Inimical

by Genevieve Iseult Eldredge

  They’re not soul-bound. They’re about to find out just what that means.

  “Together,” I send, and Syl and I hit them with a combined blast.

  Wham! Father and Aldebaran stagger back, off-balance, teetering on the threshold. One more step…

  Syl and I charge in.

  My flying kick and her jump punch sends them flying into the chamber. Aldebaran crumples just inside. Father lands on his back, skidding into the blackness.

  Too late, they realize what’s happening.

  “No!” Aldebaran’s eyes fly wide as the darkness coils around them.

  Behind them, on the floor, on the walls, on the cracked ceiling, a thousand egglike ovo lie, slick and brackish, broken open, vomiting dark circuitry in waves.

  The Moribund is very much awake and alive. And it’s been waiting.

  It’s ravenous.

  The entire chamber shivers and shakes, the Moribund peeling away from the walls in great heaving sheets. The stench of burning rubber and asphalt cloys in my nostrils. Darkfire and black lightning spark in the darkness as the kings spin back to back, facing their foes.

  Too late.

  Wave after wave of darkness pounds over the two would-be kings, a black ocean crashing over them.

  The Ebon Vault rumbles and quakes.

  My father throws up a shield of shimmering adamant, and in a flicker-flash, the circuits rush Aldebaran first, teeming over him, green Ouroboros circuits rushing over crimson Inimicals over pitchy Moribund, waving upward like an anvil and crashing down on him, covering him in a rain of circuitry.

  “No!” His screams are terrible, garbled as circuits pour into his mouth, down his throat. He writhes amidst the black waves, transforming from a fair Fae prince into a Moribund monster. His hair and skin flush a chalky-white, his teeth growing so long and jagged they crowd his mouth. He clenches his hands into fists, and the scorched skin splits with dripping magma.

  It’s just like Fiann that time at Fulton Gas Works.

  Aldebaran is lost in a wave of blackness.

  Then the Moribund turns its attentions on my father.

  “Ebon Knights, to me!” Father commands, but one look at the teeming Moribund crushing over everything, and the cowards flee.

  Figures.

  “Rouen! Daughter!” Father lunges for the entrance.

  “No chance, kingy!” Syl throws up a burning white shield, slamming him back.

  With both wintersteel blades, Father strikes against Syl’s shield again and again. Her body spasms with the impacts. She stumbles. Blood drips from her nose.

  “Roue…I can’t…”

  “Hold on!” I am not the king of UnderHollow, but I am its princess. “Come to me.” I call upon the Winter in my royal blood. Tingles rush cold through every nerve-ending as the castle rumbles, its weight heavy in my mind. I wrestle with it, mastering its gravity. “UnderHollow, obey me.”

  Slowly, the deep wards begin to wake.

  “Roue!” Syl’s shield sputters, failing. “Hurry!”

  “Hold on, princess.” I call out to the castle again. “Knockma, hear me. I command you.” All of Dark Faerie shivers, and the power slams into me, so heavy and hard, darkling light bursts from my eyes.

  The Ebon Vault quakes, and the adamant entrance begins to elongate, dripping black metal, forming a portcullis.

  “No! Daughter! Rouen!” Father slams bloody fists against Syl’s shield, black lightning zapping as the white flames scorch him. Tied to the land as he is, he heals and heals. He’ll be trapped, healing forever.

  My father. My king.

  Guilt and nostalgia urge me to have mercy, but how can I? He wants to infect the hearthstone, turn everyone into Inimical Circuit Fae slaves.

  I have to stop him.

  He’d do the same to you, my dark self whispers, rising from the gloom of my soul.

  Is that why I’m doing this—revenge?

  It’s to save my people, I whisper back.

  Dark-Rouen only chuckles. Keep telling yourself that, Roue.

  Whatever my reasons, I can’t stop now. Wielding the power of UnderHollow, I will the liquid adamant portcullis to close in, to form a wall instead of a gate, and it does. Dripping black metal, it begins to form a solid seal, eight feet thick and gleaming.

  “Rouen! Rouen!” Father fights free of the darkness for a half-beat, surging up, black lightning licking around him.

  Behind him, another black wave crests.

