“Is it ... a dream?” The words floated from her mouth and hovered there, just beyond her lips.
In the silence that followed, Jennet felt shadows gathering closer. Dread crawled through her, carrying the awful sensation of failure.
The last candle died. A high, wailing music started up, the keening cry of pipes swirling through the air. Slowly, the queen shook her head. Diamonds sparkled like frost in her dark hair.
“No,” she said. “You have lost. Now, mortal girl, I take my due.”
The queen held up a hollow crystal sphere in one hand. With the other, she scribed strange gestures in the air. Her fingers left glowing streaks of silver against the darkness. Then she pointed straight at Jennet.
“Ahh!” A sharp pain speared through Jennet, as though the queen had stabbed her in the chest. She doubled over, gasping, while agony iced her blood. Oh god. It hurt.
“Behold, Fair Jennet,” the queen said. “The answer is Life. Your essence is captured here. It will serve us well.”
Jennet looked up, tears clouding her vision. The queen held the sphere aloft. It wasn’t empty any more. Inside was a bright swirl of color, like rainbow flames. They pulsed and danced, trapped inside their crystal prison. Wavering, calling to her.
“How,” Jennet forced the words out through lips tight with pain, “how do I get that back?”
Every game had a second chance, a third. You kept fighting the last battle until you finally won. Failure wasn’t permanent. Not like in real life.
The queen laughed, and the sound carried a bitter chill. “You cannot. Without a champion, you are lost. Now go. Go! I send thee, defeated, from the Dark Realm.”
Pain wrenched through Jennet and she screamed. Golden light blinded her senses and she swirled through a sickening vertigo. Blackness waited, merciful and dark, on the other side. She opened her arms to it, and fell.
Jennet woke, aching, in the sim chair. Her hands were stiff inside the gaming gloves, and when she sat forward, fire exploded in her shoulder. She could barely lift her arm, but it was impossible to take off the helmet one-handed. Trying not to whimper, she gritted her teeth against the agony and pulled off her gear.
She had lost.
Feyland was more than just a sim game. The clues had been there all along, but she hadn’t paid enough attention until now. Now, when it was too late. And she’d done worse than lose the game.
There was a frigid hollow in the center of her chest. The Dark Queen had taken something from her—something she feared she couldn’t live without. Bright flames trapped inside a magical sphere. Her mortal essence, the queen had said.
She had to get it back.
Jennet stumbled to her bedroom. She swayed at the edge of her bed, trying to pull the covers back. No use. She toppled forward onto the blue coverlet, and let the blackness of sleep take her down.
Call an ambulance! Now!
…unusual symptoms, Mr. Carter. No signs of external trauma…
--still unconscious?
…as soon as she wakes up we’ll notify you. Now get some rest…
(sobbing)
“Dad?” Her voice was creaky, the word sticking in her mouth like it was coated with tar.
Jennet thought she’d heard him, his voice taut with panic. And later—crying? What was going on?
She couldn’t open her eyes. And then she could, the lashes parting gummily. Unfamiliar white walls surrounded her, and the antiseptic smell hit her nose the same time her brain registered hospital.
What was she doing lying in a hospital bed?
An IV fed into her left arm, and she was dressed in a dun-colored gown. The gridded lights overhead made her want to close her eyes again, but she had to figure out what was going on.
“Dad?” she called again, fear lending her voice a wavery strength.
The door opened and a blue-smocked nurse bustled in, her hair tied neatly back.
“Awake at last,” she said. “And how are you feeling?”
“I really don’t know.” Jennet took a deep breath. Nothing hurt, but her throat was blazingly parched. “Could I get some water?”
The nurse nodded. “I’ll be right back. But if you need anything else, press the call button.”
“I need my dad.”
“Contacting him is the first thing on my list.” The nurse gave her an encouraging smile and left, closing the door softly.
Jennet stared around the room. There was a big vase of hydrangeas—blue and purple and green—the only real spot of color in the place. Thick white curtains were drawn over the window, the light a bright smear behind.
The door flew open, and her dad rushed in. His hair was rumpled and he looked exhausted, but as soon as he saw her, a smile transformed his face.
“Jen! Oh, honey.”
He caught her up in a hug, careful of the tubes stuck in her arm, and Jennet clung to him. He smelled like sunshine and safety.
“I’m here, Dad.”
“I know.” His voice was thick with emotion. “The docs say they want another day of observation, and then they’ll let you come home. I can’t believe I didn’t realize you had walking pneumonia—I’m so sorry.”
“I did?” She didn’t remember being sick.
What she did remember was the Dark Queen taking her mortal essence—but that must have been a dream. Right? She had been feverishly ill, after all. The strange, hollow feeling in her chest was just an after-effect of her illness; nothing more.
“We’re through it now,” her dad said. Tears lurked in his eyes. “Let me get some light in here.”
