Instinctively, she knew Severin was even more dangerous than usual right now. She had to understand why, so she could fix it.
“Who’s Imani?” she asked the faerie, nudging him with her toe when it seemed like he’d fallen asleep again.
His stormy eyes flickered open. They exactly reflected the sky. “I loved her, but they hated her. They killed her. So I killed them.”
Branwyn shook her head in frustration and crossed her arms over the tightness in her chest. The answer she hadn’t wanted, and no further insight into why the name had so affected Severin.
“Was she a nephil?” Rhianna asked. “His child, maybe?”
The faerie frowned. “How could she be? She came back, angry. She was… so beautifully human.”
Branwyn shivered. She’d heard something like that before from a different faerie. She hadn’t liked it then, either. She didn’t like any of this: the dead town, Severin’s peculiar reaction, or how she would have to let Rhianna and her angel deal with the culprit. He was, no question, way out of Branwyn’s league.
But she couldn’t stop thinking about how once she’d argued in favor of freeing the faeries. Once she’d declared the innocent shouldn’t be imprisoned alongside the guilty, that the guilty could be dealt with as individuals.
“Rhianna, ask him about the missing kids. I need to…” Branwyn shook her head. “I need to take a walk or something.”
Rhianna waved absently and Branwyn walked past the rose perimeter into the town. Not too far, not so far she couldn’t hear Rhianna scream. It would probably be too late by then, as it was too late now for this town. But she had to do something, or she was going to break down in a way she wasn’t sure she’d fully recover from. Severin would love it.
Severin. She could do something there. She knew she could, and if she couldn’t, she might as well fall apart, because why the hell not?
“Here I am,” she said softly. “This is a whole new brand of feeling awful and you’re not going to swing by and sample the bouquet?”
Nothing happened. The dusty ruins were still. Severin didn’t appear, and the absence was worse than she’d feared. There was nothing to distract her from the awfulness, no reason to hold back her tears except her own worthless pride.
A helpless sob choked its way out of her and she clenched her fists in her hair, pulling as if the pain could clear her heart and mind. She had to get it together, but she felt overwhelmed, surrounded as she was by the remnants of the faerie massacre.
Then Severin touched the back of her neck and said, “Shh,” just as he had earlier. Mockingly, he added, “Such a sad little voice. But hush. You’ve distracted me enough right now.”
Branwyn closed her eyes and chose not to turn around this time. Instead she swallowed her tears and focused on her balance. After a long, slow breath, she asked, “What’s going on?”
“There must be ghosts here, but I can’t find them.” His touch remained against her skin, under her hair. “I don’t like that.”
The wind picked up, dust stinging Branwyn’s cheek. A moment later, Severin’s touch faded, and she opened her eyes to see him standing in front of her, his head low as he looked at her. His gaze was inscrutable and his hands were in his pockets.
Branwyn had long ago learned that in a crisis it was never helpful for people to say, “Now what?” This felt like a crisis even though she didn’t understand why. And doing something, anything, was better than waiting around.
“Is this Imani why you came along? Or are you still hoping for some kids to eat?”
Severin’s eyes narrowed. “You aren’t encouraging me to devour children, are you? Cupcake, that’s almost… sweet.”
An almost-typical response. Full attack now. “I’m not letting you near any kids, but you’d better not try to back out of helping us now.” And the best part was, it was all true. All she wanted was his help, and for him not to eat anybody. Simple, straightforward goals.
“No,” cried the faerie. Rhianna stood over him as he struggled against the weight pinning him. Branwyn was surprised the hammer was that effective. It hadn’t hindered Severin at all when she’d tried to do something similar. Was the faerie so weak? How had he destroyed a town so quickly, so comprehensively?
Rhianna was using her phone, and apparently the faerie didn’t like it.
“No, you can’t take me away,” he shouted. Lightning jumped from cloud to cloud. “I won’t let you.”
Prickles ran down Branwyn’s back. She took a step toward her sister and Severin caught her wrist. “Wait.”
