“She says that,” he began, “but trust me, it’s for the best. Thanks to that, we’ve started doing things a little differently. There’s no pitting one side against the other, no infighting, no vying for influence. We’ve gotten away from the politics and focused on the members, instead. Which means Scathach has her role, and I have mine.”
Scathach pursed her lips but nodded. I realized in that moment that she wasn’t actually mad at me so much as she was annoyed to have a role in which others depended on her. For as long as I’d known her, she’d been a bit of a loner, always willing to lend a hand, but twice as eager to ride off into the sunset. For someone like her, getting stuck looking after people had to be agonizing in its own way. I guessed I could relate. “And those roles would be?” I asked, cocking an eyebrow at the Redcap.
Robin jabbed his chest with a thumb. “Carrot.” He pointed at Scathach. “Stick.”
“What did you just call me?” Scathach’s hand edged towards the knife on her hip.
“It’s an expression,” I explained before Scathach decided to saw off Robin’s beard and feed it to him. “He means you’re the one who punishes the Fae who get out of line, and he’s the one who rewards ‘em for good behavior.”
“I see. Fine.” Scathach planted her hands on her hips. “But don’t ever call me a stick again.”
Robin cleared his throat. “Of course.”
“So, I take it this was your idea?” I asked the Redcap, breaking the tension. I waved a hand idly at the gathered Fae, then realized I recognized a surprising number of them from past dealings. As I watched, a small contingent of Faelings began a game of tug-o-war, lifting a rope of braided silver, trying to force each other over a line drawn in the sand. A half-dozen pixies, so small that at this distance they seemed little more than dust motes hovering in mid-air, bobbed and weaved through the competitors, wings buzzing, seemingly cheering them on. The whole spectacle was blatantly ridiculous, and yet I had to laugh; it was good to see so many of my people happy. And they were my people, I was beginning to realize, despite our biological and cultural differences. In fact, the more I got to know them, these outcasts and exiles who reveled in their petty feuds and two-faced bargains, the more I saw of the woman I’d become. I mean, a black magic arms dealer with a reputation for drinking the night away, starting fights on a whim, and who just so happens to be the daughter of a Fae goddess? Somehow, I doubted that was pure coincidence.
But did that mean my whole life had been predetermined? That I was just an inflexible, one-dimensional demi-goddess, destined to live this way forever, to repeat the same mistakes over and over again?
Or could I change?
“It was,” Robin replied, chuckling alongside me even as my laughter faded, smothered by the weight of my own thoughts. “I thought it might be good for them,” he explained. “Team-building, if you will.”
“He’s been reading human books,” Scathach said, eyeing Robin out of the corner of my eye.
“Oh?” I cocked my head, noting Robin’s reddened cheeks. “Did Camila get ‘em for ye?”
The blush crept further up his face. Camila Velez, Robin’s human paramour, was a bruja—a particular sect of witch who helped run a paranormal paraphernalia shop in Boston. I still wasn’t sure how I felt about her or their budding romance but had to admit most of that uncertainty was tied to my complicated relationship with her brother, Max—a hunky brujo who seemed adamant that he and I were meant to spend the rest of our lives together. Well, maybe not in so many words, but the offer had been there, all the same.
“Camila thought it might help to take a few classes, actually…” Robin admitted.
“You’re goin’ to school?” I asked, gaping.
Robin frowned at me. “And what if I am?”
“Nothin’,” I replied hastily, raising my hands in surrender. “Can I ask what your major is?”
“Business administration.”
I grunted, stifling a laugh.
“What?” he asked.
I waved that away. “Nope, that’s great. I’m sure you’ll look great in a cap and gown. Get it? Because ye like caps?” I gestured at his namesake.
Robin groaned.
“Wait! Have ye thought about startin’ a Fae-ternity?”
“You’re a child, you know that?”
“Ye don’t even need to get a house. Just find yourselves a hill on campus, throw some parties, lure unsuspectin’ passersby. Ye could call yourselves Fee Phi Fae Fum!”
