Dark King

by C. N. Crawford

  My temper was ready to rip this place apart. I clenched my jaw tight, trying to scan the trash bags again. Didn’t the robot understand these were crucial to my cleaning plan?

  Please remove item from the bagging area.

  “Go to the sea hell, you robotic tyrant!” I shouted. “I’m just trying to buy some freaking nut-free vitamin corn for my human!”

  No one looked up. In a city of nine million, watching dirty people scream at the automated checkout was just part of life.

  After a few more tries, I was on my way home again, muddy footprints trailing behind me. I clutched my little bag of food and cleaning products, feeling a bit pathetic. I called myself Flayer of Skins, Scourge of the Wicked. But my life was possibly a bit sad. I’d been a princess once. Now what did I have? No money, no family. Basically no friends, except the teenage human I looked after.

  Perhaps I’d spent too long isolating myself, hunting down the wicked and living under the dirt.

  As I walked home, an image flashed in my mind—of that angelically beautiful fae. I felt a strange pang, like a loss. I had no idea why. I’d had to kill him to protect myself.

  When I reached the rough patch of land above our shop, I thrust my hand into the soil, looking for the roof hatch. I felt around until my fingers brushed against the copper handle. I pulled it up, and the shop’s stench hit me.

  I frowned as I slipped into the passage. Maybe my life was slightly sad, but it was my life, and I’d worked to make things fun. I had my record player, my movie nights with Gina. I’d put a life together here in my dark little corner of London.

  It just would take a lot of work to get it smelling nice again.

  I walked through the dark tunnel that led to the shop. This was the more direct route—unlike the long river pathway I’d taken earlier.

  Karen, our phantom guardian, sat outside the door watching soaps on her TV. She stroked the cat in her lap. “Smells a bit off in here,” she said as I approached.

  “We were attacked earlier by two sea fae. The river water flooded us.”

  “Nasty business.” She shuddered. She wasn’t a particularly good phantom guardian. “Did you pick up any Victoria sponge cake?”

  “No. We’re doing healthy stuff now. Like corn.”

  “Corn?” she snorted. “What, just on its own?”

  “It’s got vitamins. So Gina won’t get scurvy.”

  I crossed to the door, and her hand shot out and grabbed me. “Come pay us another visit in a bit, will ya?”

  Karen was deeply lonely, so I tried to visit a few times a day.

  “Sure, Karen.” I pushed through the door into our shop, my heart sinking at the sight of it. I had nothing left to sell—the potions and herbs had all been ruined.

  My heart squeezed. I’d be starting from scrap.

  Gina was still sitting on the countertop. “The microwave’s not working.”

  I hadn’t even thought of that. How much did microwaves cost these days?

  I dropped the plastic bags on the counter, regretting my attempts to buy healthy food. Should have gone for the Victoria sponge, or maybe McDonald’s. We needed something to liven up the atmosphere a bit.

  “We’re going to have food, and a cleaning party,” I declared.

  Gina brightened. “Sounds fun. Can we invite some fit blokes?”

  “It’s not really that kind of party.” I began scaling one of the old bookshelves, knocking over a mason jar of basil as I did. The basil was supposed to protect us from scrying, but somehow, the assassins had found us anyway.

  “Why not?”

  “Um, because we don’t know any, and also we’re basically fugitives trying to lay low, and also the shop smells like a corpse. But maybe I could conjure some visions of partygoers while we start scrubbing everything down. Illusions. It can look like a real party.”

  On the top shelf, the battery-powered record player was unscathed by the flood.

  She cocked her head. “Illusions of fit blokes. Is that how you’ve managed to stay single all these years? You just conjure up a delicious piece of arse to drool over when you’re feeling lonely?”

  I pulled the record player off the top shelf, holding it carefully as I climbed down. I’d grabbed an old Elvis album—probably not Gina’s favorite, but she didn’t yet understand that music from the nineteen-sixties and seventies was the pinnacle of human achievement. Some of my best years were spent in Nashville, Tennessee, listening to the amazing music.

