He heads around the house, and I scowl trying to make out where he is going. We circumvent the buildings and wind up in the backyard. I halt in my step to scope it out: green spreads in all directions, endlessly, like we aren't smack dab in the middle of the desert. Trees with slender trunks bend toward each other, as if old friends in conversation. The vines continue from the front, wrapping the property together as if it were the ribbon on a package.
Remy continues into the greenery, lit by an unknown source. As we make our way deeper into the oasis, a dark form appears, resting against one of the trees. It's about seven feet tall, with long angled sides. In the middle of the front is a heavy wooden door.
We head toward the hut. It is covered in a thin slathering of moss, but it seems fully intact. Remy reaches for the knob and yanks the door open. Inside, the hut is lit by an orange fire burning in a sconce on the far wall.
He steps over the threshold, and I follow after, waving away the bit of dirt and dust that falls from the ceiling. Under the sconce is another heavy door. Without a word, Remy crosses the small room to the other side. I'm right behind him as he lets us through the exit.
I take a few steps, then halt. The greenery is gone. I turn back and forth, absorbing my surroundings, uncertain how the world could have turned to black and ash in the few minutes we were inside the hut. What was once distinctly forest and houses looks like it had been hit with a bomb. Rubble, chaos. The sky is variegated grays, though it no longer seems to be night. It's like I'm inside an old black and white clip of the aftermath of war.
“What...happened?” I turn to Remy, but I look past him, at the continued decimation in every direction. It makes me dizzy.
“The shadows came, took our people, and then our people took our world.” He follows my gaze. “It's not all gone, but most of it. I'm not sure if it's coming back, either.”
“What do you mean the shadows came?” I force myself to focus on him, to actually see him, like he's land in the distance keeping me from getting sick at sea.
He points at the sky. “Blocked out the blue, blocked out the sunset.”
“It looks like smog.”
“It's worse. I don't know what it is, but it made. . .them.”
“The evil fae?” I push, insisting he will say it eventually. He will call them as they are.
He says nothing, but trudges forward, and it's as if his shoes are suddenly weights and he no longer has the will to walk. Can't really blame him. I don't know exactly how I got here—I suppose the hut was that portal he had mentioned—but I'm not excited to see the rest of this place. When he had said disaster struck while he was away, he hadn't been exaggerating.
Part of me worries, too, what happens if the shadows reach me in the same way it touched the fae. Will I survive without the elixir? If not, will they give me some, or will they make me suffer as an outsider?
A few people—fae—peek out from behind broken doors and shattered windows. Just little silhouettes, and then they are gone. Apparitions. There aren't many of them, even though the town seems like it used to house hundreds or more, but each motion makes me jump. My hand goes for where I usually keep my baton, but I'm still unarmed. My second instinct is to sidle up to Remy, but I halt. He's still one of them, and I don't know how he's going to act now that we're back in his own world.
I could just turn around and go home through the portal, but then I would be right back where I started—literally. Instead, I tense up and follow a few feet behind him.
As we make our way down the street, our path becomes increasingly full of debris, and we resort to pushing it aside with our hands: collapsed sides of buildings, overturned stands with rotted fruit, and fallen trees. I cough and choke, waving away dust, and reach for another board. It nearly disintegrates in my hands. This whole place feels like it's made of ash, like it will all fall apart with just a touch. It doesn't seem real.
“Home sweet home, eh?” I say, helping Remy lift metal beams out of our way.
He doesn't reply as he heaves the beam to the side. It clatters, and the sound carries down the street. It's like a lucid dream, except instead of being asleep and knowing that I just feel awake, I know I'm awake but I feel like I'm asleep.
Across from us, a head with wild hair pops up from behind a pile of trash then drops back down. A boy. A very young one. Without thinking, I push past Remy and dart through the broken, cluttered street, over stacks of unidentifiable chaos, and jump down next to the pile.
“Hello?” I stretch to see around the trash.
The stench flicks at my nostrils, and I hold my breath. I inch around the garbage, but the little boy seems to stay just out of my sight.
A hand grabs my shoulder. I gasp, sucking in the thick smell of moldy bread, rancid meat, and metallic bitterness that I hope isn't blood. My stomach heaves as I try to force out the smell and memory.
“Let's go,” Remy says, taking my wrist.
I twist away. “I thought there was a. . .He looked really little.”
“A kid?” Remy shrugs. “You seem surprised.”
I am surprised. Why wouldn't I be?
Without a word, I let him lead me away, but I stare over my shoulder as I try to envision that tiny face contorting into something ready to kill me.
The streets don't get any nicer or cleaner as we make our way. . .somewhere. I don't know exactly where we're headed, and I'm not sure I want to know. I only know we need more elixir, and Remy intends to get us some here. I hope they sell it at the fae grocery store, right next to the pixie dust and glittery unicorn poop cookies.
There's a constant in the far distance, and it takes a while before I realize it's a wall, standing more than two stories tall. I expect it to end at some point, but it goes on either direction as far as I can see.
As I catch up with Remy, who is far too at-home in this mess, I point at the structure. “What is that for?”