“Are you done?”
I held up a hand, considering Robin’s question. “Hold on. What’s a fairy’s favorite subject?” I waited, but all I got was Robin’s disdainful stare. “Fae-losiphy,” I said, giving him the come and get it gesture with both hands.
Robin turned on his heel and walked off.
“Oy! Come back, I came up with a better one!” I called.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” Scathach said. “But it’s time you did something useful.”
“Somethin’ useful?” I echoed. “What d’ye mean?”
“The race.” Scathach nodded towards the sprawling Fae, many of whom were milling towards what looked like a starting line at one end of the beach. “We went ahead and entered you.”
“Ye did what, now?” I glanced down at myself, then back up. “Why didn’t ye warn me?”
“What fun would that be?” Scathach asked as she waved, trailing after her fellow Adjudicator.
Well, shit. Guess the joke was on me, after all.
3
The starting line was really more of a loosely configured boundary, beginning where the grass met the sand on the far side of the sandbar. Which meant, by the time I arrived, I found several of the brighter Faelings crowded along those few spots that extended further onto the beach, eager to take whatever advantage they could. As I worked my way through the crowd, I spotted a familiar pooka loan shark sporting a track suit instead of his three-piece, hopping in place, bunny ears flopping. It might have been cute if it weren’t for the menacing, fiendish expression on Alby’s face, not to mention the creepy way he slid his impossibly long-fingered, monkey-like hands over his chest. I watched as Alby leaned over to speak to his one-armed enforcer, an ogre named Ennis, pointing out a few other competitors. Probably trying to rig the race, if I had to guess; some Faelings simply couldn’t help themselves. I sighed and turned my attention to the race itself.
A straight shot from one end to the other, the race was a winner-take-all event. Whoever made it to the finish line first won a no-questions-asked boon from the Chancery’s two Adjudicators. It was a brilliant bit of marketing, not to mention the reason why so many of the Chancery’s members had opted to participate. Frankly, I had no idea what the rest of the Faelings were gunning for—better healthcare? Dental? Was the tooth fairy not pulling her weight? Regardless, I knew exactly what I’d ask for if I won: a roundtrip ticket to Fae.
Ordinarily I’d have liked to arrange that on my own, but I’d been wracking my brain for months now trying to come up with a way into Fae so I could fulfill a promise I’d made to a friend, with nothing to show for it. At first, I thought it’d be easy; I’d recently learned how to make Gateways that opened portals from one place to another, and assumed I could use one of those. But it turned out the Gateways I created were linked to this world, exclusively. But I knew for a fact Scathach had the means to travel to and from Fae, although she’d been cagey about the details. Of course, that meant—if I won—I could finally fulfill my end of the bargain and see Eve, my resident houseplant and budding Tree of Knowledge, planted in Fae.
“You don’t stand a chance, I hope you know that.”
The voice was feminine, high-pitched. I turned and found it belonged to a Faeling I didn’t recognize, though something about her seemed familiar. Maybe it was her classification; she was an elf, practically human aside from the pointed ears, the obscenely long lifespan, and the fact that she looked like she’d come fresh out of the pages of a fitness mag
azine. Blonde, beautiful, and ridiculously well-proportioned without even trying, I was inclined to loathe her instinctively. But then I wasn’t about to let a total stranger get under my skin that easily, no matter how blemish free hers was.
“What was that?” I asked.
“I’m just saying. Half-breeds like you are notoriously bad at things like this. They lack…experience.”
I raised an eyebrow. A half-breed. Hadn’t heard that before. A few of the smaller Faelings around us drifted away, sensing a fight brewing. Of course, many more took their place, eyeing the two of us eagerly. “Do I know ye?” I asked.
“I doubt it. You hardly know any of us.” She cocked her hip and planted a perfectly manicured hand on it. Her jogging suit was bright pink and so form-fitting it might as well have been bubblegum. And yet, the instant she stood like that, head tilted just so, derision written all over her face, I realized I did know her, after a fashion.
