Elusion (Facets of Feyrie Book 1)

by Zoe Parker

  “Hey, lady!” One of the shifters call. I continue walking and the car keeps pace with me. “Do you need a ride?” I ignore that too. “Bitch! I’m asking you a question.” I keep walking. I’ve been called worse by better.

  A muffled thump from the trunk catches my attention. This time I stop. Slowly, I turn to look at the occupants of the car. They reek of alcohol and shifter pheromones. But that isn’t all.

  Scowling, I walk around to the back of the car. Levering my fingers under the lip of the trunk, I force it open in a screech of metal.

  A girl with bright pink hair and a busted lip looks up at me. Her brown eyes pleading with me silently. A shifter in the trunk of a car full of shifters? What the hell is this?

  A now familiar feeling tightens my stomach. My Magiks come out on their own accord and connect with the girl.

  “What are you doing?!” the driver shouts, coming to the back of the car.

  He tries to grab my arm to pull me away but I sidestep away from him, my eyes staying on the tears coursing down the girl’s face.

  “Why do you have her in your trunk?” I ask quietly, anger burning in my gut.

  He tries to shut the trunk but I hold it open with my hand. I turn to look at him, reluctantly pulling my gaze from the fear-filled one of the girl. He’s probably in his late 20s. He’s tall and broad-shouldered. Probably thinks he’s the leader of the pack, too. His companions climb out of the car and surround me.

  Oh, so scared.

  “She is none of your business,” he answers.

  But it’s the wrong answer. The Dark Mark on the girl that calls to me makes that abundantly clear.

  “Okay then.” My decision was made the minute I looked at the girl.

  The trunk lock bends easily in my grip; I don’t want them closing it on the terrified girl again.

  Moving with preternatural speed, I grab the fingers on his hand, that keeps trying to grab me, and bend them back until they tear out of joint. Dropping to his knees, he yells in pain.

  Applying more pressure to his dislocated fingers, I push with my body weight, making him knee crawl backward. Eyes wide, he stares down at his wounds.

  “Why is she in your trunk?”

  When he doesn’t answer my question immediately, I bend his fingers further back. Tears stream down his face as he begs me to stop.

  “He gave her to us for his debt!” he relents right as I go to bend his fingers more.

  Possibly right off his hand.

  “Who?” I bite out.

  “Her father.” Getting the answer, I release his hand and pan my gaze around to look at the other three who take a step back from me.

  The Dragnor, Michael, appears behind one of the guys, meeting my gaze expectantly. He’s young but stronger than the shifters around us.

  “Get her out of the trunk. These boys and I need to have a talk.” I speak directly to Michael.

  With a nod, he goes straight to the girl. Dragging the blonde with me, I lead the other three further away. I can smell the change close on them. Smell the Light marks on them. Smell the intent they had for the girl.

  Times like this I love/hate my sense of smell.

  “Normally, I’d just let you go. But—” I punch the blonde in the face, while I talk, and he falls unconscious to the ground. “—I know what you planned to do with her.”

  They leap as one.

  Pack mentality got screwy when it transferred to two-legged creatures. Real wolves dodge and weave one or two at a time, nipping and wearing the prey down.

  Not these idiots.

  Shifters they may be, but in this case, they are the prey. I smile and grab one of them midair, throwing him across the road. Ignoring the claws that scrape my shoulder, I elbow the next one in the face. With an animal cry, he falls to the pavement writhing in agony. I break his nose with prejudice. The third stops mid-air, caught in the grasp of darkness.

  The Fiends have made their presence known. Being corporeal isn’t something they can do often, but it always counts.

  “Snack time!” I yell and he disappears with a scream. I hit the ground hard, turning my head, to look over my shoulder into the angry face above me. His eyes have gone a full shifter amber. His fist hitting the side of my head brings tears to my eyes.

  It also makes me laugh. Which I continue to do as I hit the pavement face-first. Spitting out the blood, I climb to my feet. Already my body is healing. He lunges at me again. Using a move Phobe taught me—I do that a lot—I use his momentum and my new flexibility to catch my leg on his hip and fall with him. The move ensures I end up on top of him.

