by J. C. Welker
The water split, and a head bobbed up.
…
Rebel coughed and inhaled deeply. “Thought I could hold my breath longer.” She sputtered. Her teeth were chattering, but when she saw Anjeline, a smile cracked her frozenness. “You should see the look on your face.”
“You…” was all Anjeline said.
With shaking fingers, Rebel worked her switchblade on the cage’s lock, sliding the tension wrench into the slot, and wiggled. The lock clicked. She yanked the door open, but before she could utter a single word, Anjeline’s arms wrapped around her.
She stiffened. “Settle down there, jinni. Conjure a girl dinner first.”
Hugs weren’t something Rebel knew. In fact, she couldn’t remember a time where she had ever been hugged, even as a child. Hot breath caressed her neck as Anjeline held on to her. Warm skin against cold. Those tingles surfaced and her body began to melt. She reached with stiff arms around Anjeline, pressing closer. So warm and soft. Then she felt softer things pressing against her. Her body flushed, working red spots on her face, heating her from the inside out.
“You came back,” Anjeline whispered against her ear.
Rebel shuddered but drew away to look at her. “Came back? I didn’t leave,” she said. A tear still clung to Anjeline’s eyes. And hurt, she noticed—hurt she had put there. “You thought I wouldn’t return?” The idea was absurd, causing her gut to twist.
“You’re a good egg,” Piran voiced, grinning.
“I didn’t know…” Anjeline stared at her for a second and seemed to think better of whatever she was going to say. She slapped Rebel’s arm instead.
Rebel jerked back. “What was that for?”
“For leaving me.”
“I left as a diversion. You know? A ruse?”
“I know what a ruse is. You should’ve told me.”
“I did. I gave you a wink.”
Anjeline paused. “A wink?”
“Yes, a wink to indicate the ruse.” She winked twice in indication.
A laugh was her response.
It trickled out of Anjeline like spun silk, the most genuine thing she’d done since Rebel had laid eyes on her the first time. “You beautiful schemer,” she said. Her taut expression dissolved as she seemed to remember the gesture. But she added, “I’m still angry with you.”
“What? Why?”
“Don’t know, but I’m sure I’ll find a reason.” She reached out to touch Rebel’s face. “You feel like an icicle.” At once, a flourish of heat swept over Rebel’s body—a rush of sizzling air—from her head to her toes, heating her in all the right places. No longer were her clothes soaked to the bone, her hair dripping, or her fingers an icicle blue.
“Bless your fiery soul.” Rebel sighed, wanting to bathe in her heat.
With no time to lose, she unbolted the next cage faster than she’d ever thought possible and snatched the vase, now seeing it as more of an extension to Anjeline’s lifeline. A hand squeezed her arm, and Anjeline shivered, Rebel’s imprint now back on it. She shoved the vessel into her satchel and turned to Piran’s cage, unlocking it.
“Hurry before the mermaid returns,” Anjeline told him.
“The old bat slumbers at the bottom of the sea for a long while.” Piran stretched his wings through his leather jacket, elongating them like elastic. He hovered over the water to the wall, gripping along it like a bat, and grabbed the rope attached to the foam float, bringing it near.
Anjeline and Rebel climbed on, and he floated them to the other penned creatures. Rebel went to work, popping the locks for each cage. A shimmer of light was unleashed as the sprites twittered through the air.
“Take the sides…” Piran waved his hand at two creatures buzzing around, commanding them to the float. The sprites floated near in a hummingbird-like sound, coming into full view for Rebel. Multicolored eyespots laced along their wings, matching their sparkling eyes, and in a moment, they grabbed the ropes tethering the float and heaved.
Piran’s own pinions worked at wild back beats, wagging so fast they turned into blurs, propelling them up through the tunnels faster than they could ever swim. They glided until the waters decreased, passing rubbish piles and slime, and the float skidded forward on a patch of fish bones. Another tunnel came into view where the waters were low enough, enabling them to go on foot. The sprites lit the way as Rebel and Anjeline trudged through puddles with Piran at the head, his metallic hair glinting like a compass.
