Faerie Marked (Fae Academy for Halflings Book 1)

by Brea Viragh

  “He’ll pay for what he did. Trust me. Did you hear back from the academy?” Elfwaite tucked her wings behind her, those odd upturned eyes catching mine and holding.

  My stomach clenched. “I did.”

  “And what’s wrong?” she blurted out.

  The email had seemed like a life preserver. Until I read the fine print. “The orientation email gave me a specific list of acceptable half-breeds. Wolf shifters were not there.”

  My blood had gone cold upon closer reading of the orientation email, warring with the excitement I’d felt from receiving it in the first place. I really should have known better. My kind would never be accepted by the Fae. Just as the Fae were seen as substandard by weres. The two breeds did not mix.

  Except for me. Except for my parents, who’d decided to flout the longstanding and unwritten rules of their two kin, and look where it got them.

  Elfwaite looked me over from head to toe. “You can’t let this stop you, Tavi. You need to keep moving forward. You need to fight.”

  I didn’t want to smile, and I tried not to, but a hint of a grin tugged at my lips. No one had a better outlook on life than Elfwaite. “You know I love you.”

  She winked at me, her skin a deep periwinkle in the hush of twilight. “I know. I love you too. And I’m sorry this is causing more stress for you.”

  “I hate asking you for more…” I began. “But you mentioned someone who might be willing to help me?”

  Elfwaite made a sound that might have been a scoff were she human. As it was, with her tiny pixie body, it more resembled a slight shift in the low murmur of the wind. “We’re friends, and friends help each other. I know a way around this problem. Or rather, I know someone who can fix it for you. The witch I mentioned to you has the magic to get you through orientation.”

  I swallowed hard. “She can fix my being half wolf-shifter?”

  Elfwaite nodded. “She’s a powerful creature of much renown, as long as you are willing to pay the price. It is nothing to scoff at.”

  A part of me relaxed. Money was no issue. Uncle William did well as a defense attorney. Our comfortable living situation attested to his prowess in court. Although I had little cash of my own besides a bank account set aside for me by my parents before they died, I knew I could get the funds one way or another.

  Elfwaite and I finished talking and I jumped up from the ground before she could issue another warning about price. Orientation was in two days. If everything went well, this could well be the last time I saw her for a long time.

  We said our goodbyes, Elfwaite assuring me it wouldn’t be forever and me shrugging, trying to laugh it off. I’d be foolish to assume one way or another. I didn’t know what would happen. But I left a small piece of myself behind with her.

  The directions to the witch’s house bounced around my head as I ran home, the distance providing a chance to conceive some sense of a plan for the future. And then I did what I needed to do.

  Every town has a house—creepy, dark, and sinister—where the neighborhood kids spin tales of mayhem and despair. Where the shell of the home is long past its glory, surrounded by dark woods, and inspires new urban legends about children-eating monsters and scary things going bump in the night.

  In reality, the only things going bump along the aged and weathered floorboards are those running on four legs and scrounging for scraps. Spiders and raccoons and opossums and the like.

  The “witch’s house” at the end of Everly Lane was such a place.

  Two stories high and set far back from the road amidst the trees, the roofline sloped and cut through the night sky like a dagger. Crumbled gables and turrets decorated the old Victorian, and empty windows stood in mute witness to the march of progress in the surrounding suburban paradise.

  Despite the weeds choking the lawn and the overgrown tree limbs draping down toward the fence, magic lived there. I smelled it coming from the land itself. As though the witch’s power had seeped into her property.

  It was a hell of a place to go at night. I didn’t have a choice.

  Sunday after dinner, I’d driven over and parked a good distance away, walking the remaining two blocks to the address Elfwaite had given me, trying not to be seen. The stolen money I’d swiped from Uncle William’s office burned a hole in my pocket. He and his drinking buddies had missed their habitual meeting thanks to our dinner with the Grimaldis and it left him in a position to push his schedule back even knowing he had work in the morning.

