Today, Tomorrow and Always

by Bailey, Tessa

  They’d reached the top of the landing and Tucker was beginning to worry that she’d mistaken him for someone else. “Oh, I’m not…” he started, battling the urge to play along. “What do you mean by a guardian?”

  “I mean you, of course. I could feel how much you wanted to protect me downstairs. Even now you’re worried I’ll trip or something, aren’t you?” she asked. He didn’t have a chance to answer because she continued without a breath. “Mother says there are two kinds of beings. Guardians and those who are meant to be guarded. She tells me I’m the second type, but…” Her voice fell to a whisper. “I secretly wish I could be the first. Everyone wants to be a hero, don’t they?”

  “Oh.” He chuckled. “I’m not a hero.”

  “And I’m not mad, even though they call me Mary the Mad. Sometimes I just really need to scream, you know?”

  “I believe you.”

  Her face warmed, her unseeing eyes glued to his neck. “Thank you.”

  With that, she tugged him into the office, leading him to a small, antique bench on one side of a delicate, Victorian-looking desk. He managed to tear his eyes from the girl for a moment, so he could take stock of their surroundings. Violin music whined from an old record player in the corner, expensive knickknacks on every surface, covered in a light layer of dust. Smoke and leather and age filled Tucker’s nostrils and he sucked all of it in abruptly when Mary unexpectedly scooted right into his side, gluing them together shoulder to ankle. Allowing him to feel the gentle swell of her hip and imagine it in his palm. Tugging it forward, pinning it down. Biting.

  Tilda stopped in the doorframe, analyzing his and Mary’s positions with an air of distaste. Maybe even some dread. But he had no idea what the latter meant. Only knew he wouldn’t be moving away from Mary any time soon. Not until it was absolutely necessary.

  Elias and Roksana entered next and shame swamped Tucker. He’d been so caught up in the girl, he’d forgotten to help Elias. Their downstairs predicament appeared to have worked out fine, however, since Roksana was very much alive. Like before, Elias held his mate’s wrists behind her back, propelling her toward a leather couch on the far wall of the large office. But he slowed his step when Tilda grunted. “You can drop the ruse now, Mister Broody and Damaged. The jig is up.”

  “I’m sorry?” Roksana asked, hesitantly.

  Tilda sat down behind the desk and lit a cigarette, creating a slow cloud of smoke around her head. “Perhaps you weren’t aware of the ungodly roar you let out when I handed her over to the slayers?” Her laugh was stiff, directed at Elias. “Your prisoner, she is not.”

  “Mother talks like Yoda when she’s stressed,” Mary whispered, patting Tucker on the knee and sticking herself even more securely to his side. “Stressed she talks Yoda like Mother.” Her freckles gathered together. “I don’t think I’m doing it right.”

  “Yes, you are,” Tucker said huskily, eager to reassure her.

  Why was this girl giving him so much attention?

  What had he done to earn it and how did he keep it?

  Who was she marrying?

  “Is the traitor slayer your mate?” Tilda asked Elias.

  Elias growled. “I’ve had enough of her being called that.”

  “I’m going to take that as a yes,” Tilda drawled around a pull of her smoke. “You’re very lucky I’ve been forced to switch my allegiances or I’d mount your heads on my wall.”

  “You’d try,” Elias and Roksana said at the same time.

  Tilda sighed. “Do take a seat. My neck is forming a crick.”

  Elias positioned Roksana on the leather couch between himself and Tilda. “We brought you the marriage decree,” Elias said. “We’ll exchange it for the game piece and be on our way.”

  Mary’s mother opened a desk drawer and removed a red envelope, laying it carefully in the light and tapping it with a long fingernail. The game piece that would prevent Roksana’s death if she could get it to Moscow in time. “This is what you seek. Who will you bring this to? Out of curiosity.”

  “My mother,” Roksana responded, looking past Elias. “Inessa. The Queen of Shadows.”

  Tilda hummed. “Very well. Then I shall consider this valuable information my last service to the slayers. We’ve had a good run, but beckoned by greener pastures I am.”

  “I don’t understand,” Roksana said.

