The Seelie King

by Heather Killough-Walden

  “What the hell?” Selene muttered softly.

  The cat continued to stare. From this distance, Selene couldn’t see the color of her eyes, but she could feel their intensity all the same. The feline gazed steadily at her for a moment more, then it raised up, stretched, and turned around to begin meandering further along the path.

  Selene watched it go several yards before she glanced one last time over her shoulder, still saw no other sign of life, and decided at last to just follow the cat. What else was she going to do?

  The cat moved slowly at first, and looked back once as if to make certain she was following. Then the animal’s pacing increased, picking up speed until Selene found herself half-jogging to keep it in sight. As she moved down the trail, she noticed several things.

  The water in the canal seemed to be clearing up. Normally, it was muddied with pollution, algae, and sediment, but the further into Christ Church Meadows they went, the cleaner the water got. Selene could see through to the bottom, which had never before been the case. The canal bed was dotted with what looked like river stone, round and smooth. It was startling to Selene; she’d seen the bottom of a canal or two that had been drained, and they were always littered with beer bottles, plastic bags, and even a football or two. This?

  This isn’t right….

  The trees above, thick with their full summer branches, were still and resting in breezeless air. But it wasn’t hot any longer. Selene realized this when she noted that her head no longer hurt. Her forehead was dry, there was no prickling at her skin, and the air seemed lighter.

  The ground felt more even with every step, the holes left behind by collected rain water were lessening and evening out as she progressed. The leather soles of Selene’s boots sounded beautifully, ringing out like a message as she walked. Everything was strange around her, quiet and surreal – but she felt good. She wasn’t hot, she didn’t smell any smoke, her footing was sure. Nothing hurt.

  She felt better than she had in a long time. It was an odd thing to realize when the rest of the world seemed to have fallen away.

  The cat moved quickly now, all but running up ahead of Selene. Selene broke into a jog. She moved faster and faster, jogging, and then sprinting. The trees blurred past on either side, the wind blew wonderfully through her hair, and the snow white feline turned around a bend in the meadows that Selene wasn’t sure she recognized.

  She followed her right into it – and skidded to a dead halt.

  The cat was gone. In its place was another creature.

  It was unlike anything Selene had ever imagined. It resembled a snow white stag, tall and proud, but with horns that glistened with multi-colored gemstones from sapphire to ruby to emerald, and wound two or three feet from the top of its head. It was so blindingly bright, from its fur to its horns, that it shimmered like prisms where rays of sunlight touched it as they peeked through the treetops overhead. Its mane and tail were full and long, like those of a horse, but the hair was so fair, parts of it almost seemed translucent.

  It was an impossibility. It was stunning. It was a stunning impossibility.

  Selene stared, dumbfounded and silent.

  The beast stared back, and Selene found herself trapped in the reflective gaze of eyes that mimicked the snow in a blizzard. Flecks of light in the irises literally moved, swayed and swirled, mesmerizing and deep….

  Selene swayed once, utterly caught – and then the beast took a step back and broke eye contact.

  The universe came crashing back in around her, suddenly loud, slightly stinky, and very hot. Selene touched her hand to her forehead as her headache blossomed once more to life. She frowned, blinked, and looked back up toward the trail ahead.

  It had changed. The trail didn’t wind in the same direction that it had a moment ago. This path here, she recognized. The trees were different. They weren’t as full, and they didn’t arch as beautifully over the path as they had a moment ago. Now they were familiar as well.

  She could no longer see the bottom of the canals on either side. They were once more mucked up, a grayish, brownish green, thick and impenetrable to the human eye. A pair of ducks swam further down one of them in the distance.

  A raven alighted from a nearby tree branch and took to the skies.

  Selene heard laughter and a smattering of Chinese. A runner rushed past her, glancing at her watch. Church bells rang out from one of the plethora of chapels in City Centre.

  Selene turned around and looked behind her. St. Michael slowly pushed himself up from where he had been kneeling amongst the squirrels and wiped his hands on his white button-up shirt. Rowers sped along down the Thames, their coach sitting at the prow of their boat, issuing orders through a megaphone.

  Everything was as it had been… it was the way it had been before she’d seen the cat… and that stag. It felt like full minutes had gone by, but here and now, it seemed it had been a fraction of a second.

  Selene pulled her hair up off her neck and closed her eyes, breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth. I’m seeing things.

  I’m imagining little white cats.

  Like little white rabbits.

  Alarm raced through her. She opened her eyes. St. Michael sat down on his bench and started going through his bag again. Tidbits of swear words made their ways to Selene’s ears. “…tit twister ball waffle….”

  Maybe the stress of this place was getting to her. Maybe she was malnourished, having lived on nothing but Doritos, Diet Fanta and cream cheese bagels for a week. Maybe she was just tired. Didn’t people hallucinate if they were really tired? She’d been working very long days to meet the deadlines of orders, and sleeping sporadically, if at all. She’d been wondering for a while if she was going to just snap one of these days. And this day – of all days – would be the perfect catalyst. Her memories, her regrets, and her desires were as thick in her veins as her blood. So maybe this was all in her head.

