"It's my eyes. They tint red when I use night magic."
"No. You're different. You were meeker before, and, I dunno. I guess you seem happy." Orin licked his lip. "Are you … happy?"
"Of course. It's amazing here." My sneakers struck dirt. "The mountains are amazing and I love the trees. I worried about the higher altitudes, but haven't had issues. And the air smells amazing." I was saying amazing too much. "What is that smell, anyway? It's like mulch or sunbaked pinecones or something."
Orin smirked at my excited speech. "I think you're smelling the mountains."
"Well, I love it! It's am—awesome!"
Orin's smirk wavered. "And you're, um, feeling okay?"
"Yes! Why do you keep asking? Do I look terrible?"
"No! You look great! It's just…" Orin hunkered down into his shoulders. His voice lowered to a scandalous volume. "You're using so much night magic, Cham warns everyone Delano will instinctively retaliate for messing with you. He considers you partners."
The rebels think we're partners? Excitement rushed through me. I quashed it. "Delano and I are not partners. Del's only mentoring me, and would never hurt me." Orin's eye twitched each time I mentioned the darkling's name. "He's a huge flirt and wants more, but he respects I don't."
Orin lifted an eyebrow. "You don't?"
"Well," I started, wishing I hadn't gone there. "I'm not against being a darkling. I have a knack for night magic and an undeniable draw."
Orin's face was calm. Too calm. "But?"
"Del says, since the darkshine merges you with darkness, you merge with your partner, too. He insists you keep individualism, but wow. That's too close to an eternal marriage. And I suck at marriage."
Orin's shoulders eased. "You were just with the wrong guy."
I shrugged. "Anyway, I'm trying to learn day and night magics, help with Del's caseload when possible, and not worry about details."
Orin's lips pressed tight. The gold in his blue eyes blazed. "Delano hasn't told you." It was a statement. A declaration of criminality.
"Told me what?"
Orin released a puff of breath, ran a hand through his hair. "It's harmful for faeries to wield night magic outside the darkshine. Physically harmful."
"I haven't felt that."
"Yet."
My brow creased. I remembered Delano and Bavol wailing and bleeding when they disobeyed the Earth's demands … but that was a special circumstance restricted to darklings. Delano would've mentioned if night magic was harmful to me.
I snickered. "You're joking. Why doesn't light magic cause faeries problems, then? It's all just magic."
"No. It's not," Orin said sharply. "Maybe in the Realm, but not here. Earth's universe is an anomaly."
"But you said Earth is the Realm's child, except born without caretakers. So why aren't their magics similar?"
"The Realm is Earth's mother," Orin agreed. "But everything has two parents."
"Two…?" Trepidation chilled me. "Wh-Who's the father?"
"That's the question. If answers existed, they probably disappeared in the book burnings. Regardless, two magics exist here and don't quite mesh. One of my recruits was a taleteller. We talk a lot, and she says when Earth was born, the worlds disagreed about what to do with the accident. The Motherland's caretakers wanted to keep the child. The Fatherland's didn't. Before splitting, the Fathers bestowed the darkling system so Earth could survive per the Mother's desire. Darkshine magic is ancient and, well…" Orin shrugged apologetically. "Shoddy. Darkslimes—" He winced. "Sorry. Darklings act as conduits and stabilizers for the Fatherland's dark magic. Those energies and frequencies own them, and faeries are forbidden to approach the darkshine without Realm approval."
I stared at him, confused.
"Everything is about frequency." Orin pinched his lip, thinking. "Hmm. It's easiest to use radio as a metaphor for the varying magics. Do you know about bands?"
"Some," I said. "Sam has a ham radio license."
"Perfect." Orin shook a can. On a neighboring boxcar he spray-painted this in neon pink:
—Short————Mid———————Micro—
Orin pointed to the chart's middle. "This is midband. This is where AM/FM radio exists. Think of this as humans and the day-to-day. It's always present, and never blocked by other frequencies. It is constant."
Orin pointed to the far right of the chart. "This is the microwave band. Think of this as faeries. It's a much higher frequency. Its abilities can't penetrate much and it travels shorter distances. Or, in the application of faerie magic, it's weaker compared with lower wielded magic. More on that later. Microwaves create high agitation and heat, but can't harm much." His eyes swooped. "Sorta. This is a simplistic explanation and I don't wanna muddle it with magic theory. Anyway, beyond this spectrum is the light-band. That's the Realm."