  “It’s Yoda-speak,” Mary explained brightly, taking hold of Tucker’s hand and squeezing. Like they were out on a date. What would Mary think if she knew it would be his first? Had she been out on dates with the dude she was preparing to marry? Obviously, she had, right? Did that mean she was stuck to Tucker’s side out of friendship? He hadn’t experienced that particular level of friend zone hell before. The kind that seemed a lot like heaven, except for knowing it would get taken away eventually. That’s what qualified it for a hell circle.

  “Yes,” Roksana said slowly. “But I don’t understand what you mean by this being your last service to the slayers.”

  Tilda didn’t answer right away. “The fae have long been an ally of the slayers. Though we were reluctant at first, it became necessary to form a united front against the vampires. You see, we are much fewer in number. Our influence in the underworld is not what it used to be. We do have value, however.” A glow beat beneath her skin, pulsing, pulsing. “Our abilities made us a threat to the vampires. Thus, we went into league with the slayers.”

  “For protection,” Roksana guessed, receiving a nod from Tilda. “What has changed?”

  “Why, there is a new vampire king. Haven’t you heard?” Tilda lit a new cigarette. “Not a fan. His peaceful practices have stirred the hornets’ nest and now there is an uprising in the States. There are now two vampire contingents and I no longer have faith in the slayers’ ability to make our alliance worthwhile.”

  In the decade since Tucker was Silenced, he’d learned to navigate an underworld that—for all its oddities and chaos—had a lot of consistencies as well. A vampire High Order ruled over the vampires and a guild of slayers was located on each continent. An endless battled waged between them, centuries old. Of late, there had been an internal battle among the vampires, too. Between good and bad. Those who wanted to live a normal life and those who wanted to control their subjects through fear and violence.

  Tucker’s best friend, Jonas, had recently claimed the vampire throne in a hostile takeover, determined to replace the High Order’s ruthless practices with benevolence and patience. For a long time, the High Order governed the vampire population with intimidation and fear. Jonas wanted to change that. Wanted to give his subjects the tools they needed to survive in the darkness, where they had no choice but to dwell.

  Elias and Roksana traded a glance. “You’re forming an alliance with the vampires that rise against the king?”

  “That’s right. You’ll let him know, won’t you? Since you work for him.” Tilda smiled, enjoying the fact that she’d caught them off guard. She’d known all along they worked for Jonas, the new king and their best friend. “Through Mary’s marriage,” Tilda continued, smugly, “we will unite the fae and the dark uprising.”

  Until that moment, Tucker had been hearing the conversation through a static filter. What they were discussing was important as hell, yes, but the girl next to him siphoned his focus. Narrowed everything down to the trusting clutch of her fingers and her scent of fresh cut roses.

  And blood.

  Sweet, satisfying blood.

  Blood that sang to him, reached out and pulled him closer. Begged him to take.

  No. He wouldn’t dare. Not only had he refrained from drinking human blood since his Silencing, not only was it against the rules, but she’d called him a guardian. Maybe by mistake, but that was just splitting hairs. He would never, ever harm this girl. Would not mar her perfect skin with his fangs. It would make him the monster he refused to be. Focus, dumbass.

  What had Tilda said?

  Through Mary’s marriage, we will unite the f
ae and the dark uprising.

  Hold the fucking phone. “What now?” Tucker spat.

  Tilda’s sinister smile widened. “We fae have subdued our abilities to appear less threatening long enough. We want to play, too.” She pouted. “Those leading the dark uprising welcome all the power they can get. We intend to give it to them and take back the influence we deserve. Maybe a victory will be enough to draw our oh-so-perfect relatives back from the Faerie realm. I suppose only time will tell.”

  “Hold up, hold up, hold up.” The room spun around Tucker, his gut rebelling violently. “You’re going to send Mary to something called the ‘dark uprising’?”

  “Yes.” Tilda said primly. “Their leader awaits her arrival, along with the marriage decree. Do have her there by this time next week, darling.” She tossed the red envelope containing the game piece to Elias and he caught it in mid-air. “Pass on my regards to the Queen of Shadows.”