  “Rouen!”

  “I am sorry, Father.” I thrust my will at Castle Knockma.

  In one final shudder, the door slams down, eight feet of adamant.

  Locking them in.

  UnderHollow rocks, rumbles, and is still. Knockma castle settles on its foundation once more.

  Syl steps in and throws up her white shield. Flares of white flame shoot up the sides of the door, wisping into the cracks, sealing it tight.

  “We…we did it.” Syl breathes into the cold wintry twilight.

  Our triumph is shaky, though.

  We may have defeated our nemeses, but at what cost? Instinctively, I touch the Adamant Queen around my neck as my dark self revels in the image of my father trying to fight free of the Moribund. It will forever be burned into my mind.

  “I guess we don’t have to worry about the duel, then?” Syl searches my face.

  “I don’t know.” Midsummer is only fourteen days away. Will they break free? Can they? And if they do, what will they have become?

  What kind of horrific Circuit Fae will Syl and I have to face?

  “Come on.” Gently, Syl takes my arm, pulling me away from the doors of the Ebon Vault. “Let’s go home.”

  35

  SYL

  Sorrow is just as much

  A part of the Fae

  As joy

  - Glamma’s Grimm

  * * *

  You know that part of the movie where the villain is defeated and everyone celebrates? Yeah, this is not that moment.

  We’ve won, but it feels like we’ve lost. It’s almost eight in the evening and Roue’s mood is gloomy-doomy as we leave the harrow-stitch at the Diamond behind and fairy wind our way home. I struggle to find something to say to her, something that doesn’t sound fake.

  All those things you tell people: He’s in a better place. He didn’t suffer. At least you have closure. All of those ring false. Because her dad? He’s in the Ebon Vault, trapped with a million-zillion Moribund; he’s sure as heck suffering, and as far as closure…

  This doesn’t solve our Faerie equation.

  Fair Faerie and Dark Faerie are still on a collision course. Only one of them will survive. Roue and I still need to figure out how to take our thrones and save our realms without killing each other.

  Midsummer’s only two weeks away. We’re running out of time.

  I put on a burst of speed and move level with Roue. I sense her exhaustion and despair. Her sapphire-blue eyes are hollowed with darkness. I hear what she doesn’t say: when she goes back, when she opens the door to the Ebon Vault, what will she find?

  What will her father—and Aldebaran—have become?

  “They didn’t leave us any choice.” I keep pace as we turn down the street home. “You didn’t know the Moribund was already awake and waiting. I mean, in a bank vault, you don’t leave the money spilled out all over the ground. Besides…” Guilt kicks me in the guts. “It was my idea.”

  For real, I just thought the Ebon Vault would be a convenient place to store two bad guys until it was time to duel on Midsummer.

  We had no way to know they’d be infected.

  “It’s not your fault.” Roue sends reassurance down the bond. “My father wanted the Moribund Heart, and he got it.”

  A shiver spikes my spine as we speed toward the main entrance to the tenement. I lay a hand on her arm. “I’ll be with you. No matter what.”

  Her smile is thin but grateful. “Thanks, princess.”

  “But for right now…” I take a deep
breath. “We gotta fill Mom in.”

  Rouen lets out a heavy sigh. “She’s just going to love this.”

  “She’ll understand. I mean, she hasn’t tried stabbing you with one of those iron stakes she’s been stockpiling.” I smile, prodding her. “That’s progress, right?”

  Roue gives a little snort-laugh. “After you, princess.”

  Okay, honestly, I am sweating it out a bit. Ever since Mom told me she couldn’t interfere after forsaking her sleeper-princess powers, I’ve left her out of the loop about all the goings-on in Faerie, both Dark and Fair.

  “If you meddle with Fair Faerie, I can’t help you.”

  Still, I have to tell her everything.

  If I’m going to die, I at least want to say goodbye.

  Roue touches my arm from behind as we walk up the stairs. “It won’t come to that. I promise.”

  Her support soothes me a bit, bringing me back from the edge of panic. “Thanks.” And I mean it.

  I love the way my girl and I are here for each other.

  We pass Miss Jardin’s door, her initials, J.J., seeming to glow in the cruddy yellow hall lights. Roue and I glance at each other.

