by J. Kearston
“This place feels like a cult,” Atlas repeats for the hundredth time, stretched out beside me on his back. “Have a drink, stay forever. We’ll even give you a house if you promise not to leave.”
Dorian’s sitting on my other side, more withdrawn than usual, and I hate the distance between all of us. Each of Achlys’ revelations was an additional tiny wedge driven between us, stacking on more and more until it left a chasm.
“You were the one pushing us to come here.” Dorian scrubs a hand over his jaw, sighing in defeat. “If it’s as bad as she claims, it’s a smart move, trying to stay in Cambria’s favor. If she’s the only one that can control the changelings, then this city is the safest place in Faerie. Like having your own personal Van Helsing at your beck and call,” he points out logically.
I groan, voice muffled by the pillow. “Everyone is vastly overestimating me here. I don’t have a damn clue how to keep the things in check. If they escape and start wearing their victim’s skin, how can I tell them apart? I don’t even know these people! And then what? If they can’t be killed, not like I have wings to just chuck them back in the prison I don’t even know how to operate.”
Everything feels so insurmountable that I’m not even sure where to begin. So instead, I take a few shallow breaths, because that’s all I can manage in this position.
Take a page out of Achlys’ book. Small, bite sized problems. One thing at a time. It’s better than being paralyzed by fear and doubt. At least this way, we can attempt to make a bit of progress.
I get to my knees, stepping over Dorian and onto the floor. Lucien is leaning against the wall, arms crossed, and staring off into space. Another deep breath, and I push down my own internal spiraling in favor of attempting to save him from his. Because if I can’t even help the people I love, how am I supposed to save everyone else?
He may be more of a mouthful than a bite sized piece, but a good place to start making sense of the tangled web we’re caught in. We’ll never find our way free going on the way we’ve been; just need to snip one thread at a time.
I don’t bother asking how he’s holding up, or any of the typical, flat queries people make in the wake of tragedy. Because even if no one actually died today, it feels similar. Lucien mourns everything he’s lost, the family he never truly knew, and I grieve for the life that should have been mine.
It sucks, and life is many things, but fair isn’t one of them.
“At least I’m not the only one with a human fetish.” He blinks a few times before quirking an eyebrow at me. “I mean, you adopted Dorian and Atlas long before I showed up and I just swooped in to steal them from you. Pretty dick move on my part, really, but can you blame me?” I gesture at the two of them on the bed and whisper behind the back of my hand, “They’re pretty dreamy.”
Lucien sighs, pulling out of his musing to swipe a tired hand down his face. “This is a mess.”
I shrug. “You’re pretty good at handling chaos.”
He gives me a withering look, but I don’t budge. He’s been the guys’ rock for years, and has quickly become mine as well. I understand better now, that after the way he was forced to grow up, he strives for control and organization, for everything to be calm and easy. Safe. He’s had to keep it together for so long, to be the constant, stable thing in everyone’s lives. And I thought he enjoyed it, but now it’s clear what a burden that’s been.
He’s never been able to breathe, because he’s spent his entire life having to take care of everyone else, since no one took care of him.
He knows how to handle the fallout, not the chaos, but I do. I live and breathe it, learned to go with the flow to keep the storm from tearing me apart. I may have fumbled a couple of steps, lost the reins as its master over the last few weeks, but it’s high time I dust myself off and try again.
I promised to look after them on this side of the veil, and that’s exactly what I’ll do. I’ve spent a lifetime pushing down my problems to cope, so what’s once more? If I’m picking up the mantle of ‘guardian’, I might as well add ‘rock’, too.
“I don’t even know who the fuck I am.” He groans, pulling out a chair beside the small table and slumping into it.
“Nothing’s changed, really.” He gives me a look like he’s debating my sanity, but I shrug it off and press on. “We realized earlier that you guys were absorbing my magic and you were fine with it then. You were perfectly ready to accept any new things tossed your way in regards to abilities that might manifest, were readily adapting to how the tethers affected your life. So anything that happens now you can just blame on me if it helps you wrap your head around whatever might end up developing, and pretend the talents aren’t inherently yours.”