“Ye were one of Ryan’s girls,” I said, too surprised to keep the thought to myself. Ryan, a former friend turned murderous Faerie henchman, had been quite the lady-killer before leaving Boston over a year ago. Interestingly enough, whether that lady was Fae or human hadn’t seemed to matter much to him, so long as they were both available and attractive; I’d seen him with dozens of such since I first met him, though none for very long.
“Excuse me?” the elven girl spat.
I waved that away and turned back towards the race. “Nevermind. Look, whatever issue ye have with me, I suggest ye keep it to yourself. I’m not in the mood to hear it.”
“It wasn’t true. What you said about Ryan,” she insisted, ignoring my advice altogether. She grabbed my shoulder and spun me around, the strength of her grip enough to leave bruises. “Quinn MacKenna is a liar!” she declared, loudly and angrily enough that even the Fae who’d been eager to see a fight opted to take a step back.
I shrugged off her hand. Once, I’d have knocked her flat on her ass for touching me, let alone accusing me in front of dozens of my peers. Hell, I might have dropped her for something as trivial as her calling me a “half-breed.” But the unfortunate truth was I could sympathize with the poor girl. Hell, even I had initially refused to believe Ryan capable of kidnapping and torturing his own kind, and I’d seen it with my own eyes. “Sometimes, aye, that’s exactly what I am,” I said, at last, sighing. I met the elven girl’s eyes, letting her see how much it pained me to admit my friend had traded in his morality for vengeance. “But not this time. Not about what he did.”
Her eyes hardened, jaw-bunched, fists balled up at her sides. “You still won’t win,” she hissed. Then she spun away, pushing through the crowd so violently I could hear cries rise up in her wake long after she’d disappeared from sight.
“She really loved him, you know.” This voice belonged to a much smaller creature, a pixie the size of my fist, fluttering only a few feet away. Petal—one of the Faelings I’d helped rescue a couple months back, including Ennis and a host of others—flashed me a sad smile.
“Aye, well, I suspect she wasn’t the only one,” I replied, trying my best not to sound too bitter; Ryan and I had never had anything like a romantic relationship, but his betrayal had stung all the same.
“Maybe, but he always paid a little more attention to Mabel than the others.”
“Oh?”
Petal nodded but didn’t seem inclined to comment further. “Anyway,” Petal continued, “forget what Mabel said. I’m sure you’ll do great, my lady.”
I winced at the moniker but didn’t correct her; she simply ignored me whenever I tried. “Wait, ye aren’t competin’, then?” I asked.
“No, flying isn’t permitted, and I’d rather not get stepped on,” Petal replied, chuckling, her laughter ringing in the air like the chiming of tiny bells.
I glanced over at some of the other participants, including Paul and his contingent of Monsters, most of whom outweighed me by several hundred pounds. “Me either,” I acknowledged.
“Gentle Fae!” Robin called out, getting everyone’s attention, his voice so clear and carrying so far, I knew it had to be aided by some sort of glamour.
“Good luck!” Petal whispered before buzzing off. I waved and dug my foot into the sand. I’d decided to run barefoot, rather than risk blisters from my boots. Of course, running in jeans wasn’t exactly ideal, but for a chance to get back to Fae, find some answers, and honor a promise, I’d do whatever I had to, even if that meant a little chafing. I took a deep, calming breath and turned my attention back to the Redcap.
“…on the count of thrice,” Robin was saying. “Once, twice, thrice!”
And, with that, the race was officially on.
4
In my opinion, the first ten yards in any given race are always the hardest to run. Sure, some might argue the last big push is what really defines champions, but anyone who says that hasn’t had to separate themselves from a truly aggressive pack of fellow competitors, jostling their way past the plodding masses, trying to set a good pace while avoiding those overeager racers whose only goal is to blast past everyone. Frankly, when you aren’t running on a track, with convenient lanes to follow, the initial moments of a race are often a chaotic mess. Now imagine running with creatures half your size, or even twice your size. Creatures who can leap ten feet in the air over another racer on a whim. Creatures who can and will slip between your legs as you run. Do that, and you might have the slightest idea of what I had to go through the moment the race began.