Orin pointed to the far left of the chart and wrinkled his nose. "This is shortwave, or world-band. This is darklings. It is a very low frequency, travels far, and penetrates matter. Higher frequencies cannot do this, but they are crisper and cleaner." Orin smirked superiorly. "Shortwave is prone to degradation. Solar activity interferes with shortwave frequency and it's often difficult to do anything during the day. But that same signal which daylight drowned out to nothingness can travel the world in perfect clarity at night with no change in signal strength. Microwave could never do that despite the time of day. Low band's strength arrives with darkness and recedes with light, even though the signal is always present."
"Which is why darklings vanish during daylight, and why Delano can transport through shadows and slip through thin walls," I said, remembering Sam sitting with his radios at night, European and Russian accents riding shortwaves through our farmhouse.
"Yup."
Orin painted a chain of three Xs.
-x-X-x-
"The large X is Earth's physical frequency," he said, then pointed to its right. "This small x is the Realm's. It's near enough to one side of Earth's frequency that faeries can cross and work Earth's higher magics—its light magics." He seesawed his hand. "There are differences, but they're unimportant." Orin grimaced and pointed to the small, left x. "Then there's the Fatherland.
"The Fatherland adjoins Earth's other end, its lower magics of dark and cold. The otherworld is near this frequency, too, which is why humans see ghosts at night. It's also near Earth's spiritual frequency. No way can faeries enter the Fatherland; the frequency gap between it and the Realm is too large. But night magics are somewhat workable on the closest end of the spectrum—like what you do—and completely achievable if a faerie matches their frequency, which means joining the darkshine. Encroach too close and the Fatherland's curse ensnares you, your frequencies mesh, you become it and it becomes you. That's the system the Fathers created to relinquish responsibility. But manipulating those magics without changing your frequency is like forcing an FM radio to receive shortwave. It might be possible, but you gotta rip it apart and replace some innards. Even then, it won't last long because the components weren't built to handle those stresses. A faerie's body isn't designed to wield darkling magic in its natural state. It needs to change or risk physical danger. Makes sense?"
Black paint dripped streaks beneath my graffiti. "Sure," I said, a half-lie. The dimensions, the physical and spiritual frequencies, and the unsolid solidity exceeded my scientific scope. But Orin's tone terrified the crap out of me. I dealt with magics obscure even to sages, plugged plugs into foreign outlets and hoped nothing exploded. Something else was at work here, a force typically reserved for Gods or demons. And to wield it cost, what? A lifelong commitment? A change in frequency? A soul?
The coyote sneezed beneath the oak tree. I stared at a Butterfinger wrapper sticking out from beneath my sneaker, my cheeks burning. Everything I'd learned magically felt insignificant, like one big joke. What else didn't I understand? Did darklings really keep their individualism? Was Delano's reality skewed? Was he lying? Once upon a time, the Fatherland's portal w
as open like the Realm's, and the Fathers walked the Earth. I knew which legends the taletellers had woven into human culture to represent faeries, but which legends were the Fathers? If faeries represented light and warmth, what creatures represented cold and darkness? Devils? Demons? Hobgoblins? Ghouls? Did dark magic mean evil magic? Or was it just, well, dark, and as harmless as the flick of a light-switch?
Evil wouldn't protect Earth. But then I thought of wars and child molesters. Did the Fathers somehow benefit energetically from human cruelty?
I recalled Delano feeding flying squirrels and protecting worms, his empathy when nightmares jolted me awake. Del's not made from evil. I refuse to believe that. I was clueless why he never mentioned the Fathers, and a little hurt, but I knew his reason was good.
It had to be.
Mud daubers buzzed past. Orin packed our cans and slung the backpack over his shoulders. I grabbed the leash and followed him toward the parking lot, embarrassed I didn't know the base concept of faerie-anything. Orin destroyed his life for mine, and I might be killing myself.
No, no. That wasn't true. Delano would never hurt me.