  A quick trip, he assured me on his way out the door, and then he would be back. I was not to leave the house under strict threat of penalty.

  Too bad.

  When the road, nothing more than a winding gravel drive cutting through the woods, ended in a patch of trees, I swallowed the rest of my misgivings and continued.

  The living shadows reached for me the moment I entered the tree line, and the rest of the world faded away. The families living in their quaint cookie-cutter houses down the block, children tucked tightly into bed after urgings for sweet dreams, none of them would understand why I walked toward the house where no one wanted to go.

  But when life backs you into a corner and offers you no chance for escape, when your friends and your family believe the monster in front of you is the best choice for a future, and when you’re at the end of your rope, alone and losing your mind, you’d do anything to find a way out. You’d do anything to make those problems disappear.

  Then you’d find yourself on the witch’s doorstep. Then you’d steal from your uncle. Willing to pay any price.

  My pupils narrowed at the change in light. The better to see through the darkness. Even so, I lost track of the sloping roofline of the Victorian through the crowd of tree trunks. The woods were alive. They shifted and changed and blocked my view. Strange noises sounded from the darkness. There were no owls here, no night creatures whose calls I knew and recognized. I could almost imagine strange beasts hiding among the limbs. Ready to lash out at any moment.

  A strange heaviness fell over me.

  I stopped, closing my eyes and drawing in a breath. There was nothing out here to hurt me, I reminded myself. The wolf inside of me, an apex predator, could handle whatever flew or skidded or crept among the trees. Right?

  It took a moment to move my legs, to strengthen my spine and push forward.

  I tried not to freak out or run, although I wanted to do both. Here, magic ran wild and snapped and bit like a rabid creature ready to pounce.

  Had I thought myself immune to it?

  Heaving in a breath, I fought through the heavy sensation, like pushing a wall of water aside.

  Then something on the breeze drew me. A hint of the power I’d sensed before. My nerves tingled, and it reminded me of the way I felt around Elfwaite. It was cool, calming, serene, like dipping overheated feet into a cool lake.

  The old house loomed ahead with liminal light reflecting off of rusted sconces on either side of the door. I climbed the four steps leading up to the landing and paused in front of a massive wooden door. The brass knocker looked to weigh close to twenty pounds and for a moment I wondered how the weather-beaten wood managed to keep it held up.

  The slight sense of wrongness had me pausing, curling my hand into a ball and keeping it in the air before knocking.

  Was I really doing this? Was I really seeking out a woman I didn’t know whose house looked like she lured in strangers to eat?

  The memory of Kendrick flashed behind my eyes and the knots in my stomach tightened. Yes, you bet I am doing this.

  Without any further hesitation, I reached out and let my fist fall.

  “Hello? Is anyone home?” I called out.

  Then nearly lost my dinner when the door jerked open suddenly and I saw a woman holding a double-barreled shotgun leveled at my face.

  6

  As I stared down the two pitch-black barrels of the shotgun, shivers coursed down my arms and into my stomach like snakes. My mind raced, snapping into two distinct p
ieces. One screaming at me to run and the other insisting I tear the threat to shreds.

  A very human shriek escaped my throat instead as I dropped to my knees in a crouch. “Elfwaite sent me! Elfwaite sent me!”

  The statement aired on repeat until I heard the click of the safety being snapped into place.

  “Child, you can’t be too careful nowadays. Damn people wanting to steal everything you got, not even waiting until a woman is good and dead to do their picking. Little vultures.”

  I spared a glance up and saw the barrel of the rifle lower to her side. Still not far enough away for my liking but enough to have me coming out of my crouched position to stare at the witch.

  In her late sixties, she had stark gunmetal-gray hair. She stood tall and strong, with an aura of power about her at distinct odds with the blue-and-red flannel button-up shirt and holey jeans. Her feet were bare.

  She held up her free hand to beckon me inside, her fingernails yellow. “Don’t stand out here knocking your knees together, kid. If the old pixie sent you then you obviously have some things to talk about. Come inside before you wet yourself.”

