City of Shadows

by Pippa Dacosta

  “Yes,” Kael’s thin lips twitched. “There she is. Let her in, Construct. Bring her back. Remember what it felt like—”

  “Oh, I remember, Kael. I remember how you fell to your knees on a bloodied field, your ranks decimated. I remember how the queen found you there.” Not my memories, but it didn’t matter. I saw him then, as he had once been. Blood splattered, his face white and eyes pleading with his queen for mercy.

  “Good.” He swallowed and came closer, within reach of my blade. “More. Tell me more. Tell me everything.”

  “She promised you a new army in a new world.”

  “Yes.” He breathed the word, made it no more than a whisper.

  “And you would serve her forever.” I slid my gaze across the others, not really seeing them, just counting their blades and the distance they’d need to go to save their general.

  “Forever …” He echoed the promise and I sensed its resonance roll through me. “What else, Alina? What do you feel?”

  My smile grew. “Everything.”

  I lunged. Our blades sang as they struck. I pushed into him, staggering him backward. Power—a dark, all-consuming power spilled through my veins. I could kill Kael. Kill them all. He parried my next blow and hit me in my already sore gut, but it wasn’t enough. I could take him, as I should have in the tunnels. I knew him, knew him better than I knew myself. His past, the queen’s past, it all blurred together as one. Her obedient servant. Her loyal subject. I saw him bow to her—to me. He’d followed her orders, because he was bound to her by that promise on the blood-soaked battlefield. General Kael, her puppet, just like all the others she had dancing on the end of her weblike strings. My puppet. He was mine. The general, the hound, the people, London—all mine. And the presence inside, it embraced everything. All that had come before, and all that could be.

  No, wait. This wasn’t me. I liked chocolate cake, liked the smell of autumn berries and cedar. I was afraid of heights and spiders. What are you doing, American Girl?

  The thoughts from that part of me who asked questions tripped up my stride, and in the momentary lapse of concentration Kael clamped a hand around my throat and slammed me into a wall. He pushed in close enough so that all I could see were his eyes. Eyes that had witnessed the death of hundreds of warriors who’d turned to him for guidance. He’d failed them. Murdered them.

  A shivering sickness sent chills sprawling across my skin, and the dark I’d wrapped myself in fell away, leaving me gasping and exposed beneath Kael’s grip.

  My gut heaved. Shivers spilled down my skin. Adrenalin, fear, and a horrible wrenching sickness robbed me of everything. Pain, so much pain. Kael’s smile was the last thing I saw before unconsciousness carried me away.

  It might have been hours I’d lain awake in the empty bedroom, staring at the ceiling, wondering if I would fall apart if I moved. I like chocolate cake. I’m afraid of heights. Reign is an asshat. Those seemingly minor things I played over and over in my head, building on layer upon layer of what it meant to be Alina, weaving me back together and grounding me in my memories. I didn’t have long left. I could feel it, the creeping separation. Kael’s attack had tipped me over the edge—something had shifted again. I was losing parts of me. Whatever happened, I couldn’t hold myself together with chocolate cake, heights, and Reign for much longer. My time was running out and with it any chance that I might find Becky.

  The FA’s house was quiet and had been for some time. Sunlight poured in through the windows. Birds twittered in the garden. I couldn’t hide from this, not when the clock was ticking. Every second I stared at the ceiling was another second wasted.

  “Get up,” I said, surprised by the steel in my voice.

  I peeled off my soiled clothes, hands trembling the whole time, and padded barefoot into the shower. Hot water tapping against my back and shoulders made my bruised skin want to crawl off my bones. It hurt to move, to breathe, to lift my arms to wash the blood out of my hair. Shivering, my gut a loose tangle of nerves, I found some spare clothes and managed to button up a shirt over my damp skin, swearing when my muscles burned and throbbed.

  I sat on the edge of the bath and slumped forward, threading my fingers into my wet hair. I wasn’t ready for this. I wasn’t even sure if I’d ever be ready. I didn’t belong here, or anywhere. Really, it was a miracle I’d stayed together as long as I had.

  “Are you presentable?”

