The Deepest Black

by Rainy Kaye

  “Tagged along? With who?”

  “My buddy, Matteo.” Remy gestures out the windshield again. “Drive.”

  The light has already rotated back around to red, but traffic is minimal, so I stomp the gas. “Start talking,” I snap.

  “Matteo had some errand, and he offered for me to come along. Not like we got to cross through very often, so I said I'd go.” Remy lowers his voice. “I didn't help Franjo, if that's what you're thinking.”

  Truth is, I don't even know what I'm thinking.

  “It just seems odd that you happened to get a portal open right before the shadows showed up,” I say without any remorse for my accusations.

  The damn fae.

  “I didn't get the portal open,” he says. “Matteo did. Like I told you, Matteo had an errand to run.”

  “What kind of errand?” I take a turn despite having no plan about where we're going. Just going to keep driving until all of this makes sense. Which might be forever.

  “Didn't ask, wasn't my business. Matteo suggested while we were here, that if I could get some of your money, we could go do stuff,” Remy says, rubbing his fingers together.

  “So you decided to hold up a convenience store?”

  “Well. . .I wasn't really thinking about how much of a dick move that was,” he confesses like it's been weighing on him. “I was just thinking about how I'd get some of your type of money, and we could go party, and no one would ever catch us because we'd be going back home.”

  “Do you just rob people in your own world? Or is that just a tourist thing?” I shoot him a glare.

  “I wasn't even thinking about—” he begins.

  Annevieve interrupts, “I don't think that's really pertinent right now!”

  I shut my mouth, despising that she is correct and making a mental note to give Remy more shit about his behavior later—I glance out the back window at the approaching storm—if we make it that long.

  “We need a plan,” I admit. “I don't really know where to begin with this.”

  Remy chimes in, “We need to figure out what Franjo is up to, besides changing the weather, and how to stop him.”

  “And tire chains,” I say, frowning. “And parkas.”

  “Or we can go back and try to find Gwendolyn. She's going to have more answers, more ideas.” Remy continues to rub his hands together, and I flip on the heat in the car as the temperature outside continues to dive. My fingers are already turning pale, but that could be from my vice-like grip on the steering wheel.

  “No, not her,” I say. “Where can we find Matteo?”

  Remy scowls, looking at me.

  “Well, he was the reason they opened the portal to begin with, so we need to know why.”

  “It was just an errand,” Remy says, shaking his head. “They happen sometimes.”

  “Rarely,” Annevieve scoffs.

  “They didn't send him for milk and butter, I suppose.” I realize I'm going ten miles over the speed limit, but I accelerated to fifteen. We aren't going anywhere, but we will get there fast.

  “I don't know what it was about!” Remy huffs and turns to the back seat to look at Annevieve. “Tell her it's not unheard of.”

  “I think it's suspicious,” she says primly, winning a gold star from me. “Even witches can't open them for just any reason. We work almost exclusively with changelings. Definitely something you both should find out.”

  “Wait, you're not coming with us?” I ask.

  She scoffs.

  “What if we need something frozen?” I try to make it a joke, but I'm dead serious. That is a handy skill, and one Remy is void of.

  “Get a freezer,” she says evenly.

  “We really could use your help,” I say, maybe pleading.

  “No way I want Franjo to find out I know you two, not if you're planning to take him on.”

  Way to embrace her inner coward.

  I want to yell in frustration, but that's not going to convince her to stay. So I lay it all out on the table: “Is there anything I can do to make you change your mind?”

  “Get rid of Franjo,” she says simply.

  “Then we wouldn't need. . .” I groan out an irritated sigh. “Fine, I'll drop you off at a portal. Remy, where can we find Matteo?”

  “Matteo only likes two things, so it should be relatively easy to pinpoint his location,” he says.

  “And, pray tell, what are those two things?” I brace myself.

  “Hookers and blow, of course.”

  9

  We pull up outside a small pale pink building with pink shingles. I must have driven by this place on multiple occasions, but never considered it to be anything more than a hole-in-the-wall taco shop. Turns out, it's a brothel, so I guess it is a taco shop, just a different kind. . .