  Selene thought of the white stag with its iridescent see-through mane and tail and its gem dust shimmering horns that climbed into the sky. Oh God, she thought. She had no idea what to believe. Had she truly imagined such a magnificent creature? She had a good imagination, but… there had been something to that vision that seemed unreachable by the human mind.

  Of course, no worthwhile maniac would admit to going insane.

  “Well,” she said softly as she released her hair and started very quickly toward the meadows exit. “If I’m going to follow Alice down that hole, I’m certainly in the right place.”

  Chapter Six

  “You’re supposed to say ‘I’m sorry!’ or ‘Excuse me!’ or something equally apologetic!” Selene had stopped in her tracks and spun around to chastise the man who had just painfully bumped into her without so much as a remorseful look before he’d kept walking. “How can you be so rude?!”

  She froze, her breathing heavy, her head pounding in time with her heart – and suddenly realized what it was she’d just done. She’d totally lost it in public, on a crowded street, and screamed at a complete stranger. Not to say he hadn’t deserved it, but that had never forced her hand before. Why now? Why was she so angry? She should be more concerned with the fact that she’d just seen some impossible sort of white stag in an oddly abandoned Christ Church Meadows. But for some reason, the stag wasn’t bothering her. Not like it should.

  It was humanity that was bothering her.

  Everyone around her stopped to look on. She could feel their surprise, right along with their sick anticipation: Would she do something else? Would it escalate? Was this about to get really exciting?

  But she was petrified in her furious stance, unable to back down now, unable to turn back time. She’d passed the point of no return.

  The man she’d yelled at had also stopped and turned around. She could see his leg twitch in the next step, ready to move on, tempted to put her and the spectacle she was creating behind him. But instead, he said in his Oxford accent, “Sorry.”

  Selene’
s gaze narrowed dangerously. “You’re supposed to mean it! Don’t you have any manners? You just bumped into me so hard, I will probably bruise!” It was true. Her left arm ached where he’d driven into her. But that wasn’t the real reason she’d spoken up. It was the principle of the thing, and the fact that so many damned people these days seemed to be utterly lacking in them.

  She fully expected him to walk off then, to roll his eyes or shake his head or even call her a dirty word and turn his back on her.

  But he surprised her again, this time by facing her fully. His expression melted from one of irritation and surprise to one of genuine concern. His eyes lightened. He took a step toward her. “I’m… I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” he asked.

  Selene frowned. At once, she felt like stepping back – so she did.

  “What?”

  The man looked at her shoulder, which she hadn’t realized she was holding. “I’m so very sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking just walking on by without even checking.” He reached out for her, his expression almost panicked.

  Selene stepped back again. “That… that’s okay,” she said, utterly confused. “I’m fine.” She blinked rapidly and added, “Thank you.”

  The man seemed hesitant to let the matter drop. But eventually, he nodded, just once, and with one final, “I’m truly sorry,” he turned back around and walked off.

  The people around Selene continued to gawk.

  She had no idea what to think about the sudden change. If she hadn’t been there experiencing it herself, she would have thought he was faking the sympathy. But she knew better. It had been genuine.

  Selene swallowed hard, looked at all of the faces, and curled her fingers into her skirt. What were they staring at? What the hell was so bloody interesting about a woman putting a man in his place? Was it so out of this world? Was it so unheard of? Did it not happen nearly often enough? Was that it? She wished the nosey bastards would all just go about their business.

  Selene rolled her shoulders back and got ready to walk through the staring crowd when, suddenly almost all at once, they began looking away. Selene’s brow arched.

  Couples began to restart conversations they’d broken off, others shifted their weight on their feet and rubbed their necks under the strain of the heat and the bus wait, and the majority of them went back to the texts they’d been busy thumbing in on their phones before Selene’s interruption.

  Within seconds, no one was looking at her any longer.

  It was exactly what she’d wished for. They had all gone about their business.

  Selene chewed on her lip and moved through them, not eliciting so much as a glance. A smile curled at the corners of her mouth. “Well,” she muttered to herself, “this day is just full of surprises.”

  *****

  “What happens now?”

  Avery fought with his eyelids, forcing them a sliver of the way open, until he could see his brother standing over him, and a few other kings beyond. He recognized them, vaguely, but that recognition was stinted by the pain ramrodding through his system.

  He heard his brother reply to the question.

  “Now I give him my blood.”

  It had come to this, then. Avery groaned inwardly. He couldn’t believe he’d allowed himself to be taken as he had. He’d been such a fool. The trap had been laid with utmost care, undoubtedly over a lengthy amount of preparation time.

  In that place Selene Trystaine most likely visited on a regular basis, despite the Goblin King’s guardians, the ambush had already been set, the noose knotted and waiting. It was laid deeper than anything else, beneath the soil, anchored within the very layers of the planet.

  It was as if they’d expected him to be there that day, to come to Trystaine’s side. He was only alive now because he’d taken the precaution of sending his knight ahead of him. Even so… the damage was so severe, the moment he’d stepped out of the portal, he’d been knocked senseless.

