Dark Swan Comic 1-4

by Richelle Mead

  But now, the power flowed through me as the fetch pulled herself off my blade. She had no time to react, attack, or flee. The magic seized her, and she disappeared before my eyes, fading into sparkles and then nothing. I didn’t know the extent of the athame’s damage. I might have just sent her back to die. Or, she might survive and come after me in the Otherworld as some creatures tried. I wasn’t worried. My abilities stayed consistent in both worlds, but my magic was a bit stronger over there—especially in the Thorn Land.

  I took a deep breath of relief and stuck the weapons back in my belt as I hurried toward the front door. Jenna was sitting on the lawn, face pale with worry. She sprang up when she saw me.

  “What happened? Is she okay?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said, wiping sweat off my brow. My hand came away red with blood. “We have to find her. Does she have a basement?”

  “No.” Jenna followed me inside and then halted. “Oh my God … your back …”

  “It’s nothing. I’ll deal with it later.”

  “At least—” She reached toward a spot between my upper arm and shoulder blade, wincing as she did. I yelped in pain and watched as she pulled away a huge piece of jagged glass. “That’s bleeding … really bad …”

  “I’m in better shape than Regan,” I said brusquely, trying to ignore both pain and the sight of my blood all over the shard she’d taken. “No basement. Closets? Attic?”

  “Both.”

  We checked the closets with no luck, and Jenna stuck her head in the attic’s tiny space. Still nothing.

  “Shit,” I said. I shouldn’t have let the fetch go without getting Regan’s location. What if Regan wasn’t nearby? What if the fetch had broken habit and hidden her victim far from home?

  Jenna looked as defeated as I felt, then her head shot up. “The shed. There’s a shed out back.”

  We were out the back door in a flash, jerking open the door to a little garden shed that was mercifully unlocked. There, curled up on the ground in a fetal position, was Regan. Jenna let out a strangled cry, and we both dropped to the ground. Jenna propped Regan up while I gently shook her.

  “Regan, Regan. Wake up. Please wake up.”

  For a few moments, I feared the worst. Then, Regan’s eyes fluttered open, her expression frightened and confused. Her breathing came in short rasps, and she futilely tried to sit up on her own. Her failure didn’t surprise me. When a fetch took over someone’s life, it put its double into a sort of magic coma. It required no ropes or gags, simply leaving behind a silent and immobile victim. Regan’s ability to wake up verified that the fetch was gone, but the woman had spent days without food, water, or using her muscles.

  “She’s dehydrated,” I said. Studying Regan’s state, I knew this was beyond a few glasses of water. “Let’s get her to the hospital.”

  Jenna drove, with Regan laid out carefully across the backseat. She said little, only making the occasional moan. Meanwhile, in the passenger seat, I attempted to clean myself off with baby wipes and to pull glass bits out of my back. The blood on my face was cleaned off when we reached the ER, as was most from my body, but I didn’t want to answer questions about what had happened to me. I borrowed Jenna’s jean jacket, figuring the few scratches on my face weren’t enough to attract attention.

  We told the staff that Regan had been depressed and starving herself. We went on about how we hadn’t seen her for days and had only just found her tonight. Since there was no ostensible bruising or signs of binding, they took us at our word and hurried to hook her up to fluids. We’d also probably landed her in therapy, but that was of little concern now.

  I waited with Jenna just outside Regan’s room as a nurse finished attaching the appropriate tubes and a doctor performed further examination. When they were done, they told us we could go in and that Regan would recover once her body had sustenance again. I had no intention of going with Jenna. Now that Regan was safe, my plan was to get a taxi back to my car and go home to clean up before an Otherworldly jump. Lara could bill these women later.

  “Wait,” said Jenna, as the doctor and nurse were about to leave. “My friend’s hurt. She broke a window to get in Regan’s house and got cut.”

  I shook my head. “No, really, I’m fine—”

  I shut my mouth when I followed everyone’s gaze. Even I could see that the left sleeve of the jacket was soaked with blood. There was little argument to make after that. Jenna stayed with Regan, and I was ushered off to a cubicle in the ER. The nurse shut the curtain, and I took off my shirt. The doctor’s eyebrows rose.

