Throne of Silver (Silver Fae Book 1)

by KB Anne

  My breath formed icy clouds of moisture, but I barely felt the temperature outside or at least I was too frozen to notice. My wet clothes clung to my body as I ran along the gravel roads that eventually turned to pavement. I stuck to the dark walls of the buildings away from the streetlights. Every barking dog, every slamming door, every squealing tire made my heart jump. When sharp stones bit at the soles of my feet and tore away the surface, I kept moving forward. Pure adrenaline kicked me into hyper drive, and I flew through the neighborhoods I once considered home.

  After running almost five miles, I reached Di’s house much faster than I expected, especially in bare feet. Last year I didn’t even qualify for states in Track. Adrenaline kicked in for sure, but still, I’ve gotten a lot faster. If I could get this Organization situation under control over the next few weeks, I might be able to compete in Track Districts. Sucked that it looked like I would miss it for swimming, but I already held District Titles in the individual medley and the one hundred fly anyway.

  Then it hit me. I sounded like a selfish bitch.

  My life might never be the same again, but at least I had one.

  Sami and Jovie’s lives were over.

  I choked back a sob as I jumped over the gate to Di’s side yard. Once safely tucked behind the other side of the gate, I collapsed against it and tried to get myself under control. When I finally pulled myself back together, I snuck along the side of the house and breathed a sigh of relief when I saw her open window. The screen disappeared long ago during one of our midnight escapades.

  Di always insisted on leaving the window open—I was glad that somethings never changed. I was sure she never expected me to sneak in after all these years.

  I placed my left foot on the old hydrangea bush and pulled myself up onto the windowsill. I half fell half leapt into her room and somehow managed to land on the carpet. The old floorboards screamed my arrival to the entire house. I froze, afraid to even breath. The loud snores of Di’s parents down the hall ensured me that they were most likely passed out, and the house could burn down around them, and they would never know. When I was confident that no one would barge in on us, I glanced around the room.

  The moon casted just enough light on the bedroom floor that I could make out Di’s bed in the far corner. I half-smiled at the vintage, glow-in-the-dark Cure poster with lead singer Robert Smith hanging above her bed. When we were thirteen, Diane went with us to the beach. She and I were allowed to walk the boardwalk by ourselves—a first for both of us. A giant blood red moon took up half the sky, and we wondered how could a moon that was 240,000 miles away be so close you could touch it or at least feel like you could. After pondering the celestial entity much longer than any normal thirteen year olds should, we went into the Surf Mall. The Surf Mall wasn’t really a mall. It was an open market in an old movie theater that went bankrupt long before we were born. A back room, probably storage for old films, became the PG-13 room. In all my years at the shore, my mom never let me go into the forbidden room.

  Diane tugged on my hand when I hesitated just before the hanging bead curtain to reassure me that it was okay to take this next adventure. She always watched out for me, though as time went on and her parents spiraled into addiction, I only now realized that she was the one who needed to be looked after.

  I remember stepping into a world I never knew existed. Velvet glow-in-the-dark posters covered the walls, anatomically correct candles lined the shelves, and the smell of incense hung heavy in the air. Diane fell in love with Robert Smith in that haze filled room and paid fifty dollars, all the money she had, for a poster of a lead singer of a band she never heard of.

  “Di?” I gave her a gentle nudge. “Di?”

  “Huh? What?” Her eyes flashed open. For a moment, she stared at me. She blinked hard then rubbed her eyes. The last time I woke her up in the middle of the night I was fourteen. She looked at me again, her forehead all bunched up. The way her face glowed in the darkness reminded me of Robert Smith. “What’s up?”

  “I can’t talk about it, but will you dye my hair black?”

  She scrunched up her forehead again and stared at me. I tried to smile, but this time it felt unnatural and stiff like my face forgot what it was like to feel happiness and might never remember. After a beat or two of silence, she sat up. Her black hair stood straight up without a strand out of place—a testament to the powers of Gorilla glue. Even in the moonlight, I could see she dyed the pink patch of hair back to black. She stretched her arms behind her back and pushed her chest out. She cracked her neck from side to side, and then released her arms. She nodded at me and headed into the bathroom.