Basically, it was pure, unadulterated mayhem.
I launched myself forward, diving beneath the outstretched arms of two trolls who’d decided to wrestle rather than race, coming up smoothly from a well-executed shoulder roll to resume jogging towards the finish line. I wasn’t running, exactly. The sandbar was long, even for those of us with increased endurance, which meant I had to conserve energy if I wanted to have anything left in the tank. Fortunately, now that I was clear of the pack, I could make out the few figures who were ahead of me, led by two runners well in front. One was Alby. The other had bound her long, blonde hair into a ponytail, though I’d never have mistaken her thanks to all that pink.
Mabel.
I gritted my teeth and pumped my arms a little faster, picking up the pace. Up ahead, the pooka raised his fist to the sky, pumping it once. Almost immediately, one of the frontrunners went down with a howl, spilling into the sand as the one-armed ogre he’d been running alongside trudged on, oblivious to the Faeling’s curses. So, the pooka wasn’t simply rigging the race, he was trying to win it by having Ennis take out the competition. Great. Just great.
Over the next few minutes, I passed three more downed runners. One, a kelpie, seemed merely to have cramped up; she looked like a caught fish flopping about on the sand, desperate for a glass of water. The other two had been knocked unconscious. Which left the large pack of runners behind me, none of whom were close enough to cover the distance in time, and those in front. The ogre, the pooka, and Bubblegum Barbie.
I put on a burst of speed, dipping into the reserves I’d built up while training with Scathach. Say what you wanted about the lady’s sadistic training methods, but I was pretty sure I could run the Boston marathon on a whim, at this point. Or kick it into a gear so high it’d make Usain Bolt look like Chris Farley.
The instant the distant shoreline came fully into view, I did exactly that. Every fiber of muscle in my body sung with tension as I kicked off, lengthening my stride even as I increased my turnover, sending waves of sand soaring behind me as though I’d been revving my engine this whole time. But I hardly noticed; I focused instead on the ogre’s back, pulling up alongside in moments. Ennis turned towards me, raised his arm as if to strike, saw my face, and lowered it. He flashed me a hideous grin and purposefully tripped himself as I hurried by, collapsing dramatically onto his good side rather than risk his boss’ anger. Smart ogre.
Now that all I had left to do in order to win was to race past the pooka and his run
ning mate, I decided to take stock of both runners. I watched the elven girl’s ponytail bob as she moved, her gait even and smooth, making up for a lack of pure speed with her flawless form. Mabel ran the way all true professionals do, without a hint of wasted energy. In fact, I found myself admiring that toned, tan body—appreciating it perhaps a little too much. Maybe in another life…I shook that off, turning my attention to Alby, who kicked awkwardly from one foot to the other, his strides absurdly long, the way a triple-jumper might, clearing huge swathes of land in the process. Still, I knew I could beat them both if I could only pick up the pace, even just a little.
No flying, Petal had said. And yet Alby was using his powerful, rabbit-like legs to his advantage. Plus, no one had called foul when Ennis knocked out those other competitors. Did that mean we were allowed to use our own abilities to our advantage? I grinned, an idea forming even as the finish line became clearer and clearer.
I needed an edge if I was going to win…so I gave myself one.
I concentrated and tore open the Gateway with the flick of my wrist, extending it in front of me like a road, relishing the sensation of a smooth grassy slope beneath my feet, so much less abrasive—not to mention less draining—than the sand I had been running on. I pressed on, letting the slight decline aid me, gaining ground thanks to the improved terrain. I felt my energy diminish a little with every step, the Gateway exhausting my accumulated power supply. Thankfully, I had a fair amount to expend; since learning I was essentially a magical siphon, I’d gone out of my way to soak up a little residual magic here and there, which meant I could afford to keep going a little longer. I checked the sundial on my wrist out of the corner of my eye, watching it tick down as my magic depleted. Just enough. Maybe.
Salty Dog Page 2