  “You broke a window? With what, your entire body?” He called for another nurse, who began assisting the other with glass removal and sanitizing.

  “I threw a rock,” I said. “It didn’t make a very big hole, but I didn’t have time to make it bigger. I just had to get to Regan.”

  “Noble,” said the doctor, whose attention was on the larger shoulder gash. “If stupid.”

  Someone with a better understanding of physics might have realized my injuries didn’t quite line up with what I’d get crawling through a jagged hole in a window. Fortunately, this group’s talents were elsewhere. The myriad scratches and cuts were dealt with by bandages and painful antiseptics. The big cut required a fair number of stitches.

  I was restless the whole time, wanting only to get back and see what had happened to Dorian. The medical staff was thorough in its work, however. I decided I should just be grateful that they were letting me go and not forcing a longer stay. I was the walking wounded, in bad shape but not in life-threatening danger.

  “Here,” said the doctor, just before letting me go. He scrawled out a prescription and handed it to me, along with reams of paper on wound care and cleaning. “Antibiotics. Get it filled tonight.”

  “I will,” I said glibly.

  He gave me a warning look. “I mean it. I know your type. You think you’re invincible, but any of that could get infected. Get the prescription. Clean and change the bandages on the cuts.”

  He was right that I thought I was invincible. I’d had stitches and wounds before, my gentry blood usually expediting the healing. But I nodded meekly, promising I’d obey.

  “Good,” he said, following me out to the waiting room. “Follow up with your family doctor in a week. I think your ride’s over there.”

  “My ride …?”

  I stared around the room, freezing when I saw a familiar face. “Mom?”

  She’d been leaning against a wall, eyes anxiously studying everyone in the room. Spotting me, she practically ran over, staring at my bandages in alarm. I had no coat, and the tank top showed my battle wounds. “Eugenie! Are you okay? What have you done now?”

  For some reason, that made the doctor snort a laugh before walking away. “I’m fine,” I told her automatically. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m your emergency contact. And that is not fine.”

  I was still stunned to see her. It felt like it had been so long. Ages. “It is now,” I said dazedly. “All patched up. And I’ve got all this … stuff.” I waved my stack of paper around.

  She brushed dark hair from her face, her expression both weary and distraught as we headed for her car. “It never gets easier. Not with you, not with him.”

  I gave her a sidelong look. “Does he know you’re here?”

  “No,” she said, getting out her keys. “Not that it would matter if he did. Nothing could have stopped me from coming when they called me. I thought … Well, I never know what to think….”

  I couldn’t look at her as I sat gingerly in the car. My eyes were filling with tears. I’d missed her so much. I’d missed her, well, momness. Lots of people cared about me, but it wasn’t the same. Plus, I felt horrible, horrible that I made her worry. And because of me, Roland was out endangering himself again too.

  I hastily ran a hand over my eyes and turned to her as we pulled out of the parking lot. “When did you get glasses?” I asked in surprise. Delicate wire fr
ames rested on a face very similar to mine. It was our coloring that was different. My red hair and violet eyes had come from Storm King.

  “A few weeks ago. They’re just for night driving.”

  I looked away, fearing the tears would return. Glasses. Such a stupid thing. There was a time, though, when I would have known every little detail of her life. There was so much distance between us now. My churning, guilty thoughts only came to a standstill when she turned into a pharmacy a few blocks from the hospital.

  “Mom, no! I have to get back to my car and—”

  “You can go back to endangering your life again soon enough. Here, let me see those.”

  “It’s not my usual pharmacy,” I said petulantly.

  She was skimming the wound care instructions. “Yes, well, I’m sure this one still has a couple bandages stashed away somewhere.”

  “You’re such a mom.”

  She glanced up, a small twinkle in her eyes that reminded me of how things used to be between us. “I’m your mom.”

  I followed her sullenly as we waited for the prescription, and she forced me to get a basketful of gauze, bandages, and other first aid supplies. I already owned a lot of them, but she wouldn’t rest easy until she actually saw them in my hands.