  Samuel. I stiffened, wiped my face dry and glared at the closed door.

  “Were you there?” I asked, hating the tremor in my voice.

  “Yes,” he replied, voice muffled enough that I couldn’t be sure of his tone.

  “Nyx?”

  “No, and neither was Scaw. Kael asked only for those who were comfortable with his orders.”

  His orders. “Which were?”

  The door creaked open. I didn’t look up, but heard Samuel’s shoes squeak on the wet floor. “To push you until you manifested something of your true nature.” He stopped to my right, close enough that I could see he wore black pants. “Or died,” he added.

  “And you were comfortable with his orders?” I sneered, lifting my head to peer at him through wet bangs. He wore a plum colored V-neck shirt and looked entirely too normal. His amethyst eyes searched mine. There was nothing of the triumph I expected to see on his face. Pity, perhaps. They’d all look at me like that. Now they’d seen the worst of me.

  “You’re no use to us as just a construct. Constructs don’t last,” he said. “We had to know if there’s enough potential power within you for us to harness. For you to help us—help the fae.”

  I pushed off the bath, clutching some pants and glared up at him. “Well, now you know.”

  He glared right back, but his gaze held a hint of curiosity. “When you fought the general, had you not blacked out, you could have killed him.” A statement. A fact. Not a query.

  I didn’t reply. I could have killed the general, and the others in the room but, despite what Kael wanted, I didn’t want to lose myself to that darkness.

  Aware of the cool breeze around my legs, I broke eye contact and tugged the pants on. “You just gonna stand there and watch me?” At least the shivering had passed.

  He blinked, and the slightest of frowns tightened his proud fae features. “Constructs do not usually concern themselves with modesty.”

  “This one does. And it’s called privacy.” I combed my fingers through my hair, planted a hand on my hip and peered back at him.

  Once again his eyes narrowed, as though I was a puzzle. One he hadn’t yet figured out and wasn’t sure if he wanted to. “You need draíocht,” he said, finally.

  “No, I really don’t.” I brushed by him and headed for the door.

  “The sickness you’re currently experiencing will only get worse. You’ll weaken, and unless you replenish your draíocht, you’ll fade away.” He waited for me to argue or deny it or even agree, but nothing he told me was new. I just wanted to go home, but didn’t have a home to go to.

  “Let me help you regain your strength,” he said.

  I laughed and stopped with my hand on the door. “Why? So you can beat me some more?” When I faced him this time, he lifted his head. He didn’t look sorry, but the fae never did. The day he looked sorry would be the day they’d stick me on a pedestal and crown me queen.

  “As you are now”—he approached, his stride easy and loose, like he couldn’t possibly be thinking of anything else besides concern for my well-being—“you’re vulnerable in body and mind.”

  Every instinct in my body told me to run, but I shut the fear away, buried it deep, and forced a wooden smile onto my lips.

  Vulnerable? Not in spirit, I thought. One of the Three. I’d felt the shift inside. The general had dismissed possession, but he was wrong. I’d witnessed the queen’s memories, seen her save the general all those years ago, but they were just that: memories. What I felt, the shadows that shifted inside, the power spilling through my veins, that was somethi
ng else entirely. “How can I do this? How can I take draíocht when I don’t know what I’m doing? What if I hurt someone?”

  “It’s perfectly safe, under controlled conditions. A clinic.” Safe? Nothing about the fae was safe. “The private kind.”

  “Draíocht for money. Nice.” It was a low blow, but it helped to fall back on anger when nothing else made sense.

  Again, a frown pulled at his lips. “It’s consensual. Government monitored. The sessions are professional and timed. You and your donor are absolutely safe. I wouldn’t suggest it otherwise.” He paused, taking a moment to breathe. Yup, my comment had offended his fae sensibilities, or perhaps he was convincing himself as well as me. “Allow me to show you.”

  I did need draíocht, as sick as the thought made me. Summoning the dark in me and being beaten to within an inch of my life had pushed the limits of my construction. The sickness was creeping in. I had a choice. Give up or fight back. I hadn’t given up yet, and I wasn’t about to start now.

