The Seelie King

by Heather Killough-Walden

  This was not a place to heal.

  The room was empty save for a single metal table and a few cabinets. There was a door that led from the office on the other side of the room. Selene could feel Avery close on her heels as she moved through the room to the other door.

  When she neared the exit, the cold stillness of the air around her was marred, sliced through erratically by disturbing noises. They grew louder the closer she got, until she was grasping the handle and yanking it open, suddenly filled with an overwhelming need to hurry.

  “Hurry!” she cried, rushing out into the clean air beyond.

  The door led to a block of cement stairs, which opened out into vast desert land, dry and undecorated but for the immediate area, which was damp and littered with old dog food, feces, and hose water. Fifty feet away, a shed had been erected. It was from within this shed that the sounds were coming.

  The sounds were faint and fraught, composed of desperate high-pitched whining, the clamor of claws scraping against metal, and bone-deep, soul-reverberating cries that felt… unimaginable.

  “They’re dying!” Selene pushed away from the steps, running with everything she had to the door of the shed. The shed was composed of particle board and metal siding and was devoid of windows or openings of any kind. The door was barred from the outside with a single metal latch, thick and sturdy. Rubber strips had been placed over the seams around the door, further muffling the sound and adding to the ominous appearance of the small, nondescript building.

  Selene slammed the metal bar up and swung the door wide. She had been expecting smoke, perhaps, or a terrible chemical smell, or a scene of butchery and blood.

  But she was instead greeted with three small metal doors opening into what she assumed were three separate, medium-sized metal boxes. No smoke, no chemical smell, no blood. The whining and crying was now un-muffled, and they were accompanied by the sound of air whistling, as if through an air conditioner.

  “It’s carbon monoxide,” said Avery, nodding to the metal boxes. “They’re being gassed.”

  Selene was well aware of this practice. She and her friend, Diana, were enormous opponents to the barbarism. “I know!” she cried as she knelt before the middle box and wrapped her hand around the latch that kept it shut. The small door jiggled every now and then, jarring against its casements as the animals on the other side slammed their bodies upon it in attempts to free themselves.

  Avery’s hand wrapped itself over hers and squeezed, stilling her motions. Selene looked up. “Let go!”

  “Use your magic, Selene.”

  “What?! Why?!”

  From behind them, out in the open space beyond the small shed, came shouting. Someone had discovered them.

  Avery glanced over his shoulder, and then knelt beside her. His green eyes flashed, again appearing for a moment to glow.

  Selene’s heart pounded.

  “Even if you get these open in time,” he told her quickly, “you’ll wind up breathing the gas yourself. Some of these animals are poisoned beyond reason, and many are unconscious. You’ll never get them out of those chambers before they die, and you’ll poison yourself trying. When you wake up – if you wake up – you’ll be facing charges.”

  Selene glanced over Avery’s shoulder to see two shelter workers very speedily headed their way. One looked to be armed and was even wearing a uniform.

  I’m going to get shot.

  “I don’t know what to do!” she hissed, feeling the suffocating pressure of time as if it were a poison in the air itself.

  “Yes, you do.”

  “No I don’t! I wish I did!”

  *****

  Avery hadn’t known what to expect, not really. He’d figured whatever fae power Selene possessed would eventually show itself as they exacted their revenge, and he would know. He thought this would be… a game of sorts.

  He wasn’t the kind to play games, not normally. But the Unseelie darkness working its way through him was giving him a new perspective. And he was starting to realize it wasn’t all that bad. What was wrong with having a little fun, after all? He was just as disgusted by so many aspects of the mortal world as Selene appeared to be. He’d always wanted to set some things right. But the fae had mandates, set down so very long ago, preventing his kind from interfering with mortals in any way that would really make a difference. Certainly, some of his kind played tricks now and then. Some even interacted with humans, and that wasn’t necessarily strictly forbidden. But mortals went about their business, were engaged in their businesses and battles, perished in their diseases and their wars, and the fae continued without them. Separate.

