New Tales From Old Yarn

by Barbara Becc

  “Let’s start with what you think, then.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “What I think? You want to know what I think?”

  “That’s what I asked for.”

  “Fine. I look at you, and I think to myself, ‘What kind of man is heartless and greedy enough to take his revenge by kidnapping children?’”

  He flashed her a grin that was all teeth and menace. “Ah, but you forget. I’m not a man.”

  As Sitara studied his spine-chilling smile, she realized the inescapable truth.

  Questions and games would lead her nowhere with him. He would drag out each round until the outcome played in his favor.

  If she wanted to retrieve the children, she would need to break him.

  She thought she knew how.

  Sitara Galrind was a focused, sharp-minded woman who picked a lane and crossed its length until she’d reached her goals. People deemed her a resolute and fierce future sergeant whose willpower induced respect, but she was also a creature of habit. She wolfed down two cups of coffee a day in her trademark flowery mug. She ordered the same Thai lunch on Wednesdays. She listened to the same flute concerto every rainy weekend. She dropped her keys at the bottom of her purse and always wasted at least fifteen seconds trying to get them out. She scowled at people who cursed in her vicinity, and her jaw dropped in pure dismay every time she caught herself swearing.

  They thought her predictable with good reason, but they lacked a crucial piece of information.

  People knew that Sitara Galrind possessed enough drive to climb the highest mountains.

  They didn’t know she could throw herself into the violent waters of a wild stream and change its current.

  She left her chair. The Piper’s relentless gaze followed her every move.

  She circled the table, her step slow and deliberate, a predator circling her prey.

  She strolled towards the space behind his chair and leaned forward to whisper in his ear, “You will tell me how to get them back.”

  The table rattled when the Pied Piper gripped its edges.

  Wisps of dark blue magic, like ink in water, crawled out of Sitara’s mouth and rushed along his jawline. He threw his head back to avoid them. The magic flew by and writhed over the table before fizzling and vanishing like smoke.

  Captain Jace’s voice boomed on the microphone, a sharp warning. “Galrind!”

  Sitara turned and glared at the one-way mirror. “You will not be heard,” she commanded.

  The glass cracked, and an ear-splitting sound whistled through the speakers. It reduced Captain’s Jace bellowing voice to a chaotic buzzing.

  Footsteps hurried towards the interrogation room.

  Sitara took a step, looked at the door and said, “You will not open.”

  A vein of indigo landed on the handle and locked it in place. A weight slammed against the door from the other side, but Sitara knew it wouldn’t budge for now.

  The Piper’s eyes glittered. “You’re part Fae, too,” he murmured. “I knew I felt it when you came in.”

  Magic pulsed on Sitara’s tongue, craving release after being buried for such a long time. She’d tamed her own mouth and muted the ferocious and daunting power that simmered up her throat for years. Now, it wanted to howl. Lethal and violent commands threatened to burst from her lips.

  She could have ordered his veins to ice, his heart to burn, his eyes to plunge him into a darkness of complete horror. The formidable possibilities tempted her.

  You are still human, Sitara told herself. You are human, you are human.

  She planted her palms on the table and looked into his tantalizing eyes. “You will tell me how to get them back. You will.”

  A smirk curved his mouth. “You know, they might actually throw you in jail for this.”

  “I don’t care.”

  He examined her like she was a thread in a tapestry he meant to unravel without knowing which string to pull first.

  “No,” he said at last. “I guess you don’t, do you?”

  “Tell me. Or else...”

  His lip twitched in amusement. “You think your little trick will make me talk? That’s cute. That’s very cute.”

  She met his gaze without flinching before speaking in a voice of nightmares. “Your neck is filled with iron.”

  Blue light crawled like insects on the Piper’s throat, and his breath hitched. He panted, but his eyes were alight with pure exhilaration.

  She grimaced. “... Are you enjoying this? You are messed-up.”

  He grinned as the trail of magic fizzled on his jaw. “Guilty as charged.”

