The Shattered Dark

by Sandy Williams

  “He doesn’t belong on Earth.” It’s unlikely a human will stumble across him out here, but he’s stuck in this world until a fae opens a fissure close enough for him to scurry into.

  “If he doesn’t use my fissure this time, I’ll send someone to pick him up. Here.” He hands me an Earth-made sketchbook. I wish I had mine with me, but it’s stuffed inside my suitcase back at my old apartment. This one looks like it belongs to another shadow-reader. The first half already has maps drawn in it. At least, I’m assuming they’re maps. I can’t decipher them, so I have no idea what the lines and scribbles mean. Whoever drew it would know, though.

  “Whose is this?” I ask, but as I turn another page, I know. Kelia stares back at me. Unlike me, Naito can actually draw. He’s made his fae lover look delicate. Her hair is long and loose, shaded in with the edge of a pencil, and her eyes are soft and mesmerizing. Somehow, he’s managed to capture her otherness on the page.

  I close the sketchbook and hand it back to Lorn. “I don’t feel right using this.”

  “You can rip out the pages you use,” he says. “After that, I want you to return it to Naito.”

  “You can return it to him.”

  He still doesn’t take it. “I did mention I’ve been banned from the palace, didn’t I?”

  “Lorn…” I fade off, fingering the sketchbook’s worn cover. Naito might appreciate having it back. It’s actually a pretty sweet gesture.

  “He won’t mind,” Lorn says, standing. He pulls at his cuffs to straighten the barely there wrinkles in his sleeves, then he reaches into his pocket and hands me an anchor-stone. It’s smooth and the color of snow-white quartz.

  “Where will this take us?” I ask. The stone is warm, a sign that it’s been imprinted with a location.

  “Worried I’ll abandon you in the Realm, miles away from a gate?”

  “Pretty much. Yes.” I’m not up for another six-hour walk through a forest, and tomorrow is Friday. I have to have my driver’s license and Social Security card turned in to Jenkins by then.

  “Fortunately for you, the city we’re traveling to does have a gate.” He dips his hand into the stream. The water pours between his fingers before it turns into a strip of white light. He holds out his other hand to me.

  “Where, Lorn?” I’m not stepping into the In-Between until I know.

  “Nashville,” he relents.

  “Tennessee?”

  He tilts his head to the side. “Ten of what?”

  “Never mind,” I mutter. There’s a gate in Nashville, so I’ll assume that’s where we’re going.

  After I take Lorn’s hand, he adds, “My apologies in advance.”

  I stiffen, but he pulls me into the fissure before I have a chance to back out. The cold air hits me, freezing my breath in my lungs. That’s not unusual, but the sharp pain in my chest is, and it doesn’t disappear when I stumble out of the light, hitting the ground hard.

  Lorn’s on his knees beside me. Chaos lusters flash erratically over his clenched jaw. He’s having just as difficult a time trying to breathe as I am, and I realize that this is the real reason he didn’t take Sosch to the Realm. It’s difficult for him, working any magic. If he fissured back and forth between his world and mine, he might not have had enough energy left to take me through the In-Between.

  If I’d known just how weak he was, I might not have agreed to come. Most of the time, fissuring doesn’t affect me like this. As long as my escort isn’t overly tired or hurt, their magic shields them from the drain of passing through the In-Between. Lorn’s magic hasn’t shielded either of us.

  I squeeze my eyes shut, cough, then force myself to rise to my feet. I’m light-headed, and I notice the human standing a few paces in front of me only after the fuzzy black spots clear from my vision.

  “Did you…were you…” He looks down at my knee. My bleeding knee. My jeans are ripped. “Are you okay?”

  The man is holding a set of car keys in one hand, a brown paper bag that looks like it’s holding a bottle of alcohol in the other. He’s probably in his late thirties, a family man, and, if his black slacks and tucked-in white cotton shirt are any indication, he’s some kind of businessman.

  And he obviously saw me appear out of nowhere.

  “I’m good,” I say as lightheartedly as possible with a queasy stomach. “I just need to watch where I’m going. Tripped over my own feet.”

  I start walking before he can say anything else. I’m not about to give him a chance to ask what he wants to. If he’s like the handful of other humans who have seen me appear out of nowhere over the years, he’ll doubt what he saw. He’s probably shaking his head now, thinking he needs some sleep or to check his vision or something.

  “You could have warned me,” I hiss at Lorn, when he falls into step beside me. We’re on the back side of what appears to be a strip mall. Looking around, I think that one human might have been the only person who saw me. Most likely, the cars on the road to our left were driving too quickly to notice the girl stumbling into the parking lot.

  “I believe I did warn you, my dear,” Lorn says. I think he’s trying to keep his tone light, but he doesn’t succeed.

  “You could have been more specific.” I’m still feeling unbalanced, but at least the queasiness is fading, and my chest doesn’t feel quite so tight. “And was this your idea of a safe place to fissure?”

  “It’s the only location I have memorized aside from the store,” he says. Then he lengthens his stride. “Now, hurry, please. We might have already missed our opportunity today, thanks to your delays.”

  A human woman is walking toward us, so I stifle my response and follow as Lorn leads the way around the row of connected stores. Once we’re on the front side of the strip mall, he points to the corner retail space. The sign above the door is simple: it’s plain white with the words A Taste of Ether written in a sophisticated cursive script. Sunlight reflects off the store’s glass windows, making it difficult to see inside. The only thing I can make out for sure is a few wooden crates in the windows.