  Chapter 3

  Mary patted a hand along the front of her bureau, feeling for the crystal knob that marked the drawer where she kept her pants and skirts. Below that, her shirt drawer had a lightning bolt carved in front. Opening each in turn, she removed stacks of clothing, turned—careful to avoid the inch-high lip of the area rug—and packed them into a suitcase that was lying open on the bed. The left side of the case was dipped down, thanks to her mother being perched nearby on the edge of the mattress, her radiance sawing against itself like a bow on a violin.

  “Mary, please rethink your impulsive decision to have this lack wit convey you to Hadrian.” The bed springs creaked with her mother’s distress. “You realize the vampire is on the opposite side, don’t you, Mary? Your marriage to Hadrian will form the alliance between the abandoned fae and the dark uprising. I’ll have to do some careful maneuvering with your fiancé to avoid him taking this as an insult.”

  In truth, Mary didn’t have an easy explanation for asking Tucker to drive her to the wedding. Only that…in a room full of chaotic forces, he’d been a beacon of calm. Without the use of her eyesight, it was fortuitous that Mary was able to decipher the energies and moods of those around her. There were vibrations of sound in the air. Signatures.

  Mad people struck her sensitive ears like sneakers in a Laundromat dryer.

  Sad ones sounded like wet wind blowing through a tunnel.

  Happy folks gave off the sound of a muffled drumming on a xylophone.

  But Tucker…Tucker just waited. His life force hummed warmly. Waiting. Idling. For what? She didn’t know. Mary had never once stepped foot in a boat and yet, he made her think of sunny afternoons on a lake. A cheek pressed to the cracked leather seat, hands tucked under a chin, the vibration of the motor below. The languid drift of the waves carrying her up and down.

  Neither moored to the dock nor speeding through the blue. Just drifting.

  Warm, peaceful. Safe.

  She’d reached out with her mind and his signature had cut right through the cacophony of noise. Drawn her in. And that was before he spoke and sent a current straight through her middle. The first of its kind. Something hot and confusing and urgent.

  But that didn’t necessarily explain why she had been so adamant about Tucker driving her to the manor in Ohio where her wedding to Hadrian would take place. Where the battle would begin, too, most likely.

  Mary needed to be brave for her mother’s sake. For the sake of the forsaken fae. The very future of their kind rested on this wedding. Of course she was uneasy. About meeting her future husband, about the responsibility that would rest on her shoulders.

  Was it wrong to want a chance at freedom first?

  Even if the drive would only take a handful of days or less?

  After the Exodus, when most of their kind was brought back to the Faerie Realm, along with Anton, Mary’s father, Tilda had been desperate for an anchor. For protection in a harsh underworld. A foothold to some semblance of power. She’d found it in the burgeoning guild of slayers. With an alliance intact between the slayers and the fae, Mary had been taken from their quiet, now-empty upstate New York commune—in shame—to the little apartment above Enders and that is where she’d been for almost thirteen years, seldom venturing outside, her only communications with Tilda. And the odd conversation with a drunk slayer who wandered into the apartment looking for a bathroom.

  Thirteen years of planning. Thirteen years of disgrace over being left behind in the Exodus.

  Mary thought her only respite from anxiety would come when she’d fulfilled her purpose, but Tucker calmed her simply by standing close, holding her hand. They would soon be enemies, although that day hadn’t arrived yet. Even when it did, Mary already held the strong belief that Tucker wouldn’t dare harm her. Not ever.

  What better choice to be at her side while she got a taste of independence?

  From these four walls. From her mother.

  Who knew if she’d get that chance again where she was going?

  She’d denied her madness to Tucker. Told him Mary the Mad was merely a nickname. But maybe…maybe she’d lied. Just a little. Because there wasn’t always a reason for Mary’s odd behavior. Blame it on her lack of friends and outside influences. Sometimes her reasoning was kind of unusual. Such as using a broom to guide her, so she could clean and walk at the same time. Or turning on lights in rooms she entered, even though it made little difference to a blind girl, because she didn’t want the bulbs to feel left out. Or gathering roses from the roof garden and keeping only the stems, because they were sturdy and lasting and deserved to be admired.

  “Mary? Are you listening to me?”