He went to the window and pulled back the curtain. Afternoon sun poured into the room, as though it had just been waiting for an invitation. The branches of a tree were visible from the bed, dark green leaves moving gently in the breeze below the cloud-spotted sky.
Returning to the bedside, her dad sat and took her hand.
“I have some bad news,” he said, his voice strained. “It’s… I don’t know how to tell you this, but—Thomas is dead.”
“What?” She clutched his hand, her mind buzzing in circles. “How could he be? What happened?”
Dad shook his head. “He died at home, the doctors think from a stroke. It was fast, and probably painless.”
Tears choked her throat. “But I didn’t get to say goodbye.”
“None of us did.” Her dad blinked, hard, but a drop of moisture still rolled down one cheek. “I’m so sorry to have to break this to you while you’re still in the hospital, but I thought you’d want to know right away.”
Jennet pressed her lips together and nodded. She couldn’t quite believe that Thomas was gone.
“The funeral is the day after tomorrow. You’ll be home by then.” Her dad leaned forward again and wrapped her in a tight hug. “I love you,” he said against her hair.
“I love you too, Dad.” She hugged him awkwardly back, mindful of the IV.
She felt cold and empty inside, but at least she was alive, and with her dad. Thomas’s death was horrible—but she and Dad had gone through worse and come out the other side.
Not perfectly, no, but who ever made it through life without a few scars?
The Dark Queen paced the length of her court, her dress a shimmer of smoke and shadows, her midnight hair stirred by the ever-present night breeze. In one hand she held a crystal sphere where a small flame flickered. It was the barest ember of fire—but it was enough.
She had made a bargain, and she would remain true to it. The fey folk were ever bound by their word. But bargains were tricky things, and she had centuries of experience. The poor mortal who had thought to negotiate with her had gotten what he wanted, but at a price few would pay, and for a far shorter time than he believed.
The queen smiled, as bright and sharp as the stars overhead. In a swirl of night, she mounted her throne and settled into its tangled black depths. To one side stood a knot of musicians: a long-fingered creature with a wooden flute, a squat goblin holding a skin drum, and a
sad-eyed man with a battered guitar slung across his back.
“Music,” she said, gesturing to the players. “I would hear a song from my new Bard—something pleasant to pass the time. A tale of treachery and deceit, perchance.”
The denizens of her court laughed, their cackles and gibbers echoing off the trunks of the tall oak trees. Pale moths fluttered away from the sound, wings beating like panicked hearts.
“As my lady commands.”
The man set his fingers on the strings of his guitar, bowed his head, and began to play.
THE END
Is Jennet truly free of the Dark Queen? Flip the page to find out more about the FEYLAND trilogy, and discover a world of magic, dangerous adventure, and a hint of romance...
Thank you!
Thanks for reading FEYLAND: The First Adventure. I hope you enjoyed it!
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* You’ve just read the prequel to the FEYLAND trilogy. Other books in this series are listed below. I hope you enjoy them all!
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FEYLAND: THE COMPLETE TRILOGY – All three books in one epic digital bundle ~ Scoop up the entire series now, or buy individually (titles listed below) ~ Buy at AMAZON - http://amzn.com/B00B73TD9I
Faeries. Computer games. A boy from the wrong side of the tracks, and the girl he's afraid to love...
What if a high-tech computer game was a gateway to the treacherous Realm of Faerie?
"Ms. Sharp is a master storyteller... The Feyland books have found a prized place on my all-time favorite books list."—Rebecca McKinnon, The Crooked Word
"This is a great series that deserves more attention. The books are quick and exciting reads, and if you like stories based on fairy tales, or if you enjoyed both the portrayal of the fae in Mercy Thompson and October Daye and the virtual world of Ready Player One, you will love this series."—Kate, Epic Chocolate Fantasy
"The series has come full circle with the great cast of characters and events that take place. Would recommend for everyone!"—Jen, What's on the Bookshelf
FEYLAND: THE DARK REALM (Book 1) Buy at Amazon - http://amzn.com/B006IBU9PQ
WHEN A GAME…
Feyland is the most immersive computer game ever designed, and Jennet Carter is the first to play the prototype. But she doesn’t suspect the virtual world is close enough to touch — or that she’ll be battling for her life against the Dark Queen of the faeries.
TURNS REAL…
Tam Linn is the perfect hero — in-game. Too bad the rest of his life is seriously flawed. The last thing he needs is rich-girl Jennet prying into his secrets, insisting he’s the only one who can help her.
WINNING IS EVERYTHING…
Together, Jennet and Tam enter the Dark Realm of Feyland, only to discover that the entire human world is in danger. Pushed to the limit of their abilities, they must defeat the Dark Queen… before it’s too late.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Growing up, Anthea Sharp spent most of her summers raiding the library shelves and reading, especially fantasy. She now makes her home in the Pacific Northwest, where she writes, plays the fiddle, and spends time with her small-but-good family. Contact her at [email protected] or visit her website – www.antheasharp.com
Anthea also writes historical romance under the pen name Anthea Lawson. Find out about her acclaimed Victorian romantic adventure novels at www.anthealawson.com.