“It divides the city,” he says, kicking a ball of dried brush out of his way. “Only witches can cross.”
“Cross what?” I scowl, and he nods toward the distance. I ask, “The wall?”
“Yeah, that thing.”
I slow down, trying to study him, but he keeps moving right along. Is he avoiding saying this, too? Is the wall another part of this world we're not allowed to discuss?
We turn the corner, and I halt to take in the scene. The shadows, specifically. They drape over the sky, obscuring light, and hang like curtains over the buildings, brushing the ground. Their movement is slow, waving, like caught in a perpetual breeze.
Remy leads me to one of the few houses still standing among the rubble and knocks on the door. I step back and give the building a once-over: it has a dome top, small windows, and flat gray paint. On the sill is an herb garden, dried tendrils of long-withered plants flopped over the edge.
The door opens, and my gaze rests on the small woman before us. She's wearing an enormous sapphire-colored headdress standing in three spikes that curl at the ends like elf shoes. Thin metal chains and small trinkets drape over it, forming a fringe around the edge of her face. Glittery makeup streaks out from her eyes and lips, and she's wrapped in a robe with flowing blue and white layers.
Her skin is flawless, but stretched tight and thin over high cheek bones. The long twists of her hair are light brown with strands of either blonde or gray, though it appears to be neither. I can't tell if she's twenty-three or ninety-three.
Her eyes focus on Remy, and her expression widens into a grin. “Made it back, I see.”
“Barely.” He huffs a chuckle. “I brought a visitor.”
“I noticed,” she says evenly, though her gaze doesn't seem to have touched me yet, even though we're right up on her. “Come on in.”
She steps back, and I follow Remy inside. The room is cozy, with a crackling fireplace in one corner and sturdy, rustic furniture stuffed close together, the kind that makes life here feel stable, permanent. It's a welcomed contrast to what is back beyond the door.
>
Green thriving plants hang in colorful pots from the ceiling, intercepted with chimes and strings of tiny lights inside wicker balls. Fabrics with rich patterns hang over the walls. The scent of cinnamon permeates everything, filling the air and enticing me farther.
I can't imagine ever wanting to go outside again.
“I'm so glad you came by,” she says happily, easing through the room to a far table and picking up a blue and gold metal canister. She tucks it under her arm and pries at the lid with her thin fingers. “I've brought you something.”
Remy visibly relaxes. Whoever this woman is—introductions aren't necessary in Fairyland, apparently—she brought him more Penumbra elixir. She's got his back.
The lid pops off, and she reaches inside the canister halfway up to her elbow. Then she retrieves three small bundles of dried leaves.
Remy's face falls, and he rubs together the fingers of his hand at his side. He doesn't say anything, though.
The woman hesitates, staring at me with sudden sharp interest.
“She won't tell,” Remy assures, and it takes a minute for me to realize he's not talking to me, but about me.
I glare up at him.
The woman shrugs, then returns the canister to the table and floats over to a mounted shelf to retrieve a metal tea kettle.
I nudge him in the side with my elbow. Hard.
He brushes me off and says in a quiet voice, “We don't make tea here. It comes from the other side of the wall.”
We're being secretive about. . .tea?
“Why would anyone care if you have it?” I ask, then look at the woman puttering around steeping bags in clay mugs. I guess it's okay to ask in front of her, since it's her secret.
He just shakes his head and nods toward a kitchen table. I sit next to him on a handmade chair that wiggles a little. The woman removes the tea bags and then offers me a mug. I wrap my hand around it and slowly, carefully bring it up to my lips, preparing to taste something magical. I take a small sip.
It tastes like tea. Earl Grey, to be specific.
I narrow my eyes at the mug, then scoot it away.
“I brought Remy tea the first time when he was just a boy,” the woman says, standing on the opposite side of the table. Apparently, there aren't any other chairs. I consider offering her mine, but she continues, leaning against a partition, “He was so excited that he told all the neighborhood children. They came looking for this special drink, and I couldn't share with their parents he had been referring to tea, so I pretended it had been something I made for a cough. They bought the story, and the children bought the hype. They never complained about taking medicine again, as long as they believed it was the same as what Remy had that day.”
I study Remy from the corner of my eyes. It's not too much of a stretch to picture him as a little kid, running around being excited over nothing. Women do it all the time and then get knocked up by them. I hate to admit it, but the thought of Remy as a child is almost adorable.
Almost.
Current Remy is less endearing.
He puckers his face and says in a low voice, “I need more, Gwendolyn.”
I start to offer him my barely-touched mug of disappointment, but halt. His expression says he's not referring to tea.
“All out,” Gwendolyn says, apparently catching his drift. I would expect this to be an actual crisis, but she seems unmoved. “The Penumbra beastie isn't taking guests today.”
I scowl, looking over at Remy, hoping to get his attention so he can explain what this woman is talking about.
He ignores me and says, “Ember and I can try.”
I don't know what he just volunteered us for, but it involves the word beastie and I want no part of this.
The woman shrugs. “I don't know why he would choose to see you.” Her gaze drifts over to me. “Perhaps he would be intrigued with her.”