  She was never been one to pry. She just got it.

  I took a deep breath and followed her. She handed me a fuzzy black towel. “You didn’t go swimming by yourself, did you? Rule number one on Starr’s ‘List of Don’ts’.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” I whispered.

  Her hazel eyes studied me for a moment. “Fair enough,” she said. “Do you want to change?”

  I shook my head. “Not right now.”

  “Okay,” she shrugged and started rummaging through her drawers of beauty products. She pulled out bottles, clips, and combs and put them on the counter. I studied her reflection in the mirror. The pale face with heavy black eyeliner was so different from the rosy-cheeked fairy princesses we pretended to be.

  Without another word, she sectioned, clipped, and applied dye. From time to time, her eyes caught mine in the mirror, but she didn’t pry. Di respected the power of a secret. Her closet teemed with them. Sami and Jovie didn’t have secrets. Sami and Jovie. I clasped my hand over my mouth. A sob still escaped.

  Her petite hands squeezed my shoulders gently. “Starr, are you sure you don’t want to tell me what’s going on?”

  I shook my head no.

  “Do you want me to call your parents?”

  “You can’t call them,” I cried. I reached up to grab her wet hands. “Please Di, don’t call them. Promise me, you won’t call them.”

  Her eyes widened and locked with mine. She stared at me for several long minutes, before looking away and wiping a hand across her eyelid. “I won’t, but Starr, you know you can trust me.”

  I swallowed back the tears that were so close to surfacing. “I know.”

  She grabbed my hands. Her hands felt strong and comforting. She might be short, but she was mighty. “I’m warning you. I’ll go all ‘Starr Bishop’ on your ass if you don’t let me know what’s going on soon.”

  “Fair enough,” I countered with a tight-lipped smile.

  She got back to work on my hair. She applied and repositioned, reapplied, and rinsed. The rhythmic process settled me. When she was done, she stepped back. I didn’t even glance in the mirror before I stood up to leave.

  “Don’t you want to take a look?”

  I paused at the threshold of the bathroom on the precipice of my old world and my new one. “I trust you.”

  “Starr?”

  I braced myself for the next question I was sure was coming. I could hear it hovering in the back of her throat. “Yeah?”

  She brushed past me. “Let me get you some clothes.”

  A minute later, she strolled out of her walk-in closet with a bulging black backpack. She handed me a t-shirt and jeans. “At least put something dry on and give me your wet clothes. I’ll put them in a plastic bag.”

  I shrugged them off and handed them to her. Again, I felt as if she was waiting for me to divulge my secret, somehow sensing it was not something I should keep to myself. I looked away from her to avoid her understanding at all costs. As I zipped up the jeans, she shoved a wad of cash in my pocket, hung the backpack from my right hand, and put a hard pink plastic canister in my left.

  I clutched the canister to my chest. “What’s this?”

  “Pepper spray,” she said. “There’s a halfway house for teenage girls in Rochester on Seventh and Main if you need a place to crash. Go to Club
Black on Thirty-first and Brown on Wednesday. I’ll meet you there.”

  The anger that got me to her house vanished. I could only blink my eyes at her in appreciation because if I said anything, I would break down, and I couldn’t afford to. I swung my legs over the windowsill and landed on the soft ground. I wasn’t sure where I was going, but I was certain I couldn’t stay.

  “Starr?” Di whispered out the window.

  “Yeah?” I stopped but refused to face her.

  If you need anything and I mean anything, you know where to find me.” My breath caught. I felt myself unraveling, and I had too far to go before I stopped. I nodded before disappearing into the night.

  For the first time in my life, I wondered if I had the strength and courage to finish this fight.

