Inimical

by Genevieve Iseult Eldredge

  I nod. “You and me.” I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  “Dinner’s up!” Syl’s mom calls.

  “Come on, princess. We’ll adjust our Faerie plan after dinner.”

  Syl smiles at me. “Right on.” We fistbump and head into the kitchen.

  Dinner is…nice. Just me and Syl and Georgina. Plus, big heaping plates of spaghetti and meat sauce topped with crusty garlic bread. All right, eating the fairy food might be a bad idea, but the human food? It’s one of the best things about the mortal realm.

  That, and Syl.

  After dinner, we do the dishes. Georgie cooked, so we clean. That’s our standard deal. I don’t mind. Fair is fair, after all. Syl washes, and I dry. There’s something weirdly intimate about doing such a mundane thing together.

  It’s like we’re making a home. Together.

  I’ve never had that before.

  In fact, I’ve never had any of this before—a home life with a parent who cooks meals, makes sure we do our homework, who just all-around cares for us. Even though I’m not 100% warm and fuzzy about it, I have to admit… it feels good.

  And it’s worth fighting for.

  Maybe I’m picking up a little on Syl’s feelings.

  “Yeah, you’re becoming a big softie.” She hands over the dripping-wet spaghetti pot.

  “Ha, ha.” I dry the pot as she tackles the silverware.

  In the living room, Georgina’s work beeper goes off. She heads over to the counter and checks it out. A frown creases her forehead. “Gotta run, girls. Pool’s flooded again at Witchett Hall.”

  Syl mirrors her mom’s frown. “Witchett Hall?”

  “New account.” Her mom grabs the car keys from the hooks on the fridge. “Don’t wait up. Last time, it was a total bear. Someone put live fish in the pool.”

  “Okay, Mom.” Syl dashes over to give her mom a kiss on the cheek. “Don’t forget to use the heavy-duty hand cream I got you.”

  “Will do.” Georgina looks at me for a long moment.

  I get it. She knows some deep trouble’s going down. I nod, letting her know I got this.

  I’ll take care of Syl. Always.

  “Right.” Georgie returns my nod. “See ya, girls.”

  “Bye!” Syl calls, and I wave.

  Now it dawns on me that me and Syl are about to be alone and left to our own devices for the first time in forever. She meets my gaze, and I see that realization in her eyes, feel it down the soul-bond. My stomach tightens with anticipation, heat rushing through my body like a wildfire.

  Tomorrow, one or both of us might die. For keeps.

  I put the dishtowel down. “Syl…”

  “Rouen.”

  For one tense moment, I’m not sure if she’s going to run to me or from me. My dark self’s not exactly been a peach to deal with. Neither of us wants to poke the bear.

  Or, in this case, the Dark-Rouen.

  But we’re both keenly aware that we might never get another chance.

  My hands tremble, my body trembles. Even my voice is a quivering wreck. I don’t know what I’m going to do. I take a step toward her. “Syl, I—”

  “Ahem!” The unmistakable sound of someone dramatically clearing their throat makes my decision for me.

  Disappointment and relief flood me, warring it out. From deep in my soul, my dark self pokes her head up.

  Mentally, I punch her in the face. Not now, you.

  Because suddenly sitting at the table, her red cloak and green gown a gloomy goth Christmas, is the bain sidhe. “Are you two quite through?”

  It’s like something Georgina would say—every word laced with “disapproving mom” tone—and it floors me. The bain sidhe’s barely said two words to me that weren’t directly related to my Wits training.

  She gets up, her cloaks sweeping the floor, leaving a smattering of dead leaves on the carpet. “Come.” She beckons me to Syl’s room, to the battle chess set where the Adamant Queen faces off against the Aureate. “You still have a duel to fight.”

  “Wait, what?” Syl voices my exact thought. “We locked the king and Aldebaran in the Ebon Vault!”

  The bain sidhe huffs, folding her arms into her bell-like sleeves. “Reinghûl is still king. He still controls UnderHollow, the hearthstone, the arch-Eld, and the Ebon Knights. And if he is now Circuit Fae, he will remake all of Dark Faerie in that image. He must be defeated. The Battle of Wits and War stands.”

