Moribund

by Genevieve Iseult Eldredge

  I reach out to her, to help her—

  Wild howling fills the back of the alley. The shadows there light up with glowing green eyes—two, then four, six, eight… My guts go slick with dread.

  “The hounds of the Hunt…” Euphoria rasps. “They’re here for you.”

  Crap. I decide the better part of valor is running my butt off.

  The growling breaks into snarls, and I hear them behind me, their great paws thudding on asphalt, their hot breath snuffling. They’re fast! I hurdle a spilled trash can and dodge behind a Dumpster as one leaps at me.

  What is going on? My body is like an Olympic athlete’s all of a sudden.

  And then the hound hits the Dumpster and the Dumpster hits me. “Oof!” I fall on my butt.

  Better not start counting those gold medals yet, Syl.

  I scramble to my feet and duck into a narrow side alley as the lead hound misses me and smashes into the bricks. A glimpse over my shoulder tells me all I need to know.

  Euphoria is after me.

  “Toward the train tracks,” she said. Can I trust her?

  The sounds of an oncoming train blare through the night. That night, violet lightning and dark figures chasing me. What choice do I have?

  I feel like I’m running toward my past, but my present is trying to kill me.

  So I run.

  Chapter Twelve

  Rouen

  Sleeper-princess

  Why can’t you remember?

  How brightly you burned

  My white-flame sleeper-princess

  - Euphoria, “That Night by the Tracks”

  I hold back as long as I can, Agravaine’s Command—“Go after her, Rouen. And bring her back.”—pounding in my head, threatening to split my skull in two. The blood that began with a trickle from my nose now gushes. With every moment I fight the Command, the agony grows worse.

  But I have to give her this head start. She has to make the train tracks.

  It’s her only chance—our only chance.

  The iron will weaken me.

  I wait as long as I can, and then I hear them… The cú sluagh, the hounds of the Hunt. They have joined the chase now. They flash past me, all bristling black teeth and claws and glowing green eyes. I have to catch her first.

  I let the Command take me, my limbs propelling me forward.

  I race after her. The night flashes past me, velvety-dark just like that night on the train tracks. We didn’t know who she was. We only knew where. We only knew that the sleeper-princess was on that train.

  I never imagined it would be her.

  The girl I met five months ago in the bathroom of the Nanci Raygun.

  I was going in, and she was coming out, her face flushed—I heard the heated argument but not the words—and smack! She ran right into me. Pretty girl, curly red hair and grey eyes, the most adorable smattering of freckles on her nose.

  She’d held my gaze for a moment. The sleeper-princess, right in front of me.

  But somehow, I only saw her.

  My heart… For the first time, it was truly beating, making me a creature of flesh and blood instead of Moribund and magic. Truly beating…for her. But I’d ignored it. She was mortal and me, Faekind. And Faekind do not truck with mortals.

  It’s especially bad for dark Fae. For us, draining a mortal’s life force is as easy as blinking.

  I brushed it off, brushed her off, so tense and worried about the idea of wrecking the train that I failed to recognize her for what she was. And later, when her white-flame power blasted out into the night, it blinded me, it burned me. I never saw her face.

  And now, flash-forward five months, and she’s all I can think about.

  Too bad I’m chasing her through a parking lot behind the Nanci Raygun. It’s not exactly awesome first-date material.

  We leave the streetlights behind as we crest the hill, flashing over broken pavement and around the few cars still left here. She’s fast. It’s her fair Fae blood Awakening, the stress pounding through her, lighting her veins like the first rays of summer, her body stretching to find its limit. She’s got more strength and stamina than ever, but she has no training.

  In the end, I’ll catch her.

  No!

  I shake that off. That’s Agravaine’s Command talking. I don’t want to hurt Syl. I won’t. Not even to save the hearthstone? a dark part of me whispers accusingly.

  No. There is another way.

  I have to get to her before the hounds. I’m ahead of them…for now, but once they have the scent of their prey, the cú sluagh are relentless, tireless, ruthless.

  I call upon my fairy wind for the last push to catch her. It swirls around me, a blast of wintry wind speeding me through the night. The parking lot flashes by.

