by J. Kearston
His laughter echoes down the tunnel as we finally emerge into semi-fresh air and it spawns an idea. Releasing his hand, I cup mine beside my mouth and whistle three notes before waiting. A few seconds later they’re echoed back and I grin as we follow the skywalk towards the sound.
The metallic echo of our footsteps fills the space as we cross the open space, but the floating bridge is solid beneath our feet. The guard rails are only waist high though, and it wouldn’t take much effort to push someone off or accidently topple over if you weren’t watching your step. From this height, the impact on the iron grate would do some serious damage, but l doubt it would actually kill someone unless they went head first. Still, it’d be a better fate than being torn limb from limb by hungry monsters.
Approaching the entrance in the wall on the opposite side, I whistle again. We enter and head to the right, using the series of parroting calls to weave our way through one of the smaller branch hallways until we steadily rise at a decent incline. We follow it for several minutes before lights make me flinch back like a mole person, fresh air slapping me in the face as I blink rapidly to adjust to the setting sun.
“Holy fuck.”
It’s a natural oasis; no other way to describe it. There’s a small lake feeding a river that twines between rolling hills, dense trees...and greenhouse after greenhouse set in rows stretching along one side. Anyone that didn’t know better would be completely unaware of what was hiding in the massive pocket beneath their feet. Hell, if you weren’t careful and dug enough in the bottom of the lake, you could completely flood the underground labyrinth, drowning everyone that might have been inside it at the time. It must have taken a hell of a lot of magic and a few miracles to construct something like this, to keep it in the air and from the entire thing from collapsing despite no one bringing energy up from the ground.
There are a few smashed walls on the greenhouses and glass littering the ground as changelings fed before abandoning ship. But it looks like they only took enough to appease the gnawing ache of desperation before they fled, getting as far away as possible before getting locked up again.
Dorian, Lucien, and my clones are seated beside the river, tearing into some of the food that continued to grow unattended in the greenhouses. Atlas and I rush over, and I waste no time kneeling beside the river, cupping my hands to appease the raw ache still lingering in my throat. I drink enough to take the edge of hunger off, not knowing what remains in the greenhouses, how much we have to ration. And with the way the changelings are going to town inhaling food, it might not last long as it is.
Lucien passes me an orange and I suck that thing dry in thirty seconds flat, diving into some type of vegetable I’ve never seen before next. I force myself to stop though, as much as it kills me, when I see the frantic way the changelings are eating, like they’re worried they’ll never see food again.
“We need to get them to slow down,” I warn, and by Lucien and Dorian’s grimaces, I’m not telling them anything they weren’t already concerned about.
“I tried and almost lost a finger,” Dorian says, eyeing my clones warily.
But beyond the small amount of food, the ground feels richer up here, full of life. The changelings might not be able to suck energy directly out of the earth, forced to either devour creatures or be fed via our weird connection, but I can.
Closing my eyes, I thread my fingers between the plush blades of grass, breathing deeply. When I feel nearly like myself, I open my eyes. “Raziel.”
But the changeling’s eyes are manic, not the familiar cold, calculating gleam I’m used to seeing. Being back in this place has them all freaking out, struggling to keep it together. My breakdown didn’t help, poured gasoline on the fire, and now they’re spiraling.
Grabbing a jagged rock, I slice it over my palm until blood wells. “Raziel.” My voice comes out as a barked, no nonsense command. Between the tone and the scent of blood, I finally have his full, unnervingly still attention. Holding his gaze unflinchingly, I lean forward, hand outstretched in offering.
“Cambria,” Lucien warns, but I don’t back down.
They’re keyed up, and for a changeling, that makes them ten times more dangerous. But as we’ve clearly seen, they can be rational and semi-well behaved. They just need a firm, loving hand to keep them in check. The fact that the loving hand is currently pooling blood is just an unfortunate necessity.