  He could turn everyone into Circuit Fae. The dread that was pitting my stomach now turns into a maelstrom.

  It’s everything I’ve fought against since Day One.

  The bain sidhe fixes me with a vulture’s eye. She kicks the chair out. “Get your butt in the chair, dearie-girl.”

  I do.

  “Tomorrow’s Midsummer. At midday, you will face him.” The bain sidhe moves a pawn forward, smacking her lips.

  “We’ll take care of that right after we beat Becca,” Syl says matter-of-factly, and when I give her a questioning look, she clarifies. “The little things, Roue.”

  The little things. Right.

  A softball game might not seem important in the grand scheme of the Great Convergence and our Faerie game of thrones, but for our friends, band is the only escape they have; for some, it’s their path and passion in life.

  I won’t see it stifled by a bully like Becca.

  I nod. “If we don’t stand by the family we choose, why even fight at all?”

  Syl’s smile is all the reward I need.

  The bain sidhe nudges me. “Move already, girl.”

  But looking at the board, there are no good moves.

  I can only hope and pray that tomorrow will be different.

  37

  SYL

  Fair Fae are versatile

  And can adapt quickly to any situation

  - Glamma’s Grimm

  * * *

  You’d think my nightmare could give me a break, but noooo… It hits me full force. All night long, I’m crowned in Summerfire, plunging my burning blade into Roue’s chest, piercing her heart. As the light in her eyes dies, my realm flourishes, healing, growing brighter. The hearthstone stops flashing and goes back to normal. My people cheer and celebrate me as their Overqueen.

  No more supernova Faerie apocalypse.

  All I have to do is kill my love.

  “No!” I jerk awake in a puddle of sweat and tears, gripping the Aureate Queen in my white-knuckled fist. A bright, sunny morning greets me. The perfect summer day. A groan works its way up from my toes. Every muscle in my body aches, my beat-up heart most of all.

  I look up at the ceiling, taking a sec to catch my breath before leaping headlong into the day.

  Game day this morning. Midday, the Battle of Wits and War.

  This might be my last day with Roue.

  I glance at the Aureate Queen in my hand. I don’t want to be queen if it means killing my love. But I can’t just renounce my power.

  I’m the last sleeper-princess left. My people are counting on me. As queen, I could heal the hearthstone, bring them all out of Summer’s Rest.

  Roue can’t afford to lose to her father, either. All her people are at stake, too.

  My girl or my people. How can I choose one over the other?

  One thing at a time, Glamma would’ve said. Control the things you can control.

  Well, I can’t control Fair Faerie or Dark. I can’t control the Great Convergence or what’ll happen when I let down my shield from around the Ebon Vault.

  What I can control is being a leader to my team and beating the pants off Becca’s. I sling my legs over the side of the bed and stand up. I feel Roue’s presence at my door. She’s had the nightmare, too.

  She pokes her head in. “Ready, princess?”

  Game time. “Born ready.” I get myself out of bed.

  I’m going to meet this day head-on.

  Crack! The sound of the ball hitting the bat is super-loud across the Diamond’s stands, and all the fans cheer
as Becca cranks the bouncing grounder into the outfield. Octavia misses the catch and has to really hoof it. Crap. That’s never a good sign.

  Meanwhile, on the field, Becca’s eating up the bases, pushing her team across home plate.

  One, two…

  Ugh. There goes our 0-to-0 game. Six innings of hard work down the drain.

  I race to cover home plate, but by the time Octavia infields it, Becca and her team’s scored four points.

  “Suck it, losers!” She fist-bumps her team as they carry her into the dugout. Cheers erupt, and the people in the stands echo it, drowning out the groans from my team’s side.

  I trudge back to the pitcher’s mound, trying to buoy my team’s spirits. “We’ll get it back, team. No worries!”

  But Octavia’s red-faced at missing the grounder, and even Naz is scowling under her sports hijab. Lennon, at least, smiles hopefully, but Pru’s got a frown on that’d scare a mountain troll.

  “It’s falling apart,” I send to Roue.

  Her support and love flows down the soul-bond. “It’ll be okay. You’re a great leader.” She winks at me from shortstop. I take a sec to ogle her in her tight sweats and tank top.