  “No, Gina. That’s not how I’ve managed to stay single. I’ve managed to stay single because I have come to realize that nearly all men are garbage. Also, I think I scare them.”

  “Your attitude towards men is because of your mum, isn’t it?” she asked. “Your mum screwed you up.”

  I narrowed my eyes at her. “No, she was plenty wise, and she did not screw me up. I am not screwed up. And that’s the end of that discussion. It’s time for Elvis.” I slid the record player onto the countertop, and loaded up the record. I turned it on and placed the needle onto Suspicious Minds. The music crackled through the air, and I closed my eyes, trying not to think about how I’d pay for food next week. I had to focus on the problems I could actually fix.

  As the music lit up the room, I pulled out the haul of food onto the countertop. “We’ve got good tunes, food, and a bit of magic. And clean underwear. Everything we need.”

  “Luxury. Couldn’t ask for more.” Gina pulled out a plain piece of bread and started chewing on it with a half grin. “Delicious meal you’ve put together.”

  I closed my eyes and conjured up a spell for illusion. My magic hummed and vibrated around the place, and images flickered around us… My subconscious was projecting images of my home—distant memories from a place that no longer existed. They were images from a ball by the seaside, of fae draped in silks and jewels—harvested from my oldest memories.

  And others from my more recent memories shimmered into view alongside them—the woman who sold crepes from a food truck nearby, who always made me laugh with her complicated handshakes. The local Jack the Ripper tour guide, who lingered a little too long on the phrase ripped from vagina to breastbone. The elderly woman who pulled pints in the nearby pub, the one who amused herself by saying “Fancy a lap dance?” to horrified customers.

  Gina beamed at me, her mouth half full of plain bread. “Who are these lovely people?”

  “Just random people from my memories.”

  “I recognize some of them, but not the ones in the long gowns.” She whistled. “You knew some super posh people, didn’t you? In your old life?”

  “Like, a hundred years ago.” No idea why they were popping up now. They were from a life I’d long since abandoned. My mind had just sort of produced them on autopilot.

  I crossed behind the counter into the hallway and made my way to the bathroom. The mirror was still untouched by the water, and I caught a glimpse of myself—my blue hair caked with mud, streaks of dirt on my face. My green eyes shone out brightly from all the muck.

  I did what I could to wash off my face and hair in the sink.

  Then, I turned to the tub. With the tap on, I washed off my face and my hands, my legs. I did what I could to clean off my body. Then I got to work on scrubbing down the ceramic. This would be ground zero for the cleaning effort. Everything would go in and out of the tub to rinse off the muck.

  When the tub was clean enough, I crossed back into my room to change into the clean value-brand undies and tank top. The baggy cotton hung off me.

  I glanced at a blue hula-hoop hanging on the wall, still clean. The record player started playing A Little Less Conversation, and I had to take the hula-hoop down, just for a second. I put it around my hips, then started swinging them for a moment. Ahhhh… normalcy again. If hula-hooping in baggy underwear to Elvis could be considered normalcy.

  “Ooooh… this bloke is lovely.” Gina’s voice floated over Elvis’s melodious singing. “Who’s he? Please tell me you got off with him.”


  I pulled off the hula-hoop, and I popped my head around the corner. “It’s unlikely I got off with anyone, Gina. I’ve hardly gotten off with—”

  I froze at the image.

  There, flickering in our filthy little shop, was the fae I’d killed earlier—the one who’d glowed with the unearthly light of an angelic king, his skin burning gold like a lantern. All the other images seemed to fade into the shadows around him. The music seemed to slow down and grow deeper, reverberating over my skin. It was like Elvis was melding with the assassin’s sad song.

  “Who is he?” Gina repeated. “Wouldn’t kick him out of bed for eating cereal.”

  “That’s not the phrase, and you’re too young to have anyone in bed.”

  “I’m not that young,” Gina protested.

  Perhaps in the human world, seventeen was nearly grown up. But for a fae like me, seventeen was a baby.

  “So who is he?” She asked.

  I grabbed a packet of strawberry gum off the countertop, popping a piece into my mouth. “That’s one of the assassins I killed tonight.”