At last they came to the flagstone stairs leading up into London above, the stairs where Jaxon had led them to Rebel’s ultimate betrayal. They mounted the steps, striding over slime, which she now realized came from the mermaids shedding their scales. Her boot struck the same patch as before, and she swayed. A hand snatched her arm. Anjeline steadied her, keeping her upright. “For having magical hands and feet, you’re horribly clumsy,” she said.
Rebel smiled. “Here I thought you adored me for my scheming.”
“Well, you are cuter when you’re overthinking,” Anjeline said. Though Rebel should’ve been focused on their situation, she found herself staring shyly, with nothing to say.
In several more steps, the city air hit them.
Clock towers rang out across the sky, and the sight of Tower Bridge gave them relief. The buzzing sprites hovered near and Piran bowed to Rebel. “You’ve liberated us. We offer you protection where no commoners set foot.”
“Where’s that, exactly?” she asked warily.
“A safe haven. Our Court.”
Anjeline petted a sprite on her shoulder and explained, “The blessed Sidhe Court.” She met Rebel’s eyes, seeming to gauge whether there would be an argument this time.
“Whatever you’ve heard,” he told Rebel. “we return human kindness with favors.”
“Though”—Anjeline eyed him—“it’s just as dangerous to befriend them as it is to offend them.”
“Sidhe don’t lie. We equivocate.” Piran grinned. “But one cannot pass into the Court unless they are guided by one of us. Or a magician.”
Cock-up. Rebel sighed. It seemed inevitable. “How are we getting there?”
Removing his jacket, Piran loosened his wings in a playful shake of his head, and a wicked grin turned up his lips. “They have the strength of a hundred men,” he said and gestured to the sprites. “To fly you, of course.”
Her heart tripped in a beat. “Fly?”
She felt a feather-soft touch as an arm hooked around her shoulders, and then tiny hands were clutching at her jacket and legs, lifting her and Anjeline into the air. Rebel opened her mouth to speak, but when she did, her mouth filled with wind.
They took to the sky.
Chapter Twenty-Five
In a swift moment, Rebel was up in the ether, the sting of ice crystals against her face. The wind howled in her ears. Her heart pounded in time with the beat of wings, as a fine accompaniment of creatures covered her shoulders and legs like a shroud of many colors. Her body floated against the air as though she were wading in the river again. But it was sky.
Below them, London spun by in an assortment of twinkling lights. A whoop of pure joy slipped from Rebel’s lips. She was actually flying. Well, technically she wasn’t doing the flying—they were carrying her. Piran chuckled above her, his head glinting as silvery as the moon. A hand grabbed her arm, as Anjeline kept her steady, floating with the help of sprites. The heat coming off her drove the cold away as they soared through the billow of clouds and the starlit space. Over rooftops and treetops, they flew, wind whispering in Rebel’s ears as her hair flapped about, mussed from the sky.
The sky.
She laughed again, a wild, heartfelt laugh.
When Anjeline smiled, wind gusted down her throat with her own laugh. “There’s a little bit of the sky inside of you,” she said. “Flying suits you.”
“It should. I wished enough for it,” Rebel breathed. Since she was a child, she’d dared to play with heights. She’d perch herself atop the ro
of of the Institute, challenging the odds of gravity or imagining walking closer to the edge and stepping off into the sky. She’d been fearless—or soft in the head, Gramone had told her. But she had wished to fly. To soar away from her miserable life. And now she was.
What kind of consequence would come from a wish such as this?
The winking stars went to sleep giving the sun its turn, and a vast horizon rose before them. It made Rebel feel small and utterly free. The sky lightened to a swirling purple and gold, flushing along the buildings, bathing everything in a glow. She could see the city beginning to awake. London looked so small from up here. Tiny buses, smaller cars, and miniature people, and as dawn rose, the waters of the Thames River appeared to dazzle like a glass road.
Again, she was seeing the city for the first time, through a different eye. A magical city. “How are people not seeing us?” she asked.
“There’s no one up here but us.” Piran hovered higher.
