I gasp and jerk back. My fingers slip through the dead grass roots with the sudden movement, and I fall, landing on a fern with an oomph.
The air whooshes from my lungs, and I have to focus on trying to breathe as threads of the silver webbing float down. A creak sounds from above, and Faelan appears in shadow, his predatory form crawling over the edge of the structure. He perches there for a second, searching with glowing eyes, then he spots me. He hops down, landing in a crouch like a bronze Tarzan.
I gape at his body as he stands.
Yep. He’s naked. Nay. Kid.
Heat washes through me as the vision of him sears my brain. I’m torn between wanting to scrub my memory of the sight and wanting to drool over it for the rest of my life. Why did I have to be the curious ditz?
A growl reverberates from him, and the branches above fill with the sound of leaves rustling and birds screeching.
I look up and spot several bright blue jays fluttering over my head, squawking and cawing like mad. They swoop down one at a time, like they’re trying to scare me.
One of them zips closer in a rush, beating its wings at my face.
I scramble away and swing at it, but another one pecks my shoulder, drawing blood. Still another gets its talons into my hair, yanking.
My palm smacks the tiny body as I swat at the air, sending it reeling. I growl right back at the birds, at Faelan who’s stepping closer—but before he can reach me, I stagger to my feet, stumbling for the door, flinging it open, tumbling out, and slamming it behind me.
Something hits the wood with a thunk, and I find myself hoping one of the blue jays just gave itself a concussion.
I lean against the door and slide to the ground, trying to catch my breath.
Maybe I should be worried that naked Faelan will come after me, but I can’t seem to focus on anything but oxygen right now.
Note to self: the safest Faelan is an unconscious Faelan.
The sound of someone clearing their throat interrupts my thoughts. I look up and see Aelia leaning against a tree several feet away.
“So, are you happy with everything you’ve seen?” she asks, obviously annoyed.
I give a jerky nod.
She breathes out a tired sigh and steps closer. “And now you’re a mess again.”
“What the hell was all that in there?” I ask, done with her weirdness. “I think he made birds attack me. And he was naked! And covered in these spiderwebs, sleeping in some sort of—” I move my hands, searching for the right word to describe it.
“A nest,” she fills in, giving me an irritated look.
“Yes! A nest.” The idea sends a shiver through me, the vision of him cocooned with that girl, curled up with her, then his body crawling over the edge . . . “What kind of thing is that guy?”
“It’s super rude to ask that, you know,” she says.
So I’ve heard.
“I really can’t believe you interrupted his hibernation—not cool. Now I’ll have to put him and Niamh back under, and that will cost me. And you.”
“Cost what?”
“Power? Energy? Gods, girl, keep up.”
Is she kidding? None of this makes any sense.
She steps closer and points at me as she steps over my legs to get to the door. “You’re going to owe me some juice.”
I shake my head. “I have no clue what that means.”
She rolls her eyes and then bends so she’s more at my level. “Look, sweetie, this is so not my job, but I’ll lend you a hand, okay? You burned our resident hunter nearly to a crisp.” She points at Faelan’s door and raises an accusing brow at me. “You got that?”
When I nod, she continues, “Well, that mess forced his mind—or consciousness or whatever—to retreat, to protect itself and his power, which is why he nearly ripped your head off back in your cottage, and probably sent a few sharp beaks your way a second ago. Right?” She pauses again, like she wants me to agree or something, so I nod once more. “Okay, so then, in order for him to heal and allow his power to fully restore itself, he has to be all dormant and whatnot for a period of time near a power source—Faelan gets his energy from life, things that grow, and Niamh is a pixie who grows things. Got it?”
When I frown, still not fully wrapping my head around the crazy, she closes her eyes and rubs her temple like she’s getting a headache. “Oh, my freaking gods,” she mutters. And then she says, “So, like, when a creature of Faelan’s ilk goes under, they have to pair with a compatible underling. Niamh, as a pixie, is the closest thing we have to an earth faerie. Therefore she’s the chick who picked the short straw—even though an alfar would’ve been better. Buuuut,” she draws out the word, “now I’ve gotta go in there and use a spell to put him back to sleep so he can finish healing—and so he doesn’t do anything too deadly in his subconscious state.” She stands again and combs her fingers through her hair. “Is that all simplistic enough for you?”