  Her syllables clicked and ground together. The moment I stepped over the threshold, the door closing behind us with a decisive click, I noticed the ashtrays scattered around the once-grand foyer. Now it made sense. The woman smoked like a train. She reminded me of Cook, though I was pretty sure the latter’s vocal issues had more to do with her screaming at her staff than any addiction.

  “Thank you,” I managed to get out, conscious of my every awkward movement.

  Setting the shotgun aside, the witch bent to pick up a still-lit cigarette from a glass tray and gestured for me to follow behind her. “Come on, kiddo. The full moon is rising and I’m sure we both have better things to do than stand around and stare at each other. Let’s get this business over with.” She bared her teeth in what I thought was an attempt at a smile.

  “I’m sorry to bother you so late,” I told her.

  “Don’t worry. You’re just lucky I didn’t shoot first and ask questions later.”

  It wasn’t a good business model. Her reply did nothing to soothe me, either.

  The further I went into her house, the more I noticed things standing out to me, not the odd way in which the witch moved or the lack of typical witchy accoutrements. There were walls made entirely of canned goods. There were cabinets stocked to the brim with ammunition and more guns than I could keep track of.

  “What’s all this?” I asked her.

  “Barbara. You can call me Barbara,” the witch said over her shoulder. “And it’s supplies. Are you blind?”

  “Supplies for what?”

  “For anything. You can never be too careful. Bad things are on the horizon and it’s better to be prepared than be caught with your pants down around your ankles. You want a beer?”

  We’d made it into the kitchen and the decor didn’t fare any better in there. Glass jugs of water weighed down the top of the kitchen table. I saw more bullets, more pantry items, and a couple of baskets of laundry in need of folding. Two chairs were pushed beneath the round table, with faded red plush seats cracking at the seams.

  I shook my head. “No thanks. I’m only eighteen.”

  “Old enough to drink in my book, but suit yourself.” Barbara grabbed one of the chairs and hauled it out, folding her body down and fixing me with a look. Scrutinizing me through a cloud of exhaled smoke. “You got a name, kiddo?”

  I tried not to fiddle with my shirt for something to do. “It’s Tavi.”

  “Tavi.” She stretched it out into two long syllables and drew in another inhale. Her eyes narrowed. “I need to know two things from you. How did you get to my house, and how in the hell did you make it past my magical barriers? Now, you got any answers for me?”

  I resisted swatting the smoke away from my face, despite how difficult it was to breathe. “I didn’t see any barriers,” I said, “magical or otherwise.”

  She just stared at me. Perhaps I hadn’t said the right thing. “The wards, Tavi, try to keep up. How did you get past my wards?”

  The smile wasn’t comforting and I tried to stand tall beneath it. Tried to feel confident I had made the right decision in coming here. Elfwaite would never put me in danger, I told myself. “I’m not sure,” I answered Barbara honestly. “I didn’t know there were barriers. I just followed the magic.”

  Barbara gestured toward the seat on the opposite end of the table and I cleared away a pile of magazines to sit.

  “Followed the magic.”

  I didn’t like the way she repeated me. And I certainly didn’t like the way Barbara continued to stare at me as though I were some kind of experimental specimen for her to figure out.

  If you only knew.

  “Tell me why I should listen to a word you have to say,” Barbara barked.

  “Elfwaite said you could help me.” I grabbed the end of my braid and knew I didn’t look like much. I’d worn dark clothes to help me blend in with the darkness, loose jeans and a comfortable gray shirt. The braid slapped at my back when I ran but kept the hair out of my face. I’d thought it was a good move at the time.

  “Help you how?” My nerves jangled under her scrutiny, but I plunged ahead.

  “My uncle is alpha of the Alderidge pack. At my eighteenth birthday party, he announced I am the fated mate of our rival pack’s alpha. I’m not sure how much you know about werewolf hierarchy, but this man…he’s a nightmare.” My hands fisted on the tabletop. “He revels in abuse and violence and does not hesitate to exert his power over others. I refuse to give myself to him. I’ve been accepted to a Fae school for halflings, but only if I can mask my shifter side. They can’t know who I am.”