  Samuel waited. Infinitely patient. Calm, measured. Controlled. Why was he even here, helping me? “Did Kael tell you to come?”

  “No.”

  I didn’t believe him. “Then what do you want from me?”

  He swallowed and briefly broke eye contact, but quickly reestablished it. “What they—what we did, it was designed to break you. But you didn’t break, Alina.”

  I felt pretty broken. “And?”

  Finally a flicker of emotion passed across his face. “I’m trying to apologize.”

  “You’re lousy at it.”

  He arched a brow. He’d probably never been called lousy in his long fae life.

  Maybe he was truly trying to help me, or maybe this was another one of the general’s tests; send his pet Samuel to make friends and stick a dagger in my back when my guard was down. I wouldn’t be making the same mistake twice.

  “Fine,” I said, opening the door and marching through the bedroom with as much confidence I could muster around the aches and pains. “I’ll meet you in the entrance hall in five.”

  I needed to replenish my draíocht—with Samuel’s suspiciously generous help. There was only one way to find out what the FA knew about Becky’s disappearance, and that was by building alliances, and to do that, I had to get a handle on my control, even if that meant accepting the fae part of me. Just like Reign had said; I couldn’t ignore it. The thing inside wasn’t going away. I just hoped that replenishing my draíocht didn’t make me any more of a monster than I already was.

  Chapter Ten

  Samuel couldn’t “jump” from one location to another like Reign, which meant we were riding in the Range Rover again, but this time I was in the front passenger seat. I sneaked a few glances at him as he’d maneuvered through London traffic with surprising proficiency.

  I turned my face away and watched London’s patchwork streets blur by; the crooked and gnarled buildings of old blended with the steel and glass of the new, but not always in harmony. The streets looked calm. People strode along the sidewalks. Tourists dawdled, checking their maps and cell phones. But the fae were conspicuous in their absence.

  I dragged a hand down the back of my neck and tried to stretch out tight muscles. My skin fizzled with an itching heat despite the air-conditioning blasting chilly air onto my face. I need to do this. I wondered about the lives of those people going about their business, because that was easier than wondering about someone whose draíocht I was about to absorb.

  We pulled into a small parking lot outside the private clinic. The sign declared: PROFESSIONAL AND CERTIFIED SESSIONS. Who certifies the taking of life?

  Samuel climbed from the Range Rover. If it wasn’t for the pointed ears, he’d have looked like any young London professional, especially now that the braid was gone. His hair was short enough to ruffle; which he frequently did. That thought roused a smile and earned me a raised eyebrow. But no words. We weren’t really on speaking terms, and I didn’t think Samuel made small talk.

  He left the car and jogged up the set of steps to a painted black door. The clinic could have been someone’s home. Discreet and gentile, in a quaint Georgian terraced house. Like rehab—the fae kind. I assumed I was to follow and tried not to wince and hiss climbing from the car as my body screamed in all the wrong places. I hadn’t yet gotten a good look at my face, but considering the throb, I could bet it wasn’t a pretty sight.

  This was necessary. I had to refill my reserves, to heal, and get back to learning all I could about Kael to find Becky. Once I was thinking clearly, Nyx or Scaw might have more answers. Samuel too, might be a way in, if he could bring himself to say more than a few words to me.

  Samuel signed me in at the front desk while I sat myself carefully on one of the leather couches. Three fae were already here, flicking through magazines, perched on the arms of the chairs. They raked their colorful eyes over me and then looked away once they noticed Samuel. One of them even bowed his head a little when Samuel looked up. He didn’t sit with the rest of us, preferring to loom by the door.

  I clasped my hands in my lap and listened to the wall clock ticking.

  I’d been dying the last time I’d taken draíocht. And Danny Andrews had been the unlucky one to touch me. He’d touched me before. And that was the problem. The touches, coupled with my suddenly latching onto his life force, sealed the deal. I got a hit of Andrews-flavored juice, complete with his memories and feelings, and he got an addiction to the unreal construct. Love. It’s a chemical reaction, and one the fae use to their advantage. I’d used Andrews. And now I was presumably about to do the same here. “You need her more than I do,” the fae in the alley had said when I’d stumbled across him feeding. That had only been a couple days ago, though it seemed longer.