  But only a sec. The crowd’s riled up.

  “Thanks for the easy pitch, Syl!” Becca calls, and the cheers erupt again.

  I give her the stink-eye, and size up the next batter.

  Their team’s got two outs. If I can strike out—

  Crud. It’s Dani. She’s big and powerful. If anyone can jack it out of the park, she can.

  You can do it, Syl. Just like Dad said, I take in a breath and let it out slowly, relaxing my shoulders, relaxing my arm. The noise from the crowd, the jeers from the opposing team are loud. I put them out of my mind. My time with Dad, practicing in the Somewhen comes back to me.

  I pitch.

  Dani swings, misses.

  The ump calls, “Strike!”

  Marcus lobs the ball back at me as the crowd cheers.

  “Come on, Dani! Put her away!” Jazz yells. Becca just stands on the sidelines next to the Xi, giving me the evil eye.

  It’s my turn to wink at her.

  “Good job, Syl. Two more,” Roue encourages me.

  I nod. Wind up. Pitch.

  Swing! “Strike two!”

  “Don’t mess this up,” Becca warns Dani.

  I wind up. The third pitch zings over the plate.

  Dani swings for the fences. The smack of the ball into Marcus’s mitt brings a sense of relief and triumph to me.

  My team goes crazy, and we finally bring it in. It’s not great news, though. Becca’s team is up 4-0, and we’re heading into the bottom of the seventh.

  Becca passes me on her way to the mound “We’re killing you, Skye. You sure you don’t want to forfeit right now?”

  “Nope.” I square up to her, super-aware of the Xi looming behind her. They lay a hand on Becca’s shoulder, and Becca touches it, smiling.

  Wow. So that’s how it is, huh?

  Becca waves me off. “Go bat. If you can.”

  “Oh, we can,” I tell her.

  But…it takes us two outs—Marcus and Kat, the junior editor from the paper—to get our heads in the game. Becca’s smirking her face off, and my entire team is sweating it out.

  No one more than me.

  Naz gets up to bat.

  “C’mon, Naz!” I yell, and my team backs me up, shouting encouragement.

  Crack! Naz cranks the first pitch into left field and takes first base. I swallow a lump of dust. Octavia next. I can barely watch as she trots to home plate and gets into her batting stance.

  Ka-crack! She sends a bouncing grounder toward Dani, who hilariously whiffs, nearly tripping over her own two feet.

  “Wow.” I exchange a grin with Roue. “Couldn’t happen to a nicer gal.”

  Roue’s lips tilt up in that sexy smirk.

  Naz is on second. Octavia on first.

  “All we need is a base hit,” I tell Chuck.

  He’s sweating, but determined. “Okay.” He jogs out there to shouts of, “Easy out, girls!”

  The first pitch is way high. It smacks into Jazz’s mitt. Ball one.

  He lets the next one by, too, but it’s good.

  “Striiiike!” the ump yells.

  “Chuck, step back. Relax,” I call to him. Becca’s sliders are the hardest to hit, and she keeps blasting them over the plate. “Just like in practice.”

  “I never hit one in practice.”

  “Hit it now.”

  “Are you two grandmas done?” Becca asks, clearly riled up.

  I want to give her a helpful hand gesture, but I hold myself back. “C’mon, Chuck. You can do this!”

  The pitch comes. Chuck swings, and whack! Line drive. Becca dives for it, misses. Yes! By the time they catch it and field it in, Chuck makes it to first.

  Bases loaded.

  I’m up next. Sweat breaks out down my spine, and my breath seems to be coming too fast for my lungs to handle. I should’ve put Roue in this position in the lineup. She’d have jacked it into outer space. But me?

  Total wild card.

  Becca’s on the pitcher’s mound, grinning at me.

  I squint at her, trying not to remember her whipping that fast ball at me that day way back when, in the 8th grade.

  On rainy days, my jaw still hurts.

  “Don’t let her rattle you, Syl.” Dad’s words come back to me from our training in the Somewhen. “Stay calm. Play the game your way.”

  I close down my emotions, get control, and suddenly I feel Roue’s love shoring me up along with her icy confidence and strength. She’s my rock, my wall. I smile gratefully at her.