  I kill the ignition and then look at him, my hand still on the key. “Really?”

  “Hey, I'm not the boss of him.”

  I shake my head, pulling out the key, and then step out of the truck. Remy piles out and then comes around to my side and stands next to me.

  The sparse windows are dim, and there are no signs of any kind.

  “You sure this place is open?” I ask with hope that they closed up, so I won't have to go inside.

  “Positive,” he says.

  “You seem awfully confident in that.” I nudge his shoulder as I head for the door. “You must be very familiar with this place.”

  He follows behind me. “I don't go here—I mean, I've been here—but not for that! I followed Matteo around when we first got here—ya know, through the portal, not here the. . .”

  I halt at the door, glancing over my shoulder at him. “Are you nervous?”

  An embarrassed grin cracks his face. “It's not a place I would normally take a woman.”

  “You didn't take me here. We came together,” I say, trying not to laugh at his traumatized expression.

  He seems to catch that I find the whole thing amusing, then mutters, “Whatever,” as he reaches past me to push open the door.

  I enter first, and he joins me while I take in the front room. It's not a large space, but there's a curved fuchsia sofa, deep purple carpeting, and brass vintage lamps. The pale pink walls are covered in tacked up drawings of women by various artists: pinups, geishas, and even a few superheros in bikini-like outfits. On the floor, next to the couch, stands a tall eight-hose hookah.

  A woman enters from a far doorway, wrapped in a sapphire-colored sari.

  “Can I help you?” she asks in a sing-song voice. “Are you here for a bed?”

  “That's one way to word it,” I mumble, and then pat Remy on the shoulder as if I'm tapping out of this exchange.

  He steps forward, clearing his throat. “Yeah, uh, no. I mean, I'm looking for Matteo.”

  Her face brightens. “Yes, of course. He is in a room right now. I will let him know he has guests. He had not mentioned he was waiting for anyone, and they already started.”

  I try not to vomit on my shoes.

  The woman glides down the hallway from where she came.

  I turn, grabbing Remy by the shoulder of his jacket, and tug for him to lower so I can whisper in his ear. “I am not joining Matteo in anything. Got it?”

  Remy chuckles, pulling away and adjusting his jacket. “What? Didn't you listen to the lady? He's already got a girl.”

  I shudder and glare up at him. After a few minutes of stunned silence, the woman returns to the main room.

  “He said he will see you now.” She steps aside and gestures down the hallway, smile firmly in place.

  Remy and I exchange horrified looks.

  “Uh, but you said he's with. . .” I glance down at the purple carpet and try not to feel like I'm on my first day at sea. “He's got. . .”

  “They are taking a break,” she says kindly.

  This is just a normal everyday conversation for her.

  “Good to know,” Remy says, clutching my arm as we hurry past the woman and down the hallway fu
rnished with framed photos of gorgeous gals in risque but impractical clothing and poses. Oops, she dropped a towel, how silly of her. And oops, all her clothes are dirty so she's baking muffins in stockings, heels, and a thong.

  Remy comes to a halt at a door and knocks.

  “How do we know which one?” I ask, scowling.

  “It's always the same,” he says with a shrug, as a booming voice in the room tells us we can come in.

  I eye the door suspiciously. “He has his own reserved. . .bed?”

  Remy twists his mouth as if contemplating, too, how gross this situation is, then he shrugs again and opens the door. I bring my hand up, ready to shield my eyes, but then I lower it.

  A corpulent man with streaming wispy wings is sitting on the edge of the dark blue stuffed mattress, overflowing to the floor. He has a silver standing tray in front of him that looks almost like Barbie furniture in comparison, and he's eating crackers and cheese from it.

  Two women in sheer outfits sit on either side of him, nestled up close, and another woman sits on a fat pouf nearby. The walls are darker pink than the ones in the main room and hallway, and they display two enormous mirrors in painted frames. The other wall contains a large poster of a woman in stocking and garter belt, bent over for the camera.

