Orin whimpered in the dirt behind me.
I jerked away from Delano, my heart racing. "Orin?" I crawled to him and shook his shoulder. His nose was swollen and becoming purple; the tip jutted to the side. "Come on, Orin. I need you to wake up." His head rolled feebly; his eyelids hardly twitched.
"They marked you."
Delano stared at the miner tattoo on my back, his face heavy with sorrow. I dropped my eyes and curled my shoulders forward, as if doing so would somehow hide my foolishness, make the ink slide off my back like tears. "Yes, they did. And not as a healer," I mumbled. "Just like you warned."
"I should have found you sooner. Maybe I could have stopped it." Delano lurched to his feet, grimacing. He pulled the blanket from the car's backseat and wrapped it around his waist.
"How long have you been following us?" I asked.
"I lost you in South Dakota." Delano kicked Sam to assure he was unconscious, then emptied the revolver and chucked it into the field. "I headed for the Realm entrance in hopes of catching you and heard a news report in a cafe that you had been detained. I found you as Orin came out of the police station."
I snorted. "And snuck into the car."
"Thanks for giving up shotgun." Delano popped open the car's trunk, rummaged through Sam's luggage. He slid on a pair of Carhartt pants, which hung loose on his hips and bunched at his ankles. He then grabbed a bottle of Aquafina and ripped two undershirts into strips for bandages.
The knife blade glinted in the twilight. I watched Orin and Sam breathe shallowly in the gravel, smelled the blood dripping off Delano's arm. "This is all my fault," I said.
Delano sat beside me and patted my thigh. "Tell me what happened."
I washed and bandaged Delano's wounds and told him everything. The sniffer slicing off the man's tongue. The guards. The ley line. The desert. The darklings. Raina's lies. Delano's tears beading in my vision. Waking up to the wrong tattoo. The Realm forcing Orin against me. Orin defying the Realm and sacrificing his freedom to save my life. Me running away. Orin's flogging. Fleeing through the wilderness. The hotel. The police. The interrogation. Sam's promises. My stupidity.
Delano sat in silence while I spoke, then said: "I'm surprised the mockingbird had it in him to stand up to the Realm."
"And now they want us dead." I finished cleaning the blood off Orin's face with a scrap of undershirt. A shard of broken reflector winked in the gravel beside his ear. I wiped it with my thumb and tucked it into his pocket. "What do we do now?"
"That depends on—"
Orin groaned. His head rocked in the dirt.
"Orin?" I nudged his shoulder. "Orin! Can you hear me? Wake up."
Orin's eyes fluttered, then widened on the darkling.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
"Darkling!" Orin tried to lurch to his feet but fell backwards onto his ass.
"Stay down! You're hurt," I said.
"Kidnapping her in a moment of weakness, huh?" Orin spat on Delano's face as he staggered to his feet. Heat shimmered around his fists.
"Kidnapping her?" Delano leapt up, wiping his cheek. His nostrils flared with rage. "This from the murdering coward who stabbed Gethen and Melinda in the back!" Shadows coiled around him. "I should return the favor!"
"Stop it!" I pressed a hand on each of their chests, hot and cold against my palms. "Sam would have murdered us if Delano hadn't arrived when he did."
"Sam...?" The blood drained from Orin's face. He touched his nose and winced. "What—?" Orin's eyes widened. "Your throat!"
"I'm okay," I said, and quickly recapped what had happened. "Delano saved my life," I said, after I was done. "And yours, Orin."
Delano hitched up the Carhartts, smirking. "You're welcome."
"Did you hear me thank you, darkslime?" Orin snapped.
"Truce you two. Okay?" I said. "The Realm is our enemy. Not each other. So let's figure a way out of this mess. Please."
Orin took a deep breath. "It's simple. We need to run and hide, far from the Realm's entrance."
"That is your plan?" Delano laughed. "A sniffer will slit your throat the moment something shiny distracts you, mockingbird."
"Don't call me that!" I squeezed Orin's shoulder. Orin scowled and took another deep breath.
I turned to Delano. "What do you suggest?"