It’s funny, but she actually used a few big words in that explanation. From the conversation we had in her room, I wouldn’t have thought the girl owned a book. I assumed she was about as deep as a desert puddle.
I nod at her again, even though I’m pretty clueless. Will I ever understand this strange world I’ve been pulled into? The thought of running away from it all rolls through my mind again, but where would I go? And apparently I’m not safe around people—regular people who can’t heal by wrapping themselves up with pixies or drinking blood. If I burned down half a house in only minutes, in this supposedly protected place, who knows what I’d do out there. I need to get this under control. I need to understand what I am. Either that or I need to go hide in a mountain cave, like a monk, so I can’t hurt anyone.
For now, I’ll just steer clear of Faelan. Which leaves the vapid Aelia as my companion and clarifier. And she’s even less helpful than Faelan was. I can only hope that Marius will have actual answers when he comes to dinner tonight. That can’t happen soon enough.
TWELVE
SAGE
We’re sitting on the couch in the den, within sight of the dining room and the entry hall, waiting for Marius to come home. Aelia is looking at her nails like the secret of the universe might reside in her cuticles. I’m trying not to let the avalanche of questions in my head crush my brain. The uniformed maids are going back and forth between the kitchen and the dining room to set the table.
I’m more than a little relieved when I hear footsteps echo from the back hall. Marius enters the room, and Aelia leaps from the couch and tackles him in a hug.
“Daddy!” she squeals like a little girl. She leans away to look at him and asks, in all seriousness, “What’d you bring me?”
He pulls her close again and kisses the top of her head. “Well, my Lia, I found some lovely Russian nesting dolls.”
She droops. “I wanted Prada.”
“They belonged to the last czar’s daughter. A secret note was hidden inside, written in his own hand.”
She pulls from his arms. “I still say lame.”
He chuckles. “Of course you do. Perhaps next time I’ll find something satisfactory.”
“How long will you stay with us?” she asks.
“Only for dinner. I have work to do.” He looks up at me. “How are you settling in, young Sage?”
Aelia answers for me. “She’s fine.”
Before Marius can ask me to elaborate, a woman enters the room, and he turns to smile at her. I’m a bit surprised—I didn’t realize anyone else was in the house, besides the cook and maids. She walks over to his side and presses into him, kissing his cheek softly. “My love, we’ve missed you.” Her hair is long and golden blond, and her dress is like something out of a glamorous nineteen-fifties style magazine, tightly fitted and glittery with a slit on the side that reaches nearly to her hip. Is she having dinner or going to a casino? “Do you really have to go so soon?”
“I’m afraid so,” Marius says, then he motions to me. “Have you met our new arrival, my dear?”
The blond woman flashes me a glance but doesn’t fully look at me. Instead, she turns and searches the space behind Marius like she’s expecting someone to come in after him. “Well, sure, but where is that young man you said would be joining us? The one with the blue tattoos?”
Aelia rolls her eyes. “Gods, Mom.”
Marius frowns at the blond woman—his wife?—like he doesn’t understand. Then he looks to me again. “Is Faelan not here for dinner?”
I consider how to explain. “Well, he—”
Aelia cuts me off. “He’s resting. Big day with the newborn and all. Training and whatnot.” She hooks her arm into his. “Let’s eat, Daddy. I’m starving.”
I glance sideways at Aelia and try to figure out what’s going on. Why is she lying? And should I let her? Aelia is the last person on earth I want to side with, but Marius seems pretty powerful—I don’t want him to think I’m against him in any way.
When we’re all sitting around the table and I see the family together, my stomach turns sour. I’ve seen a lot of different family dynamics over the years, living in too many foster homes, some with legitimate kids mixed in with the loaners, and some with a full gaggle of bastards and orphans clustered together in less space than these people would probably give to a dog. But this trio takes the cake with the tension and weirdness.
