“Occasionally,” Darcy said, quietly. “Mostly lies were Belial’s tools, making it seem as if he were an angel, sent to cleanse the earth of evil. It was said he would squire away the evil once it was released from the bodies of his victims. How your kind never realized what he was doing, I don’t know.”
“My kind?” Veruca asked, offended for a moment, unable to quell the insult bubbling up at being equated with these long-dead humans who killed people at the behest of a liar. Refusing for a moment to indulge in the anguish that threatened to follow at the worry that, really, she was no different, she pressed on. “The amha?”
“The Reapers,” Darcy corrected sharply. “You better than most should have been able to see what he was doing, how he was using these poor souls, keeping them for his own gain, enticing—sometimes forcing my kind to rip them from their lives so that they may be faceless, nameless, inert … things with no agency, no feeling. To be nothing but fuel for his vile rise to power.”
“How could we?” Veruca asked, tensing as if she would jump to her feet and argue her case with fists if necessary. Her heart hurt, her stomach roiled, and she was certain that if it came down to admitting to herself that Darcy was telling the truth, that her entire life may have been over. Who knew what Belial would do to her, to her family, to Finn if it came to light that Veruca had learned of his corrupt past. “He has power outreaching that of anyone short of the highest ranks of the fae. My power is nothing compared to his, and if he was even half as mighty then as he is now, it’s no wonder he was able to fool even his most well intentioned of followers. Don’t you lecture me or presume to know me.”
Darcy watched Veruca for a moment, pity coming into her eyes, her interesting face a mask of concern. Veruca couldn’t be sure but she considered that an edge of guilt may have warped her features before she lowered her face and nodded shallowly.
“He has lied to you, as he did others. The evil you have done, it has not been your fault.”
“I have not—”
“The evil you have done,” Darcy asserted, interrupting Veruca and shutting her up, “is not truly your doing. He used you as a tool. Just as a sword is not evil for killing man, neither are you. Neither am I. He led us astray with deception, and he must be stopped.”
“I don’t know that he can be stopped,” Veruca said, swallowing her rage, hoping it wouldn’t get snagged on the fluttering panic in her chest. “His reach is far, his army legion. I could not count the number of demons he employs, nor the number of Reapers, if only because of the lengths to which he goes to keep us separate from each other.”
“It is a wonder you exist at all. The queen wiped out your kind, spread your bones and blood across the earth. But perhaps your lineage was not snuffed out. I wonder how long he was forced to do evil alone before another of his kind surfaced—and how he kept the queen ignorant of the birth.”
“Another of his kind?” Veruca asked, frowning. “Belial has no peers, he is … unique.”
Darcy smirked, shaking her head. The pity was back.
“My dear Reaper, Belial is unique only in his unchecked ruthlessness. In the beginning he was but a man himself, a Reaper who pushed past the restrictions thrust upon him by his humanity and poached the souls of weaker men.”
Chapter Seventeen
Veruca could hear the blood rushing in her ears, her heart pounding in her chest, and her own ragged breathing. It was a storm in her head, lashing about, threatening to topple every structure of sanity and stability within her. Darcy was leading her into madness and, for a moment, she wanted to fight it, to lash out herself, accuse Darcy of lying, to strike at that which was attacking everything she’d been raised to believe as true.
“You all right, my love?” Finn asked, sounding a little more like himself. Wrapping an arm around her, he scooted his butt from his seat to hers, wedging himself awkwardly on the edge and slipping his hand into her palm. As always, he was a rock, steadying her in ways no one had ever been able to do before.
“I don’t know,” Veruca admitted. “If what she— If what you say is true, I can’t … go on like I have. I can’t be party… He must be stopped.”
“Now you believe it is possible?” Darcy asked quietly.
“No,” Veruca admitted, her voice hollow. “But … something must be done, something … perhaps something has already been done?” Veruca lifted her gaze to meet the banshee’s. “Perhaps—without your kind, he … his corruption has ended?”
