“Aldebaran.” Roue scans the crowd of kids lingering around the school’s steps.
Wow. I’m an open book this morning. I hitch my backpack higher onto my shoulders. “I just can’t shake the idea that I owe him somehow. I mean, he did save me from getting Inimical-infected.”
Roue’s lips twist. “You don’t owe him anything.”
From a passing bus, one of the underclassmen shouts, “Euphoria! I’m your biggest fan!” We both ignore it and head toward the entrance.
Frustration furrows my brow. “How can someone so evil and selfish do something good?”
“Syl, he didn’t do that for you.”
I know in my heart she’s right, but I can’t help the bitter disappointment that creeps in. I so wanted to believe that the one fair Fae I’ve met (other than my dad) could have an ounce of goodness in him.
“He did it so he could have you,” Roue says gently. “And your power.” She winces in fear of hurting me, but I’ve already figured that out, too.
My girl feels like she might hurt me.
That’s the reason she’s been pulling away.
I haven’t wanted to eavesdrop on her, but the soul-bond means I pick up things—a stray thought, a strong feeling. And the feelings from the part of Roue she calls her dark self?
They’re super-strong.
I stop her in the middle of the parking lot. Turning toward her, I take both her hands. “You’re nothing like him. Or your father.”
Pain flickers in her eyes. It flares down the bond. “Syl…”
When she tries to turn away, I capture her hand. “I trust you.” I go on tiptoes and kiss her cheek. “We’ve got time to figure this out. The nightmares, the thrones?” I nudge her playfully. “We got this.”
She gives me a grateful smile, and I reel her in for a kiss. The calls and catcalls erupt from the stairs.
“Woo! Go, Syl!”
“Get a room!”
“Gaaaaaaaayyyyy!”
I don’t care, and neither does Roue. She kisses me back. With all the witnesses, we don’t get too hot and bothered. We break apart naturally, smiling at each other.
“Let ‘em talk,” I say breathlessly as she runs her nose along the length of mine, sending all my butterflies dancing. “They’re just jealous.”
“Of me.” Roue touches my cheek gently.
The first bell rings, bringing us out of our lovefest. “We’d better…” I jerk a thumb at the school.
“Right,” she agrees and we head to the entrance.
A group of seniors walks past us, laughing and talking. It’s their last two weeks of school, and they look practically like adults already. Us? We’ve got five weeks.
Everything’s lining up to end at Midsummer.
I change the subject. “Well, at least Aldebaran hasn’t tried breaking my shield again.” I reach for it in my mind, feeling the shimmery heat and fire shielding my dad and the hearthstone. Yup. Still intact.
“He must be fully infected by now, which means my father controls him.” A flinch of pain darkens Roue’s blue eyes. “If he’s waiting, it’s because my father wants him to.” Her gaze meets mine, super-intense and serious. “We really have to watch our backs.”
I sneak a peek at her leatherclad behind then quirk an eyebrow at her. “It’s a tough assignment, but I think I can handle it.”
She laughs, a deep chuckle that rolls like thunder and makes my stomach leap. Hand in hand, we climb the steps. A group of skaters zips past us, doing tricks off the sidewalk. Other people drag their feet heading in. A few stoners slink off to the quad to do their thing.
“Hey, losers!”
What is it with Becca Buchanan and her ridiculous timing?
“Incoming,” Roue sends.
“I see her.” How can I not? Becca Buchanan makes walking into school look like she’s making a grand stage entrance. I guess I should just be relieved that she doesn’t seem into Roue the way Fiann was—always trying to get close, always touching my girl.
In fact, Becca seems like she’s into the Xi.
The troll assassin has a Glamoury up, so no one can see the blue-tinged skin, the angular features, those tiny horns, their Inimical infection. I see it with my Fae-sight, and Roue smells it by the way she wrinkles her nose.
But what I can’t get over is how the Xi hovers over Becca. Like…protecting her?
Faerie descant for the win, I guess?
Becca strolls up, the Xi in tow. “How’s your fundraising going, girls?”
Ugh. I groan. Because it hasn’t been going.
