Shadow (Touched by the Fae Book 2)

by Jessica Lynch

  I glance over at Carolina. The look on her face is so disappointed, I don’t have the heart to tell her that I honestly found it easier to believe that there’s a blanket fairy dropping off blankets than that I’ve whipped one up out of the shadows myself.

  So I lie. Again. “Oh, uh. Yeah. I totally did. I was just teasing.”

  Her frown wavers for a beat, then turns into a hesitant grin. She sets the bundle in her hand down, lets the plastic bag hanging off her wrist land on the floor with a muffled thump, then shimmies the backpack off of her back. “You look better. Did you sleep well?”

  “Didn’t dream, so that’s something.”

  “Any… any visitors?”

  “Nope.”

  I’m kind of annoyed about that, too. Nine assured me that he erased Rys’s brand so that he wouldn’t be able to track me down anymore. But Nine… I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t hope he’d at least pop in after the sun went down to check on me.

  He didn’t. I would’ve known. He didn’t, and I don’t want to think about how disappointed that makes me.

  So I don’t.

  Instead, I jerk my chin over at Carolina. She might think that I look better after a night’s rest. I wish I could say the same for her. The circles under her eyes are puffy, a dark purple, almost like a pair of black eyes. Did she get any sleep?

  I’m not so sure.

  “How about you?” I ask. “Sleep okay?”

  “I was too busy to sleep,” she tells me, stifling a yawn behind her bony hand. “I’ve brought you some things. In case you needed it, I grabbed you a pillow and a blanket,” she adds, pointing at the bundle by her feet, “and I thought you might like a change of clothes. I figure we’re about the same size—”

  I’m not really a big girl, but I’m definitely bigger than Carolina. “Uh...”

  She winces as she bends low, snagging the backpack by the top handle. “Before I got hooked on faerie food, I mean. These are all from last year. It should fit you.”

  I’ll make it work. Anything to get out of the clothes I’ve been wearing for way, way too long. “Thanks. I… I don’t know what to say.”

  “You don’t have to say anything, Riley. I told you I’m going to help you. This is helping. Here.”

  Setting the backpack between us, Carolina unzips the top and starts pulling stuff out of it. A toothbrush and toothpaste kit. A hairbrush. Deodorant. A bar of soap. Body spray. I try not to take it too personally—I know I smell ripe, and I’m dying for any kind of bath. At first chance, I’m checking to see if there’s a shower. If not, I’ll bathe in the sink if I have to.

  She’s brought me three shirts. A pair of jeans and—my feet want to rejoice—some plain white sneakers. And, tucked at the bottom of the backpack, a box of granola bars and two bottles of water.

  Then, after it’s empty, she picks up the plastic shopping bag. It’s pretty full.

  “There’s underwear in here. It’s new. I stopped on the way back and got you fresh panties and socks. I didn’t know what kind of bra to get, so I got a sports bra. I hope that’s okay.”

  It’s more than okay. It’s so freaking thoughtful, I don’t know what to say. So, to keep from saying anything at all, I reach out and grab the box of bars. Tearing open the top, I grab one at random, rip the wrapper off, then start chewing.

  Oops. Can’t blubber like an idiot if my mouth is full of a granola bar. Sorry, Carolina.

  While her hunger is obvious from the way she watches me chow down, she doesn’t say a damn word about it. She just smiles.

  And I know that I’m stuck with her until the prophecy comes true—or I can find somewhere else to hide out at.

  Over the next couple of days, I begin to think that neither one of those things is coming true any time soon.

  Every night, Carolina leaves as soon as it gets dark, returning early the next morning with her backpack filled with more things that she thinks I can use. By the third morning, I’ve got enough food to last me a couple of weeks, and five changes of clothes. Because she could tell it was bothering me, she took my old clothes with her that second night, washing my hoodie, my slippers, and my jeans.

  They feel so much better on my skin once they’re clean.

  And even though the water is cold and stinks like rotten eggs as it spits out of the shower head, it’s fucking heaven to wash up in the upstairs bathroom. Carolina carries Rys’s lantern in there so that there’s light for whenever we have to do our business.