  There was no higher purpose to it, no reason. It was simply that humans to the fae were… rather like insects were to humans.

  Did mortals involve themselves in the politics of worms?

  Only now, Avery honestly felt a little differently. Perhaps it was the dark fire of his brother’s blood. Or maybe, just maybe, it was Selene. Maybe his queen was getting to him, because he couldn’t have cared less about fae tenets in that moment; he’d thrown them out the window the moment he’d laid eyes on her. He wanted to know what kind of fae his bride was, and she wanted to get even with the world. Why not combine them and kill two birds with one stone?

  So he’d brought her back into her world and waited to see what she would do.

  But now…. Well, now he wondered why the hell it had taken him so long to figure her out.

  Everything made sense now. It all fell perfectly into place.

  Her final spoken words in that tiny death chamber mirrored the request of her soul, a cry from the very core of her spirit. I wish I did.

  I wish.

  It was all that was needed. It was all that was necessary to reveal her true self, not only to him, but to her. Those two words would set her free: I wish.

  Time froze around them. Their pursuers were literally paralyzed mid-stride. The dogs stilled in their death cries. The air stopped hissing. Everything stopped – and Avery slowly stood.

  Selene gazed up at him, stunned and breathless.

  Very slowly, her gaze slid from his and zeroed in on the men outside. A beat passed. Another. Then she, too, stood. She glanced back at the three metal doors behind her. Her eyes were wide, her cheeks flushed. She looked back at the men. And then at the doors again. And finally, her wide-eyed confusion settled once more on Avery.

  “What have I done?”

  “What you are meant to do. You’ve made a wish.”

  “I think…,” she said softly, “it would be the understatement of the century if I told you I was confused.” She looked around. “I… I don’t understand.”

  Avery smiled. He couldn’t help it. The situation was fragile and fantastically important, and he should be taking it very, very seriously. But he felt drunk. Her kind were supposed to be extinct. At the very least, they were more precious than anything most fae living today had ever encountered. They were, in fact, sacred.

  “You’re a Wish Faerie, Selene Trystaine. You have but to wish for something with all your heart, to want it with your very soul,” he paused, finding himself overwhelmed, in awe, and perhaps… a little bit in love. He shook his head, bewildered with the beauty and marvel that was his queen. “And it will come true.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “You were not to touch the woman,” Ophelia hissed. “The wolf only. The Healer was not supposed to be harmed!”

  “We did what we had to do,” said the vampire. His fangs were pronounced, his clothing was torn, and she could smell Dannai Caige’s blood on his clothing. He was lucky she couldn’t smell it on his breath. “Three of us died at his hands before we’d finished the job.”

  Disgust boiled up inside Ophelia. Contrary to what most of Dannai Caige’s ilk would think of Ophelia, the truth was, she bore no ill will toward the Healer. The opposite, in fact.

  Lily Kane was but a glorified fortune teller. Malcolm Cole, the author, reminded Ophelia far too much of Evelynn
e D’Angelo. There were dozens of wolves Ophelia would have felt nothing about see killed, and she might have even reveled in it. But, Ophelia respected Dannai Caige. She respected a person who actually did good in this god-forsaken world. And… admittedly, she had also selfishly hoped that one day, somehow – Dannai might help Ophelia.

  Help her remove the scars.

  And the pain.

  “Will she live?” she asked now, not able to even look at the vampire who had aided in the Healer’s demise. “Will her children?”

  “The infants were untouchable,” said the vampire. “They are protected somehow. We could not even get near them.”

  “No, you could only kill their mother while they watched.”

  To this, the vampire said nothing. Which was, perhaps, the worst thing he could have done because it affirmed Ophelia’s fears.

  “She’s dead, then.”

  “She was not breathing when we left her.”