Raziel approaches warily, as if anticipating it to be a trap. A flick of a tongue across my palm has a shiver running down my spine, and I doubt I’ll ever get used to seeing me lick myself.
Head out of the gutter, head out of the gutter. But I mean, I am pretty talented... No, stop being a degenerate and focus on not getting eaten. Damn it...
There’s a moment where things seem to click and Raziel flips an internal switch, returning back to his usual self. Not a second too soon either, because Loki shoves past Azazel, teeth bared in a snarl like she means to tear into my arm rather than take the slow trickle being offered. Raziel grips her by the throat, yanking her back with a warning snarl of his own before biting Loki’s ear. She whimpers, and the next time she faces me, her obsidian eyes shimmer with penance.
Getting to my feet, I make a show of feeding Azazel first to reward his patience before striding in front of where Raziel still has Loki restrained. Tentatively, she swipes her tongue over my palm, and I wait until the wound stops bleeding before pulling away.
“Everything about this is weird,” Atlas states, breaking through the weird atmosphere that’s developed. Though honestly, I’m getting accustomed to how everything changes in an instant anymore and then phasing back to normal like we’re crazy and nothing ever even happened.
A lesser person might have mentally snapped from the whiplash by now, so thank fuck I’ve never been normal.
“Unless anyone has objections, can we crash up here tonight? I know it’s not as comfortable, but,” I trail off, leaving the statement open ended.
“Head still killing you?” Atlas asks and I bite my lip, noting the way Lucien and Dorian’s eyes flash with concern.
“Yeah, I just need to lay down for a while and I’ll be fine.”
Lucien rises to his feet, jaw tense. “If you didn’t have the extra energy to heal yourself, you shouldn’t have been feeding the changelings too. We could have done it.”
Stretching my arms above me, we start wandering for somewhere to set up for the night. “Just a side effect of a meltdown, Luce; crying takes a toll.” And just because I’m an ass sometimes, I toss over my shoulder with a smirk, “Right, Atlas?” He lifts both hands to flip me off while sticking his tongue out and my answering grin splits my face. “Just call me selfish. I didn’t want them eating all of our food while I slept. We’re already beyond lucky there’s anything here in the first place.”
We head for the greenhouses, offering a bit of shelter and cover. The weather may be fine, but on the chance that a winged fae comes to check in or Elorie teleports any of her soldiers, we don’t want to be lying out in the open. At least like this, it might give us a leg up so we aren’t blindsided.
“I was thinking about that,” Dorian starts, opening the door. It’s warmer in here, far larger than ones I’ve seen on Earth, with row after row of plants as tall as Luce, overgrowing into one another without tending and spreading over the walkways. “Now that Victor’s been...handled, maybe we should head back and gather some supplies for this place. Check in with Atlas’ friend to see if there’s anyone else with a vendetta that’s been asking about Lucien, things like that.”
The river’s been routed so that a thin stream runs beneath the center of the greenhouses, and it’s likely the only thing that kept the plants thriving. As the sun heated, the water evaporated enough to cling to the glass ceiling and trickle down around the greenhouse. Maybe not ideal, but apparently enough for things to survive.
Definitely not our first time sleeping on the ground, Lucien leans against the wall at the end of an aisle and
spreads his legs enough for me to lie down between them, using his thigh as a pillow. “Why bother?” His fingers smooth through my hair, not calling me out on how desperately I need a shower.
Dorian stretches out on his back beside us, folding his arms behind his head. “Because we don’t want to throw away any of our options when we currently have so few of them. The longer we go without returning home, the bigger the issues will be to deal with on that side. Even if no one realized we were abducted and tortured, the fact that our house was incinerated and then Luce and Victor both wind up missing? Their feud isn’t exactly a secret. Add in the fact that Belinda will be losing her shit that Lucien hasn’t checked in with work in so long, and the rumors will be flying about our disappearances.”