  I leave it there. Out of sight, out of mind.

  Kind of like Rys, too.

  You know what’s even better? The freedom to do whatever the hell I want, when I want. I’ve never been able to do that. When I was at Black Pine, everything was routine. Sessions with the psychologists, community group, meetings with my social workers, therapy… every bit of my stay in the asylum was regulated, from light’s out to the food.

  Especially the food.

  We got three square meals, sure, but, with a few exceptions, it was always hospital food. You don’t like it—you just get used to it. What makes my stay at the Wilkes House with Carolina’s daily visits so great is that, though she brings me things like apples and cheese, she also sneaks in a snack or two.

  Like chips.

  Jeez, I missed chips.

  I pick up the crinkly bag, my mouth drooling at the promise of crunchy, salty goodness inside. “Is this for me?”

  Stupid question. Who else would it be for?

  Carolina nods. “I thought you might like them.”

  I actually do. I don’t know if it was luck or what, but this brand is one of my favorites. I used to pig out on these chips all the time when I lived with the Everetts.

  “I’ll save these for later. Thanks.”

  “You don’t have to do that. It’s okay. Go on. Have a couple.”

  Right. Let me just stuff my face with chips while Carolina watches.

  I set the bag aside. “I’m fine.”

  That girl is stubborn. Before I can even move them out of her reach, Carolina purses her lips, grabs the bag, and pops the chips open. Then she puts the bag on the floor again and nudges them toward me, careful not to get too close.

  “Just because I made a mistake, it doesn’t mean you have to go hungry. Please.”

  What’s worse? Turning away her gift because it makes me uncomfortable or stuffing my face in front of her knowing that it’s impossible for Carolina to snack on a chip? In the end, I eat a couple to make her feel better, then I do the same thing I’ve done since that second morning.

  I talk. And I talk. And, hell, I don’t shut up at all.

  I know. It surprises me, too.

  It’s been three days since I’ve been hiding out in the Wilkes House. I’ve done most of the talking, which is tough since Carolina doesn’t really want to hear about my past experiences with the fae—she just wants to focus on how I’m going to fulfill my role in the prophecy.

  I can’t help it, though. Being back in Acorn Falls, squatting in this house… it’s like I’m dealing with Madelaine’s death and my first real brush with the fae all over again. I spent six years talking to my doctors, stubbornly refusing to discuss the mother who abandoned me and the sister I saw die.

  There’s something about Carolina. She doesn’t talk much at all, and she gets it. Really gets it. It’s such a relief to be able to tell someone about the shit I’ve seen and actually have them believe it.

  But I also want to know more about my new… I don’t know… partner in crime, I guess. I want to know Carolina’s story. About the Dark Fae who tricked her into eating faerie food and how she found out that the fae were real in the first place.

  She, uh, doesn’t want to share any of that with me.

  I quickly pick up on her reluctance. I can’t tell why exactly, but every time I try to change the conversation around to her instead of me, Carolina becomes wary and kind of apprehensive. She tends to fiddle with her fingers in her lap, staring down at the floor, gulping n
ervously as if the words burn. She rubs her throat a lot, the haunted look in her dark eyes even more noticeable on the rare occasions that she lifts her gaze to watch me looking at her curiously.

  We spend a lot of our time together rehashing the few lines of the Shadow Prophecy scrawled on the piece of paper that Carolina keeps in her pocket. We talk about Black Pine, too, and some of the doctors and patients that we both knew. I almost want to ask her about Jason, especially since Carolina told me how she’s got this strange sense of knowing when someone has been touched by the fae, but I wimp out before I do.

  Bringing up the Fae Queen? That’s okay. Carolina wants to know what my plan is, how I’m going to use my newfound Shadow powers to take on Melisandre. It’s a good thing that I’ve regained my ability to lie because, yeah, none of that’s gonna happen.

  I wait for her to ask me about Nine or, hell, even Rys. She doesn’t. Just like how she can’t bring herself to discuss her mistress—the Dark Fae who tricked Carolina into doing her bidding—she doesn’t want to know anything about the two fae males that I’m hiding out from.