  It was a long time before she could bring herself to speak again. When she did, it was in a very, very quiet voice. “Hopefully the other healer among them will save her.” She was referring to the newest healer to be found, the one who had become the Goblin Queen, and consequently one of the women who were the ultimate focus of Rafael’s master, Kamon Re. Kamon wanted the queens for some reason. Ophelia wasn’t privy to the details.

  The vampire said nothing more, and she dismissed him with a wave of her hand. It was not until she was alone in her chamber that she sat down and released a shaky breath.

  Her body hurt.

  Vampires, or Offspring, were capable of many things. Being the progeny of warlocks and Akyri had its advantages. What they could not accomplish through sheer brutal strength, they were normally capable of handling through magic.

  However, she had not come about vampirism in this manner. She was not the child of an Akyri and a warlock. She had once been mortal. And the vampire who had made her had taken not only her life, but her freedom. Her freedom to go where she wanted, be what she wanted, and most of all, to exist without pain.

  Something he reminded her of on a nightly basis.

  Ophelia gritted her teeth, feeling her fangs pierce her lips as she tried to sit up straight and her dress caught on lines of fresh scabs across her back. Magic – a warlock’s magic – saw to it that these wounds did not heal with her vampire blood. He would have it no other way.

  And now that Jesse Graves, the Werewolf Overseer, had all but officially declared war on Rafael’s vampires, Rafael was sure to be in a worse mood than usual. The only thing that relieved this mood, the only thing that brought him comfort or release, was seeing Ophelia’s blood run beneath his expertly cruel machinations.

  Ophelia closed her eyes and placed her head in her hands. She was in need of a healer now more than ever.

  Blood, she thought. Why was it that with vampires, it always came down to blood?

  At least she’d managed to start her war.

  *****

  “It will require your blood,” said Lily. “I’m afraid it has to be yours because only your bloodline can open the door to the West Side.”

  Dannai focused her thoughts, focused her physical body as she had never had to do before. She tried so hard to pay attention to what Lily was saying. It was so important; she knew this.

  But it was like having to force yourself to breathe, or physically control the beat of your own heart. The muscle movement no longer felt involuntary. She had to make it happen, she had to force it to go on, or the emotional pain that spread throughout her chest, throughout everything that went deeper, would bring her vital functions to a screeching halt and she would cease to live.

  It was that bad. It hurt that much.

  The only thing she could see when she closed her eyes was the red and black image of her husband in pieces.

  Every nerve ending in her tortured body, and every spiritual nerve ending in her mutilated soul responded to that vision as if it were pain made carnate. She wanted to sleep. She needed to sleep. She just wanted oblivion.

  But this – this now, this singularly important thing that Lily Kane was telling her – was a kind of bridge over the chasm of her misery. It was a make-shift bridge, composed of ropes and knots that stretched shaky and uncertain, but it was a way across at least, and it was all that she had.

  Because in the end, no matter how life-alteringly hard it was to admit it, she needed to breach that canyon. Despite the agony, she had to go on living.

  For her children.

  “One drop per pendant, that’s all it will take,” Lily instructed softly, gesturing to the medallions that were still draped over the tiny necks of Dannai’s twin babies.

  Dannai felt everyone around her watching in stark silence as she moved to the bassinet where her children lay sleeping. The spell that kept them asleep right now was Lalura’s magic, and Dannai was grateful for that tiny but significant boon.

  Those of their circle and their kings or mates who had not yet gone to find the attackers, looked on in quiet uncertainty as Dannai lifted the knife to prick the fingers of one hand. Of all the gazes upon her, the weight of Lalura’s was the heaviest. But to Danny, even those eyes were seeing her through a veil. It was a film of unreality, and just then, she felt it would never clear away.