I stretch, rolling my shoulders and in desperate need of a hot bath that I no longer feel like drowning myself in. Amazing how things can change in an instant simply by how you’re willing to look at them. How we perceive things carries so much more weight than actual reality.
“Your dad was still your dad. Your childhood sucked, could have been different, but anyone can get caught up in the ‘what if’ of any situation. Doesn’t do any good beyond making you miserable.”
Dorian hums. “And since Maddox was a couple of years younger than Cambria, likely some fae was afraid of the changelings getting loose and wanted to try and save their child. And Achlys seemed impressed Graham managed to strip his abilities enough to survive over here, so it’s not common practice or widely known how to pull it off. Makes sense someone sought him out for help, if that was what they were trying to do.”
“But why wouldn’t she stay too? Why just abandon her child?” he growls.
Atlas suggests, “Chickened out? Achlys said it would drive a person to madness and feel like losing a limb. Or Maddox was just human, some affair baby a woman needed to hide.”
Lucien sighs. “I hate this.”
Dorian snaps, “And you think we don’t?” I jump at the hostility in his voice, startled. “Like it wasn’t enough that we rely on you for everything, now we find out you’re fae too? Where the hell does that leave us?” He gestures to himself and Atlas, the latter refusing to look in our direction.
Swallowing, I try to fight through the stinging rejection to sound calm, but fuck; Luce makes this look so much easier than it really is. “We’re on the same side, Dorian. It’s not fae against human, or anyone belonging to anyone else. Family we chose, right? And all the ugly sides that come with that. You were fine with me being different, so why would this change anything?”
He looks to the side, hurt emanating off of him in tangible waves. “Because it feels like we’re getting left behind. You have this amazing legacy, the conquering hero home at last. And now, Lucien is changing too. But Atlas and I? We’re the same, riding your coattails to stay relevant.” He sighs heavily. “Like novelty sidekicks that are here for decoration and offer really nothing.”
I cross the room, sitting beside him and reach for his hand. He still doesn’t meet my eye, and I don’t push him, not yet. With a feather-light touch, I trace my finger over the scars on the back of his hand, toying with it like he always does for me.
“Who said your value was tied to what you provided other people?” He looks up, bright blue eyes haunted with shadows that I understand far too well. “I love you, Dorian.” I turn to face Atlas, including him in my declaration. “Both of you. And it’s not because of what you can do for me, it’s because you choose to be with me even when things are hard. I’m a fucking mess, and you don’t hold any of it against me. When have I ever given off the impression I was only here so long as you were useful? You three are the ones that stalked me home and got us into this situation in the first place, yet I still suck your dicks. So forgive me if I’m missing the point you’re trying to make.”
He huffs out a laugh, some of his anger leaving with it. “When did you get so philosophical?”
Shrugging, I kiss his cheek. “It’s the multiple personality disorder. Might as well get used to it, because I
’m not going anywhere. And I hope you don’t either.”
He flops back on the bed and Atlas curses as the wind is knocked out of his stomach from the force of Dorian’s head. “We should have guessed you were some kind of magical warden. Invisible chains are your specialty,” he jabs, lifting his hand in the air and I flick his side.
“Excuse you, but I didn’t do that. That was all Rickon.” At the reminder, some of the jovial air I was accomplishing dissipates.
That relationship was even more of a complicated enigma, and I’m still not entirely sure how I feel about it anymore. I detested him as long as I can remember, but if I had known then what I do now, would I have seen things differently? Shaking my head, I push the thoughts to the recesses of my mind.
‘What ifs’ do no one any good.
“So what now?” Atlas asks, and I’m taking it as a good sign. He doesn’t sound upset, just ready to move on from all of the heavy stuff.