  “Ayo, Remy,” the man says as he stuffs a stack of crackers and cheese into his mouth, leaning over the tray as if it had any hope of catching all of the crumbs. “What can I do you for?”

  “I just wanted to ask some questions, when you weren't busy,” Remy says, flat against the wall by the door, as if ready to run as soon as things get weird. . .Well, weirder.

  “Anything for you, buddy.” Matteo shovels in another Leaning Tower of Crackers and Cheeses and gestures. “Come in, come in. Shut the door. The girls get cold easily.” He laughs at what I guess what supposed to be a joke and plops his free hand onto the thigh of one of the girls next to him.

  He doesn't seem to care that I'm intruding, and I make a quick move to the empty pouf next to the other girl. It squishes ever so slightly as I sit on it. I try to assess what kind of danger I am in this room, but I'm not sure Matteo could even get up without assistance, and the girls are too under-dressed to be hiding weapons.

  Remy sits on the third pouf, so close to me we're about joined at the hips, and seems to force himself into a relaxed pose. “Ember had some questions about the portals.”

  Gee, thank for throwing me under the bus.

  Matteo looks at me, mid-bite, for a long moment, then he continues to force the food in.

  “What sort of questions about them portals?” he asks between chews, a puff of crumbs spraying out on the last word in a gross kind of emphasis.

  “Who got you through the portal?” I ask, trying not to sound as revolted as I am feeling. “Before the curse started.”

  “That witch, Gwendolyn. Who else?” He huffs a chuckle that turns into wheezing. “It was her idea, and nothing that witch won't do if the price is right.”

  “But I thought even the witches had to have a good reason to open the portal?” Remy asks, and I'm thankful for him chiming in, because I still don't remember half the rules in that forsaken place. “What errand were you running?”

  “You're right, lad, it gotta be an important un', and it was. That why she chose me,” he says, scooting away the tray with a dramatically slow motion. He folds his hands on the bit of lap peeking from under his belly and leans forward.

  “So, what was it?” Remy sounds vaguely impatient. Makes me proud.

  Matteo looks between Remy and me, his Shar-Pei face more wrinkled than usual. “You gotta be shittin' me, lad.” He huffs and wheezes, though I think it's another attempt at laughing. “You mean, you didn't find her on purpose?”

  I hate how he says words beginning with p, like he's expelling all the air from his lungs to say one syllable.

  Remy looks at me with apparent expectation that I'm going to explain what Jabba the Hutt is referring to. I shrug, blanking my face in confusion.

  Matteo leans back a little like it's letting pressure off his gut enough to really laugh. When he finishes, he wipes his thick hand across his lips. “Remy, lad, you always did run on luck.”

  “You mean,” Remy says, lowering his voice, “you were looking for her?”

  Matteo nods. “You gonna be rich, lad. You found the lost changeling.”

  I stiffen harder than anything in this room probably ever has. “Excuse you?”

  Something thuds the exterior wall. I snap around to stare at it, but it doesn't happen again, so I return my focus on Matteo.

  “You were s'posed to come back years ago, little lady, but I dunno what happened, just Gwendolyn, she say, Ayo, Matteo, wanna lucrative errand, and of course I'm not gonna turn down a lucrative errand.” He wipes his hands on the front of his shirt. “Didn't find you, but didn't look long, not when the shadows come right after. No way I'm going back through that portal. Keepin' my ass right here, and I'd suggest the same for you both.”

  “But I'm not a. . .” I halt when I realize I can't figure out how to disagree, because I don't know what we're actually talking about. “What's a changeling?”

  Remy turns to me a little. “The reality is a little different than the human myth. Every few years or so, we bring one of our babies to replace a human one. Then when they're adults, they come back to our world.”

  “But why?” I ask, incredulous that this would even be a good idea, let alone if it had actually happened to me.

  Still, that would explain why the portals were opened in my city. . .