Obviously, the blond woman is Marius’s wife and Aelia’s mother, but the only life or awareness she’s shown was when she perked up about Faelan. Since then, she’s defaulted into some sort of Stepford woman. It’s a lot creepy. Those vacant eyes and perfectly curved smile—it’s like someone told her to grin three weeks ago, and it’s still there, stuck on her face.
Her name is Barbara, and there is a resemblance in Aelia—the same nose and cheekbones. And perfectly glossy hair.
Marius is at the head of the table. He’s wearing a white dress shirt and gray slacks, like he just came out of a business meeting. Over the past several minutes he’s made small talk with Aelia and let her chat his ear off about some event she’s planning. I have to give the man credit: he seems genuinely interested. A careless observer might think he’s pleased with his fake wife and vapid daughter, but my guess is he’s only got that stoic look on his face because he knows that he’ll be leaving us all behind in a half hour or so.
At one point he clears his throat and directs his words to me. “How are you settling in so far?” he asks. He cuts into the thick steak on his plate, the center of it a bloody red. He glances up at me as he takes a dripping bite, waiting for an answer.
I push a piece of lettuce with my fork and try to think of a way to answer him and not lie. Luckily, I’m practiced in half-truths. “I’ve been resting, mostly. And hanging out with Aelia.”
“You two seem to be getting on well,” he says, surprise in his voice.
“Well, of course, Daddy,” Aelia says. “She’s beyond special. A real princess.” It’s an odd thing to say. And she gives me a look that has some sort of hidden message in it, but I can’t tell what it is. Don’t dime me out, maybe? Is she bribing me with flattery? She’s picked the wrong girl for that.
“I have a lot of questions,” I say. “When will I get them answered?”
He takes another bite of steak, and his brow dips a little in confusion. “Faelan is here for such things, to teach you and guide you. And once the arrangement is final, he’ll also be your protector.”
“Final? What arrangement?”
The corner of his mouth turns down on one side. “Has he spoken to you at all about the ceremony?”
My head pulls back. Not liking the sound of that. “Ceremony? What the hell’s that mean?”
Marius turns to his daughter and asks in a low voice, “Where is Faelan, Aelia?”
She coughs, choking on her sip of wine. “I told you, he’s sleeping.”
His gaze narrows.
She does a very convincing shrug, making it all seem like none of her business. “As if I know anything, Daddy. You and your brigade of men are the ones who fix all this stuff.” She takes another sip of wine and focuses on her plate.
He draws in a breath, then asks me, “What have you and the hunter spoken of?”
“I, uh . . .” The vision of Faelan’s naked body climbing over the rim of the nest flashes through my head again. I swallow hard and try to blink it away. Have we even talked at all? But then I remember: the car. We talked in the car. “He, well, he told me about you. How you’re the son of, um . . . a sea god.” And I already forgot the name. Great. This is why I should’ve paid attention in World Civ. “And he explained how your world and the human world overlap. How my mother was the goddess Brighid. My whole life’s been a lie. And all that stuff.”
Marius waits, like he’s thinking I’ll say more, but I’ve given him everything I can remember. That I can tell him.
“I see,” is all he says. And I swear that the air chills, the hair on my arms prickling.
“Did you know that an avocado has fat in it?” Barbara pipes up.
Every eye at the table moves to her—she hasn’t said a word since we sat down.
“Why would the trainer order me to add one to my shakes? I’m telling you, that’s the extra three hip pounds. I just can’t peel them off.” She shakes her head, the strange faux smile clinging to her lips. Maybe the plastic face is because of Botox or something.
“Enough with the three hip pounds, Barb,” Aelia mutters.
Barbara reaches out and places a hand on Marius’s arm. “I only wish you would help me, dear. Can’t you do one of your manipulation spells or whatever it is? I know you’ve done it for your other wives, I’ve seen the pictures of—”
Aelia drops her fork on her plate. “The cursed three pounds aren’t going anywhere, Barb, because they’re in your head.”