Rebel wobbled from the sprites but stayed close to Anjeline, watching the snap of her hair dance across her cheeks and her lips curve into that half smile. There was a gracefulness with which Anjeline sliced through the air, the way one might have if they’d experienced it thousands of times before. Her eyes closed for a few seconds, taking in the sensation, something she obviously missed.
Reaching beyond the small space between them, Rebel touched her hand. “You’ve flown higher, haven’t you?”
“Higher than you can imagine.” Anjeline’s voice filled with longing.
“Show, don’t tell, fire girl,” she teased.
Anjeline’s smile grew a fraction larger and she lifted higher. Her arms moved, guiding the sprites fluttering on her shoulders. With grace, she glided along the air like a wingless bird coasting on the horizon, soaring majestically, belonging here amid the clouds. Those fiery eyes met Rebel’s from afar and she felt a hum, felt her heart catch as if she’d been touched.
“Come on then, Faddi.” Anjeline crooked a finger at Rebel, her smile fully teasing. “Catch me if you can.”
The sprites tugging gave way, letting Rebel dip her arms. The creatures mimicked her motion, hovering her higher and faster. Piran laughed as she pursued Anjeline, chasing her through a mist of clouds. Her movements were weary, her legs awkward, and her arms moved in a swaying rhythm, but she felt as light as the air and as free as a fledgling.
With a wicked grin, she snuck up behind Anjeline. “Caught you!”
If Anjeline was surprised, she didn’t show it. She threw her head back and laughed. The sound was savory. It reverberated through Rebel’s chest, fluttering her belly with winged things. And then Anjeline turned her head and just looked at Rebel. Face-to-face. She felt those eyes on her like questing fingers. Then there were fingertips on her cheek.
“You caught me,” Anjeline breathed out.
The sizzling touch washed over Rebel, making her stomach perform an impressive cartwheel. Her heart turned weightless, either from the floating or from Anjeline’s nearness. Is this what happiness feels like? Her heart wasn’t used to it.
A spasm rocked her chest.
Rebel gulped in air. Her heart tripped and spat, as though it forgot it was supposed to keep her alive. Then again, her brain chided, humans aren’t meant to be up this high.
She dropped two feet, startling the sprites, and Piran caught her by the wrist. Anjeline was there in a blur, wrapping an arm around Rebel’s waist. Multiple tiny hands clung to her shoulders and legs, taking control and hovering her steadily again. She breathed a hard exhalation, unreeling tears from her eyes, and felt warmth on her face.
“You’ve pushed yourself too hard,” Anjeline said.
Piran’s wings wafted faster. “We’re nearly there, then you can rest.”
“Where…exactly is this Sun Court?” Rebel said between breaths.
“Where Courts reside, obviously.” He pointed. “See the little tower in the distance?”
Little? She stared ahead at the massive structure. “The Palace of Westminster?”
He nodded. It made sense, as much as anything made sense these days. Rebel would’ve asked more, but it seemed every answer raised more questions. For the rest of the way, Anjeline remained close and Rebel kept her eyes on the palace. It lay on the northern banks of the River Thames, its purpose to intimidate and frighten the population, to serve as the home of Parliament. And never to allow a thief within.
Once they neared, Piran and the creatures slowly descended toward the palace. Rooftops were barely visible behind a pointed series of Westminster’s towers, their spiked shadows slanted long and lean from the awakened sun. They easily sailed over Westminster Bridge, zipping by the palace gates, into the innermost parts until the center of Parliament came into view. The closer they drew to it, the more the structure’s aura changed and the sounds of the city seemed to fade. Rebel realized all had become silent. Above the pointed roofs of Westminster, the great clock tower at the north end loomed. Big Ben.
“Brace yourself,” Piran warned. “We must cross the threshold.”
“Threshold?” Rebel expected the entrance to appear out of thin air.
“There’s other entrances, but this one is faster—and wilder.”