So far, the only ideas we have is for a Euphoria benefit concert. I love my girl and all, but I don’t think even a week of Euphoria concerts could match what Becca “the Buck” Buchanan can raise with her rich daddy and his connections.
“Going great!” I say, all false bravado.
Her posse flounces over, and we’re suddenly surrounded by Jazz, Maggie, and Dani. They drag Bella in for good measure. I’ve faced down Circuit fiends and Circuit Fae, Ouroboros, an angry dark Fae king, and a bunch of other supernatural menaces.
A mean-girl posse shouldn’t rattle me.
Even so, I feel my anxiety rising. I’ve never been a fan of confrontation.
“We’re going to bury you,” Jazz crows.
“You should relax,” I deadpan, my words far calmer than my emotions. “It’s not good for your blood pressure.”
Jazz gets red in the face and steps in, trying to bully me. “You think you’re pretty smart, huh?”
“Well, I am in all the honors classes.”
“You’re not funny.”
Roue steps in. “Neither are you.”
Dani has to get her two cents in. “We’re going to beat the pants off your crappy band.” And suddenly we’re having a showdown in the halls of Richmond E.
“Have you even made a hundred dollars yet?” Becca inquires with sugary sweetness.
“We’ve made ten times that,” Dani puts in.
Becca’s squad whoops and laughs, high-fiving. I notice that Pru and Lennon have spotted us and are coming to the rescue.
“What’s up?” Pru asks, sweeping her blue-green hair out of her face. “How are we doing?”
I don’t have the heart to tell her we’ve made exactly zero dollars.
“Oh well.” Becca’s all mock-sadness as she smiles pityingly on us. “I guess you can’t help being no competition for us.”
“Just you wait, “ Pru tells her. “We’ll raise plenty of cash.”
“Yeah.” Lennon’s never been one for confrontation, and it’s touching the way she stands up for us.
But all my anxiety is rushing up like a black wave inside me. My chest feels tight, it’s hard to breathe, and I start to see spots swimming. Roue’s hand on my arm and her thoughts touching mine steady me.
I blow out a breath, anxiety turning to anger, like a burning bonfire. Becca’s posse wants to threaten us? Over an extracurricular activity? I step to her. “You want some competition? How about we beat you at your own game?”
Becca’s shocked, but she recovers fast. “As captain of the softball team, I accept your challenge.” That sweet smile is edged in aggression. “That is, if you can even scrounge up a team.”
Yeahhh…we definitely do not have a team. That’s one of the things about being the fair Fae princess. Sometimes my passion’s a runaway freight train.
But I can’t back down now.
Roue backs my play. “We’ll beat you at your own game, Becca.”
“Awesome!” She laughs, and all her posse laughs with her, except the Xi, who clearly doesn’t get the intricacies of high school social interaction.
Lucky troll.
“How about a little scrimmage, then?” Becca pushes. “Say, Saturday afternoon?”
“Fine.” Good thing I’ve been practicing my poker face because we’re pretty screwed. I just can’t help throwing gasoline on the dumpster fire. “Chimborazo Park.”
Oh my God, Syl, staaahp
…
“Fine,” she says.
We stare at each other like those two rams on Animal Planet, ready to lock horns and go at it, and then she flounces off, her team in tow.
“Ugh.” I slump against Roue, all my positivity wheezing out like air from a helium balloon.
Pru looks at me. “Wow, Syl. You really dialed it up to eleven and broke the knob off.”
“Crap.”
Roue kisses the top of my head. “We’ll get a team together and beat them. I’ll ask the band kids. Octavia will be chomping at the bit, I’m sure. She loves drama.”
Her reassurance makes me feel a little better about my outburst.
“I’ll play,” Lennon offers shyly. “I’m not very good, but…” She shrugs. “I can ask the other kids in the Ally Club.” The Ally Club (our official school LGBTQIA+ club) is mostly music and theater kids, but a few of the girls are on the soccer team, so that might work.
“I’ll ask everyone at the paper,” Pru chimes in.