“Has it? Does he not still take souls of the unwilling?”
“No, no,” Veruca insisted, feeling bolstered for a moment, hoping she could return to the strong, confident woman she’d been when entering Fairy so, so very recently. “He—there are contracts signed, agreements. Souls are given freely, knowingly.”
“Then he found a way to breed saps, to farm humans who know no better.”
“No,” Veruca insisted. “They are their own people, out in the world just living their lives, offered help or advantages. They give over their souls willingly.”
“After death? The humans of today are fools,” Darcy said, looking unsure. “Do they not understand what they are giving up?”
Veruca was quiet for a moment, thinking of all the lives she’d ended prematurely because a contract was signed and the person she faced understood that an early death was payment. They didn’t fight or argue, though many weren’t exactly happy with what they’d agreed to give up. Occasionally there were questions, requests for verification that time was really up, but in the end, they took the drug that was offered and let her take what was owed.
She couldn’t be sure, though, that everyone who’d met Belial’s minions and given up claim on their lives—on their souls was as easily swayed. Short of asking Belial himself, there was no easy way of knowing for sure.
“I can’t say,” Veruca said, defeated. “But banshees were banished, that had to … make things better, right?”
“Better?” Darcy demanded, offended in an instant. “Are you trying to lay blame at my feet? We were pawns the same as you! Deceived, used, and ultimately punished because the queen would rather harm her own kind than see her power base threatened.”
“Why would she banish you and not Belial? Why, if you were blameless,” Veruca insisted, regretting but not entirely able to control the accusation in her voice, “was your kind sent away? Surely, for all the talk of her power, the queen could have destroyed Belial. Why punish your kind if you did nothing wrong?”
“I can’t say,” Darcy said, unbothered by the bite in Veruca’s tone. “The king would visit sometimes, dropping into our plane of existence, occasionally apologizing for her behavior, though he would never explain it. She is the true ruler, and no one knows why she does what she does.”
“You could go to her,” Veruca suggested, though the idea of the exposure that might come from Darcy’s meeting made her tremble slightly. What would such a powerful being think of her involvement in taking lives, in stealing souls? In making Belial more powerful?
Her own ability, quiet so far as the conversation moved along, spoke up quietly, a small, devious voice in the back of her mind, whispering a notion: if it was possible for Belial to take the power of weaker men, was it also possible for her?
“No,” Darcy said, thankfully interrupting that vile voice Veruca didn’t want to acknowledge lived inside her. “I will not go to the queen. She cannot know I have been freed, else she will simply imprison me once again. Just as I will not go back to being Belial’s tool of corruption, nor will I be banished. I have long thirsted for my freedom and will not give it up.”
“Not even to stop such evil? Not even to stop the so-called Prince of Lies?” Veruca asked, shocked at the banshee’s selfishness.
“Would you?” Darcy asked, squaring off with Veruca, knowing the answer. “Would you risk your life, the lives of those you love—of your necromancer?”
Veruca couldn’t argue, the idea of Finn being put in danger stealing her breath.
Time passed, Finn keeping her grounded with gentle caresses to her arm, his thumb running over her hand here and there, though he said nothing, interjected no suggestions or pleas. Veruca wondered how long it had been since they’d begun the discussion, if it was long enough for Finn to have sobered up, or if the inhuman nature of the tea would keep him even slightly addled for the rest of the day.
Not that Veruca knew how long a day would be here in Fairy. From what she understood, time functioned strangely here, running at different speeds from earth and even at different speeds from other parts of Fairy. For all she knew, she’d head back to earth and find Donald and Benedict years older and her memory long-forgotten.
“I’m not sure what to do,” Veruca admittedly quietly. “You’ve revealed a vicious truth to me, shown me that problems exist that I have been part of, but not given me a solution. I came here thinking I would be doing a good thing to lead you back to Belial as requested, only to learn that perhaps even I cannot go back to him.”