As they neared Big Ben, Rebel could make out thin white, crisscrossing lines, like an energy field. A ghostlike film glistened over it, as if someone had wiped away a false image and she now saw what she was starting to understand came from the residue of magic. A protection ward. She sensed it then, an electric current running up from the ground into the air, vibrating to her throat from Westminster below. The buzz of magic she was becoming accustomed to. The clock tower hummed as though the earth’s heart were pulsing beneath it. They flew out fast, and straight up.
Straight toward the clock tower’s face.
Rebel realized what they were about to do. “Tell me we’re not?”
Piran chuckled. “What’s wrong, don’t know how to tell time?”
“We’re not going to hit it,” Anjeline said. “We’re going through it.”
“Neither of you are filling me with confidence.” Rebel was less worried about the clock, and more worried about what hid beyond it.
“You’ll be fine.” Anjeline grasped her hand. “Just don’t let go.”
As if my heart would let me. Her pendant seemed to weigh heavier around her neck. Anjeline squeezed her fingers, and she sensed the change as they crossed the threshold of the ghostly protection wards. She thrust out her hands, bracing for impact just as she felt glass. Felt the iron frame of the hour clock hand—until magic unspooled around her, and she found herself pitched forward, hurtling into darkness.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Rebel’s heart slammed into her throat.
She didn’t so much as emerge back into reality as smash headfirst into it. The sensation of falling through emptiness canceled all else out. There was no up or down, just dizzy and blind in the darkness. The contents of her stomach gave a heave, and she flailed her arms to grab a hold of anything she could, but instead hit something soft and warm. Silky hair. An arm. A waist. Light filtered in. An invisible force shoved Rebel backward, and she hit something hard, then heard the deafening ring of a tower bell.
A body landed on top of her, knocking her backward again. She blinked up at the face hovering over hers and smiled. “You have to stop landing on me.”
Anjeline pushed herself up on her arms, looking amused. “Would you rather I be underneath you?” she asked. Tingles surfaced from Rebel’s chest all the way to her toes.
Laughter cut through the sensation. Piran was firmly standing on his feet. A saccharine smell surrounded Rebel, the scent of something familiar, but not quite. Anjeline held out a hand and she took it, getting to her feet, but when she glanced up, she almost fell over again at the sight.
Never had she been within Westminster.
Inside a hidden Court. Everything was red and gold. Statues of famous parliamentarians surrounded Rebel as the massive hall d
isunited into octagon segments, the central lobby covered in smooth curves, vast spaces, filling the mosaic-vaulted ceiling with echoes of voices. Everything looked less like it had been constructed and more like it had been magically altered to be this way. Enormous chandeliers hung above, beautifully blown into shapes—an emerald dragon, a phoenix flying by a seahorse—while thousands of burning lights hovered near the ceiling.
Except, Rebel realized, they weren’t lights, but fireflies.
The fireflies cut through the beams of morning light pouring through the towering windows, zipping around peoples’ shoulders. The central lobby formed a crossroads where doors labeled Lords, Commons, and Westminster Hall met, all able to access this magical court. Men and women went about their business, adorned in similar dress. Robes embroidered in intricate spirals, others in renderings of beasts—a fiery bird’s tail, or a coiling serpent. Like Skinner’s garment, these had been enchanted with creatures, waiting for a simple magician’s command to bring them to life. These were government officials who Rebel never suspected could be involved in magic or be anything other than human. Corrupt humans, yet humans nonetheless. Still, they paled against those not human at all.
Sidhe people.
A winged boy ran past them, grasping an armful of glowing spheres, following another boy whose face was the color of jade. Uniformed guards lurked near, their eyes flashing amber, their crimson leather emblazoned with a gold rendering of a sun. A group of women with sharp-boned faces strode down the lengthy hall—antler horns protruded from their backs.
“Welcome”—Piran lifted his hands—“to the Sun Court.”
It was as if someone had taken the Court, merged magicians and Sidhe together, and secretly plunked them in the center of Westminster Palace. This place was foreign to her. Not something in her world, but this was real. Rebel gazed around at a place dream worlds were born of. Once more, her mind appeared to adjust itself, absorbing images most people would run from. Rebel felt dull all of a sudden, magicless and out of place, and wondered how much more out of her reality she could possibly be.