  I’m ten steps behind, then five, our boots pounding broken pavement, then whispering through grass at the edge of the tracks. Three steps, two…

  And then I am standing before her.

  She pulls up short to keep from colliding with me.

  The Command slams into me. “Go after her, Rouen. And bring her back.”

  I grit my fangs and shore up my resistance. I pay for it in agony. My Moribund hand ignites in scorching pain, the fire of my rebellion racing through my limbs, my head pounding as if it’ll split open like a too-ripe melon.

  Screw you, Agravaine.

  If I take her to him, he will kill her, infect her with the Moribund and blow the circuits, channeling her raw power into the hearthstone. But she is more than that.

  More than just a battery.

  She is the last sleeper-princess of the fair Fae. If she dies, there will never be another.

  She crouches before me, eyes like grey smoke piercing my soul. With every drop of my royal blood, I want to stop myself, to stop the Command that drives me to subdue her for Agravaine. But like a nightmare, it rises within me, controlling me. I will bring her back to him like a faithful Huntress.

  I see it on her face—she’s not hiding like Agravaine thinks. She has no idea the power that slumbers inside her.

  If only I could teach her.

  That thought rises like blasphemy. I could.

  But I step in, the Command ruling me.

  Syl looks up. Her face is tear-stained, fresh tears tracking down her cheeks. “Why? Why did you lie to me? Don’t you…?” She swallows hard and then sicks up the words. “I thought you liked me. I thought you were my friend!”

  The anguish in her voice cuts me to the quick. “I…” But what can I say? Yes, I do like you. I really do. “I…I’m sorry.” Ugh. So lame, Roue.

  She backs away, puts her face in her hands, and sobs.

  I only stare at her, my pain forgotten. I know what to do with a girl who wants to kick my butt. But a crying girl? Hells and Harrowing… I scuff my motorcycle boot in the dust, kicking small pebbles onto the tracks. “I have to bring you back.”

  That’s the understatement of the century. My head’s about to blow clean off my shoulders.

  “Because he tells you to.” Misery swamps her every word.

  She knows. She knows I’m his servant, his slave, his Huntress. I nod slowly, pulling my hood up to cover my face.

  You can’t hide from the shame, Roue.

  But I do. I want to hide it from her—all my shame and pain and regret. Once, she looked at me and smiled, her eyes full of hope and promise. I want to sing for her, to play for her and bring her joy. Instead, I am here, fighting with her over foul iron and steel.

  “I…” I reach out to her.

  Howling echoes up over the hill and chills my blood. The cú sluagh.

  I want to scream at her to run, but the Hunt is already upon us—all spiky black fur and bristling hackles, teeth flecked with foam.

  They line up behind me. I’m not with them, I want to say, but that would be a dirty lie. I am with them. Huntress and hell-hounds.

  They growl, hackles raised, creeping toward her, bellies low to the ground.

  “Euphoria�
�” Her voice shakes with terror.

  “Get inside the tracks.” My pain flares, splitting through my head, leaving me gasping. Blood runs down my face, coppery and slick.

  She steps back into the cradle of train tracks. I taste iron on the air.

  In this moment, I remember everything—bumping into her in the bathroom at the club, the flare of white flame as she struck me and Agravaine, meeting her in Principal Fee’s office, the bike ride, picking her up at work, seeing her in that gown for the first time tonight…

  My heart pulses, awakening to her, my body igniting. Even now my hands remember the touch of her.

  The very thought of hurting her makes me ill.

  The ache inside me stretches deep in my gut, turning over, rolling and expanding, filling me up.

  The first hell-hound leaps.

  Screw it.

  I go full-on rebellion, lunging to meet the cú sluagh like a linebacker, fouling its leap, crushing it from the air. Jaws snap, scraping across my forehead. My vision is suddenly all water and crimson. My head reels, the hound is on me, all teeth and scrabbling claws and heat and fur. I punch, hear a yelp, kick out, and see foam fly.

  And then white teeth flecked with blood is all I see, and the furnacing green glow of its eyes. It dips its head almost casually to tear out my throat.