  Claws dig at my belly. Bored with it I grab his head and give a sharp jerk.

  His struggling ceases. Climbing to my feet, I watch the darkness engulf him. The Fiends are eating well tonight.

  It’s strange how much they remind me of Tall, Dark, and Absent. They even eat like him.

  I sidestep to avoid another attack from the back. He hits the car full throttle, hard enough to dent it. Clawed hands swing around him, aiming at me over and over as I dodge side to side. Exasperated and flat out annoyed with playing ‘dodge the wolf-man’ game, I punch him in the face. He falls backward, silent.

  I feel nothing when I stomp his face in.

  I head for the unconscious one; this one will give me the info I need. Lifting him by the shirt, I drag him behind me as I walk to the car. I open the back door and throw him in. Closing it, I turn to the two kids staring at me with their mouths hanging open.

  “What?” I ask, looking at the ruined mess of my clothing.

  Thankfully, I have a couple spare changes in my bag and can buy more if needed.

  “You just took out four shifters in like 5 minutes,” Michael says.

  Is this a strange thing? I shrug.

  “Are you okay?” I ask the girl, feeling my Magiks slither out to touch her. She nods and wraps her arms around herself. She isn’t, but I won’t call her out for it. “So, what’s your name?”

  “Ruthie.” It’s barely above a whisper, and I have no idea why I asked—I already know her name.

  It stems from me being a creature of habit, and one of my habits is keeping things to myself. Plus, I’m still learning this Magiks crap.

  “Two things.” I dig a blanket out of the trunk and hand it to Ruthie to wrap around herself. It doesn’t stink, and it surprisingly doesn’t smell like wolves.

  I turn to Michael.

  “One; Michael, why are you following me?” He shuffles his feet. “Because I remember specifically giving you an address to go to.”

  “I don’t know.”

  Well, that isn’t a good answer, but a truthful one. I turn to Ruthie.

  “Two, why were you in the trunk of their car?”

  After a moment of holding my gaze, she answers. “My step-dad owed the pack money, so he gave me to them to settle his debt.”

  Hum. That’s a dick move to trade an innocent for money. Not uncommon in our world, I know, but definitely unfair. I dislike these types of unfair.

  Children are not currency to be bartered for and traded like cattle.

  “Where is your mom?” Obviously, there’s got to be one somewhere that can help her, unless her mom’s a shit-bag too.

  “She’d dead.” Her eyes fill with pain.

  Well, there goes that idea.

  “How?” I gotta work on my people skills.

  Fat tears fall from her eyes. Grief tears. I know the answer without asking more. Someone killed her mom. In the world of creatures like us, we don’t die of old age.

  “So, do either one of you know how to drive?”

  Ruthie nods, swiping tears off her face that I pretend not to see.

  It’s good someone else can drive because I have no idea how to go about it. We will just end up in a ditch or over a cliff somewhere.

  “Where are we going?” She asks.

  I look at Ruthie, who’s got that weepy-red-nose look going.

  There are bruises on her face a
nd arms. Old bruises. Also, the ones from the shifters that took her. I smelled their intentions as if reading their minds. If they acted that way, there is a good chance the rest will too.

  I chew my lip thoughtfully. I should just walk away, but I know that I won’t. My gut tightens again as the pull to help this girl becomes heavier.

  Fine. I’ll help her. I grumble to that inner part pushing me to act. Decision made, I climb in the backseat of the car, none too gently scooting the blonde shifter over.

  “We are paying your stepdad a visit, and then we’re taking junior here home. His pack and I need to have a talk.” I say out the window and wait.

  Seconds later the two kids scramble to climb inside.

  Ruthie’s driving is slow, careful. I bet the girl just recently learned to drive. It’s a fair guess; her foot barely leaves the brake pedal. I’m being escorted by Grandma.