  “The children.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “All right. Maybe I can’t make you tell me. But I can make your silence very unpleasant for you.”

  “Oh, please do.”

  “Galrind!”

  Captain Jace’s voice thundered past the white noise in the speakers. The door handle rattled.

  Still lounging in his seat as though he’d crowned himself king of the precinct, the Pied Piper studied her, his eyes twinkling. “Someone’s going to be on probation,” he sang.

  “You’re going to be quiet,” she snapped. Ink-like smoke snapped his lips shut. “The only thing you’re allowed to tell me now is how to get the children back.”

  Magic pulsed through the distance between Sitara Galrind and Sorrell, the Pied Piper. A rippling flux of power kept them apart yet bound them together, a strange tug on both their ribs, their very own gravity. Sitara’s magic dwindled, and her relentless stare became her only weapon.

  Sorrell’s throat bobbed. He opened his mouth.

  The door flew open. Sitara didn’t have time to turn.

  Electricity droned behind her and brutally latched onto her neck. The darkness closed in on her, sucking all light out of her surroundings, all except for the golden flecks still shining in the Pied Piper’s eyes.

  ~~~

  Rain drenched Sitara’s navy blue coat. The wind had bent her umbrella backward and rendered it useless. She’d stuffed it at the bottom of her bag before upturning her collar and shielding her head with a soaked magazine she’d never planned on reading anyway.

  Water splashed all over her legs as she hurried through the deserted street leading up to her building. Despite the late hour, cars growled and raced through puddles in the adjacent boulevard. The rain blurred the city lights in the distance. At the edge of the narrow alley, a lamppost glowed and glazed the wet pavement in yellow light.

  Sitara snuck under the thick gutter that lined the building’s entrance and shuffled through her purse for her keys. Sodden strands of black hair had escaped her ponytail and stuck to her face. She grabbed her phone to aim its light inside her bag. Two texts from Mara Jace flashed across the screen. The young woman ignored them.

  Nearly a month had passed since Sitara’s encounter with the Pied Piper. One bold move had sufficed to ruin everything she’d ever worked for.

  She tried not to let it darken her mood, but the looming end of her career was a growing lump in her throat, an anchor pinning her down to the bed each morning.

  Her fingers brushed against a slab of cold metal in her purse. She was still fumbling to grab her keys when a shadow crept up on the brick wall in front of her.

  Sitara turned and froze.

  While the storm battered the entire city, it drizzled down on the Pied Piper, the suggestion of a rainfall around his silhouette. His coat was deep brown like rosewood, and his skin tone looked warmer than it had in the grim interrogation room. Instead of pale and sallow, it was light amber, closer to the rare pictures of him she’d seen before. His black scarf hid most of his dark green turtleneck, and the weather had tousled some of his hair. He smoothed it down and shoved his hands in his pockets. Before he did, Sitara recognized the same gray gloves he’d worn during their first meeting. She wondered if there was a story behind them, or if he simply liked to feel the wool on his skin, even when the climate didn’t call for it.
/>   He smiled. “Good evening, Sitara Galrind.”

  She tried not to look into his eyes. The eerie amber light from the lamppost magnified their unnatural shade. “I thought you’d gone back to Mornreeve for a while.”

  One of his eyebrows arched. “Back to Mornreeve? You’ve done your research. You know I don’t spend much time there.”

  “Maybe you should consider it, given all the trouble you made on our side lately.”

  A grin crossed his lips. “Trouble is my middle name.” She rolled her eyes. “And besides, things ended well for all parties involved last time. The children are back in their boring little beds, and I got my money. No harm, no foul.”

  Things ended well for all parties involved. Anger kindled in the pit of her stomach. It certainly hadn’t ended well for her. She’d spent the past month telling herself that next to the safety of the children, her career didn’t matter, but the comfort of that thought lessened with each day spent trying to occupy her busy mind.

  Sitara adjusted the hem of her coat over her legs. “I’m surprised you took their deal,” she said. “It was barely what you were promised in the first place.”