  She didn’t even feel the pain of the blade as it slipped past the barrier of her skin and into the capillaries beneath. There was literally no sensation as the liquid welled up. She watched it form a thickening bead of red before she lowered her finger to the gold ankh around her nearest twin’s neck. Jazarah’s tiny nose twitched in her sleep at the touch, but otherwise she remained deeply embedded in her spell of sleep. Danny squeezed her finger, leaving a single drop of blood on the pendant.

  “Good,” said Lily, who was visibly shaking a little where she stood beside Danny to guide her through the process outlined in her vision. “That’s enough. Now do the same with Kavanagh.”

  Kavanagh was Danny’s other twin and Jazarah’s brother. He, too, wore a single ankh pendant around his tiny neck. Danny placed a second drop of blood on the ankh, then she stepped back, lowering her hand. The silence stretched for several seconds.

  “The doorway to the Duat can only open with the key,” said Lily.

  Danny glanced at her. The Seer shrugged and looked helpless. “That’s what he told me,” she said. “Your fath-…. Amon Re, I mean. He said the door opens with the key, and the key has been and always will be in the words.”

  “In Egyptian mythology, Re used words to create the universe,” said Imani softly. “He made the heavens, the earth, the passage of the stars, and the underworld, by simply speaking their names.”

  “There is much power in names,” said Lalura. It was the first time she had spoken in some while. It was all she said; she offered no further explanation, and her expression brooked no explanation either.

  Danny blinked. She was vaguely aware that when she did, it made her cheek wet.

  “You need to say these words,” Lily instructed. She spoke a series of words in a language unfamiliar to Danny and those around her.

  Almost.

  They were almost unfamiliar to Danny. In actuality, they reminded her of words spoken in a dream, vague and foggy, and garbled as if through water or faded by extreme passages of time.

  Still feeling numb and detached, Danny repeated the words. She began hesitantly, but as the syllables formed on her tongue, she gained confidence and spoke each word with perfect inflection. She even unconsciously corrected the mistakes Lily had unwittingly made.

  And as she spoke these words, most unexpected of all, she found she understood them. They were as her father had said. They were the key.

  With each sound, the way became more clear.

  This world was the mortal world, and across the river, beyond the end of the sands, lay the Duat. It was the second world. It was the underworld. It was the great rest and a new beginning.

  Every being in the mortal world was reproduced th
ere. They were doubled – twinned.

  Dannai possessed an equal body in the Duat. For now, it lay empty and waiting. According to the Egyptian custom, when Danny died, she would need to be mummified. It was the mummification process, in honor of the first mummification Isis had performed upon her love, Osiris, that would free the soul from the body of the dead and allow it to enter the Duat.

  In the Duat, her second body, also known as her ka, would receive the spirit that left Danny’s body in this realm. It would then become animated. And she would be reborn.

  That was where Lucas’s other body waited. There was no spirit to fill it. No mummification had been performed. It waited, unanimated and empty, on the West Bank of the realms.

  Dannai had only to open the doorway to that second world. That was the easy part. Osiris and Anubis guarded the underworld. Passage through their realm was forbidden to all but the gods – and the dead.

  Danny was neither. Not as far as she was concerned, anyway. She felt dead inside at that moment. But thanks to Diana’s magic, she was yet flesh and bone. And her parents’ blood ran through her veins, so technically she was a god. But she felt too much. She moved in a daze. Gods were not supposed to feel. They were supposed to sit somewhere up high and mighty, far from empathy and “interference,” and do nothing but judge.

  She felt small.

  Danny finished the words nonetheless, and looked up when the air across the room began to shimmer. A wave of heat washed out from beyond the warping portal. It felt good. She normally didn’t care for heat. But she was cold inside, and it felt dry and warm, and it relit a fire that had been freezing inside her.

  “This is everything you should need,” said Charlie Cole, whose real name was Claire but who went by Charlie as far as her friends were concerned and had for as long as she could remember. Charlie handed Danny a leather backpack, inside which the lot of them had placed all of the items Lily had asked for earlier. They were necessities – to help Danny through the portal and into the Land of the Dead.