Lucien stands up. “First things first, we need to see if the safe is salvageable. The emergency personnel should be gone by now, and if anything survived, I don’t want anyone to get their hands on it. At this point, I’m tempted to just burn the contents and be done with it. So we need to make a quick trip back to get that squared away, check in with Jeremy to see if he’s found any new information, and then we can deal with things here.”
“Elorie was only siphoning power from me every couple of months after I moved out. So if she was funneling some of it back to the prison, we should have some time before shit really hits the fan; it hasn’t been that long since last time.”
Atlas shoves Dorian off of him so he can get up. “I’d rather go now than risk spending the night. Achlys claims we’re free to go, but I’d like to test that theory with as much as she’s going out of her way to convince you to stay. No use letting our guards down, because right now, this place is everything we were hoping it would be.”
Dorian nods. “And if anything, that makes it more suspicious. I don’t know what I’d do if a day went by without somebody trying to kill us.”
Chapter 11
Dorian
“Motherfucker.”
The car we borrowed from Jeremy is gone; towed, no doubt. Which leaves us out here in the middle of the night, about an hour’s drive from home. Which of course means around, what, seventeen hours’ walk at a quick guess?
We were all a bit surprised at how little of a fight Achlys put up to us leaving, mostly just begging Cambria to come back as soon as we handled things human side. There was real terror on the queen’s face, but she didn’t make a move to restrain us. Whether that was from fear of Cambria refusing to protect them from what’s to come, or the fact that she’s afraid of her retaliation, who knows. But it’s a nice change of pace to see fae actually recognizing the power she wields and treating her with respect.
Even if I’m jealous.
“Guess we better start walking.” Atlas shrugs, setting off like this doesn’t completely suck.
Of the two of us, he seems to be handling things better, and I’m actually hoping I get the chance to catch him alone soon. He’ll understand where I’m coming from, what I’m struggling to accept. Maybe he can offer advice on how to compartmentalize things so I’m not resigned to a life of feeling like second fiddle.
“Can’t we just call a taxi or something?” Cambria asks, but I’m already shaking my head.
“If someone’s tracing our calls, they could find our location, hence why they’re staying off unless absolutely no other choice. Inconvenience doesn’t constitute an emergency. And sadly, I doubt we have enough cash on us, and a credit card would be a dead giveaway. If someone’s trying to kill us, the less we broadcast our position, the better.”
We carry on for several miles before she suddenly stops, flagging a passing car down. “What are you doing?” Lucien hisses, but she ignores him in favor of strutting over to the passenger window and leaning in.
My skin tingles as she starts weaving her lies, garnering sympathy from the driver and using her abilities to influence him. Next thing I know, we’re climbing in the car with this stranger, his eyes glazed and hanging on Cambria’s every word. But more notably? Even without earplugs, I don’t feel the same urge as before, the desire to do whatever she asks in a bid to please her.
She flicks her gaze back to us, grinning when it’s clear our tolerance levels are increasing. We’re growing immune to her charms and it actually makes me feel better, but not for the reasons I think she’s trying to prove. Because I’ve always known that what I felt for her was authentic, no magic required. And maybe I just need to remember that, that the magic was never the point. A bonus, sure, but I’d love her whether she was fae or human. So it shouldn’t matter in regards to Lucien either, who has been a brother and mentor to me for my entire adult life.
It’s just hard, accepting that magical things are happening all around me, and I’m the guy in charge of carrying the bags.
Well, that’s mostly Atlas, but whatever. I should be grateful that I have as much as I do, that I survived long enough to even be here. I just hate that I have to try and find excuses to justify things, that I need to convince myself to be happy with the way things panned out.
I’m content. I’m luckier than most. But I also want more, and hate that I feel guilty for that.
Cambria has the man drop us off a few blocks from the house just to be safe and we walk the rest of the way, all of us eyeing our surroundings warily. Each shadow seems like it’s going to jump out and bite us, and now that we know what else might be lurking in them?