  It seems awfully convenient that the pocket púca who wants to help us in exchange for freeing her lives right freaking beneath us.

  “Midsummer’s only two weeks away,” I say, eying the door with suspicion. “We’ve got time to figure his out. We’ll make a new plan.”

  Translation: We don’t need Miss Jardin’s help.

  I hope.

  Together, me and Roue zip up the stairs and into the apartment. Everything’s spooky-quiet. Did Mom go to bed already? But no, I smell the rich, savory scent of meat sauce cooking, the thick garlicky tang of crusty bread.

  “Mom?” I head toward the kitchen, ignoring the gnawing pit that is my stomach.

  “Where have you been?” Mom comes around the corner, frazzled and freaked. She throws her dishtowel on the loveseat and grabs me in a huge bear hug. “It’s been over a week since you left.”

  Uh-oh. “Over a week?” I shoot Roue a look of dismay over my mom’s shoulder. “What day is it?”

  Mom’s eyes are grave. “Syl, it’s June 20th.”

  Dread tightens my chest. Dark Faerie’s done it again. We spent, like, an hour there, and bam! We’ve lost hours, days, almost two whole weeks!

  If today’s the 20th, “That means tomorrow’s—”

  “Midsummer,” Roue deadpans.

  “Midsummer,” I repeat it. Like it needs any extra weight—the day of the softball game, the Battle of Wits and War, the Great Convergence, the Faerie freaking apocalypse.

  No big deal.

  My heart speeds up like one of those Grand Prix race cars taking a tight turn. “Crappity crap, crap, crap.”

  Mom gives me The Look. “Syl, language!”

  “Sorry, Mom.” I meet Roue’s gaze. I don’t need any soul-bond to read her expression: We are royally screwed.

  Meanwhile, Mom’s giving me and Roue the once-over with her shrewd Mom stare, assessing us for damage. Once she’s satisfied we’re not wounded or dying, she shifts from badass Mom to everyday, eat-your-veggies Mom. “Sit down. Dinner’s on the stove. Spaghetti and meatballs. I was going to freeze it for when you came back.”

  Her belief in me is a hammer to my heart. She knew I’d come back.

  Maybe it’s because I just saw Rouen’s father ravaged by Moribund. Maybe it’s because my own dad is trapped in Fair Faerie, but suddenly, it hits me. How lucky I am to have a mom who makes dinner for us, who cares about things like schoolwork and curfews.

  “Mom.” I go to her and take her hands. They’re chafed and raw from her cleaning job, so I’m gentle with them. I sit her down, avoiding the sagging middle of our beat-up loveseat. “I have something to tell you.”

  A serious glint in those green eyes tells me Mom’s shifted into super-serious mode. Another deep breath, and then I launch into it. About Aldebaran killing the queen and going after Dad, about the softball game, the Xi and Becca, my training with Dad, Roue’s training with the bain sidhe, the fight with Aldebaran and King Reinghûl.

  Mom listens to everything, only slightly widening her eyes here and there.

  I try to gloss over the part about Dad. My mom’s still pretty raw about that, and finding out he moved on and married a real Fae princess, became king and all that… It’s a lot to swallow.

  I can’t get through it all without crying. One second, I’m all good, telling her about the one bit of Summerfire left in the hearthstone. Then next, I get into Dad being king, helping me with softball, Aldebaran trying to tear the Summer from his veins, me putting up my white shield, and it all comes racing back.

  How much I’ve missed my dad.

  From there on out, I’m all waterworks.

  Mom pulls me into a hug, and we cry, holding each other. Can I just say that crying on your mom’s shoulder is one of the best places to ugly-cry? She doesn’t care if my makeup’s smeared or if I have snot running down my face.

  Technically, Roue doesn’t care, either. But I always want to look good for her.

  My mom? Not so much.

  We get in a good cry. Roue stands off to the side, but I drag her in, grabbing her hand and holding on. So now she’s super-awkward, roped into this cryfest with me and Mom.

  She suffers it with all the grace of a dark Fae princess.