  He delved his hands deeper in his pockets and shrugged. “I grew tired of the little game.”

  She leaned against the damp wall. Rain dripped down from the gutter above her. “Well, good. You were right to agree. And right not to harm the children.”

  “Don’t get any delusions. Just because I didn’t kill them doesn’t mean I didn’t consider it. They just paid me before I could.”

  “How nice of you, to make sure my opinion of you is cemented.”

  “It’s my pleasure.” He paused. “So. You got fired, huh?”

  Her jaw clenched. “I’m on probation. They’re reviewing my case.”

  “To determine how dangerous you are, I assume. How long did you think you’d be able to hide your magic, anyway? Doesn’t your little anti-Fae unit have detectors or something?”

  “First, it’s not an anti-Fae unit. It’s a special task force that handles Fae-related cases. Second, as someone who spends a lot of time on our side, you should know those detectors aren’t worth shit.”

  His laughter could have ripped the night apart. She didn’t flinch. “Cursing! Oh, I like it. There’s something about human curses. They’re so honest and simple, straight to the point. Fae curses are too showy.”

  The keys were cool in Sitara’s palm.

  The building’s entrance was near. She could have retreated to her apartment in a matter of seconds. She could have ended this discussion. She could have stopped lingering in the rain with him.

  The Pied Piper bit the inside of his cheek and kicked a crooked hole in the pavement. “To think. You caught the big bad criminal. Helped save the day. But you’re not a hero to them, are you? You’re a monster.” He smiled. “Like me.”

  She smirked to hide the effect of his words. “Maybe. But there are different types of monsters. I doubt even they can miss the difference.”

  His grin widened, and her stomach iced.

  “What? What is it?”

  “You said they.”

  She tightened her grip on her keys. “It’s late. I have to go to bed.”

  “Wait.”

  Something flashed on his face, an uncharacteristic lack of poise. He took a small step forward then straightened abruptly, as though he needed to keep himself from taking another one.

  She narrowed her eyes at him, a warning not to inch closer.

  “You know,” he said. “The stars look more beautiful, on the other side. They seem closer, somehow. Like they’re always ready to devour you.” His voice dropped to a lush and dangerous whisper on the word, a reflection of the thrilling consumption he described. “You’d like it there. How about a vacation?”

  “You should be a travel agent.”

  “Interesting thought. You know, I might give that a try. I bet I could sell a trip downtown for the price of a cruise to Tahiti.” He grinned again. “I’m very charming.”

  “If you were so charming, you wouldn’t need a flute to get people to follow you.”

  “Point taken.”

  The silence that stretched out between them needled Sitara like a discordant note in a lullaby. For a moment, the Pied Piper stared at the water warbling through the gutter. He wiped his damp face with his gloved palm and rubbed his jaw.

  “You know,” he mused without looking at her. “I could play my pipes, now. Steal away someone I like, for a change.”

  Sitara laughed, a mask of derisive indifference. “I’m very flattered.”

  “You should be. But the offer is real. It’d be profitable for me, to take someone like you to Mornreeve.”

  Deflection felt safer than taking him seriously. “Always running after money.”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean money. Profit comes in many forms. I do nothing needlessly or pricelessly, but cash isn’t the only thing that’s worth my attention. It’s a pointless currency on the other side anyway. If you’d seen Mornreeve, you’d understand.”

  “Since I haven’t, why don’t you explain it to me?”

  His smile held a trace of sincerity it had lacked so far. “How do you think Mornreeve was built? Mornreeve is an impossibility, darling, a beautiful anomaly. Like you and me.” He gestured between them. “Humans and Faes shouldn’t collide, yet they do. Most of the time, it’s pure devastation, a strange crime. But sometimes, it makes things like us, things that don’t quite fit anywhere. Not on the other side, and not on this one. Mornreeve is the same.” He slipped his hands back into his pockets. “It was created by magic like yours, by voices carried beyond the limits of physics, of reality, of the possible. I can play my music and make someone forget what their name is, but you... You’re a maker. Your voice, your desire, it bends reality to its will. You’re like the others that built Mornreeve, the architects. People who could say, ‘This moonbeam will become a house’, and the light solidified to make it so. Mornreeve is eternal, Fae-like, but what’s human about it is that it’s ever-changing, in constant mutation. What’s built is rebuilt and is rebuilt. You could make your mark on it. Build a few things of your own.”