  There was no escaping the spell that ripped him to shreds and left him dying. He was also damned lucky that his brother, who had never been exactly trusting of Avery’s judgment, or of the world in general for that matter, had been keeping an eye on him. Cal had pulled him out of that spell just before the moment of absolute death.

  Sharp agony arced through Avery, racing up his spine, and somewhere in the distant tunnel that was all that remained of his consciousness, he heard someone scream. It must have been him. No one else had been harmed.

  Except his knight. And he had been killed outright, sacrificing his power to protect the queen – who now existed in absolute ignorance of the destructive magic that had nearly killed the Seelie King altogether.

  Avery was aware of something over him, something dark and warm. It was the presence of Cal’s spirit, the power that made the Unseelie King who and what he was.

  “Your blood? Like a vampire? No offense, D’Angelo.”

  “None taken.”

  That was the Warlock King speaking to the Vampire King. Avery recognized their voices. Jason must have been called in incase Caliban’s plan failed. Not that it would have mattered. Jason was not powerful enough to resurrect a fae king, not without that king’s queen. That had been proven with Damon Chroi.

  “Not quite,” Caliban responded coolly. “But the principle is similar.”

  Oh hell no, thought Avery. Not the blood. Latently, he fully realized what the men above him were talking about. Caliban was going to give Avery his blood.

  No! thought Avery desperately, even as he knew full well that it was the only way he would survive his injuries. He tried to object anyway, but couldn’t be sure if any sound had come out.

  Someone leaned in, that darkness spreading over him, covering him like an inky blanket. “No good deed,” Caliban whispered in his ear. The words snaked through Avery’s mind, insipid and cruel. But true. It was so horribly true. No good deed goes unpunished. He was the dying proof of it. If he hadn’t rushed in to save his queen, he wouldn’t be in this state.

  At least she’s safe, he thought. It was his sole comfort in all of this, the lifeline he clung to as he heard crackling sounds like lightning, saw colors flash and sway beyond his closed lids, and knew that the Unseelie King had opened up his own vein.

  Here it comes.

  But at least she’s safe…. Isn’t she?

  He prayed so. Now, not only from Kamon and his minions, but from him. Because he hadn’t counted on this – on Caliban giving him his blood.

  There was nothing darker than the blood of a dark fae. And Caliban was the darkest of them all. That darkness was about to enter him, sink into him, and take him over. Its power would reinforce his own magic, bringing him back from the brink of death. But it would change him as well. It wouldn’t be permanent. But sometimes, it didn’t take long to do a whole lot of damage.

  She’s safe, she’s safe, she’s safe –

  Caliban’s blood entered the deepest of his wounds, the one in his heart. It was the fastest route to his salvation… and it was the surest way to see him damned.

  One beat. Two….

  And Avery welcomed the darkness.

  Chapter Seven

  “The spell was ancient.”

  Roman’s smooth brow furrowed. “When you say ancient, do you mean the words to the spell were written long ago, or do you mean the spell was placed there long ago?”

  “Both,” said Caliban. He was standing before a solid rock wall behind which Avery, his brother, rested upon an altar of pure crystal. Caliban had merely constructed it out of thin air and magic as a temporary resting place, and consequently a makeshift prison, for the Seelie King.

  He had his back turned toward the others as he finished laying his own spell over the chamber in which the other king rested. It would lock Avery in a restorative sleep as Caliban’s blood finished its repairs on his body, and should that fail… the second spell he was going to layer on top of that one would at least keep him within the chamber. Where he could do no harm.

>   Hopefully.

  “How is that possible?” asked Roman, who waited behind him in the adjoining chamber, along with Jason Alberich and the third fae king, the Goblin King, Damon Chroi.

  Caliban seemed to give the question some consideration, which was more or less what they’d all been doing since he’d performed the scry on Avery to find him prone and sinking into unconsciousness in a field beside the river Thames earlier that day. He’d informed them that the spell that had taken Avery down was a fae spell. The signature was unmistakable.

  “I have two theories as to how the spell could have been activated and left there for Avery to find,” Caliban said as he continued to work. Roman watched the fae king’s fingers glow, strange symbols appear in the air before him only to vanish into purple or red smoke, and felt the unmistakable, powerful vibration of dark magic in the air. “It is possible that the spell was cast centuries, if not millennia ago, by a powerful fae who somehow knew exactly where Avery would be in the future. The spell is certainly old enough. And if this is the case, this fae might still be alive.”

  Caliban paused, then shrugged. “He or she might even still be young. It’s commonplace for the fae to make long-term plans in order to usurp thrones or exact revenge, so the amount of time that has lapsed is not necessarily an issue. The problem with this theory is that the spell was laid into the earth long before either my brother or I had been born, and the spell itself is a particularly cruel adaptation of dark magic, destroying its victim in an entirely painful and slow manner.”

  “You’re saying that this would appear to be personal,” Roman suggested.

  “It bears consideration,” agreed Caliban.

  “If that’s the case, it would eliminate the possibility of anyone casting it who hadn’t even met Avery,” offered Damon.

  Caliban nodded, just once, his attention for the most part on laying the spell across the temporary tomb in which his brother had been placed. “Perhaps.”

  “What’s your other theory?” Damon asked next.