The sun slipped below the cloud layer, crimson light pouring through the narrow space between storm and night. The wind dropped and picked up again. Then, with a jangle of bells Branwyn felt more than heard, somebody stepped into the world between Branwyn and Rhianna.
“That’s enough,” he said in a voice of bronze that pressed against Branwyn the same way Severin’s aura had. Dust swirled around him, then followed him as he stepped forward, caught within the wind in his wake.
He had dark hair, and he wore an untidy black suit with the sleeves rolled up. His face was young and handsome, but celestials so often looked young and handsome that it meant nothing at all. She had no clue who he was.
But Severin did. His hand tightened on her wrist as he said, “You.”
The celestial gave Severin a half-smile. “Hello—”
“Don’t you fucking dare,” said Severin, maintaining his grip on Branwyn’s wrist. She stood at an awkward angle between him and the newcomer, and she wasn’t quite sure how to fix it without turning her back on the newcomer or executing a dance step that would leave her in a differently awkward position.
Still smiling, the newcomer said, “Whisperer? Ah, yes, Severin. I’ve protected her this long, Severin. But it can’t go on. You’re here now, so you can solve her problems. Or not, as you choose.”
“No,” howled the faerie, kicking his legs.
The celestial ignored him to add, “She’s extremely angry. And powerful. Well done.”
“I didn’t make her that way,” Severin said, and once again his voice reminded Branwyn of cracking glass.
The celestial shrugged as if it didn’t much matter who had, and went to the faerie. “If you’ll excuse me, Rhianna….”
Her eyes big and round, Rhianna stepped back with a convulsive ‘feel free’ gesture. Her phone slipped from her hand and the newcomer handed it back to her as he knelt beside the writhing figure.
Branwyn realized she’d followed the newcomer halfway back to the square of roses, hauling Severin behind her, clutching his wrist as tightly as he held hers. Her shoulder ached.
The newcomer picked up the hammer in the same absent way he’d returned the cell phone, setting it aside on the ground. Freed, the faerie scrambled to his feet and dashed behind his camp cot as if it was a safe barrier. The newcomer watched him while sitting on his heels.
“You promised you’d help us,” gasped the faerie, compulsively rubbing his chest.
“Come now, Gale. I said I’d help you for a time. But this has to end, or your Court will fall. You don’t want that.”
“I want to die,” wailed Gale. He looked around wildly and then darted south down the edge of town. He ran so quickly that there was no time to even consider chasing him.
The newcomer stood up, brushing off his jacket. “Don’t worry. He won’t leave town. Though, in fact, untangling him from Imani will be an important task if you want to preserve her.”
“Where is she?” growled Severin.
“I’ve hidden her under my mantle,” said the celestial, far too nonchalantly in Branwyn’s opinion. “I’ll remove it presently. But first—”
“Wait. Stop,” said Branwyn. “We’re going to back up here. Apparently you know all of us. But I don’t know who you are.” Then she added, “Severin, if you don’t stop holding onto me, you’re going to get more puncture wounds.”
Severin’s fingers loosened around her wrist, then tightened a
gain before he released her. She rubbed her wrist and sensed him at her back, but kept her eyes on the celestial.
He nodded at her. “Branwyn Lennox. Artificer. Mother of the artificial intelligence Titanone.” His tone was friendly, almost breezy as he voiced that final disturbing descriptor. “I am Shatiel. You helped save my children at the start of your career, and for that you have my gratitude.” He hesitated, his pleasant expression fading. “Though I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t tell their current guardians you met me. My daughters have a good family now, and I have no desire to disrupt that.”
“A deadbeat dad, eh? Well, we’ll see,” said Branwyn, her mouth on automatic. She knew exactly who he was talking about. Her thoughts went to the young twins that Marley protected. The super-rich half-fey rebel nephil Zachariah Thorne was their legal guardian. As much he annoyed her, he took very good care of the powerful children.
Shatiel’s eyebrows flew up in surprise. “I don’t think Zachariah Thorne would accept my support if I offered it. I was… rather abrupt with him the last time we met.”