She wasn’t wrong when she said the fae are our werewolves and vampires, the witches and boogeymen. Monsters in pretty packages, and humans don’t have any means of defending themselves beyond hoping they get distracted by the next shiny thing in their path.
When the desolate remains that used to be our house come into view, all of my inner rambling dies off as problems are put into much clearer perspective. My inferiority complex doesn’t really rank high on the list of immediate concerns when someone is out there willing to burn a place to the ground, hoping we’re in it.
The structure is intact, but barely. It’s mostly charred remains masquerading as a home’s skeleton. Chunks of the walls are completely gone, leaving gaping holes to view the inner wreckage. A few pieces of barely distinguishable furniture and disaster are all I can see from here, and it’s far more of a mess than I gave credit to. I imagined just a pile of ash; not a haphazard labyrinth of debris to navigate. Hesitantly, we duck beneath the caution tape roping the house off and start picking our way through the wreckage.
“Stay close together,” Atlas decrees, better suited than any of us to make decisions in this scenario. He scrutinizes everything, trying to find the best route to Luce’s office that won’t trigger a collapse.
We unanimously agree, ceding control over to the closest thing we have to an expert. It’s less time efficient, but the smarter choice. It wouldn’t matter if we uncovered the safe if someone got their head sliced off by a falling beam. And with the way Achlys made it sound, if Cambria were to end up fatally wounded, we’d be following her to the grave.
Supernatural custodians are just full of fun surprises like that.
Atlas carefully shifts a few things out of our way, testing areas before gesturing us to follow him or rerouting us. By the time we’re fighting with the door to get into the office, I’m exhausted. Being in a constant state of adrenaline and high anxiety drains you faster than a changeling.
Not funny, shut up, you’re tired.
It takes all four of us to unbury the desk and shove it out of the way, revealing the panel on the floor. “You crafty bastard,” Cambria praises, smirking. Luce snorts in amusement, crouching down to punch in the key code. It’s fireproof, so thankfully everything is intact. He withdraws a couple of flash drives, tucking them in his pockets before pausing.
Wavering, he ultimately reaches back in and withdraws an old Polaroid photo
of him, his father, and Maddox. He slips it into his pocket as well, choosing to leave the other little mementos behind.
“We should start figuring out how we’re going to get back; this took far longer than I anticipated,” he announces, dawn now breaking over the horizon.
“I can just ask someone to give us another ride, don’t worry,” Cambria offers, sounding far less hesitant to use her abilities than before.
Elorie just doesn’t seem as big of a threat compared to monsters that can kill you and assume your identity. And having a safe place to hide out in the shadow court helps as well. It’s not flawless, and I’m sure we don’t have too long before soldiers from the light court start searching for us in other kingdoms of Faerie, but she’s less of an immediate threat.
Atlas leads the way out of the house, carefully of his footing and retracing our path back. He steps out first, the three of us filing out behind him. I almost crash into Cambria’s back, because she’s stopped dead on the front step just past the threshold.
It takes me a second to register what I’m seeing, some man I’ve never seen before standing on the lawn. The sound of him cocking his gun echoes in the otherwise still peace of morning, causing my breath to seize in my chest.
With as early as it is, there isn’t anyone else out on this section of the street. And even if there was, what would some old lady out walking her dog even do beyond call for help that would never get here in time?
“You, in the car,” the man commands Lucien, gesturing with his gun.
“Like hell,” he growls, to which the man just shrugs.
Without a modicum of reservation, he promptly fires off a shot that tears through Cambria’s thigh.
“Sonofawhore!” She crumples to the ground, pressing both hands to the wound in an attempt to staunch the bleeding.
“I’m going, alright?” Lucien rushes out, hands diplomatically raised in surrender and slowly walking towards the car. His amber eyes flash with menace, risking a worried glance in her direction before schooling his features.