  While we—slowly—drive, Ruthie keeps looking at me in the rear-view mirror. The tears are past and now she just looks curious and worried more than anything. I can’t blame her. Most shifters don’t realize when they meet an actual Feyrie because they don’t have natural Magiks— the half-breeds of this world can’t pierce glamour. We’re stories to them. Like they’re stories to humans.

  This world has a very low population of Others compared to billions of humans with shifters and vampires mixed in. In their world, they are the bads of this world. They are ignorant of the Feyrie.

  “What are you?” Michael asks, getting his courage up first. I smirk a little and meet his eyes over the back of the seat.

  “What do you think I am?” I counter.

  He shrugs not ready to voice his opinion that I see in his eyes.

  “Where are your kin?” I ask. Funny, he’s asking me what I am when he’s technically the purer one.

  “Dead.”

  Well, that explains some of it.

  “Why?” I question.

  He kind of hunkers down in himself, sadness filling his eyes. “They were assassinated for their position of Sect Leaders.”

  So, political. I hate politics. It doesn’t explain how he ended up on the street playing bitch for leeches.

  “You two can stay with me if you want after this is over.” No idea why that pops out of my mouth. But it does and I’m not one to back out on my word. Taking them with me feels right.

  Stupid Magiks.

  “Really?” Ruthie about wrecks the car because she’s looking at me over her shoulder, talking.

  “Pay attention!” I scold, turning somewhat serious yet hiding a smile behind my hand.

  What is done is done. My instincts say these two belong with me, not far away in the Sidhe. Besides, I have a soft spot for kids. And these two kids need someone.

  And maybe, just maybe. I need someone, too.

  Fifty-Two

  Iza

  To say the house is a dump is putting it mildly. This place is an absolute redneck palace. Complete with an old toilet in the front yard and possibly something that had once been a couch.

  The big dog watching me from said couch whines as I look at him and scrambles off, tail tucked between his legs. That’s a shitty security system. With a final check of sleeping beauty beside me on the seat, I climb out of the car.

  I’ll be damned if all this prophecy crap isn’t starting to make a morbid kind of sense.

  Why else am I doing all this weird helping stuff, instead of just keeping my head down and moving on like I should be?

  Of course, there are perks too. I do get to kill the bad guys.

  Ruthie sits frozen in the front seat. She’s right at that confusing stage between a child and an adult that makes it hard to gauge anything about her.

  Giving her a lollipop or making silverware dance probably won’t make her feel better. Not sure exactly what to do to help her with the emotional bits of what she’s going through, I pat her awkwardly on the shoulder and close the door. I’m totally channeling Phobe right now.

  At least I can make sure he doesn’t hurt her anymore. Maybe bring her a souvenir?

  “How did you scare Roscoe off? I have a hard time getting in and out of the house because of him.” I choose not to answer Ruthie’s questions.

  The true answer is simple: I’m scarier than he is.

  “What does he look like, Ruthie?” I question instead, standing outside the driver’s door.

  “Big guy, bald, always wears a dirty white shirt. His name is Roger.”

  I study her a moment. The girl is terrified, but somehow holding it together. I admire strength and Ruthie is showing a good bit of it. But I won’t bring her a souvenir. I don’t think she’ll appreciate a severed finger or bit of ear.

  “Do not get out of the car for anything. If I’m not back in ten minutes, throw this fleabag out and leave. There’s money in the bag and an address on the map of somewhere safe you can go. Understood?” Both their eyes widen because I let a little dark out with the command. It’s instinctual on my part.

  I’m an instinctual character.

  Opening the back door, I do one final check on the shifter. Seeing he’s still out, I slam the car door shut, knowing it hit his head. For a second, I consider hitting him with it again.

  Just because.

  A Fiend slides under my outstretched hand. My lips quirk. They’re reminding me of their presence. This one will be exhausted for hours from going corporeal, but the point is proven. Their help, no matter how restricted, is invaluable.

  The most important fact? They don’t have to be fully corporeal to eat.

  “Like I would ever forget about you guys,” I say out loud. “Guard them, please.” Assured the kids will be safe, I make my way to the house.