Delano pursed his lips and tapped his chin. After a moment he said: "I see four options. One: Flee, as the mock—er, as Orin suggests. Which means blending with humans or embracing magic in solitude. Either way, the Realm will hunt you down and kill you.
"Two: Crawl to the Realm on your knees and grovel for a life-sentence in the pits. The Realm will agree so they can lure you into a public execution and make you an example."
I wrinkled my nose. "No to both of those."
"Wise," Delano said. "Three: Embrace night magic and join the darklings."
Orin recoiled as if he whiffed a rotting corpse. "Ugh! Never!"
"Is it even possible for a faerie?" I asked.
"Yes," Delano said. "But once you go past the darkshine, you are in the darkshine forever. It is impossible to return to the light."
"I would die from disgust before I made it into the darkshine," Orin said. "I prefer to grovel for the pits."
Delano's lip curled. "Figures. Lashing off a bigot's wings is much easier than lashing off his prejudices."
"I am not a bigot! I merely believe in virtue and principles."
Delano lifted an eyebrow. "Mmm. The same virtue and principals the Realm inflicted on your back?"
"Stop it," I said. Although, honestly, I was relieved Orin adamantly refused to join the darklings. It hurt my heart to imagine Orin's warm glow fading into cold, pale moonlight, his tropical eyes filling with blood. That wasn't the faerie I knew. But then, who was he now? Did Orin even know? The Realm had stolen his identity to mold him into one of theirs. He had submitted to their propaganda and in exchange had never developed his truth. Now he was no longer blind, but was still a shell filled with knee jerk reactions to well designed lies. If Orin chose the darklings, he was programmed to feel as if he rejected purity. Going solo went against the hive mentality he always knew. Groveling to the Realm—those who pretended to love him only to torture him—went against sanity. I bit my lip, worrying he'd still choose the last. For Orin not only loved the Realm, but was in love. And how many tales had been written about fools killing themselves for an unhealthy lover?
"What's number four?" I asked Delano.
"Join the rebels."
Orin's brow lifted and an uncomfortable silence lingered. Shadows drifted around Delano's feet, curling like a beckoning finger.
"The rebels are terrorists," Orin said.
"No. The Realm wants you to believe they are terrorists," Delano said. "And now the Realm says you are a terrorist. Do you believe that as well?"
Orin's eyes narrowed. "I did what was right."
"Same as the rebels," Delano said. Orin glared at him, silent. "They have a camp a few miles from my home. We're not friends, but we're not enemies." Delano eyed Orin. "I know they will take you in. They will heal you, feed and shelter you, give you work. The rebels need soldiers to free the faeries. However, I doubt you have the strength to swear against the Realm, mockingbird."
"I am not a mockingbird!"
"Time to prove it." Delano eyed me. "You, on the other hand, the rebels will refuse. Even if they trusted changelings, your wings are intact. They will assume you are a spy."
I frowned. After fighting to keep Orin safe I didn't want him out of my sight, let alone out of my life. The rebels weren't a glamorous option, but his other options guaranteed death, whether of his body or his spirit or both. I cupped his shoulder with my hand. "The rebels sound like the safest place for you. And the smartest."
"But what about you?" Orin asked.
Yes. What about me?
"You must choose," Delano said. "We can lash off your wings and attempt to join you to the rebels without guarantee and possible execution. Or y
ou can come with me."
"Force her into the darklings?" Orin gasped. "You tricking son of a—!"
"I will force her into nothing," Delano shouted, his blood eyes blazing. "I will protect her whether she joins the darklings or not."
Orin grabbed my hand. "Miriam." I thought he would scold me, beg me to flee the shadowy monster. But when I faced him, his eyes were glassy, his underlip lax. He looked worried, sad. A young man afraid of losing his friend forever.
"I just want you safe," I told him.
Orin snorted; a smile touched the corner of his lips. "That's supposed to be my job."
"Is there a safer option for me?" I asked. Orin frowned. "Delano has never hurt me, you know."
Orin's mouth opened and closed, like a fish gasping for breath. I could almost see his logic fighting the Realm's propaganda of why darklings needed to be killed and never trusted. "I know. But. I. But." He sighed, then nodded in defeat.