  “Down, boy!” I smack it with my violin, get some space between us, and bear down on the strings.

  Violet lightning burns the air, static and alive, humming, and with a great volt, it lashes into the cú sluagh. Its growl turns to a yelp, and the stench of burning fur and Moribund circuitry fills the air. The thing buckles and breaks apart, scattering dying circuitry, its body more machine than mammal. I push it off, rising to my feet.

  I’m a bloody mess, but I don’t care.

  I whip my hood off. Let them see me. Let them all see me for who I am—the dark Fae princess who will protect the last sleeper-princess of the fair Fae.

  Winter fighting for Summer.

  This is what rebellion looks like. Bring it on.

  I stand between the hounds and Syl. I bare my fangs at them. “Come on!” I lift my violin, my bow. “Come on, you filthy beasts!”

  As one, they leap at me, and the air is filled with snarls and guttural growls.

  I bear down on the bow, and the world lights up in violet.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Syl

  Once the Wild Hunt has

  The scent of its prey

  It is relentless

  It will never stop

  Until the prey is dead

  - Glamma’s Grimm

  I should run, or like Glamma said, “leg it,” which basically means both arms, both legs, no waiting. Just get the heck outta Dodge and never look back.

  But Euphoria…

  Euphoria’s in a tense standoff against the…hell-hounds, my mind unhelpfully supplies. I guess all those years of geeking out over D&D’s Monster Manual have finally paid off—that and sneaking peeks at Glamma’s Grimmoire. Hey, just because I don’t believe in faeries and magic doesn’t mean I don’t find that stuff interesting.

  At least…I did. Until it ruined my date, not to mention my dress.

  But I’ve got bigger problems than fashion.

  With those slavering jaws, those eerie fiery-green eyes, hackles raised like black spikes, they creep forward, hemming Euphoria in against the tracks. Oh yeah, they’re hell-hounds, all right, come to life right off the pages of Glamma’s Grimm.

  Now I know why Fiann cracked back there. Seeing your childhood nightmares come to life right before your very eyes? That’s definitely gonna require therapy.

  I fidget inside the circle of train tracks. Wait, what was their weakness again? Glamma told me… Kryptonite? The color yellow? A fluffy kitten? Gah!

  Run, the logical part of me whispers. But I don’t. I stand in the crossing of train tracks, my heart hammering as the hell-hounds corral Euphoria.

  She stays between me and them, my protector.

  She’s beautiful and super-cool—a shadow made flesh, her raven-dark hair flowing like molten night, her bronze skin glowing, those startling blue eyes ringed in gold fixed on her enemies. She’s not human—I can see that with my Fae-sight—but in this moment, I’m glad because these things are so not kidding around.

  They’re here to kill me.

  Her right hand bristles with violet lightning, tiny arcs that zap across the bow and onto the strings of her violin. They dance there like electric fireflies.

  She’s fierce, but even Euphoria has her limits.

  I see it, just like I can see through her Glamour. I see how tired she is—exhausted and bloody from fighting the hell-hounds, from fighting Agravaine’s power over her.

  The closer she gets to the tracks, the more she stumbles, the weaker she looks.

  Run, the logical part of me whispers, but Help her! the totally illogical I’m-crushing-hard-on-her part of me urges.

  What can I do? I’m no lover, and I’m sure as heck not a fighter. Not even with the weird super-strength flowing through my body.

  The hell-hounds snarl; they crouch low to the ground, those green eyes searing through the night. The biggest one inches forward, waiting…waiting…

  My heart slams against my ribs. I want to beg her to run with me, but what if she loses control again? Whatever. I have to risk it. “Euphoria—”

  “Stay still.”

  “Euphoria!”

  She turns. “Stay—”

  With a chilling snarl, the biggest hell-hound leaps. It crashes into her, and they fall back onto the tracks at my feet, the hound on top of her, all snapping teeth and slavering jaws. Euphoria’s swearing, her teeth bared back at the hound as she holds it off. She’s got her violin, but she can’t get the bow to the strings.