Be the first to hear about new releases and reader perks by subscribing to Anthea’s quarterly newsletter, Sharp Tales, at https://tinyletter.com/AntheaSharp.
BLOOD FAERIE
Blood Faerie
by
India Drummond
Blood Faerie
Copyright © 2011, India Drummond
eBooks are not transferable. All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The unauthorised reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organisations is entirely coincidental.
Published in the United Kingdom, 2011
ebook ISBN: 978-1-908436-00-9
paperback ISBN: 978-1-908436-01-6
Acknowledgements
There is one person that without his help, this book truly would not have happened: Inspector Dorian Marshall of the Tayside Police. I always wanted to create a main character who was a police officer, but feared that by error or omission I would insult every cop in Scotland by getting it wrong. Inspector Marshall kept that from happening. His patient and thorough advice made this book stronger. Any errors in fact or procedure are completely my own, although I did my best to do him proud.
In addition, I’m certain there’s a special place in heaven for my family, friends, and beta readers, who give me the support and confidence to keep writing one story after another.
Fae Name Pronunciation Guide
In order of appearance:
Eilidh: AY-lee
Cridhe: CREED
Imire: em-IRE
Saor: SAY-or
Dudlach: DOOD-lawk
Krostach: CROST-ack
Beniss: BEN-iss
Oron: oh-RON
Galen: GAY-len
Genoa: GEN-oh-uh
Chapter 1
Eilidh detected the greasy scent of evil moments before she heard the scream below. She perched in St Paul’s steeple, watching Perth’s late night pub-crawlers through rotting slats. The scurrying footfalls of humans did not hold her interest, nor did the seeping ruby blood that spread quickly over the flat, grey paving stones. Instead, her eyes turned north along Methven Street, seeking the source of that familiar smell.
Evil smelled like nothing else, worse than a rotting corpse, worse than sewage and disease, more vile than the fumes that billowed from modern machinery, more cloying than the shame of drunken whores. This particular evil was fresh, but not quite pure. It mixed with rage but was contained, refined, as though gestated in the belly of ancient hatred. This evil held promise, and for the first time in decades, Eilidh hesitated, slightly afraid.
The familiar magic that nestled in the subtle overtones of this particular wrong propelled her into action. She pulled back the shutter and leapt down to the roof below. Her feet made scarcely a sound as she landed on the mossy stone. She ensured that the black sweatshirt hood covered her short white hair and the other tell-tale signs of her race. Moving faster than any human could, she skipped down the side of the building, lightly touching window frames and door tops until she landed on the hidden south side of the dilapidated octagonal church.
The corpse at her feet stared at the full moon, glassy-eyed and empty. She crouched beside it and sniffed the air. The hole hacked in his chest left bone and organ exposed. Blood poured from it. He’d passed by the church only moments before. Eilidh had seen him with a human female who leaned against him, taking drunken steps, screeching too loudly, laughing at nothing. Eilidh had paid neither of them any attention. They were like scores of others who staggered down her street most nights.
Her senses caught the earliest whiff of decay. It began immediately upon death, as soon as the heart no longer thrust blood through mortal veins. Eilidh had to move before it masked the trace she hunted. She sprang forward and her feet carried her north just
as someone behind her shouted, “Oi! You!”
The scent was not difficult to track. She darted past the small groupings of oblivious people, mostly gathering in the doorways of pubs, smoke wafting from their mouths. Various human smells: sweat, smoke, cars, and food all mingled together, but none could distract Eilidh from her quarry. She knew this smell because it was old and magical, and, like her, it was fae.
She followed the trace past the main thoroughfare, taking only minimal care not to attract attention. Habit made her duck and dodge away from people. Although she was faster, better trained, and had keener senses, human technology could render those advantages moot.
Her handmade leather shoes made no sound as she pursued the unknown faerie down dark, cobbled side streets. Once, she’d stolen human shoes, but the same day she left them near the entrance of a homeless shelter. She could not bear the feel of the strange rubber. It squeaked and smelled of oil. So she’d made shoes in the style of her own people, using the hide of a lamb she’d killed near Kinnoull Hill, a woodland area she rarely dared visit. Its cliff summit overlooked the city, but the proximity to the fae kingdom made it dangerous. The shoes, moulded over time by her weak earth magic, would be thought quaint or foreign. They were the only item she wore that was not distinctly human, but they never slipped on tile rooftops, so she took the risk of them being noticed.
Eilidh could not help but wonder about the faerie she chased. Did he too try to blend into human society? Was he exiled as she was, or born of an outcast? Had she known him in her other life? Before she was cursed to live where the ground was hard with pavement and the air polluted with fumes, the scent of foul human food, and the sound of endless, meaningless chatter?
Faery Realms: Ten Magical Titles: Multi-Author Bundle of Novels & Novellas Page 52