Sudden tears prick my eyes. “Have I mentioned that I love you guys?” I launch into Pru and Lennon, hugging them. “You’re the best friends ever.”
“Yeah, we are.” Pru pats me on the shoulder while narrowing her eyes at the back of Becca. “I can’t stand that girl and the way her high society friends spit on everyone. There’s going to be a reckoning.”
Roue follows her gaze, then looks to me. I know what she’s thinking: our lives are imploding. We’re heading for another collision.
Only, this one’s in the mortal realm.
24
ROUEN
My brightness, my summer girl
My heart, my soul
Every part of me gets brighter
Around you, around you
“Around You,” Euphoria
* * *
At times, dark Fae get fixated on things of beauty—the moon’s reflection in a dark pool, snow gently blanketing the crags of Knockma Castle, a super-cute fair Fae princess digging in her closet.
“I swear, it’s in here,” Syl says from the depths of her closet as I lounge on her bed, toying with the Adamant Queen. It’s Saturday, and the early morning breeze off the fire escape is the already stuffy, sweltering humidity of a typical summer day in RVA. I can just imagine how unbearably hot it’s going to be this afternoon at Chimborazo Park.
Where we’re playing Becca and her squad at softball.
I look up at the ceiling. The things I do for love…
Besides, it’s not like we don’t have the time. Both OverHill and UnderHollow are off-limits, even if we could get there by harrow-stitch. I don’t like it any more than Syl does, but for now, my father holds all the cards. True to form, he’s stacking the deck by enslaving Aldebaran, but the bain sidhe was clear.
The Battle of Wits and War happens on Midsummer.
Not before.
We’ve got no choice but to turn to our more mundane problems.
Like Becca Buchanan and our misfit motley of band kids, Ally Club kids, and student journalists versus the varsity softball team. I’ve already talked to the band kids: Chuck, Nazira, Octavia, Marcus, Sven.
Everyone’s on board. Sort of.
Even at the back of her closet, Syl catches that last thought down the bond. “What do you mean sort of?”
“Well…” I let the Adamant Queen drop to its position around my neck and prop a pillow under my head. “They all understand that band’s going to get defunded if we don’t at least try. Octavia, Sven, and Naz are all in. Marcus and Chuck…not so much.”
“Can’t say I blame them.” Syl huffs and puffs, and I hear something shift inside the closet. “Marcus gets teased a lot in gym class, from what I hear.”
I’ve been to high school long enough to know why—when you’re not like everyone else, people tend to pick on you. If they can. “I swear, high school kids are more evil than the evilest Fae sometimes.”
“Yup.”
Well, some high school kids are evil. Some are actually pretty cool.
“Pru really came through.” I smooth my hand down Syl’s new Gryffindor comforter. Her old one got left in OverHill, so I picked this baby up for a few bucks on eBay. I love beating people out at auctions.
“Yeah. At least we’ve got a full team of nine.” Syl’s voice is muffled even more. I hear and feel stuff shifting in that closet. I cock my head. Maybe it’s bigger on the inside, like a TARDIS?
“Ow,” Syl calls absently from the closet. She flings a pair of scuffed Demonia platform shoes out and a papier-mâché T-Rex. The sounds of rummaging intensify.
“Need some help?”
“Nope, thanks.” Her voice sounds buried under an entire childhood’s worth of stuffed animals.
We got up extra early this morning so Syl could look for her old softball glove. Makes sense since we’re playing Becca’s team this afternoon, but Syl’s been acting weird about it. I can feel it through the bond, though I don’t know exactly why. It’s something old and deep, a scab that never quite healed.
And this whole softball/fundraiser thing is picking away at it.
“Here it is.” Syl comes up with a battered leather glove. The glove’s got writing on it, and the laces are so worn it looks like it’s going to fall apart. It’s clearly been well used and well loved, but she doesn’t seem happy at finding it.
And what was it doing in the bottom of her closet?
She seems…somber, her storm-grey eyes fixed on the battered leather.
I feel her sudden sorrow down our soul-bond. “What is it?”
“It’s nothing.” She covers with a bright smile and stuffs the glove in her backpack. I’m trying to put together the pieces to that puzzle when she tosses me another glove. “Here.”
