the feeling that something terrible had happened.

  “Hang on,” said Cora, pulling her hands away from the circle. “I was a little sleepy before, but now that the ice water portal has woken me up, please explain again why we’re about to open a world with the Horseman of Death in it. Is it just me, or is a Horseman of Death someone you’re better off leaving alone?”

  I glared at her. “It’s just you. He’s not dangerous.”

  “Explain,” she shot back.

  “Okay,” I said. “The horsemen were all born with a curse. It was an Angelic spell known as a seal. If the seals were opened, the horsemen turned evil. If my father’s seal had opened, he would have carried out his true purpose—to kill nearly everyone on earth using his death magic. But his seal was never opened. The curse never took effect.”

  “Liora’s mother took the spell off him completely,” added Aenor. “She used her magic to do it. She had some kind of insanely powerful fae magic at her fingertips. And that’s why we’re going to need all the power we can get to break through the magical protections she put up.”

  “Okay.” Cora held out her hands to either side, signaling that we were supposed to start.

  I grasped Cora’s hand in one of mine, and Ruadan’s in the other.

  “Wait.” Cora jerked her hand away, and she stared at Aenor. “You said he disappeared from your locket, right? What if he changed? Maybe the curse took hold after all. Don’t you know the prophecy of the gods?” Her hair whipped wildly around her head, and a ferocious wind rushed through the forest. “I looked, and behold, an ashen horse.” Leaves blew off the tree branches, rushing around us in a vortex. “And he who rode it had the name Death, and Hell followed him.”

  As she spoke, my skin went cold, and my shoulder blades ached to release their wings.

  “We get the idea, Cora,” said Aenor.

  But Cora wasn’t finished. She closed her eyes. “And power was given to them—to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth.”

  I felt like my soul was rising from the grave. As she spoke, I felt overwhelmed by the urge to unleash death all over the world, followed by the urge to dull my rage with whiskey. But I was fresh out. My gaze flicked to the moon. Red tinged its surface, as if thick blood were spilling across its surface. Then, the illusion disappeared aga
in.

  “Why are you quoting this ancient prophecy?” Ruadan’s eyes had darkened, the temperature chilling around us.

  Death magic still whispered over my skin. As I walk the earth, grass and wheat turns to ash before me….

  “Because the prophecy hasn’t yet come to pass,” said Cora. “But it will. The gods always make good on their prophecies. And they always have their way. We’re just their pawns.”

  Nyxobas’s words knelled in my mind: Ruadan dies at the end of all this.

  “Bollocks,” I said. “Gods’ prophecies are a load of shite. They don’t always come true.” I had nothing logical or factual to back up my argument—just my own iron will.

  Cora made a sign warding off blasphemy.

  “We don’t have time for a theological argument right now,” said Ruadan. “You have heard about the Plague spreading, right? It has spread beyond the Tower walls, and it will get worse. If the Institute falls, and if Baleros gets his hands on the World Key, he will conscript armies of demons to serve him. Then, death will truly stalk the earth.”

  “That’s the thing about prophecies,” I said. “They’re vague. Could be anything. We still have free will.” Despite my rising fears, I tried to be logical. “Are you going to help us or not?”

  “She’ll help us,” Aenor said, cutting in. “She’s a religious nut, but she mostly just wants the opportunity to say ‘I told you so’ if she happens to be right.”

  “Opportunity granted,” I said testily. “Let’s begin.”

  We held hands once more. Cora and Aenor began chanting. Above our heads, the crow cawed loudly, flapping its wings. The candle flames rose higher, casting wavering golden light over the oak grove.

  The prophecy Cora quoted rang in my mind. Hell followed him….

  Around us, magic whipped along with the breeze, rushing and tingling over my skin. Ruadan’s energy blended with the spell’s magic, and his power felt cold and silky on my body.

  I am the dark rot that starts in your fingertips….

  Above us, the crow cawed, and the winds picked up, blowing fallen leaves in a vortex around us. The candle flames rose to the height of our chests now. Something had to be working. At any moment, I could be rushing into the real Eden, embracing my parents.

  A powerful magic erupted around us. Then, I stared as the world around us shimmered and the glamour fell away. A few lights burned in the village windows. Home.

  My heart leapt, cheeks warming. “We’re here,” I whispered.

  I pulled away from the circle, taking a step toward the village.

  “Be cautious, Liora,” said Ruadan.

  It was like I felt his voice inside me instead of hearing it out loud, and I paused to turn back to him. His eyes were on me, his warm protectiveness washing over me. He looked at me like he’d been cursed and I was his salvation. He was right. How could I have ever doubted him?

  I turned away from him, heading back to my old home. I broke into a run once more, tearing down the path for my house. Warm lights beamed from windows onto the dirt roads. My feet pounded over the ground, and I sprinted past the crooked homes, the temple, the grassy common—beautifully, wonderfully free from grave markers, not a stone in sight.

  Then, I careened toward my old home, where a light burned in the kitchen window.

  Mum. Dad….

  I screeched to a halt before their door, jolted by the awareness that barging into their home might alarm them.

  I caught my breath, and my heart slammed against my ribs. Then, I knocked gently on the door. When there was no answer after a few moments, I rapped again, a little louder. Silence greeted me.

  I turned, looking across the town green, where I could see the witches walking cautiously.

  I shifted to the window, cupping my hands to peer inside. Light burned in a lantern, and a few plates were set out in the kitchen. Signs of life. Where were my parents, though?