  Chapter Ten

  For the first three days, three long days, I couldn’t do anything. Despair consumed me like a vicious stomach bug that wrenched your insides every time you took a sip of water. I fought sleep. I battled to keep my eyes open, certain the moment I closed them the Organization would find me and turn me into a killing machine. And sometimes, a flying killing machine.

  My days and nights ran into each other at the halfway house where I was staying. The only passage of time I noticed was the cleaning woman who mopped the floor each morning and a new roommate who slept in the bed next to me each night.

  Nightmares haunted what little sleep I had. When the steady rhythm of nothingness finally lulled me to sleep, I’d wake in a panic not knowing where I was before it all came rushing back to me—the general of a secret organization wanted me to become an assassin.

  Me? Kill people? No way.

  But no more. No. More. I refused to wallow in self-pity. I had wasted three days of my life, crying and feeling sorry for myself. Today, I would find answers. Today, I would take back my life.

  I squared my shoulders and walked up to the gray-haired librarian checking in books at the front desk of the Rochester Public Library. I flashed her a wide, winning smile. “Good morning ma’am! Could I use a computer for a few minutes?”

  She stopped her work to look up at me. “Do you have a library card?”

  I angled my head to the side as I raised my shoulders. “Uh, no, I just wanted to look up something really quick, would that be alright?”

  “No, it is not alright. You must have a library card to use a computer. No exceptions,” she said. She dismissed me with the flick of a hand and returned to her work.

  A library card? I couldn’t believe my ears. I never needed one before. How was I going to get a library card? How was I supposed to get answers if I couldn’t use a computer? How…

  “Young lady, is there anything else I can help you with?”

  “No ma’am, h-have a nice day,” I managed to mumble before running out the door. Some assassin I’d make. Torn to shreds with one steely gaze from a librarian.

  A cold wind assaulted my tear-stained face when I got outside. I crouched next to a streetlight and tried to keep myself together. It was getting harder and harder to stop the flickering whenever my emotions got away from me.

  I didn’t know what was happening to me, but I suspected it was one of the reasons the General and his Organization were after me. More tears fell.

  If only I had Di or even Frank to talk to. They’d understand. They’d know what to do. But I couldn’t risk reaching out to them. I was all alone.

  After another pity party for myself, I stood up and took in my surroundings, trying to figure out where I should go.

  “Get out of the way punk!” An old man barked as he knocked into me. I almost fell headfirst into the busy street but managed to grab the streetlight post, but it wasn’t the near death experience that undid me. It was the large picture taped to streetlight post that threatened to tear apart my pitifully weak badass girl exterior I had cloaked myself in.

  I barely recognized the girl in the middle of the photo. Her arms were draped around her two best friend’s shoulders. It was me, only not me. That girl was blonde. She was hanging out with her friends without a care in the world. That girl was going places, doing things, big things… Me? My hair’s dyed black, and my first day out of hiding I couldn’t even run a simple search on the computer. That girl was comfortable in her own skin. Me? I had never been so uncomfortable my entire life. I was wearing clothes that weren’t mine, boots that didn’t fit, and all my belongings hung on my back.

  I was a sorry excuse for a human being.

  That was if I even was human.

  Starr, enough! Sami and Jovie’s lives were over. What are you going to do about it?

  My spine stiffened. I replaced the poison of self-doubt coursing through my veins with liquid hate. Staring at the picture, I willed the old Starr out of existence. I lifted my chin. Anger surged through me, but I maintained control of my appearance. One more deep cleansing breath, and my transition was complete. My chest flared with pride. I stood here now—not a girl who lost everything the day she showed up to take a test, but a woman, a woman who would avenge her dear dead friends.

  PLAN OF ACTION:

  1. Go back to the halfway house for a couple hours.

  2. Talk to the girls there and find out about the club.

  3. Go to Club Black.

  4. Ask Di for help.

  The sound of heavy boots shifted my attention away from the sign. Black combat boots, navy pants with a light blue stripe on the sides, a light blue buttoned down shirt with a gun holstered to his hip. I glanced up at the police officer before dropping my eyes. I couldn’t be caught. Not now. Not when I had a plan.