  It’ll take a lot to get through the Fiends but their power is limited against too many. Holding physical form takes a lot out of them. But it will be enough to let the kids escape.

  The lights are all on inside the house. Multiple shifter scents circulate through the air as I walk in the front door. I’m not known for subtlety.

  The party is in the backyard. I stop and look around the filthy house. Ruthie suffered here. I can feel the layer of sadness, of sickness, shadowing every inch of the house. Atrocities were done to that girl here. This fuels my anger. Anger that will soon have an outlet.

  I’m no longer a victim, and I’ll be damned if I’ll allow Ruthie to continue being one.

  Walking out onto the back porch, I pause to stare at the partygoers. Seven in total. One pulls my attention. He sits a little away from the others, watching them with a look of boredom and a little disgust. He’s the one who startles and looks directly at me, sensing me when the others don’t. I tilt my head to the side to study him.

  His Dark mark calls to me in that weird way they always do. Automatically, the connection opens, and I sort through what I can see. Interesting. A Beta named Ryan. A Beta who hates his own pack. It doesn’t take much to piece things together. I’m familiar with their formalities.

  Ryan is the one who came to get the money with the idiot in the car. He stayed, per custom, to celebrate a good deal.

  They have so many ways of doing things. A list of formalities and customs a mile long. One of them should be to treat their kin kindly. But it never works that way.

  His vivid blue eyes widen when I smile at him. It isn’t a nice smile, really. I’m not here selling Avon.

  “I’m looking for Roger.” All heads turn to me at once. Their eyes a mix of colors.

  “What do you want with Roger?” The male, who I already know to be Roger, asks, standing up. His beer gut hangs over his too tight pants like bread that was put out to rise for too long. His wife beater is stained with sweat and ketchup.

  Isn’t he a peach? I walk towards him, slowly.

  “A few miles back I ran into this car full of puppies. They had a girl in their trunk. After some negotiations, they gave her to me.” That is sort of the truth. “So, I figured I would come and collect her things.”

  Now all of t
hem are on their feet. All except Ryan who’s still sitting there staring at me.

  “She was fair payment for my debt.” Roger smiles and exposes yellowed teeth that probably haven’t had contact with a toothbrush, ever.

  What kind of person was Ruthie’s mom to marry this man? I picture Ruthie sitting in the car. A reflection of that mother. Not a love match, then.

  “She’s mine now. You’ll have to pay them off another way.” Not that I have any intentions of allowing him to continue to draw breath.

  I’m just a playful type of gal.

  “You can’t do that, they’ll kill me!” Roger yells, taking several steps towards me, his beer can still in his hand. I shrug to show the depth of my not giving a fuck.

  “Such a loss to the gene pool.”

  Blue Eyes snorts in amusement. Roger turns to him.

  “Do you know her?” he demands of Ryan.

  “No, but I will.” Ryan, aka Blue Eyes, answers haughtily.

  This time I snort. He’s a decent looking guy in a human way, but I prefer men with bigger teeth. Lots of bigger teeth.

  “So, you ready?” I ask, breaking the silent staring contest between the two men.

  “For what?” Roger asks turning back to me.

  “To die?” Then I move.

  I’ve discovered a lot about myself in the last few months. Including some of the new tricks, I can do. Phobe would like one of them. Moving so fast it looks like I teleport, I come up behind Roger. Climbing him like a tree, I hook my legs together around his waist.

  Roger smells of the pain he’s caused. He smells of the tears of the child sitting in the car. He’s done more than just beat her.

  My teeth lengthen in anger. With satisfaction, I bite through his ear and pull, taking most of it off. I spit it out and laugh, holding onto him as he dances around trying to dislodge me.

  It’s a lot like that carnival ride, the tilt-a-whirl, I saw on The Google God.

  I put my mouth next to his attached ear, my hands squeezing just below his jaw. “Tell my Dad hi for me when you see him. He’ll like you.”

  I wrench his head off. Blood spurts up and splatters my face. As he falls forward, I land on my feet beside his twitching body.