  I couldn’t wait any longer, and I decided to try the door. My parents never locked the house. Why would they? We knew everyone in Eden.

  I turned the knob, and the door creaked open.

  Lanterns, lit with oil, hung from the ceiling, bathing the room in gold. I rushed over to the fireplace, where I found the word Bug engraved, just as it should be. I ran my fingertips over it, unable to control the shaking.

  “Dad?” I called out, my voice catching.

  More silence greeted me.

  I took in the space around me, trying to rein in my wild emotions.

  Our living room was combined with the kitchen—a stove and fireplace on one side, sofas and a rug on the other. A hall at the back led to the bedrooms and the library and bath upstairs. They could be upstairs, I supposed.

  “Dad?” I asked again, quietly. Apprehension danced up my spine. Something was wrong here, and it took me a few moments to figure out what it was.

  Why had my parents left the lanterns on at this hour? It was the middle of the night, and they didn’t leave them on when they were upstairs sleeping.

  I sniffed the air. The room smelled musty. No, worse than musty. It smelled rotten.

  My heart skipped a beat. Something was definitely wrong in Eden.

  Chapter 120

  I turned to find Ruadan behind me, sniffing the air as well. He frowned.

  I was about to scream at him to get out of here—that if my dad found him, everyone would die. Except my dad didn’t seem to be here.

  “Something’s wrong,” he said. “The scent of fae is too faint. I smell you, and the two witches … the rest of it is faint. And the smell of rotten food is powerful.” He peered out the window. “Cora and Aenor are checking on some houses across the way.”

  My chest clenched. “I know. Let me just look upstairs.”

  “Perhaps you should do that alone.”

  He spoke the truth. If Ruadan burst into my parents’ bedroom while they were sleeping, the wave of death my father would unleash would kill anyone within a fifty-mile radius.

  “Yeah, you might want to search discreetly outside, doing your invisible Wraith thing. I can handle my empty house.”

  “Call to me if you need me.” Ruadan disappeared in a blur of dark magic.

  I drew my sword, stepping into the hallway. The floor creaked as I walked down its length, my heart thundering. I swallowed hard, standing outside my old room. The door was closed, and I turned the knob, inching it open. I caught my breath.

  My parents had kept it exactly as I’d left it. The stuffed rabbit I’d loved—who I’d creatively named Mr. Rabbit—lay on my green velvet pillow. I was thirteen when I’d left, too old for soft toys, but I still slept with Mr. Rabbit every night until the day the world had ended.

  An old pair of shorts and a shirt lay strewn across the floor where I’d left them. A baseball cap, my T-shirts, my trousers in a ball in the corner. The room was preserved like a museum of misery. While the rest of the house had been clean, a thick layer of dust covered the surfaces in this room. My parents hadn’t touched a thing in here, like they could distill my essence just by leaving it untouched.

  While I’d thought every day about how much I missed them, I’d never thought about how much they must have missed me. I hadn’t been imagining what they’d gone through.

  With stinging eyes, I crossed back into the hall, heading for the stairwell. I moved swiftly up the stairs, heading for their bedroom. The door was open a few inches, but it looked dark inside.

  Holding my breath, I inched it open. Then, my chest constricted at the sight of another empty bedroom. Moonlight streamed over a tidy double bed and sleek furniture.

  While my room had been preserved, this one looked different. A portrait of me, as I was at age twelve, hung on the wall. Short purple hair, my eyes wide open with an innocence I’d long since lost. The bed had been made, and I picked up one of the pillows. I smelled the myrrh scent of my father’s magic, but it was faint.

  A single, midnight feather lay on the floor by the bed.

  I crouch
ed down to pick it up. I twirled it between my fingers, and the silver streaks in the feather caught in the moonlight streaming through the window. Breathtakingly beautiful, just like he was. I shoved the feather into my pocket as a keepsake.

  My blood roaring, I rushed to the closet door, and hope began to bloom. Clothes from both my parents hung on hangers—my mum’s shimmering dresses, my father’s sober black clothes. They looked new. They’d been here recently, I was sure.

  I turned back to the bed, blood pumping hard. I crawled onto the mattress, straining my eyes in the faint light. A single strand of cherry-red hair lay across the pillow.

  “Mum.” I plucked the hair off the pillow, feeling slightly like a weirdo. But it was my one tenuous connection to her now.

  Maybe they’d run to hide because they’d seen us coming? I glanced back at the short-haired, wide-eyed, full-cheeked girl in the portrait. They’d hardly recognize me now. A gladiator, covered in scars.

  I felt completely uneasy in here. The hair on my nape stood on end. I had the strangest feeling that I was being watched—a primal part of my brain warning me of danger.

  But who was watching me? There didn’t seem to be anyone here.

  I searched one room after another—the library, bathroom, the guest room. Apart from my room, everything looked a bit changed—new furniture, new clothes. And no people. No matter what, my parents were just out of my reach, elusive. I felt like I was chasing smoke.

  I gazed out one of the windows that overlooked my parents’ garden. For just a moment, I thought I saw a pair of pale eyes glaring at me from the shrubs. In the next moment, they were gone again.

  Adrenaline pounded through my blood. Who was out there?

  I rushed back down to the kitchen, skin tingling again as the faintly rotten smell hit my nostrils. A clean set of plates lay on the wood table, along with bowls and spoons. A corked bottle of wine stood on the table, too.

  I crossed to it and uncorked it, sniffing. It didn’t smell terrible. When I drank it, it tasted acidic. If I had to guess, it was a few weeks old.