I scoot the chair back. “I want no beastie intrigued by anything to do with—”
Remy holds up his hand to silence me, and I resist the urge to slap it down.
“Gwendolyn is just explaining he might give us a chance to talk, because you're not from here,” Remy says to me. “That's all.”
Gwendolyn moves in a practiced way that doesn't shift her headdress as she rounds the table and comes up next to me.
“The Penumbra beastie lives in the Lunar Swamp just south of here.” She reaches down and smacks her moist palm flat into my forehead.
I try jerk away, but my vision is replaced with a twist of trees growing in wet ground among shallow pools of water. As she continues to hold her palm against my forehead, the view of the swamp shifts and changes.
“The witches used to be able to get in and out of the swamp, but now the wards have become unstable,” she continues. My view pans out, revealing a blue light surrounding the swamp. “We can only hope the Penumbra beastie is still able to control it.”
The visual being fed into my brain fades out, and Gwendolyn removes her sticky palm from my head.
“What happens if you touch the barrier?” I ask, envisioning being hurtled back with a bolt of electricity.
“Nothing.” She locks her gaze on mine. “That's the entire problem.”
I resist looking away. “So, if we do get in, what happens from there?”
“I need two of his teeth to make more of the elixir.” She turns and begins gathering the mugs from the table. “There's a man at the end of the block with a rickshaw who will take you for a satchel of tea. I can give you the tea, but I can't promise anything with the Penumbra beastie.”
All things considered, this quest seems harmless enough. We go to the swamp, we can't do anything when we get there, and we turn around, go home, and make cookies. Or something. Because at that point, there is no elixir, and we're back to using sage oil to kill the big bad fairies.
But at least we will have tried.
“All right,” I say, standing up. “Let's go.”
Remy looks up at me, eyebrows arched.
“What? This bog beastie doesn't scare me,” I say, without adding it's only because there's a barrier around the place and I won't be able to get to the creature. Best effort, class.
I don't know if Remy is also running on empty actions, or he's really ready to take on the Lunar Swamps. We say farewell to Gwendolyn and set off to make a deal with the man with the rickshaw. He's eager, just as Gwendolyn said he would be, and before long, we're loaded up in a green and yellow bicycle-style rickshaw. The man sings in a low voice as he takes us through the city and out into the open.
Of course, when we reach the swamp, the barrier is gone.
5
As soon as we give the satchel of tea to the man with the rickshaw, he leaves with a promise to return in one full day, but doesn't look back. No doubt, no sane person wants to be near the swamp. Especially now the blue barrier surrounding it is gone. If we can get in, creatures, I assume, can get out. The jingle of the rickshaw's bells fades into the distance.
“So, about this beastie. . .” I say, staring down at the mushy ground, and then raising my gaze to the thin, tall trees in front of us. “He's friendly?”
“Never met him,” Remy replies, sounding equally disappointed that we're actually going into the swamp. “But there were other wards. . .and they stopped working. . .”
I spin around to face him, narrowing my eyes. “What do you mean?”
“When the shadows came, the wards broke down. They were keeping the beasties out of the city, and the witches haven't been able to fix them.” He hesitates. “That's when the real destruction began.”
Great, so beasties aren't known for being fluffy balls of fun
I take in a deep breath of wet air. “We could just put sage oil on her.”
Remy gives me a questioning look.
“You know, the fae we locked in the car.” I gesture at the swamp. “Instead of venturing into this.”
“Doesn't really matter,” he says quietly. “I'm all out.”
&n
bsp; I open my mouth to ask why he was carrying sage oil and when he ran out, then my brain wraps around what he really meant: he's out of the elixir for himself.
“Oh.” I take a few side steps away from him, and his face puckers into an unamused expression.
“The shadows have never touched me,” he says.
“Because you had the elixir.”
He nods.
“How long does it last in your system?”
“I don't know.”
I take another step away from him and wrap my arms around myself, wishing I had robe like the witchy woman had. The weather is moderate, leaning toward warm, but I have plenty of feelings inside making me cold.
“Let's get moving,” I say, taking the first squishy step into the trees. “Before the shadows reach you, and you tear off my face.”
The walk is slow going at first, as my shoes continue to get sucked into the wet ground. I keep thinking back to kindergarten talks about quicksand, and how I grew up thinking I would run into it. As an adult, I knew the chances were pretty slim, and yet here we are. While it's not actually quicksand, it's close enough. Every sinking step makes my heart jerk a bit.
“You need to walk lighter,” Remy says from in front of me. “Pretend you're walking on water.”
“I think you're looking for someone else. Jesus is his name. There's a book about him.” Something lands on my arm. Sharp pain shoots up my skin. I slap my hand on the too-many-legged bug, refusing to investigate its grossness any further, and wipe it to the ground.
My feet continue to fall with heavy slaps. I'm busy trying to figure out how one goes about walking on water, when a branch whacks me in the face, right in the outer crease of my eye. I blink a few times and hunch over.
I hate this place already.
“Before you finish stepping down, start lifting your other foot. It's sort of a rocking motion,” Remy the Bog Walking Expert continues.
Wicked Legends: A Dystopian Paranormal Romance and Urban Fantasy Collection Page 28