“Well, you can’t stay here,” Ankyati announced, sauntering up casually, looking bored and regal. “It’s time to scoot, little fae spawn. And time to take the banshee with you.”
Darcy rose, nodding as if she understood something—yet another thing that Veruca couldn’t comprehend.
“You’re kicking us out?” Veruca asked, horrified. “Back to earth?”
“She cannot stay much longer. The queen’s ears are scuttling close, and if they catch even a whisper of the banshee, she’ll be banished.”
“Protect her!” Veruca insisted, horrified by the Fairy’s insensitivity, though not surprised.
“I have done so for too long. It’s your turn now, little Reaper. Back to the human world with you, before your friends miss you and wander off.”
“Benedict and Donald,” Finn said, sounding clearer, though still perhaps a little tipsy, just enough that their names seemed to surprise and delight him. “I miss those two. So nice to look at.”
“Come,” Darcy said, moving toward the river and, presumably, the exit to the human realm that lay beyond. She paused near Ankyati, looking up at her soberly. “Thank you.”
“Don’t get caught,” Ankyati warned. “By either side.”
“I almost managed before, I’ll be smarter this time.”
“You can’t just leave!” Veruca raced after her and grabbed Darcy’s arm, not sure what that would accomplish but acting on the instinct to keep her there regardless.
“Not without you, no, which is why she’s kicking you out too.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“You have mere moments to figure that out, little Reaper. Move along. The danger nears.”
“I think we’ve overstayed our welcome, my love,” Finn said gently, wrapping his arms around Veruca and leading her away from the clearing. “Come now, over the river and through the woods.”
Mind racing, Veruca let him lead her, going along as he followed Darcy through the foliage, over the soupy stream, and nearer to the doorway that would open as they approached, dumping them out into the harsh reality of the human world. As they covered the last few feet, Finn jolted.
“Ah, gimme a moment, love. I’ve got to say goodbye to my new friend.”
“Finn?” Veruca asked, turning to watch him bound back toward the river. The doorway opened, making her squint at the late afternoon light, glaring after the softness of the Fairy glade. Blinking the discomfort out of her eyes and groaning quietly at the transition, she paused, pinching the bridge of her nose as her feet settled onto the concrete.
“Well, well,” a familiar voice said, freezing her in place. “You’ve brought me exactly what I asked for.”
Veruca jerked her gaze up to Belial’s face just in time to hear the siren’s brutal scream.
****
Squinting, heroically not shying away from the slimy feeling of the kelp creature’s loving caress, Finn stepped back. The kelp monster managed to follow, petting his cheek with its gooey limb, undeterred by the slowly growing distance between them.
“Yeah, I’ll see you later, friend. Take care!” Finally getting free, Finn gave a wink—though, he had no idea if the creature could see it—and turned to make a break for the doorway. It wasn’t that far, the sliver of light from it shrinking slightly as the opening waned slightly. Worried for a moment he might miss it and be stuck in Fairy with Ankyati and her squirming pal, he hustled, diving through at what felt to his beating heart to be the last possible second.
Scrunching up his face against the sun, feeling as badass and accomplished as Indian Jones having escaped a boulder covered in snakes and poison darts, Finn came to a stop, grinning and giddy. It took a moment for the sight of Veruca on the ground to come into full focus and, when it did he only let out a confused burp of sound. Sinking to check on her, he looked wildly around in search of a reason for her position.
Belial was to his right, looking blank—an expression Finn had never expected to see on the man’s attractive, exotic face—and then the siren was down there with him, grabbing desperately for Veruca’s upper half and yelling something in Finn’s face.
“What?” he asked, worried but just as lost as Belial looked. “What’s happened?”
“Grab her! Get her!”
“What?” Finn repeated, his arms responding to the order without the rest of him really knowing why. As the siren lifted Veruca’s shoulders awkwardly off the ground, Finn grabbed for her waist, and soon they were both standing, Veruca draped uncomfortably between them.