  “Alina O’Connor?”

  A man dressed in a pale-blue uniform fixed a bright smile on his face and beckoned me forward. “Your first time?” he asked. I nodded, acutely aware of Samuel’s presence behind me.

  “Would you like to see your donor?”

  I swallowed. “I, er …”

  He opened a door and stepped inside a small clinical room. The lights were soft, but that only bred more shadows. A chair waited in front of a curtained division. Someone sat on the other side of that curtain. A normal person. A stranger.

  I can’t do this.

  “I …”

  Samuel closed the door. “It’s probably best to limit her contact with the donor.”

  I glared at him. “I can talk for myself.”

  His lips twitched but otherwise his expression remained professional.

  The nurse, John his badge said, frowned at Samuel. “Do you need to be here?”

  Samuel leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. Clearly not going anywhere.

  John scowled and then smiled brightly at me. “Take a seat. There’s really no need to be concerned. Your donor is providing a valuable service to the smooth integration of the fae in London. She’s happy to be here. The necessary forms have been signed. You have nothing to worry about. This is entirely consensual.”

  There was that word again; “consensual.” It wasn’t consensual, because I didn’t want this. I didn’t want to touch her knowing I’d drink down her life energy, and I’d like it. I didn’t want to know her like that. Whoever she was. What if I took too much, like Andrews? What if I bespelled her?

  I sat on the edge of the chair. John pulled on a pair of latex gloves and took my hand. He wiped an antiseptic wipe over my palm. The cuts crisscrossing my wrist stood out red and raw against my pale skin. He lifted his brow but was clearly too professional to mention it.

  “We won’t force you here,” he said. “This is a respectable clinic.”

  Consensual. I licked my lips. I can’t do this. I was about to become intimately acquainted with the stranger behind the curtain.

  “What if I can’t stop it. I—when I did this before, there was an accident.”

  “Your touch is timed, and it will only happen once
. Your donor will feel a slight tingling, like a numbness. Pins and needles. But that’s all. It’s perfectly safe.”

  He didn’t know who’s draíocht I had in me. What if I was tainted? What if I did something to the donor? What if—what if—what if? I can’t. I looked back to Samuel. He’d dropped his head back and closed his eyes, like he might take a small nap while I had a crisis. “Hey.”

  He snapped open his eyes and looked questioningly down his nose at me.

  “Can’t I just take some of yours?” It was testament to how much I didn’t want this to happen that I’d have gladly touched him instead.

  “It wouldn’t be enough. Fae taking from fae is inefficient.” A slight growl rumbled through his words. “The quicker you get it done, the quicker we can leave.”

  Get it done. Right. I could do this.

  John squeezed my hand, and this time his smile was real. It was the nicest thing anyone had done for me in days. A knot tightened my throat. I blinked a few times, clearing my vision. Get it done. Get back in top form so I can play the fae at their own game. This has to happen.

  “Hold out your hand,” John said.

  I hovered my hand out in front of me, fingers trembling. The woman on the other side pushed her hand through a simple round hole in the curtain and waited. She had smooth, manicured nails. A woman who cared about appearances. Soon, I’d know all about her. I swallowed and wished I’d let Reign teach me how to do this. Damn him for being right about … everything.

  The donor pushed her hand forward and when her fingers found mine, she grabbed on. Lightning snapped up my arm, and with it came a surge of pleasure, pain, cold, heat, and rippling shivers. All at once I could taste her, feel her, like I’d known her all my life. “Consensual” meant more than a word ticked off on a box. She wanted this to happen and it was too much—too good—all at once. Wrong, so wrong. Taking life, devouring it. I’d wanted more, everything, every little piece of her would fill me up and spill over—

  I sprang from the chair faster than I thought possible and burst from the room before Samuel could block my way. He came after me. His boots beat hard against the floors, but I was out the door and running. A single glance back told me he’d stopped at the top of the clinic’s steps, his frown a fraction away from a scowl.