  “Oh, shit. And you knew him?”

  My entire body felt cold. “I hardly spoke to him. Not sure why my mind conjured him.” This image felt like a slap in the face from my unconscious, two men I wanted to forget.

  My stomach tightened, and I crossed out of the room, unwilling to dwell on these thoughts any more.

  I’d done what I needed to do. Just like I always had. I had to look out for myself and Gina, and it was as simple as that.

  She frowned at me. “What the fuck are you wearing?”

  “Language! And I’m wearing our temporary wardrobe. I got you some.”

  “Lucky me.”

  I turned to head back to my room, when Gina’s voice stopped me. “Aenor? Thanks.”

  A smile curled my lips as I crossed into my filthy room.

  Chapter 5

  Deep into the night, I lay on a plastic bag on the floor in my stinking bedroom.

  The mattresses couldn’t be salvaged, and it had come to this—sleeping on rubbish bags on the floor, feeling the cold damp, even through the bin liners.

  I still wore the giant discount underwear. We had no dry blankets, so Gina and I had just covered ourselves in more underwear for warmth.

  Unsurprisingly, I was having a hard time falling asleep in these conditions. I lay awake for hours, listening to the crinkling of the plastic beneath me every time I rolled over. I was just about getting used to the smell.

  It must have been around three a.m. when I finally drifted off, and I dreamt of the seaside by Cornwall. Starlight glimmered over the ocean and glinted off the frothing sea like pearls. I wore a gown, sheer as the sea-foam itself.

  A man rose from the waves—the divine face of the man I’d killed. He moved, fluid as the water, and seawater flowed down his powerful body in glistening rivulets. Ancient fae runes glowed on his chest with the light of the gods. I licked my lips, and I crossed to him—

  A hand around my throat woke me from my dream, and my heart froze.

  I couldn’t see much in here. I had a Betty Boop nightlight plugged in, but my intruder was in the shadows. All I knew was that a powerful body pressed against me—one hand around my throat, the other pinning my wrists to the ground with a viselike grip.

  “Don’t move.” A deep, quiet command from a voice I recognized. One I’d heard earlier today. The crowned assassin I’d killed. Except now he sounded kind of like an animal.

  My pulse pounded out of control as I struggled under his grip. How was this possible? He was dead.

  He pressed in closer, sniffing my throat, like some kind of beast. His muscled body pressed against me.

  He moved back a little into the golden glow of my nightlight.

  It was the fae I’d killed earlier, but death had changed him. His crown now glowed with golden light, and it had grown longer, more spiky. His eyes gleamed with gold instead of blue—a pale gold, a sharp contrast to his black eyelashes and straight, dark eyebrows.

  His canines had elongated. He no longer wore a shirt, and strangest of all, his tattoos moved across his skin, writhing like golden snakes on his muscles. The effect was disturbing—terrifying and oddly beautiful at the same time. In fact, beautiful as he was, his whole appearance scared the bejesus out of me. It was like a vision of divine wrath no mortal was supposed to behold. A pit opened in my stomach, and I felt like I was falling.

  My enemy’s fingers were crushing my wrists where he held me down. His lip curled, and the look in his eyes was wild—so different from the cool, composed man I’d met earlier.

  Gina.

  What had he done to her?

  “Where’s Gina?” I tugged at my wrists, getting nowhere.

  His hand tightened just a little around my neck—a warning. I stilled my movements and went quiet.

  His breath warmed the shell of my ear. “You killed me.” The dark power in his voice rushed over my skin. “With iron. Fucking… shot me.” Animal rage imbued his words.

  I tried to get my knee into his groin, but the weight of his body pressed me down.

  Son of a gun. How did he even get in here? No—scratch that. How was he alive? What the hells was he, some sort of god?

  I racked my brain to think of how to get out of this one. Most of the time, I’d use an attack spell—harnessing what little sea magic I had. But a powerful sea fae like him would simply absorb it. Gina was kind of right—my magic wasn’t amazing.

  My enemy loosened his grip on my neck a little, and I gasped for air. “You were here to kill me. Self-defense. Don’t get your panties in a bunch about it.”