  “I really appreciate you coming,” I admitted as we waited. “It … it’s good to see you.”

  Her expression softened. “It’s good to see you too, baby. I’ve missed you.”

  “I don’t suppose Roland’s forgiven me?”

  “It’s more complicated than that,” she told me. “He still loves you. Really. But he’s worried. And he doesn’t like you being over … there. Neither do I.”

  I averted my eyes again. I knew she didn’t—and she had good reason. My conception was the result of her captivity and rape in the Otherworld. She’d spent years keeping that knowledge from me, hoping to protect me from both my heritage and the agony she believed that place caused.

  “Well, that’s complicated too. I have to be there, Mom. I know you guys don’t approve, but there are people counting on me. They’re not all like you think. I can’t let them down. They’re … they’re dying because of me.”

  “Is there a man involved?”

  I considered a flippant remark, then chose honesty. “Yes.”

  “The obvious problem aside … would I like him?”

  I tried to picture my mom meeting Dorian and couldn’t stop a small smile. “Probably not.”

  “Do you ever talk to Kiyo anymore?”

  I looked up sharply, my smile fading. “It’s over with us. He let me down. You know that. This other guy … he won’t.”

  I was saved from further conversation when my name was finally called. I added the prescription to my portable hospital bag and felt grateful that my mom didn’t pursue the topic of my love life anymore. I was equally grateful when she drove me back to Regan’s house. It wouldn’t have surprised me if she’d left me carless in Tim’s care.

  Leaving my mom stirred conflicting feelings in me. After missing her so much, part of me just wanted to stay and gaze at her, to drink in those features I loved so much. I wanted her to hold me, to be my mom and take care of everything. And yet … always, always, the Otherworld was pressing on me. I didn’t have the luxury of being a little girl right now. I didn’t have the luxury of being her daughter.

  “Thank you,” I said, giving her as careful a hug as we could manage. “Thank you for … I don’t know. Everything.”

  She held me for a few moments and then pressed a kiss to my forehead. “There’s nothing to thank me for. Just be careful.” She broke from the embrace. “Do what the doctor says. And for God’s sake, don’t end up there again. I don’t want another call.”

  “I’ll try,” I said. This made us both smile, largely because we knew my trying to stay out of harm’s way was pretty futile. “And tell Roland …” I couldn’t finish, but she nodded.

  “I know.”

  I left her then, loading my loot into my own car and driving home. Regan didn’t live too far from me, only about ten minutes. The time flew by. I had so many things to think about that when I arrived at my house, I hardly knew how I’d gotten there. Tim’s car was parked out front—as was Lara’s. I dragged myself out of my own self-pitying miasma, uneasily wondering what I’d find inside. Seeing the two of them naked on my kitchen table would not be cool.

  Instead, they were cuddled up on the living room couch, watching a movie. All seemed innocent, but some vibe made me suspect they hadn’t been actually watching too much of it. I shook my head in exasperation.

  “How is this my life?” I muttered, setting my bag on the counter.

  “Did you say something?” called Tim. The living room and kitchen were mostly open to each other. He muted the film.

  “Nothing important.”

  “We figured you’d be out for the night,” he said. I was pretty sure there was an accusatory tone in his voice.

  I opened the cupboards, rummaging for food. I was suddenly starving. “Well, rest easy. I’ll be gone soon enough, right after I get dinner.”

  Lara turned and peered over the couch’s back. “Pop-Tarts aren’t—oh my God! What happened to you?” Tim noticed my bandages now too. He didn’t look as shocked as her—he saw me come home after fights a lot—but worry had replaced his snark.

  “What have you been doing?”

  “Earning the mortgage.” I put two blueberry Pop-Tarts in the toaster. “Isn’t that what you told me to do?”

  “Jesus, Eug. I didn’t—”

  “Forget it,” I told him. “Everything’s fine. But you’re going to have to send a bill to Jenna Benson, Lara. I wasn’t able to collect.”