  I told her what had happened at the party, at dinner, the stories I’d heard about Kendrick and how he’d accosted me outside the powder room.

  Barbara leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “And Elfwaite sent you to me,” she said eventually.

  “She did.”

  “God, I’ve known Elfwaite for a long time.” Her laugh came fast and sharp, the cigarette squashed in time with the sound. “She’s a real kicker, not like the rest of them.”

  My shoulders relaxed at the affection I heard in Barbara’s voice. No, Elfwaite would not steer me wrong. “She’s sweet,” I agreed.

  “Too damn sweet for her own good sometimes. Unlike the rest of her kin. Pixies can be notorious tricksters along with the rest of the fairies, hobgoblins, and all.” Barbara’s gaze hardened and she looked me up and down as though deciding whether I was worth the effort or not. “But I hate the high Fae. Your kind, judging by the smell. I’ve been burned by them before. Most are only out for their own good. Why should I help you?”

  My heart stuttered and skipped a beat. “Please. I have money.” I dug deep into my pocket and drew out the bills I’d snagged from Uncle William’s desk. “Whatever amount you want, I can pay you. And I can get more if you need it.”

  They were crisp hundreds stacked perfectly in order, face up. The way Will preferred and a way demonstrating his control over his world.

  Barbara shrugged. “I have no need for money. I have all I want that money can buy, and what I don’t have, I can barter for easily enough. Cash isn’t going to be enough to sway me to help you. And trust me, girl. If you want something strong enough to fool the Fae, then you are going to need a lot of help. Or else start to get cozy with your fated mate. Sometimes nightmares can be the best in the sack.”

  I didn’t care for the way she said “fated mate” and liked her sexual reference even less. “You won’t take my money,” I said, stomach twisting.

  “Damn right I won’t. You are going to have to offer something else if you want me to get involved with what you’re doing.” She drew a circle in the air with her cigarette, indicating the whole of me. “It’s going to take a lot. I’m not in the general practice of helping the Fae. Even a half one.” So, she knew what I was. Oh boy. “Sorry, girl.”<
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  Staring down at the scarred table, I sucked on my teeth. “Look,” I began, “I don’t have much love for the Fae either. You obviously know what I am since you can…smell me? You know I’m a halfling. My parents fell in love despite belonging to doomed sides. Then my father, the shifter, was killed by Fae enforcers right in front of me. I was six years old.”

  I was six and I didn’t understand who I was, what I was, should not exist in this world or any world. I didn’t understand how people would hate me and curse me for simply being. It didn’t seem fair. But Barbara didn’t need to know. I’d wasted enough time feeling sorry for myself and my circumstances.

  “My mother was carted off by her own people to be tried and executed for her crime. The crime of loving a werewolf and birthing a child by him. So, the Fae murdered my parents.” I rose to my feet, brows drawn together and knees shaking, trying to stand my ground. I looked pointedly at Barbara and the sharp tips of her fingernails tap-tap-tapping at her cigarette. “I need this school. I need to escape because I refuse to be some man’s sex toy to further another man’s power play.”

  Her right hand twitched as Barbara continued to stare at me. Finally, in the comfortable gloom of her survivalist kitchen, she nodded. “All right,” she said slowly. “I’ll help you.”

  “How much?” I asked her.

  Barbara clicked her yellowed nails before reaching for a second pack of cigarettes and removing one to light with the burned embers of her last. She drew in a deep breath as though her cells would die at any minute without nicotine. “It’s not monetary value I require. I told you. Price is not necessarily measured in cash.”

  “Fine,” I agreed.

  A snap of her fingers conjured a contract from nothing, the paper unfurling and floating in midair. A second snap brought a fountain pen into being. Both slid toward me on an invisible breeze. Something inside of me clenched and dropped. I pretended not to care.