You signed your marriage license believing Sam would never hurt you, either, my mother snarked inside my head. Had the ink even dried before he started to change?
"This is why darklings keep territories," Orin said, breaking a lengthy silence as we passed an apartment complex. "To assure they anchor magics where they need to be. Otherwise, ecosystems would eventually crash. Magics would tear each other apart since each side can't transmit the other." Orin grimaced. The coyote stopped to pee. "Delano says faeries are slaves, but we have the option of free will. Becoming a darkling means you're the night's slave forever. The territory owns you."
"Yeah, that's heartbreaking," I said. The coyote scratched dirt and weeds with its paws, then pranced ahead. "I hate never seeing Yosemite."
"You haven't seen Yosemite?"
"I wish." We climbed the hill to the trash bins and pallets. "Our neighbor once trespassed and a war erupted."
"Why does Bavol care if you visit?" Orin asked. "You're not a darkling."
"But Del is, and I can't see Yosemite alone."
Orin scowled. "Why not?"
"I don't know my way around. The Realm can exploit that."
"The Realm never attacks near humans. Yosemite's safe if you stick to touristy areas."
I stared in the direction of the National Park. Why didn't Del tell me that?
Orin clasped my hand, beaming a cherry blossom grin. "Let's go!"
"To Yosemite?"
"I've got the rest of the day and extra cash," he said. "You're not a darkling, so why imprison yourself?"
I blinked … then scowled. Orin was right. I refused the darkshine, yet also renounced my freedom and control. Why? How did I create a cage and never notice?
"Come on!" Orin said, tugging my arm. "We need fun, and I wanna show off my driving skills."
My heart raced. My mother had been too poor to travel. Sam hated the west coast and didn't approve of me traveling alone. Then there were the Delano, Bavol, Realm dilemmas. I had fallen into another dimension, yet kept believing Yosemite was an impossibility. Now Orin dangled car keys from his finger, as if offering a tour of Atlantis was no big deal.
What will Del think? My lips twisted. He never cared what I did as long as I stayed safe. Bavol can't hurt me from the darkshine; the coyote and mud daubers will be present; and Orin is a fantastic bodyguard, I reasoned.
Besides, it seemed wrong to avoid life when Orin sacrificed so much for my freedom.
"Sss-So we can see Half Dome?" I asked.
"Sure!"
My mouth curved tentatively. "And Bridalveil Fall?"
"Of course, silly. We'll see all Yosemite Valley." We entered Kohl's parking lot. "But you gotta see my favorite spot, too."
"Where's that?"
Orin hooked his elbow with mine, grinning. "The pizza parlor."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I entered the mineshaft, Half Dome and waterfalls inside my smile. I expected stillness to greet me, no sound except the slow and steady pip of water. Instead, I heard clinking in the distance, echoing off stones. I bounded toward the sound, excited to share my day. My flashlight's beam cut the dark, the day magic in me so strong from Orin's teachings I couldn't sense the walls mere feet on either side.
I found Delano knelt beside his gold vein. I hated how he always listened to earbuds. I worried a sniffer would sneak up, and he'd die with Steppenwolf blasting in his ears.
His strained expression brightened when he saw me. He removed the earbuds. I heard Trent Reznor wail before he clicked off the player. "You're back."
"You're awake," I replied.
"Couldn't sleep, so I figured I'd try earning money." He scowled at his empty jar.
"How long have you been working?"
"Too long." Delano stood, stretching his arms above his head with a groan. How was your visit?"
"Great!"
"Good. I—" His eyes froze on my chest, wide and fearful. My breath caught in my lungs. Is a spyder on my shirt?! But when I glanced down I found only turquoise cotton. And, apparently, a war zone.
Delano's eyes narrowed. "Where did you get that sweatshirt?" He scanned the white, cursive Yosemite across my breasts over and over, as if reading a novel's worth of text. As if eight letters told an entire story.
"Orin bought it for me."
His head jerked. "Orin bought it for you?"
I nodded, smiling. "We visited Yosemite and he insisted on a souvenir."
"You visited Yosemite with Orin?"
"Uh huh. It was great! Although, he drives like a grandma."
"Orin drives now?"