  All of a sudden, Sitara’s heart felt too small and caged for the wildness that wanted to spill from it. She’d never thought of her strange magic as a means of creation. To her, it had always signified danger, destruction, a sin to hide and bury.

  There were so many things that she’d wanted, and so many that she’d considered impossible for her. She’d seen magic as an unwelcome force that boxed her in and forced a part of her into hiding.

  The idea that she could turn the impossible into a reality wrung the breath from her lungs.

  She dug the tip of her key into her palm, a reminder that she was still human enough to bleed. “How would that be profitable to you, exactly?”

  He shrugged again. “I have my ways. Besides, you grow bored after a few decades. I’m always looking for new investments.” He adjusted the hem of his gloves. “Think about it.”

  “May I see them?”

  He blinked. “See what?”

  “Your flute. You carry it, don’t you? May I see them?”

  She didn’t know what mad urge had pushed her to ask. He studied her expression, letting her request hang between them. He shook his head. “Maybe next time.”

  She hid her disappointment well. “If there is a next time.”

  “I’d like to think there will be. That’s my optimistic side. Don’t tell anybody I have one.”

  A smile threatened to slide over her lips.

  “And besides,” he continued. “You might not see the pipes tonight, but darling, soon, you’ll hear them.”

  His tone indicated the end of their discussion.

  He didn’t disappear in a flash or stroll back up the street. Instead, he wandered into the drizzle and melted into the darkness, his brown coat and auburn hair blackening like a late evening sky. His silhouette slid into the night like the last trace o
f sunset, until there was nothing but rain and glittering yellow light in his wake.

  Sitara downed a long breath that filled up her lungs and hurried back to her apartment. She showered, slipped into her nightgown and crawled into bed.

  The dizzying lights flashing through her curtains kept her awake for a while as she watched them glowing on her bedroom walls. One second, the spines lined up on the bookshelves were emerald green, then sea blue, then lemon yellow. The lights came from a nearby store whose sign towered over the adjacent boulevard. Each night, it started flaring around midnight and didn’t stop until right before dawn.

  Sitara wondered if Mornreeve had 24-hour stores or any stores at all.

  She curled up in a bundle of sheets, faced away from the window and stared at the bird silhouettes painted on the wall next to her bed. One of them lingered inside an open cage while the others soared over the headboard, delicate white shapes on shabby teal paint.

  Sitara sighed, closed her eyes.

  She opened them again when the music began.

  A high note whistled through the night, then a quieter one, then a slow, teasing one that fizzled into a breath of air.

  Goosebumps spread across Sitara’s arms, and she murmured, “Oh, no.”

  The subsequent notes, forlorn and pleading, spiraled around her like creeping vines before diving into her chest. They inched closer to her ribs until they enclosed them, greedy guardians of the heart battering the bone.

  The melody deepened to a darker, more feral rhythm that tightened its grip on Sitara’s soul. The music flowed like a river whose current kept quickening, rushing towards the vast and boundless ocean where drowning was inevitable, even welcomed.

  Sitara turned over on her back, stretched out her arms over her head and closed her eyes once more.

  Somewhere, in this world or the other, the Pied Piper played for her. He called to her. He beckoned her into his web of magic and promises and winnings. His music rolled over her like the tide frothing on the sand. It blew through her and scattered her thoughts, silenced her reason. She no longer felt the mattress underneath her. She was a child floating through a waking dream, a bird freed from a cage, a half-Fae girl whose only limits were the ones she’d made.