“Now! Now!” The siren was panting, pulling backward as if she and Finn had started some sort of race where the goal was to carry Veruca over a finish line.
“Now what?” Finn asked, just as Donald yelled their way from off in the distance.
“Veruca!”
Noticing their approach, the siren gasped, the air sucking in making a quiet shrieking sound that made Finn’s bowels consider emptying into his fancy pants.
“Friends!” Finn yelped, reaching out to touch the siren’s elbow. “They’re friends! No yelling!”
She stood still, her chest puffed out with the breath she’d taken, her crazy eyes darting between Finn and Donald, who looked worried, but obviously only for Veruca. Benedict trailed close behind, his expression serious, his gaze sharp. As they closed in, he held his hands up, giving the siren the universal sign of surrender.
“What happened?” Donald asked, pressing his fingers to Veruca’s neck to check for a pulse.
“Run, run,” the siren breathed, almost silent in her panic. Figuring it was best to listen to the most powerful of them, Finn shifted his weight, hefting Veruca toward Donald. Unbothered by the fact that he was too small to comfortably carry Veruca as easily as the larger, muscular head of security could manage, he caught Donald’s eye.
“Do as the lady says, friends.”
“This way,” Benedict said, his hands still up. The siren eyed him for a moment before giving him a small nod. Immediately, he dropped his hands and turned, heading back the way they’d come, leading the small group as if his authority had never been in question.
“What happened?” Donald asked, holding Veruca close, keeping her pressed to his strapping chest gently but tightly enough that only her legs bounced and the rest of her stayed secure.
“Dunno,” Finn said, spotting the car in the store’s parking lot. They got a few confused looks here and there, but mostly people were focused on their own lives and problems. “I came out and she’d collapsed and the uh—sorry, love, I’ve forgotten your name.”
“Go, we need to go,” the siren—no, no, Finn realized, the fuzzy past clearing slightly in his mind—the banshee insisted, rather than introducing herself.
“We are,” Benedict said, opening the car door and offering her the front seat. She looked at it, completely baffled for a moment, before climbing awkwardly in as if it had been half her life since she’d done so. She jumped when Benedict slammed the door, and Finn felt a l
ittle sliver of pity root around in his chest. Mere moments passed before they were all buckled in and getting on their way, Donald still cradling Veruca to his chest like a baby.
“What’s happened?” he repeated, watching her.
Finn patted his shoulder, worried for Veruca, but perhaps still too drunk on whatever it was Ankyati had fed him to match Donald’s depths of despair.
“Where are we going?” Benedict asked the banshee as he pulled out into traffic and gunned it.
“Go, fast,” the banshee breathed. “Fast, so fast. I don’t know how long he’ll be stunned.”
“Go where?” Benedict repeated, a little more forcefully.
The banshee rolled her wild eyes to him, quiet for a moment before she winced. “Somewhere safe.”
“Safe from Belial,” Finn said, feeling little by little as if a lead tumor were growing in his chest. He didn’t remember the conversation that had happened in Fairy, couldn’t force his brain to recall even a single useful detail, but suddenly, inexplicably, he had a foul association in his mind between Belial and rape.
Benedict didn’t ask questions, just pulled out his phone and dialed a number without looking.
****
Veruca woke up relaxed with Finn at her back, but she knew before she was entirely conscious that they were not in a familiar place.
Finn’s arm was draped over her, keeping her close, but there was a looseness to his muscles that made her think he wasn’t entirely conscious either. Still, it was comforting, and some part of her fought waking up, fought the discomfort that her addled mind knew would come from giving in and coming to.
“Finn,” she mumbled, before moving or looking around. He answered immediately, though it was obvious by the lazy speech that it was habit formed by someone who liked to please, rather than a deliberate response.
“My love.”
Veruca smiled at his words, patted his hand, and repeated his name. The touch, the gentle rub of her fingers on his knuckles that followed seemed to wake him and he went tense, squeezing her close enough that she could feel that all of him had suddenly perked up.
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