  Lara nodded without a word, still aghast at seeing what my real life looked like. I poured some water and choked down one of the antibiotics while waiting for the Pop-Tarts. As soon as they were done, I retreated to my room, eating quickly as I threw together an overnight bag. While I was packing, my eyes lingered on a half-finished puzzle on my desk. I sighed. How long ago had I started that one? A month ago? I loved jigsaw puzzles. I used to do one a night.

  I was almost finished packing—I even included the first aid supplies, thanks to some residual mom-guilt—when the temperature dropped. An unsettling yet familiar presence filled the room, and soon Volusian appeared before me. I nearly dropped the bag.

  “Mistress,” he said with a mock bow. “I’ve come to report on the battle.”

  Chapter 8

  There was a long pause as I waited expectantly. Volusian was enjoying this, I realized. He wasn’t going to elaborate until I asked because he wanted to draw out the agony.

  “Damn it! Tell me what happened!”

  Volusian got this pleased look on his face that I suspected was the closest he ever came to smiling. “The Oak King is …” I held my breath. “… alive.”

  “Thank God.” Of course, thinking of my own wounds, “alive” might not mean much. “Is he hurt?”

  “He is well and uninjured.”

  I sank gratefully onto my bed, knowing I wore my emotions all over my face. I hated to ever show anything like that in front of Volusian. I wanted to maintain an image of power. This situation was too important, though. Fear and worry for Dorian and the battle had been a knot within me, one I only just now dared to loosen.

  “What about the others? Who won?”

  “Your forces, mistress.”

  Again, relief flooded through me. We had won. Dorian was okay. “Casualties?”

  “Inevitable, of course.” Volusian didn’t seem particularly concerned, but then, he was never concerned about much. “Death and injury on both sides. The Oak King’s lands and towns remained untouched.”

  That last part was good news. But death and injury? No, I didn’t like that. I wanted to know numbers, but for now, that was irrelevant. One death was too much. I’d get all the stats I needed from Dorian soon enough. I started to thank Volusian, but that wasn’t the way our relation
ship worked.

  “Go back to the Oak Land. Tell Dorian I’ll be there shortly.”

  Volusian gave a small nod of acknowledgment. I expected him to vanish instantly, but he paused, eyes narrowing slightly. “My mistress has also been in a battle tonight.”

  I shifted slightly, becoming aware of the bandages covering my shoulder and back. “Yeah, I fought a fetch.”

  “Who inflicted great injury.”

  “It would appear so, wouldn’t it?”

  “But not enough to kill you.”

  The look I gave him was answer enough.

  “Pity,” he said. He vanished.

  “Damn it,” I muttered. I stayed where I was, staring off into space. I needed to cross to Dorian’s land soon, but for now, I allowed the news to percolate in my head for a few moments more. Only, a new distraction presented itself.

  Otherworldly magic washed over me seconds before a voice spoke. “You could end it easily, you know.”

  I jumped up from my bed as the ghost from the mountains appeared before me. Silently, I cursed myself for having packed up my weapons. Since my queenhood, attacks at home had dropped off, lulling me into a false sense of security. It was lazy of me. Foolish. With no care for the other carefully packed items, I upended my bag, dumping everything out. I grabbed my wand, expecting the ghost to attack.

  Instead, she just hung in the air, face blank. “You shouldn’t have come back,” I said, wand ready and pointed. Weary as I was, banishing magic tingled within me. “You should have stayed away.”

  She stayed motionless, uncaring of the threat I presented. “I told you. I can’t. I need your help.”

  “And I told you, I can’t help you.”

  “I can help you,” she said. “I can help you find the Iron Crown.”

  The magic welling within me paused and then I dropped it altogether. I eyed her warily. “How do you know about that?”

  She gave a weak shrug. “I’ve been following you.”

  I began the banishing again, quickly working out her words. Of course she could follow me. She was a strong ghost, one who could likely flit between this and the Otherworld as easily as I saw her move around here. The magic of the Otherworld, which concealed so many spirits, would make her harder to detect there. Following—and spying—would be easy.