He sighs. “We can’t exactly work over here right now. Giving up access to all of that money and the resources it would provide is stupid. We can only keep showing up for so many more years as it is now before we’re going to have to wait until enough time passes that Lucien could pass off being his own son to keep the inheritance going. Immortality poses a lot of complications if we live long enough to have to deal with them. But with everyone over here wanting to kill us, having some things lined up over there is in our best interest in case we need to make a hasty exit at some point; now, or twenty years from now.”
“This is going to be a colossal mess to clean up.” Lucien uses his free hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, gazing up at the ceiling in a bid for patience and I smile softly at the old habit. We all might have changed, but some things will always stay the same. And the businessman hiding inside of the juggernaut? Too deeply ingrained to be eradicated.
Besides the snacks I’m going to have to start carrying around for when the changelings go on a rampage, I’ll have to tuck a flawed expense report and a red pen in my pocket for Luce if he goes off the rails to bring him back to me.
They carry on around me hashing out semantics, oblivious to my overtired, slap-happy mental pictures. The changelings curl up around us, awkward replicas of myself getting as comfortable as the place allows. One of them ends up snuggling my calf, Raziel dropping a pile of vegetables near Atlas with a pointed look like he’s still convinced the man would die without his help, and I just loose an amused breath at the ridiculousness of it all.
“What about the changelings? Do we really want to risk bringing them human side? It’ll be ten times harder to rein them back in without being able to siphon energy from Faerie.”
Dorian sounds completely confident. “I’ve got a plan for that part. You just get some rest, okay?”
Despite the ominous feeling in my gut that his words inspire, I can’t think of a more enticing idea right about now.
Chapter 14
Dorian
“Careful!” I quickly sidestep, water sloshing over the rim of the bucket as a small branch falls where I was just standing, leaning against the tree Cambria’s busy climbing.
I bring the pail up to hold it protectively against my chest. “You best be prepared to catch a couple of squirrels or something if you hurt my babies.”
She scoffs, hoisting herself higher. “Can’t believe Loki actually fell for that after watching the other two.”
The three changelings are busy attempting to swim around each other in the too small, metal mop bucket. Lucien and Atlas set off to see just how big of a mess we’re dealing with and get the ball rolling to smooth things out, check in with Jeremy, and have Lucien’s old cards cancelled and new ones issued. But even with the changelings in a relatively harmless state currently, it’d be a hell of a gamble ensuring they stayed that way if we brought them into the city.
It’s the excuse we’re clinging to, and Cambria’s kind enough not to call us out on it. But after what she went through because of Victor’s vendetta against Lucien, and how many other people he’s managed to piss off over the years, we want her as far away from all of that as possible. She’s a surefire way to ensure Lucien will give people anything they want, and as clearly demonstrated, to make him suffer.
She deserves so much better than to be used as a pawn in the business games he created for himself. He and Atlas attempted to shield me from most of it, but I know both of them far too well not to have noticed that it didn’t stop with Atlas’ father. Atlas had too much money for freelance construction jobs after all, and too many days of disappearing without a word. And when he came back, he was always distant; colder, with a hard edge that took a few weeks to dull.
“Be nice to Loki,” I scold, but there isn’t actually any heat behind the words, just a teasing way to pass the time. “All the cool kids were jumping off of the bridge and she didn’t want to be left behind.”
She hooks her legs around the branch before swinging upside down, fingers splaying over the branch below her. Her shirt rides up to bare her stomach, and my lips press into a thin line when it’s clear that she’s using her glamour to hide all of the numerous marks. I wouldn’t blame her if it was that she was self-conscious over them, but she’s already confessed that her back is the only sensitive topic as far as her scars are concerned, the others not fazing her. Which simply means that she’s expending energy she doesn’t need to for my comfort, because she doesn’t want to trigger those memories and upset me.
Testing the strength of the branch first, she removes her legs from the branch above, doing a handstand twenty feet above me in the tree like it’s no big deal. She doesn’t move though, simply holding the position for a few seconds before clamping her thighs around the original branch and hanging from it.