  “No.” One simple word, as if that alone were a sufficient refutation of my point.

  Another deep breath. “Your friend said surrender or die. You said you would make me suffer. I killed you in self-defense.”

  “Vile creature. You should have surrendered.”

  “I didn’t want to surrender.” My mind was still reeling from this situation. “How are you alive? I don’t understand. And where—”

  “You fucking shot us in cold blood.” His voice had a deep, powerful timbre that slid along my skin and made my breath catch. “A black hole in my heart. I will punish you.”

  Anger started to simmer. Surrender or die—like that was a reasonable choice? He was only proving my deepest belief—most men were garbage.

  God of the deep, give me power.

  Fury rippled through my body, giving me strength. Lightning-fast, I thrust my hips upward, gripping him by the back of his hair. With all the strength I could muster, I pulled him off me, and he slammed down on the wet ground next to where I’d been sleeping. In the next second, I was on top of him, straddling his taut waist. I punched him hard in the face, and the impact of the strike stung my knuckles.

  I caught my breath, waiting to see if he’d react. In the glow of the nightlight, I could see that he looked strangely comfortable with me straddling him. He didn’t look the least bit bothered by my attack.

  “What do you want?” I asked. “You came to find me. Why?”

  A burst of magic radiated out from his body, skimming over my exposed skin, making me shiver. I felt something twining around my hands and arms—thorny ropes that bound my wrists together behind my back. I nearly toppled over, but I held onto him with my thighs. The jerk was using his magic to tie me up, the tendrils of magic scratching at my skin.

  “Gina!” My blood was roaring in my ears now. “Gina!”

  The intruder sat up, then pressed a finger against my lips. “The human sleeps.”

  “What are you?”

  “I’m the Ankou, and I need to use you.”

  If wild beasts could talk, this is what they’d sound like.

  And yet… the word Ankou was like a distant bell ringing in the hollows of my mind. It was a calling of sorts. Something to do with gods or death. I hadn’t heard it since I was a child.

  Now, we were inches from each other, my bare l
egs still wrapped around him.

  “You’re going to use me?” The phrase was… disturbing.

  “To find what I need. To track something.”

  This dude was deranged, and I was sitting in his lap, tied up in my underwear. I hated feeling this vulnerable.

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “I can’t help you track anything. I don’t have any powerful magic. I hardly have any magic except the Morgen song. Not good for tracking. So can you buzz off now?” I nearly used saltier language, but I managed to gain control.

  “I don’t believe I have the wrong person, Aenor Dahut, disgraced princess from the House of Meriadoc.” A shiver rippled over my skin. He knew my full name. “I know exactly who you are.”

  “And what is it you think I can help you find?”

  “That’s not your concern right now. You just need to do as I tell you to.”

  I quirked an eyebrow at him. “I’m not inclined to do as I’m told, given that you showed up at my home, threatened to kill me, flooded us, and then tied me up in the dark. Wearing only underwear. Perv.”

  “I’m not the pervert, princess.” He rose abruptly, knocking me off him onto the muddy floor. I landed face down, ungracefully.

  Then, the creep yanked me up by the bindings around my wrists, jerking me onto my feet.

  “Ow!” The way he’d said I’m not the pervert made it sound like he thought I was.

  I scrambled to try to stand, to regain a little of my dignity, but the bindings made it hard.

  “And you don’t get a choice about what happens next,” he said. “You have broken fae laws. You destroyed your own kingdom. The only reason you’re still alive is that I need something from you.”

  “I absolutely did not destroy my kingdom. Are you high? What kind of idiot would do that?” Someone had destroyed my kingdom over a century ago—but it wasn’t me.

  He was still holding me by the binding from behind, like a trainer holding the reins of a wild animal.

  He leaned down and spoke in a low voice, his breath warming the shell of my ear once more. “You don’t have the skill or the decency to fight like a fae. You’re the Flayer of Skins, an iron-user. You hammer body parts to the wall with iron nails.” Something particularly enraged him about this last part—like he wasn’t angry about the severed body parts. Just the material that I used to secure them to the wall.