  “Get ready to reap the whirlwind,” she tells Becca, while to me, she sends, “You got this, princess.”

  But do I? I stare Becca down as I put my helmet on.

  The next few moments will tell.

  I step up to the plate, my mouth dry, the rest of me a sweaty mess.

  The fast ball comes.

  It’s like my world flashes back to the pain, the embarrassment, the months after having my jaw wired shut, drinking all my meals.

  I swing, hitting only air.

  “Strike one!” the ump calls.

  Becca and her team are freaking out, clapping and high-fiving. I’m freaking out, too, and not in a good way. If I strike out, it’s game over. A cold, clammy sweat slicks my hands, and I’m wheezing in anxiety.

  The second pitch comes.

  I swing, get a piece of it, but it flies off out of bounds.

  “Foul ball!”

  Crap. Two strikes. Bases loaded, and we have no runs.

  I’m sweating it out.

  So is Becca, though. I’ve never been able to touch her fastball, and just now, I more than touched it. I dig in with my toes, meet her gaze.

  “Bring it.”

  She narrows her eyes. I know what’s coming now.

  She’d rather walk me than let me hit fairly.

  The wild pitch. It’s like time slows down. I see it coming for me, but I freeze. Everyone’s screaming, and my world narrows down to the ball.

  Smack! Pain shoots through me, my world goes white, and I’m falling.

  Not again. Please, not again.

  Then Roue is there cradling me. I open my eyes to blue sky. My jaw is aching, all the fear built up inside me rushing in. My helmet is on the ground, cracked. Becca’s standing by, looking sorry.

  “I didn’t meant to hit her. I thought she’d—”

  “What? Magically get out of the way?” Roue snarls. It’s true. Becca pitches at like seventy miles an hour. It’d take a superhuman to get out of the way.

  “It’s fine, Roue.”

  My jaw throbs with every word, and I’m in danger of losing to my fear. But one look into Roue’s eyes, one touch of her hand and I stand up.

  I’m stronger now. Not just in body but in spirit.

  The entire arena claps.

  “Take your base,
” the ump tells me.

  I look at Becca. “No. I want to bat against you.”

  “Well, you can just make the pitch not count,” she says snottily.

  “We can if everyone agrees.” I look around. Everyone on my team—Octavia, Naz, Marcus, Chuck, Lennon, Lynette, Kat, everyone—nods.

  “Blast it back down her throat,” Pru puts in.

  “Fine.” Becca tosses her hair. “Go on, then. Just one more strike and you’re out.”

  I walk back to the plate, heft up my bat. “Bring. It. On.”

  She pitches.

  I step back and put all my mortal strength behind my swing. Boom! The bat connects, jarring my teeth, hurting my aching jaw.

  The ball sails over the outfield wall. I run the bases with my teammates as the rest of the team comes to its feet.

  Roue rushes in, picking me up at home plate. “Syl! You did it!”

  “I… Roue, it’s only a tie game.”

  But she doesn’t care. Neither does the crowd. Everyone in the stands is on their feet, roaring. The entire place is filled with joy and merriment, my team lifting me in the air and parading me around, Becca and her girls looking sour-faced.

  Everything is laughter and joy and celebration.

  And then everything goes to hell in a hand basket.

  My shield around the Ebon Vault is the first to shatter. In my mind, I feel searing black claws rake down it, tearing it like wet paper. Pain shoots through me, and I pitch forward in everyone’s arms.

  “Syl?” Roue’s sending is filled with worry. She grabs me, steadies me.

  “I…” But I can’t get my bearings, my breath. The shattering of my shield leaves me disoriented. The pain is everywhere, like my body’s being torn apart.

  “Put her down!” Roue commands. Everyone looks at her like she’s got ten hydra heads, but they do it, and I stagger off their shoulders into her arms. I’m just catching my breath when the second shattering comes.

  The shield around my father.

  It shatters like a thousand glittering shards, each one slicing into my mind, leaving me in agony, breathless and panting. “No.” I meet Roue’s gaze, fear eating up my thoughts. “The shield… My father… Oh, Roue!”