Barb’s stiff features shift into an offended slant. “You’ll live three hundred years without a blemish, Aelia. The least you could do is have a little pity on your mortal mother.”
“Enough,” Marius says, his voice low with warning. “Both of you.”
The women give a silent response to each other, squinting their eyes and pinching their lips together, then they return to their plates.
Marius waits an extra beat before taking another bite of steak. He chews for a few tense seconds and then focuses on me again. “Faelan has disappointed me. He’s told you very little.”
“No, he’s done fine,” I say, quickly. It’s my fault the guy’s out of it. “I never did that good in school. The student role isn’t my best look. I’ve got crap focus.” Which isn’t really true; I actually managed a tolerable 3.0 most of the time, in spite of how rarely I made it to class, but he doesn’t have to know that.
Marius raises an eyebrow. “His task for the day was not complicated. All he needed to do was inform you of the ceremony. Apparently this never came up?”
“We’ve barely seen each—” I start to say before I realize I’m officially a snitch. First I put him in a coma, and now I’m throwing him under the bus. “I mean . . . there was so much talking. He said some stuff, lots of stuff, but maybe I didn’t hear it.”
“It’s good that you’re loyal to him,” Marius says. “But there’s no need for excuses.”
Aelia stares into the golden wine she’s swirling around her glass. “My dad’s talking about the ceremony of Emergence. It’s like a creepy birthday party. But with chanting.”
“Thank you, Aelia,” Marius says. “However, that’s not helpful.”
“Whatever. She’s not going to understand it.” She rolls her eyes. “The newblood’s been in blind-ville too long. And our resident hunter has a huge stick up his ass, so he’s not going to be straight with her.”
Barb bobs her fork in the air, a dreamy look filling her eyes at the mention of Faelan. “Last time I saw him, he seemed like a smart young man.”
“He’s not young, Mom,” Aelia says. “He’s, like, nine million years old.”
I drop my fork. “What?”
“That’s ludicrous hyperbole,” Marius says. “He was born in the fourteenth century.”
“Same thing,” Aelia says.
The fourteenth century . . . that was . . . a long time ago.
Barb almost lets the spot above her nose crinkle. “I’d say he’s quite young compared to your father.”
My gaze snaps to Marius again. I study him more closely, scrutinizing his perfect, unblemished skin. I think of Faelan . . . He’s more than seven hundred years old? He doesn’t look a day over twenty-three. How old is Marius if he looks thirty? And how does it work—are they immortal or something? Oh wow, does that mean I’m going to live hundreds of years too?
Even as the thought comes, my brain rejects it. Because if that is my reality now . . . what do I do with something like that?
“The point is that you need to understand what’s expected of you as a demi,” Marius says, breaking through my amazement. “There’s much you’ve yet to learn, and the hour is late.”
Aelia says with a smirk, “Like, three or four years late.”
“Excuse me?” What’s that mean?
“She will do fine,” Marius says. “Once the Introduction is done tomorrow evening, she’ll have a little time to learn.”
I lean forward, gripping the table. “How am I three or four years late? Late to what?”
“You’re a demigoddess,” Marius says.
Like I don’t know that already! “We covered that.”
“Normally you’d have been brought in when your magic began to surface,” he continues. “Around your thirteenth or fourteenth year is when that usually occurs. Another demi would have felt your Emergence beginning—a process that takes several years to fulfill itself—but it appears that you were cloaked or muffled in some way. I felt your magic begin to spark only three months ago. I sent the pixie and the human to watch you for a time, to see if I was sensing correctly. It was clear fairly quickly to Star what you were. And so an Emergence ceremony was requested for the next new moon. Unfortunately, that leaves very little time to prepare you. Less than I thought, if a whole day was wasted.”
That explanation certainly clarifies the last few months of my life some. But an ache blossoms in my chest when I think of the moment I met Ziggy—how I saved her from that dealer off Chatsworth. Was he a fake too? He nearly shot me—or I thought he was going to. But it was all a ploy to endear me to her. How could I have been so blind? I’m supposed to be the liar. I’m the manipulator, the survivor.
Fire and Bone Page 11