  “You got a place you gotta be?”

  I lifted my head, my first small act of defiance. “Yes sir, as a matter of fact I do.”

  “If I find you here again, I’m charging you with loitering. You understand?”

  “Yes sir.” I chanced one last look at the photo. The tagline read, “If you spot any of these girls, please contact authorities immediately.” The irony was not lost on me.

  Chapter Eleven

  First rule of an assassin: Dress the part.

  Second rule of an assassin: Trust no one.

  “Lose the jacket and show some skin,” the bouncer advised me. “You won’t stand out so much.” Nodding, I tried hard not to stare at the huge gold ring in his nose that reminded me of a bull. My fingers fidgeted with the zipper of my hoodie, double-checking that it was zipped all the way. Di’s black lace corset was tight, revealing, and absolutely terrifying. The cool, calculating assassin disappeared the moment she slipped into her costume.

  Taking a deep breath, I gripped the straps of my backpack and stepped over the threshold into Club Black. Loud industrial rock music blasted from every corner of the club. Flashing strobe lights exploded over the dance floor. Long strands of multi-colored dreadlocks topped the heads of the most exotic dancers. Overhead black lights suspended the white faces in supernatural space.

  Compared to the other clubbers, I looked like a kid playing dress up with her older and way cooler, sister’s clothing. The white powder on my face felt thick and heavy, but I wasn’t sure if I had enough on. To make matters worse, every time I blinked, chunky black flakes fell into my eyes—the unfortunate byproduct of the industrial strength mascara Di gave me.

  On the far side of the club, I spotted the perfect lookout location. It allowed me to watch the entrance for Di but also hid me behind the dancers in case someone from the Organization showed up. To get there would be a feat in athletic maneuver because the dance floor was packed with bodies. I darted past kung fu kicks. I dipped under flying hands. I dove through several swarms of dancers when there was no way to avoid them. I almost made it across without incident. Almost...

  A quick jab to my stomach knocked me off balance. I sidestepped away from a couple tightly engaged in something other than dancing and into a kick to my hamstring. I stumbled forward trying to regain my footing. Another leap and duck and I arrived at my destination—bruised and winded, but not
broken. Not yet anyway.

  As my breath returned to normal, I tried to calm the adrenaline shooting through my veins. Sharp spikes of it would wipe me out, and I would be no good to myself if I was too tired to act if needed to. I rested against the side wall of the club with a clear line of sight of the bouncer’s bald head. My positioning had eliminated the potential for a surprise rear attack. Frank would be proud that all our hours of secret agent movie viewing paid off.

  While I waited for Di, I observed this alternate universe I never knew existed. Clubbers threw their arms up in the air and kicked their feet out to the sides like African tribal dancers. I rubbed my side remembering just how powerful those elbows could be. The loud, fast reggae beat invited me to dance along with the rest of them, but I stopped myself. Now was not the time or the place.

  A flash of neon drew my attention back to the bouncer. A muscular guy wearing a white golf shirt showed him a picture. The fat folds in the back of the bouncer’s head rubbed against each other. A flash of negative energy hit me from across the club. I needed to get out of here…Now!

  Without warning, someone grabbed my hand. Electricity pulsed through my body as my eyes leapt into deep blue pools. My stomach muscles tightened. Spellbound, I lost complete sense of myself as I allowed this person to guide me across the dance floor and out a backdoor into a parked car.

  When he hit the gas, I finally managed to speak. “Christian?”

  He checked the rearview mirror. “The one and only.”

  “How’d you…?” I stuttered. I shook my head and started again. “What…?”

  “I kidnap random girls from clubs and have my way with them.” He raised an eyebrow. His black-lined blue eyes twinkled with wickedness. My heart stopped. An uncomfortable silence filled the space between us. “Di told me where to find you.”