  “I don't know,” Remy says, sounding defeated. “Like the. . .wall. . .it's just something we do, always have. Or long enough to feel like always.”

  “Well, I can't be one,” I say, resolute.

  “Okay.” He leans back, facing Matteo again, then looks at me. “Wait. . .why can't you be one?”

  “Because I'm not a fae!” I gesture wildly at him and Matteo and then at myself, clearly indicating I don't have wings, though Remy just looks more confused. “Wings, Remy!”

  “They aren't going to show up til you return home,” Matteo says.

  I reel around to him, leaning forward and speaking through gritted teeth. “If by home you mean the fae world—which is not my home, by the way—then I've already been there, and I don't. Have. Wings.”

  “The Penumbra elixir,” Remy says quietly.

  I swivel my head to throw him a deathly glare. But my heart sinks. The elixir stopped one curse, so why couldn't it be stopping another? And being a fae seems pretty much like a curse at this point.

  “I'm not a fae,” I say weakly, but everyone in the room—except maybe the girls, who just want to finish their job and get paid, I assume—knows that I have no real evidence that I'm not.

  “Do you know why she—” Before I can finish my sentence, the lights dim and then come back up. The thudding on the wall kicks up again. Footsteps hurry down the hallway, growing louder, and then someone knocks on the door.

  “Sir? Sir?” It's the woman from the front, sounding urgent. “Sir, there's a big storm. I have candles for you. Sir?”

  The blizzard is here.

  “Yes, come in,” Matteo shouts.

  The sari-wrapped woman opens the door, holding a half dozen candles in one arm against her bosom.

  I jump up. “Is it snowing? Is it the snow storm?”

  “Yes, yes,” she says, handing out candles and matches. “It never snows here, but today, just now, so much snow, all over the front, the roof, everywhere. It's falling faster and faster.”

  I'm going to be snowed in at a brothel. God, I don't even want to know how they plan to keep warm.

  I turn to Remy. “We have to go. I have to get home and get my mother and Cassia out of there. Somewhere safe. Take them to. . .”

  I trail off. I don't know what to do with my family. They are probably better off away from me, as long as the fae are on my trail. Though, according to Matteo, they have been
for longer than I had realized.

  I take two long strides to stand in front of Matteo. “Why did Gwendolyn send you?”

  His putty face stretches into a misshapen smile. “I don't know. She came to me saying she had been offered enough to make us both rich, if she would open the portal and send me to find the changeling.”

  Remy, for some reason engaged in conversation with the girl on the pouf, doesn't seem to hear Matteo.

  I lean in closer and whisper, “Why did you bring Remy?”

  “I been friends with the Glenwoods for years. Gwendolyn said I could bring him, just not to tell him. He just a kid.” Matteo meets my gaze from under the roll of his brow. “Thought she had just given up on me when I didn't come back and went ahead and sent him out on his own for you.” He chuckles. “That lad, it's always something with him.”

  I shake my head to stop the buzzing of thoughts, but it's about as effective as shaking a bee hive to calm it down. “So Gwendolyn was asked to send you to get me, but Remy wasn't allowed to know the details of the errand. . .then who. . .”

  “Who asked Gwendolyn?” Matteo finishes for me, and I nod, relieved that I didn't have to make all of this verbally logical.

  “Who asked Gwendolyn to get you to find me?” I reiterate.

  He shrugs, and it causes a small ripple down his body. “Only a changeling can request the portal opened to move another changeling.”

  I hesitate, thinking. “So who is the other changeling?”

  Matteo frowns, and his whole face folds into the expression. “I don't know, little lady.”

  “Did Gwendolyn send the mercenaries, too?”

  “Don't know nothing about mercenaries, either,” he says.

  The power dims again, and then goes out for good. A moment of scurrying passes, and then the candles are lit, and there's just enough glow to see each others' faces. One of the girls passes me a candle. I turn in a half-circle to face Remy.

  “We need to go,” I say. “Before the storm gets bad.”

  He raises his eyebrow at me.

  “Okay, before it gets worse. I don't want to be trapped here.”