I pulled him close and we squeezed each other's waists. He tucked his eyes against my shoulder and I breathed him in. He still smelled of hollow logs and dew drenched ferns and early hints of spring, but beneath these familiarities lurked something sinister. The stink of dried blood and raw open flesh, the first reek of infection. My face scrunched up; I pressed my cheek against his neck. Orin needed help, something impossible for me to give.
Delano tapped our shoulders. My throat clenched, fearing Sam had awakened. Instead, he pointed to the car. A wolf spider dropped from the rear wheel well and scurried toward the field.
"Realm spyders lurk everywhere," Delano said. "You must choose."
Orin clasped my hands. "Rebels," he said.
My fingers curled around his. "Delano."
Orin's face crumpled. He dropped my hands and turned away with a sob.
"I must protect you first," Delano told me. "For neither of us will relax until you are safe. Agreed, Orin?"
Orin's shoulders quivered. The back of his head nodded.
"You promise to return for him?" I asked.
"I promise. He saved your life. I owe him." Delano pulled the car keys out of the ignition and tucked them into his pocket. "Sam, however, can suffer a long walk home."
Shadows curled around my feet and climbed my legs. "I apologize now," Delano said, hitching up the Carhartts. "You lack the night magic needed to make this trip comfortable." Cold shadows slithered along my hips, my torso, my shoulders, coating me like a cocoon. I felt a sucking sensation, as if I wobbled on the edge of a black hole. Orin darkened in front of me, the shadows inhaling his sunlight, gobbling him up. He faced me as the fake night engulfed the world. The sun is setting, I thought, and my heart started to race. This is happening too fast! I might never see Orin again, this might be our forever-goodbye. I wanted to shout to him. Tell him how much he meant to me, how he was more than a guide, more than a friend. I wanted to embrace him, fold his sunshine into my pocket. I wanted to keep him always at my side, even if it meant a lifetime of fear and struggling and uncertainty. Anything to keep his warmth in my life, anything to keep basking in his glow.
Orin's eyes glimmered in the gloom like the waters of a lost paradise. Then the black hole sucked me in and there was only darkness.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Water woke me from somewhere in the distance, dripping slow and steady onto stone.
Pip ... pip ... pip ... pip ...
I stretched in the warm nest of quilts and comforters; my hands wormed beneath a heavy pile of feather pillows. My neck was swollen and tender; swallowing made me wince. An oil-lamp hung off a bedside hook. I blinked in its soft light and tried to gather my bearings. Dirt walls touched three sides of the four-post bed, planked sparsely with rotting boards. Timber beams were lain like picket fencing to hold the seven-foot earthen ceiling. The air was stale, with a cool hollowness which reminded me of sweaters and late October nights. Beyond the foot of the bed loomed a wall of darkness.
I sat upright in a gray, plush bathrobe. I pressed the thick collar to my nose, smelled Delano in the threads. The oil-light flickered, scurrying shadows along the walls like mice. Shelves were carved into the dirt, lined with fur and crammed with books, papers, bundles of ribbon-bound photographs, a scattering of gold nuggets. But despite the soil and rotting boards, the bedroom lacked the dankness of dungeons and basements. The walls whispered about aging wines, hidden treasures, secret societies. Its coziness kept claustrophobia away.
The oil-lamp cast a halo around the bed then gave up, its wick no match for the gloom. My skin tingled. The light hinted of mysteries inside the darkness, of magic and new beginnings. I stood up and held the lamp out toward the boundless darkness. Railroad tracks led from beneath the bed, cutting straight into the black. Bricks had been laid between the rails, creating a pathway, cold and rough beneath my bare soles.
I found a kitchen several feet to the left, hardly bigger than a cubbyhole, with two rickety cupboards, a sink, and a one burner camp-stove. Shelves were dug into the wall, lined in clay tiles and stacked with mismatched mugs and dishes. A tiny, round table stood in the corner, set with a single, woven placemat and an empty bud-vase. A mobile of antique keys and locks hung above, its silver teeth casting orange stars in the lamplight.