“You should really have a talk with your children about peer pressure.” Her hair snags on a twig and she grimaces, yanking it free.
“Excuse me, but don’t you mean our children?”
The snort she gives me is the most unladylike sound I’ve heard come out of her face yet and I can’t stop the grin betraying the affronted tone I was going for. “You really think I’m in any way, shape, or form, a good example? They might be jumping off the bridge, but I’m the one that started the trend. Or pushed them; depends on the day.”
I gasp with feigned shock. “Those two can’t come back with a fish tank soon enough.” I stroke the side of the bucket. “It’s okay, murder babies, she didn’t mean it.”
“Totally meant it.”
“She’d never push you off a bridge.”
“Maybe even a building.” She hops to the ground beside me, wavering on her feet for a second as the blood rushes back to her head.
“Hopefully they’ll be back soon. You’re going stir crazy.”
She simply shrugs. “Yep. I need to burn off the energy somehow and don’t want to risk feeding the changelings and have them change back into me until we’re out of options. Food and a good night’s sleep did wonders to make me finally feel back to relatively normal.”
Hours pass by with us killing time in the woods before they finally return, Atlas coming to get us and leading us through the trees to the car Lucien rented. We drive long enough that I nod off for most of the trip, bucket resting between my thighs in an awkward position.
When the car slows to a crawl I jerk awake, rubbing at my eyes. My sleep schedule has been thoroughly fucked by being on the run, taking rest when and where we could, and trapped in a state of perpetual night for a long stretch. Stopping outside of a cabin nestled far back from the road, I pass Cambria the bucket so I can climb out, my legs asleep and not wanting to risk dropping them. Despite her blasé approach to them earlier, she still smiles down at the bucket, stroking a finger over the scaly skin that only a parent could love. Or maybe more appropriately, a supernatural custodian.
“You have a penchant for adopting strays, you know that right?”
“Not my fault you all keep clambering for my attention. Needy, the whole lot of you,” she retorts with a wink.
Luce’s voice is amused as he starts grabbing things from the trunk. “Come on, let’s get situated and we’ll update you two on what you missed.” He toss
es me the key before looping as many bags over his arms as possible, Atlas grabbing a glass tank from the trunk.
“Here.” I snag a few of the bags from Luce to ease the burden. It’s not like we’re moving in long term, but a day or two of normalcy is still a heavy load.
The cabin is a decent size; a massive main room with a door to the left leading to an enclosed porch, and the two on the right for the bedrooms. As I set the bags of bedding on one of the mattresses, I peer down the narrow hallway that connects the two bedrooms, a double sink on the left and the bathroom through another door on the right.
When I return to the main room, Cambria and Atlas are crouched over the fish tank on the floor, carefully dumping the changelings inside. Not a bad plan, because this’ll eliminate the risk of them getting accidentally knocked off of a table and the glass shattering.
“At least they’re finally learning to swim.”
Atlas rolls his eyes. “Yeah, make the demons overcome their one weakness. Brilliant plan.”
“A piranha army would have its uses. It’s a good thing to play to our advantage while we’re trying to round up the other changelings, but after they realize we’re only trying to help them, it seems like a dick move to refuse to teach them to swim just to have a failsafe way of controlling them.” Before he finishes opening his mouth to object, I cut him off. “Yeah, it’s the smart move to have an ace up our sleeve if they ever turn on us, but that doesn’t mean it’s right. Intentionally keeping someone weak so they can be controlled makes us absolutely no different than the people that raised Cambria.”
He bites the inside of his cheek, chagrined, and nods once. “Fair point. But for five minutes, can we just...not?” He rakes a hand through his hair. “Let’s just take turns showering and get something to eat first. I’ve been at my mental capacity for a while now, and with all of the shit still waiting for us to deal with, I just need a break for a little while.”