  Instead, at my urging—okay, my nagging—Carolina eventually tells me how she drew the attention of her mistress. Last year, when she was on the edge of turning twenty, she started to notice that some people she ran into had a weird hazy glow around them. If she looked closer, she explained, it was almost like she could see a whole other person.

  Glamour. Carolina can see through glamour.

  Not all that well, though. Like any skill, she’s gotten better over time. She might not have recognized that the pretty woman who offered her an apple was a Dark Fae back then, but she admits that it only took a couple of days before she suspected that the blonde tech, Diana, was wearing a glamour.

  So she was from Faerie. I freaking knew it.

  Some of the other stuff Carolina tells me is stuff that I already know. The fae’s inability to lie is one, how they rely on glamour and charms and compulsions is another. Plus just how much power the fae can steal with a single touch once permission is granted.

  Which, you know, is usually a given when a gorgeous fae chooses to charm a human. According to Carolina, it’s close to impossible to refuse a fae once they’ve set their mind on you.

  That makes me think of Rys. Of how Madelaine couldn’t, and how I might not have been able to if it wasn’t for Nine’s lessons. Of course, then I think of Nine, and how even now there isn’t much I wouldn’t do for him.

  So, yeah, she’s got a point.

  She also tells me things I didn’t know, like she’s running a fae school for a single student: me. Like glamour. Despite the way I can slip through shadows when I’m unconscious, or how I can twist them and pull them and turn them into blankets without realizing it, I’m a sucker for glamour. Apart from picking up on notably fae traits—pointy ears, bright eyes, super good looks—I can’t see through the glamour.

  That worries me, so I choose not to focus on it.

  Oh, and then there’s faerie food. That’s a biggie. Nine was right. It seems like food from Faerie is the epitome of forbidden fruit. It can give you energy and strength when you’re inches away from passing out, heal nearly any wound, extend a human’s life so that they’re almost immortal—but, from the second you take a bite, you’re cursed... unless you have a Dark Fae guardian willing to suck the poison out before it takes hold.

  Once it does? Part of the curse is that you can only eat faerie food for the rest of your very long life. Nothing else will ever satisfy you again. Without the magicked fruit, your body will just give out.

  I’m watching Carolina’s body give out right in front of me.

  It’s been three weeks since she had anything to eat. When she told me that, I was torn between being horrified and being pissed, and I snapped.

  “Are you kidding me? You’ve got to eat. Ask for more fruit or something. Anything. You’re gonna starve.”

  Okay, so I went months without food—but that’s only because I lost time somehow thanks to fae magic. In reality, it was at most a day and a half, and I was super hungry between meals.

  Three weeks?

  I’d be dead.

  With the sun’s rays highlighting her sunken-in cheeks and the black circles beneath her eyes, poor Carolina looks like she’s halfway there.

  I don’t get it. I really don’t. Sure, I understand that relying on faerie food to survive means that she’ll never be completely free of the magical, mythical race, but that’s got to be better than wasting away to nothingness.

  Not for her.

  “It’s not about asking,” Carolina says softly. “I would have to beg for more. And I’m so very tired of begging. I’d rather starve.”

  Not on my watch. “You don’t have to beg. Look, I can call Nine. He’s a good guy. If you need some faerie food, I’m sure he’ll get some for you if I ask him to.”

  Her head jerks up suddenly. A flash of panic flitters across her face. Her voice drops to a whisper. “Riley, you can’t.”

  “Sure, I can. It’ll suck, ‘cause I did tell him that I never want to see him again, but it is what it is. You need help. And, hey, it’s not like I don’t tell Nine to leave me alone all the time anyway. He knows I don’t mean it.”

  Because that’s the truth right there. No matter how mad he makes me, no matter how much it hurt to have him reject me like that when I was so vulnerable, I never mean it when I lash out at him.

  I can’t.