The bricked railroad led me to an open roll top desk, teeming with journals and books, a laptop, Sam's car keys sealed in a jelly jar. Delano slept in an office chair beside the desk, his legs curled up onto the seat, a rolled towel pressed between his ear and shoulder for a pillow. The sleeves of his burgundy dress-shirt were rolled up, exposing blue stitches on his left forearm. He blinked awake when the light passed over his face.
"Hello, changeling." Delano smiled and stretched his legs. When I had first met him, his eyes had been two full moons. Now they were clipped red fingernails, nearing the end of a cycle, readying for a new phase.
"Where are we?" I asked, my voice raspy.
"An abandoned gold mine." Delano winced when he stood up, clenching his side. "It's not much, admittedly. But it is home."
I remembered the abandoned coal mine back in Ohio. My safe haven when the world felt too threatening. I snorted, amused. "A mine?"
Delano blanched; his scythe eyes widened. "I know it seems in bad taste because of the Realm," he blurted. "But it's safe from faeries and deep enough in the Earth to keep the darkshine away." He scowled as he rolled down his sleeves. "Tsk! It's a damn mess, too. I—"
"Stop!" I set the lamp on the desktop, then clasped his wrist and pulled him to face me. Water pipped in the dark. "You misunderstand. I love it. Really." Delano's shoulders relaxed. "How long have I been unconscious?"
"A day," he said. His nose wrinkled. "But at least you fared shadow-transport better than the mockingbird. He had way too much light."
My heart winced. "How is Orin?"
"He will wake up, eventually. Fortunately, the rebels accepted him eagerly." Delano shrugged. "At least he was unconscious when they reset his nose."
"Do you think he'll be safe?"
Delano tapped his fingertips together. "Well, he will be healed, fed, and strengthened. Given work, security, and purpose. But safe?" Delano shook his head. "None of us are safe. War is coming. I smell it like rot in the walls. And the Realm will triumph if the rebels don't organize, or if the darklings refuse to fight as Gethen and Melinda proved with their lives."
I frowned. "You sound as if we have already lost."
"No," Delano said. "Darklings are angering. Mockingbirds are starting to find their voices, sing their own songs. We have a chance."
Water dripped in the darkness. Pip ... pip ... pip ... pip ... I rubbed my arms.
"But never mind what may come," he said. "I have more pressing matters right now."
"Such as?"
"Such as I need to get thousands of bats back into hibernation." Delano chuckled, bitterly. "That ... will be difficult."
"Can I help?"
His eyebrow raised. "Do you want to?"
I nodded, smiling.
His
face lit up with joy. Then fell. "If you use night magic, you will slip further toward the darkshine and will never return should you cross."
"I know."
"Your life will be dark and cold and thankless. You will never have children or feel the sunlight on your face. You will be hunted relentlessly, and if I should die, an army will do whatever is necessary to assure you remain alone." Delano smiled, both loving and sad, and brushed his fingers through my hair. "A darkling's path does not lead to the happily-ever-after of fairytales."
"No, but it is the path I was intended for." I clasped his hand, and together we stepped toward the darkness. "And I'm ready to see where that path leads."
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CHAPTER ONE
Our eyes locked, and her grip tightened on the bowie knife's hilt. Her left eyebrow was split, her fair hair clogged with pine needles and sap, her tense posture revealing her indecision. Fight or flee? She stood twenty feet away, her face striking and wild and fierce, the embodiment of the Sierra Nevada mountains. Yet she glared at my cream cardigan and Levi jeans in the dying sunlight as if I was the savage.
The coyote at my side bared his teeth at the faerie in a silent snarl. I patted his head. Easy, boy.
Starvation had eaten away her breasts. Her patched, pleated skirt hung off doorknob hips, and a single blue bead was tied to the end of her bootlace. Pointed ears stuck out from hair which looked as if it had been hacked off. Which it probably had been. Fae hair fetched top dollar for rebels with empty pockets and no room for vanity. Still, she had a faerie's warm, svelte beauty, though history hardened her youthful face like amber.
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