  “Yes,” she rushed to say, worried she’d hurt her mother’s feelings, right before they were about to part ways until the wedding. Not so long, she supposed, since the nuptials were set to take place in a week. But it had been a long time since they’d spent any time apart. “I’m sorry. Yes, I do realize Tucker is on the opposing side. Or…will be once the alliance is set.” Mary added a hairbrush to her suitcase and closed the lid, sealing the latches. “But…maybe Tucker making this gesture will help avoid a war?”

  The mattress bounced up, telling Mary her mother had risen. “There is no avoiding a war and furthermore, we don’t want to avoid one. The fae have been languishing among the humans for decades. The Assembly used to return every ten years like clockwork to bring the worthy back the Faerie Realm and banish their weakest to earth. But it has now been thirteen years and they’ve not come. Only a noble act will draw them back, Mary.”

  “I understand.” Yearning and apprehension warred in her middle. “But mother. What will Hadrian do with the vampire throne, if he takes it from the new king?”

  Mary sensed Tilda’s hesitation. “He doesn’t think vampires should be reduced to hiding from humans. He wants to multiply their number—enough to be the majority. Enough to live freely without fear of what might happen if they’re discovered. Power will guarantee that freedom. Night will become the new daytime. But Mary.” She took her daughter’s wrists in a tight hold. “No one has troubled themselves with us for over a decade. We must think of ourselves. Think only of our goal. We have to. Your sacrifice on behalf of the alliance is the noble act that will call back the Assembly. You understand, don’t you? It will bring back your father. It will finally get us out of here, to a place where we belong. We won’t be here to suffer or celebrate the outcome of some vampire war.”

  “Yes, I get that. I understand—”

  “Do you, Mary? This decision to be transported by some…some screwball stranger in gold chains isn’t a stalling tactic?”

  Mary crossed her fingers behind her back, just in case she was getting ready to tell a lie. She wasn’t a hundred percent certain of her reasons for demanding to ride with Tucker yet, but best to err on the side of truthfulness. “No, mother.”

  “Good. Because there is no need for fear. I have not sold you off,” she assured Mary with a breathy laugh. “Hadrian wants an alliance out of this marriage, not a wife. It is simply an adva
ntageous arrangement. He does not expect you to share his bed. And he does not plan to cease sharing his bed with others.”

  It was one of the rare moments in life that Mary treasured her blindness, for it meant not having to look Tilda in the eye. She wasn’t ignorant of sex. Books, written in braille, lined the lower half of her bedroom walls and they were full of knowledge. Even the uncomfortable kind.

  Thank goodness for that. Despite cohabitating, her relationship with Tilda had never been comfortable or close enough to talk about sex at any sort of length. Perhaps her mother had been waiting for the journey to Ohio to have the talk and Mary was taking that chance away from her at the last second?

  Guilt tugged at her throat. How many more times in her life would she disappoint her mother before she finally did something right?

  “I’m glad,” Mary said, swallowing. “I would rather not feel…obligated.”

  “You aren’t.” Tilda’s tone changed. “However, if you decide to…explore any such urges with your husband, that would not be out of bounds of the agreement. If all goes according to plan, we will return to the Faerie Realm, so there is no chance of yucky entanglements—”

  “Thanks,” Mary interrupted quickly, heat staining her neck. “I’ll bear that in mind.”

  Her mother laughed quietly. “I’m making you uncomfortable, aren’t I?”

  “No,” she rushed to reassure her. “You’ll be there when I arrive?”

  “Yes,” Tilda confirmed. “Waiting on pins and needles. Tucker will contact me when you’re close to the manor and I’ll be prepared.”

  A silence grew heavy as Mary nodded.

  Tilda sighed, but not in a weary manner. More in the way of someone preparing for a confession. It caused Mary to pause with her handle on her suitcase and tilt her head. “Mary, there is something quite important I’ve been waiting to tell you.”

  * * *

  On the way down the rear staircase of Enders, the heavy suitcase bounced against Mary’s right leg. Bump, bump, bump. But with Tilda’s words ringing in her head, she barely noticed. Her mother had offered to carry the luggage for her, but Mary needed the moment alone to absorb what she’d been told. So she’d muscled up the bag, tucked her walking stick beneath one arm and headed for the stairs, despite the risk of falling or missing an object underfoot.