I catch it. This one’s bigger, the leather darker. There’s writing on it, too, but it’s almost worn off. I brush my fingers over it. Happy Father’s Day, Daddy!
I meet Syl’s gaze.
“Come on, we’re going to be late.” She gets up.
Warm, fuzzy feelings are not my forte, but with Syl, I always try. I send all my love and understanding down the bond. “Whenever you’re ready, princess.”
“Thanks.” Her smile is sad, but she shakes it off like she always does. “Are you sure this is okay?” She gestures at her sweats and tank top, her baseball cap, and all our miscellaneous gear.
“You look great,” I tease, and I mean it. She’s super-cute in her capris and cleats, her hair pulled up under her baseball cap, tiny red wisps curling around her freckled cheeks. “More than great. Gorgeous.”
Good enough to eat, Dark-Rouen whispers from deep in her soul-prison.
I do my best to ignore her. The fact that Syl’s on the other side of the room helps.
“That’s not what I meant.” Syl blushes, though, clearly liking the attention. “I mean, are we okay to be playing a softball game, considering”—she waves vaguely—“all this.”
I shrug one shoulder. “It’s not like we can do anything about it, princess.” I put my arms behind my head. “We’ve been training every night, and hey, my chess game’s coming along, right?”
The look of comical discomfort on my Syl’s face makes me snort in a laugh. She doesn’t have to say anything. I’m too impulsive to be any good at chess.
“I’m trying.”
“You’re making progress!” Syl’s quick to say. “I was thinking more about…Miss Jardin? She could help us get into Dark Faerie or Fair Faerie. If we could heal the hearthstones, maybe your father would—”
“Nope.” I roll over and look up, trying to empty my thoughts, make them as white and blank as the white ceiling. “He’s too far gone.”
Saying it makes it true.
“Roue...” Syl’s weight shifts the bed. She touches my arm. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” I force a smile, glad for her support and sympathy. “Besides, we can’t risk dealing with Miss J anymore.” I’m vehement about that. The way that pocket púca keeps showing up just
at the right time? “She’s only got one more condition on her geis, or I’m a rotty redcap.”
“The harrow-stitches are out, too.” Syl knows why. “Because of the rules of the duel.”
I nod. “That, and there’s already been too much Bleed.” I mean, sure it was only one mural wall, but Bleed is like a snowball rolling down a hill. It just keeps getting bigger and bigger and bigger. “Any more and the entire Shroud could tear.”
“I thought it was going to tear anyway.” Syl starts shoving an extra cap, the other glove, and some water bottles into her bag. I get my butt off the bed and help her.
“If Dark Faerie and Fair Faerie collide, then, yeah, the Shroud’ll get torn apart, but since we’re going to stop that...” I meet her gaze. “We need to be careful with the Shroud. If it tears, no matter what the reason, the energy of Faerie would rip through the mortal realms. The unWakeful would become Wakeful, and the Wakeful would become Fae. They’d eidolize.”
“They’d…” Syl stops what she’s doing. “What now?”
“Eidolize.” I pronounce it like its homonym idolize. “Those that are Wakeful and able to see through Glamoury are thought to have at least a drop of Fae blood. When exposed to a surge of Faerie energy, like a Bleed, that blood super-charges, changing them into their true Fae self.”
“Whoa.” Syl holds up her hands. “You’ve convinced me. Let’s take care of this softball thing.” She adjusts her softball cap and winks at me. “Time to put on our game faces.”
I squeeze her hand, glad to see her good cheer returning. “I’ll even let you drive, princess.”
Did I mention my sweet Summer girl, the one who feeds stray cats and rescues spiders from the shower, who always sees the good in everyone and everything is a speed demon?
Well, she is.
I hang on to her waist for all I’m worth as she tears down the streets of Richmond, gunning my Harley until it sounds like it’s gargling its engine. My poor bike! I caress the back fender as Syl takes a bank turn at a clip that would’ve made a mortal hurl their guts out. I’ll make it up to you.
Inimical Page 19