Branwyn waved a hand, putting that subject aside. “All right, Shatiel. Now, who are you?”
Shatiel paused, then curled one hand around his mouth, as if pondering a hard question.
“A new experience, Shatiel?” rasped Severin. “I just bet. He’s the angels’ executioner, cupcake. Every dreamborn faerie that exists has had their name and their connection to our source severed by him. Some of my siblings, too.”
Shatiel looked beyond Branwyn at Severin, something old burning in his gaze. It was a long moment before he pulled his mouth to one side. “Well, now that’s answered. Shall we move on?”
Severin answered before Branwyn could recapture control of the conversation. “Yes. Let’s. Why did you hide Imani?”
The smile Shatiel flashed was cool and mocking. “Are you distressed, little brother? I owe you as well for your role in preserving my children. And here I thought you might appreciate me returning the favor by doing what you couldn’t.”
With a violent jolt, Severin’s aura snapped free. Branwyn’s vision filled with black needles, joining the uncomfortable pressure of Shatiel’s voice on Branwyn’s person. Suddenly it was hard to breathe, let alone turn her head to see what Severin was doing.
But Shatiel didn’t seem to notice at all. Still smiling, he said, “Careful, little brother. You’ll hurt your toys, and for nothing.” Then his smile faded, and he tilted his head. “Hmm. So close to the edge. I see. Is that what’s going on?” His mouth formed a word Branwyn couldn’t hear and as quickly as it had appeared, Severin’s aura vanished.
Branwyn took advantage of the moment to stumble out of the direct line of fire, for whatever that meant. Severin stood where she’d left him, but deep darkness spiraled around his feet, far more vivid than any other shadow in the overcast twilight. He was flexing his hands and his eyes were like black holes… but only for a moment. He shuddered, exhaled and when his gaze flicked to Branwyn and away, he seemed almost himself.
“The stories we tell ourselves, fences along the chasm,” he said softly. “Why did you do that?”
“Because I shouldn’t have teased you,” said Shatiel. “I apologize. And because you can still save her, and I cannot. It would have been stupid of me to destroy the very opportunity I sought.”
“Save her how?” Severin asked. He stretched his shoulders and stuffed his hands in his pockets.
“Her soul is at risk. If I hadn’t hidden her, she would have been destroyed months ago.” Shatiel’s expression had relapsed into what seemed to be its default of pleasant interest, but Branwyn didn’t buy it. The bells behind his voice were flawed.
“Are you really going to fucking lie now?” she demanded loudly.
Severin gave her a sidelong glance. “It doesn’t really matter, cupcake—”
“Shut up. And you,” Branwyn pointed her hammer at Shatiel. He blinked and glanced at the empty spot on the ground where he’d placed it. “I don’t know what game you’re playing but you haven’t been hiding this soul out of the kindness of your heart. What have you been doing to her?”
There was a moment of possibly shocked silence. Then Rhianna whispered, “Does Grandma know you use that kind of language?”
“You know, I watched her grab Belial by the blade with her bare hand and win,” said Severin, conversationally.
Branwyn ignored the peanut gallery, keeping her gaze locked onto Shatiel. She had won that encounter with the Sword Belial, although she’d carried the wound for months after. She was pretty confident that the angel couldn’t do a damn thing to her sense of identity.
He could, of course, do a number of other awful things to her.
Instead Shatiel put his hands up in surrender. “A sin of omission, not deception, Miss Lennox. I don’t talk about my work much.”
“Your ‘executioner’ work?” she asked suspiciously.
“No,” he said in a clipped tone. “Different work. Sheltering Imani and seeing what she grew into was one of my projects for a time. That time is over. The project has to end. I’d rather it not end tragically.”
Branwyn shook her head, struck by the absurd dissonance. In the world she’d grown up in, this woman’s death was the tragedy, but Shatiel barely seemed to register it had happened.
“Very generous of you. Bring her out,” said Severin acidly.
“Soon,” said Shatiel placidly.