  Whether I want to or not, I love him. Can’t really deny it since I let it slip while under the influence of his touch. I’m gonna have to own up to my twisted feelings sooner or later. If it means that I can stop Carolina from dying right in front of me, I’ll use Nine’s name.

  But she won’t let me.

  Surging up on her knees, she throws her hands out. “You don’t understand,” she bursts out, her hand inches away from closing around my wrist. She freezes before she does, then shakes her head wildly. “You can’t, Riley. She wouldn’t like that. She’d never allow one of her kind to interfere. It’s better if you leave your fae out of it. It will only make it worse for me. Please.”

  “Okay.”

  “Promise me. Promise me that you won’t call him here.”

  “I promise.”

  She sinks back on the ground. A soft sigh of relief escapes her. “When you get rid of Melisandre, I’ll be free of my mistress. That’s the bargain. We don’t need to involve anybody else.”

  “Carolina, what if—”

  “I believe in you. You’re the Shadow. You can do anything.” A crooked grin tugs on her chapped lips. “I’m hungry, but I’m used to it. I’ll survive. I’ve made it this long.”

  “Let me go get you some water at least.” It won’t do anything to satiate her hunger, but water is the only thing on this side that she can get down without throwing it back up. “Can I do that?”

  She nods, folding her skeletal body in on herself, knees to her chest, arms wrapped around her legs so that there’s no chance of her brushing up against me as I climb to my feet and move past her toward the kitchen.

  It’s only after I’ve left the living room that I notice something.

  My pulse is steady. I didn’t flinch, or jerk out of her reach. My hands are clenched at my side, but that’s not because I was trying to brace myself for an unwelcome touch. They’re clenched because I have half a mind to pop into Faerie, find the Dark Fae responsible for this, and punch the Unseelie female dead in the nose. I’m not a killer, but a sucker punch would totally be worth however much time I lose crossing over.

  Huh. Look at that. Absolute fury trumps panic. I’m so stinking pissed at her reaction, at what Carolina’s faceless mistress has reduced her to, that I actually would have let her touch me without even the smallest niggle of fear if it made her feel better.

  Somehow, over the last couple of days, I’ve grown used to having her around.

  Even worse? I’ve started to care about her.

  When Carolina leaves m
e at night, I have to battle with my guilt over leading her on. She thinks I’m working on this great plan to confront the Fae Queen when, in reality, half my time is spent on wondering where Nine is. The other half? I’m trying to figure out my next step.

  I can’t stay in the Wilkes House forever. Despite her repeated offers, it doesn’t feel right to drop in on Carolina’s parents. I have this sinking suspicion that they’d take one look at me and have me on my way back to Black Pine within the hour.

  No, thanks.

  As the days go by, I can’t stop obsessing over Nine, either. Since the first time he visited me in my room at the asylum, this is the longest I’ve gone without him crossing over to see me. I don’t like it. I’m not ready to swallow my pride and invite him back, but I wouldn’t send him away if he showed up.

  He… doesn’t.

  At first, I wonder if he expected me to linger in that nasty sewer. I mention it to Carolina my third morning after I spent two sleepless, dreamless nights worrying where Nine went. Almost apologetically, she reminds me about the touch—and how the brand it left behind on my akin means he can follow me anywhere. He’s just not because I told him to stay away.

  Good going, Riley.

  Seriously.

  Carolina says that I should’ve expected it. To the fae, humans like us—even part humans, I guess—are looked at as toys, basically. They play with us when they have nothing better to do. Once they’re occupied, or they no longer have any use for us, we’re discarded.

  Thrown away.

  Forgotten.

  Trash.

  It’s not really a surprise to me that, without Nine to keep me company—or even Rys to argue with—I rely more and more on Carolina. It’s easier now that I’m out of the asylum. It almost feels like how it used to be with Madelaine. And it’s not just the food and the clothes and the bonding over how much the fae have ruined our lives, though that’s definitely up there.

  It’s the way she makes me feel like a normal twenty-one-year-old woman and not some kind of crazy, broken chick. Sure, she looks at me like she expects me to solve all of her problems, but I’m kind of doing the same thing.