  With monumental effort, she throws the hell-hound off. It lands among its pack, and now they all start to howl, their baying sending chills crawling up and down my spine. Bow and violin in hand, Euphoria drags herself to her feet. She looks dazed, pained. She staggers.

  It’s the iron in the tracks, I realize. That’s why she told me to run here. She was protecting me, even then.

  As one, the hell-hounds creep closer, muscles bunched beneath coal-black bristles, and now I see it with my Fae-sight. Weird black circuitry teems across every bristling hair, and an inky-indigo aura wafts off them like smoke. They’re infected with…with whatever Agravaine’s infecting the student body with.

  Rad.

  They try to circle Euphoria, growling, snapping.

  Any second, they’ll close that circle and surround her. Any second, they’ll attack.

  A rush of panic floods me—Help her!—and on the heels of it comes power, thrumming up from the core of my being. She saved me. I have to save her in turn.

  The power coils in my chest, hot as the sun, threatening to burn me from the inside out.

  In the next moment, I’m pressing my back to hers as they surround us on the tracks. She is warm and solid and strong, and my brain does a little freak-out at the feel of her against me. The heat inside me blasts hotter, fiercer. I want to lean in to her, but the hell-hounds attack.

  Way to ruin a moment. Jerks.

  My newfound strength sings through me. I kick a hound aside, a lucky blow to its head that has it shaking and snarling, its green eyes burning like poisonous furnaces.

  Euphoria steps in, all super-cool sexy, sawing down on her violin. Violet lightning leaps from the bow and zaps my hell-hound and then another one, the night lit up with bright purple lashes. She staggers against me. “Damn it…”

  I steady her. “Euphoria!”

  “The tracks.” Her nose is gushing now. She dashes the blood away, droplets of red flying, and saws at her violin. A violet storm lashes out, lightning snapping like whips into the pack, singeing them, scattering them.

  I’m terrified. I’m impressed. Holy cats, I’m so into her.

  “Your power…” she grits out, her entire body tr
embling.

  “My what?”

  “Your power. The white flame. Use your power, sleeper-princess!”

  “Sleeper-what?” In this moment, I can’t decide if I’m more confused or annoyed because she sounds a tad accusing, like I’m not pulling my weight in this fight. I give her the stink eye, though she’s right. “I…” Even now, I feel the power, the heat, building up inside me, painful, stretching my rib cage, my lungs, my everything. I’m hot. I’m cold. I’m everything in between.

  The power is there, but it’s stuck fast. I can’t get it out.

  Seriously?

  “Let’s go, sleeper-princess!” Euphoria lightning-lashes a hell-hound back and kicks another in the face.

  Okay, clearly she means me. “I’m trying!”

  “Try harder.”

  Damn her for being so effortlessly cool and badass. Okay, Syl. My mind kicks into overdrive. Whatever a sleeper-princess is, I can figure it out. How hard can it be? I thrust a hand out. Nothing. Not even a fizzle. “What, do I just have to believe or something?”

  She glances back at me. “Are you serious?”

  “Are you? Look out!” A hell-hound leaps for her throat, and I hammer-fist it with both hands, swinging for the fences. The thing yelps, crashing to the tracks. I shake my stinging hands. Blood on my knuckles. Urggggg…

  “You’re not going to faint, are you, princess?” She says it all snarky, but there’s real concern behind her teasing. She sidesteps a hound, smacking it with her bow and then slashing it with a stroke of lightning. Its snarl turns to a howl, the lightning boring through it, hot knives through butter.

  It shatters like burned-out coal, circuits skittering.

  I get my act together. “No, I’m not going to faint. Jerk.” But something about our teasing banter is riling me up, and not in a let’s-fight-hell-hounds way.

  She’s smirking and so darn sexy—all effortless power and acrobatic fighty moves. “Blasted iron.” She grits her teeth, tries to step out of the circle of tracks, but the hell-hounds leap and snap, their teeth snapping shut.

  She dances back. “I can’t defeat them all. Not standing on iron tracks.” She gives me a grin that is part teasing, part cocky. “It’s all you, sleeper-princess.”