“What are you waiting for?” Rhianna asked, in a sweet voice far removed from Severin’s acid and Branwyn’s frustration.
Shatiel looked at her from the corner of veiled eyes and smiled like he knew her. “The right moment, so the next moment follows after.” A responding smile crept across Rhianna’s face, and Branwyn wanted to vomit.
“We’re taking a little breather, are we? Nobody’s going to try to kill anybody for the next ten minutes? Good. Rhianna, we’re overdue for a talk.” Branwyn took her sister by the arm and pulled her away, a block into the town.
Rhianna followed willingly enough, raising her eyebrows at Branwyn when she finally stopped and faced her. “This isn’t about the roses, is it? I warned you I was going to be doing the stupid stuff. Although I’d hoped you wouldn’t turn it into a competition.”
Branwyn didn’t take the bait. “Rhianna, do you know him?”
Rhianna shook her head. “Nope.”
“Are you sure? He seems to know you. He seems to like you.”
Pursing her lips, Rhianna said, “Well, that could be because I was the only person not screaming at him. Or maybe my Advisor’s mentioned me.” Her neck and chest flushed pink.
“You love that thought,” Branwyn accused.
“Well… yes. Everybody wants their boss to say nice things about them, right?” Rhianna gave her a canny look. “He’s pretty hot, too.”
Branwyn groaned. “Rhianna, you can’t—”
Rhianna’s face hardened. “Sleep with a celestial? Yes, Branwyn. I can. You should start coming to terms with that. I’m not a little girl.”
“You might as well be!” Branwyn snapped and then clenched her fists in her hair again. “Rhianna, you heard him. We’re toys to them. I know they’re attractive, but—”
“Yes, you certainly do,” Rhianna cut in.
Branwyn blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Rhianna paced in a tight little circle. “I used to wonder why you were so certain I was about to jump into bed with my boss. It hurt, you know? But I understand now. You’re projecting.”
“What?”
“Oh, come on, Branwyn. I have eyes. You and your monster are all over each other. You want to screw him so badly that I’m stunned you haven’t already.”
“I do not!” Branwyn ended her denial on an unintended shout. Her vision blurred, her chest hurt and her face burned. “I don’t.”
Rhianna curled her lip in a skeptical sneer, raising one eyebrow in that way she’d practiced in the mirror for months. “Always sniping, but you ca
n’t stay away from each other. All that drama. Do I need to find a chisel?”
Branwyn stared at her sister, her head throbbing. Rhianna had practiced everything, every expression, every emotion, and yet for all that practice she never seemed to think past her immediate gratification. She couldn’t begin to understand how Branwyn felt. There was no point in explaining.
She tried anyhow. “It’s different.”
“Yes, neither of you are dating Marley,” countered Rhianna. “But otherwise?”
“You really think that’s the only way it’s different?” Branwyn asked incredulously. “You don’t see anything a teensy bit problematic with just throwing yourself into the bed of any attractive whatever that happens along? No matter the consequences?”
Rhianna sighed. “And there you go again. You know what? I’m sorry I mentioned it. I thought—but never mind. You keep on looking at the big picture and refusing to see what’s right in front of you.”
Branwyn bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. “You think I don’t see it? I do. But I also know the difference between what I want right now and what I’ll want tomorrow.” Rhianna’s tired, knowing expression didn’t even flicker, so Branwyn angrily finished with, “Clearly that’s more than you’ve ever learned.”
She regretted it as soon as she said it, and couldn’t take it back because it was true all the same. Instead she dropped her gaze and walked past her sister into the rising night.
4
Haunt
In the deepening twilight, Branwyn walked to the center of the ruined town and sat on a debris pile. She held her head in her hands, listening for the sound of anybody coming after her. When nothing stirred, she took a long, slow breath.
Then she dug out her phone. She flicked through a few messages from Titanone, that skyscraper she’d awakened to, yes, artificial life. So like a child, and her responsibility, and definitely not somebody she could talk to right now.
Fury Convergence Page 4