  Finally, I’m all out of tears, and Mom is, too.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I know you didn’t want to know.” My face crumples, and more tears threaten, but Mom takes my hand, lifts my chin.

  “Syl.” She’s got her serious face on. “You’re my daughter. I always want to know what’s going on in your life. I just…” She wrings her hands, and I hate to see her do that. Her skin’s already so chapped. “I renounced my power, and that meant renouncing everything.”

  “I know.” I ease her hands apart. “I know you can’t interfere. It’s okay.”

  From the kitchen comes the bubbling burble of a pot boiling. With a nod, Roue heads into the kitchen. I’m left alone with Mom.

  “There’s a lot going on. The nightmares. The Great Convergence. The thrones trying to make me and Roue kill each other.” I heave a tight breath. “It’s like Roue and I are just as trapped as Aldebaran and the king.”

  Mom shakes her head, her green eyes steady on mine. “There’s a way, Syl. And you will find it. You and Rouen.”

  “Will I?” Doubt and worry balloon up inside me.

  Midsummer is tomorrow. We’re out of time.

  Mom puts her hands on my shoulders. “Yes. Glamma put her faith in you, and you came through. And your father’s done the same. Tell her, Rouen.”

  She catches Roue just coming back into the room. Roue startles, a who me? look on her face, but she steps in right away and wraps her arms around me. I lean in to her autumn and bourbon vanilla scent, letting it soothe me even though a part of me wants Cryfest Part Two.

  “Your mom’s right. We’ll figure it out together, princess.”

  Okay, the fact that the two of them are actually agreeing on a thing—and that thing is me?

  Yeah, that straightens me right out.

  I lift my chin, some of my confidence returning. “As long as I have you both.” I open my arms.

  There’s no way they’re going to fall for my “group hug” ploy, but they look at each other, and then they both come in for the hugs.

  I wrap my arms around both of them. This. This is why I’m fighting.

  For my family, flawed as it is. And a place we can call home.

  36

  ROUEN

  Why must we be so complicated

  I’m drowning in equations

  Locations, stations, drama creations

  And none of them add up

  - “Complicated,” Euphoria

  * * *

  As a dark Fae, I’ve never been one for touching. Now, I’m locked into this weird group hug. It’s definitely a mortal t
hing because every inch of me feels supremely weird hugging my girlfriend and her mom—who, by the way, doesn’t 100% approve of me.

  I do this awkward two-step shuffle thing.

  At least Syl seems soothed by it, so I can’t complain too much.

  Then again, if I don’t complain at least a little, they might think I like this.

  I clear my throat. Loudly.

  Neither of them gets the message. I fidget like a cat. I might die here. Send help.

  Finally, we’re saved by the bell—in this case, the timer for the garlic bread. Bzzzzt!

  Georgie steps back, wipes her eyes on her sleeve. “I’ll go finish up dinner.” She moves away from Syl, giving me a look that says, You’re up.

  Comforting my girl is one thing I can definitely get behind.

  I hug Syl tight and kiss the top of her head. For once, my dark self stays buried down deep. She hates all these gooey emotions. Good. Syl clings to me, and I send her my feelings of love and safety.

  “It’s all right. It’ll be all right.”

  “Will it?” She pulls away, looking up at me with those summer-storm-grey eyes. “Tomorrow’s Midsummer.”

  And we haven’t figured out how to keep our nightmares from becoming reality.

  “In my nightmare, I don’t have control,” she whispers.

  I meet her gaze. “Neither do I.”

  A long silence stretches out where I’m holding her, loving the feel of her, her sweet sunshine and vanilla scent, the slight weight of her pressed against me. I’ve never felt so helpless in all my life.

  Frustration stirs a storm inside me. I want to freeze the world into an apocalyptic winter.

  She wipes her eyes. “Maybe we should just talk about the big game?”

  Our softball game against Becca and her prissy prisses is the last thing I want to deal with, but it’s also the only thing within our control. I blow out a breath and get my murderous thoughts under control. “All right.”

  “Are we ready?”

  “We will be. You’re a great coach, princess.”

  “Tomorrow will tell,” she says. But I know she doesn’t just mean the game. She means our realms. Our crowns, too. “It’s just you and me. Mom can’t help us.”