Why is he repeating everything I'm saying? "Yes," I said, slowly. "What's the big deal? Bavol can't hurt me during daylight."
"Did anyone see you together?"
"I'm sure at least one of the hundreds of tourists did," I said with a confused laugh. "Oh! And we visited Orin's friend, Kager, while he peddled firewood and shirts. He's really nice."
Delano's mouth pressed into a thin, white line.
"I-I didn't think it'd be an issue." Stale air drifted past us, as if the mine sighed. Maybe Yosemite was a mistake. Maybe telling Delano about Yosemite was a mistake. "Are … are you angry?"
Delano chuckled dryly. "Of course not. You're free to do whatever you want." He faced the vein. His hammer struck the chisel, a metallic Plink … Plink … Plink echoing in the tunnel. "I'm concerned. Nothing more."
"Humans were everywhere and the coyote stayed near. Orin says the Realm never—"
"My concern is Orin," Delano said, and blew away a film of quartz dust. "Buying you gifts, introducing you to friends, escorting you to romantic destinations. He can mistake your time for a date."
I laughed. "It was not a date." Plink … Plink … Plink. "We were two friends catching up at a National Park." Plink. Plink. Plink. "Besides, the last thing Orin wants is a relationship."
The plinking stopped. Delano glowered at me, his eyes reflectors flashing in the light. "It's not a relationship I think he wants."
My jaw dropped. "You're jealous!"
Delano snorted. "Of the mockingbird? Hardly." Plink! Plink! Plink! "I'm thrilled Orin fulfilled your dream." He gave me a tight smile. "Especially since I'm incapable of doing so myself."
"Del…"
"Arrrgh! This goddamn vein!" He smashed his hammer into the wall. I jumped with a gasp; rock chips sprung as the whack reverberated through the tunnel. "Three years ago I extracted an ounce of gold in nine hours. Now I slave for a week and extract hardly a flake." He threw the hammer and chisel into the darkness. They skipped across the stone—clank!-tink!-tink!-tink!—as he spun on his heel and stormed to the kitchen. Ice crystals trailed on the ground behind him, glittering like an alien galaxy in the flashlight's beam.
Delano slammed the tea kettle onto the one burner stove, cranked the knob. "I suffer and risk everything for this territory, and
it betrays me." His quivering hand struck a match; the propane ignited with a belch of blue flame. Woomf! "You'd think it would support the one fae who gives a damn, instead of trying to starve me, impoverish me, attack me when I dare disobey. I might as well be in the Realm! Or dealing with Lydia's goddamn—!" His eyes squeezed shut as he clamped his tongue.
The surrounding darkness became an echo-chamber, amplifying the tension. I clicked on the kitchen's strung lights to soften it, then set my flashlight on the floor, unsure what to say. Emotions ignited inside him, unveiling not the pond he typically portrayed, but a watery abyss. I peered from its banks, desperate to see through the gloom and sediment shrouding its depths. Delano peered back like a Stygian merman, hammerheads and barracuda circling in a whirlpool of teeth. Tell me your feelings, I tried to say telepathically. The barracudas snapped. Tell me your pains. Tell me your past. Connect with me. But every time I reached down to him, his image reached up and froze the water between us.
What are you hiding, Del? Why haven't you mentioned the Fathers? I opened my mouth to ask, but my heart jumped into my throat and gagged me.
Delano turned to me and his face softened. He slid a hand through his hair, groaning. "Sorry. It's not you or Orin or the sweatshirt. I'm glad you had a great time. I'm exhausted and frustrated and stressed." Delano grabbed the chamomile tea from its shelf, opened the box. It was empty. "Of course," he grumbled. He crumpled the box and chucked it into the burn-can, then clicked off the stove and leaned against the table, wood creaking as he wearily rubbed his face.
I bit my lip, then slid to him. "I'm sorry you're having a bad day," I said, and hesitantly wrapped my arms around his waist. My chest tightened as our bodies pressed together. Delano stood rigid, his heart rapping a staccato inside my ear. Then his strong arms squeezed me to his chest. He buried his face in my hair, and I felt him breathe me in.
The clock ticked. I released a held breath, then slipped my thumbs through his belt-loops, let the weight of my arms hang. "What are we working on tonight?"
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