  “Is this a wine store?” I ask, thinking there might be an arrangement of bottles sitting on top of those crates.

  Lorn nods. “A human named Sara works here. Don’t let her know what you are. She’ll be absolutely furious.”

  “She knows about the fae?” I ask, surprised.

  “She has the Sight.”

  “Really?” I stare at the storefront again, trying to see inside. I know the five other humans who are working with the rebels. None of them is named Sara. Could this be one of Atroth’s humans? I only knew a few of them. She could be working for the remnants now or—

  “Don’t get any ideas,” Lorn says, eyeing me. “This is another reason I’m not going through Lena. Sara isn’t some stray waiting around to be recruited. She’s mine.”

  There’s a warning in his voice. It’s completely unnecessary. If she’s not helping the remnants, I’m not about to pull her into the war. I wish I hadn’t been pulled into it. I want nothing to do with the death and the violence, but I’ve been involved too long to just walk away. I care about too many people now, and I have too many mistakes to account for.

  “A Sighted human is working in a wine store?” I ask Lorn. King Atroth wouldn’t have ever allowed this; he’d see it as a waste of her talent.

  “Profit, my dear,” he responds, his tone lightening. “Nobles love their luxuries, and your world produces a delicious grape. I’ve tried transporting the vines to my farms, but our soil doesn’t have the depth and personality that yours does.”

  I slant him a glance. “You have farms?”

  “Vast areas of fertile land suitable for the raising of crops and livestock? Yes. I have several.”

  I try picturing Lorn as a farmer and fail.

  “What do you grow?” I ask.

  “Cows.”

  “Cows?”

  “All quite illegal, in fact.”

  “You have illegal cows?”

  “I d
o,” he says with a pleased smile. “And the Realm hasn’t imploded yet.”

  Obviously, Lorn isn’t concerned with damaging the Realm’s magic. It’s mostly the high nobles and extremely conservative fae who want to keep human goods and culture out of their world. King Atroth appeased them, ordering his people to arrest merchants who were caught with human goods or with anchor-stones that were imprinted with Earth-based locations. The only exception, of course, was for his own swordsmen who had to escort Sighted humans through the In-Between. But I guess I shouldn’t be surprised Lorn didn’t follow the rules.

  “Maybe Lena will lift the ban on nontech human goods,” I say.

  “I should hope not.” Lorn gives me a look of exaggerated horror. “Wine and cows won’t be worth half as much if she does.”

  Sometimes, I think Lorn is a halfway-decent fae being. Other times, I think he’s exactly as selfish as he seems.

  Lorn taps a finger on the sketchbook I have tucked under my arm. “Make sure your map of Aylen’s shadows is accurate. I’ll fissure inside as soon as she leaves.”

  “I want Paige’s location first.”

  “I’m sure you do,” he says. “But that’s not the way I work. I’ll give you her location after you read the shadows.”

  I cross my arms. “I don’t even know if you really have her location.”

  “So little trust,” he says, tsking. “I always keep my word.”

  I let out a sigh. He better know where she is. “How long until the fae shows up?”

  “No idea. Could be in ten minutes. Could be in a few hours.”

  “And I’m just supposed to hang around until then?”

  “Yes.”

  I roll my eyes. “What am I supposed to say when Sara asks why I’m there?”

  Lorn smiles. “You’ll figure something out.”

  NINE

  A BELL ABOVE the door chimes when I walk in. Sara is younger than I am, early twenties probably, and wearing black slacks and a burgundy top with ruffled sleeves. She has a creamy, dark complexion—African-American and maybe a hint of something else? Bottles of red wine are in neat rows on the shelf in front of her, but she straightens them anyway, making sure each label faces out, before she turns to me.

  “Can I help you with…something?” Her tone changes drastically after she takes in my T-shirt and ripped jeans, and about that same time, I realize this isn’t some little Podunk wine store.

  I swear there’s not one trace of dust on the bottles, and each display has been set up with meticulous care. There’s a lot of floor space, and more than one bottle has a small table to itself in the middle of the floor. Those bottles might as well have spotlights on them. They’re displayed in small wooden boxes and cradled in a bed of black shredded paper. I don’t see a price tag anywhere in the store. That’s a flashing sign that says I can’t afford this stuff.

  So, what am I supposed to say to her? I look around the store, searching for an idea.

  “I got in a fight with my boyfriend,” I say. It’s the only thing I can think of to explain my ripped jeans and the dried blood on my knee. “Do you mind if I hang out here for a while? Just to be sure he’s gone?”

  She folds her arms, cocks her hip. “I assume he’s your ex-boyfriend?”

  “Soon to be, yeah. Definitely.”

  Her posture becomes much more casual. “Then, honey, you can stay here as long as you want.”

  “Thanks.” I pretend to stare out the window, looking for the asshole who skinned my knee. After a couple of minutes pass, I see Sara’s reflection approaching behind me.

  “Here,” she says, handing me a glass of red wine. “You look like you need to relax.”

  That’s an understatement.

  She looks out the window. “Is he out there?”

  I take a sip of the wine. “I think I saw his truck a second ago.”

  “Should I call the cops?”

  “No.” I cough. “No. That’s okay. I’m sure he’ll go away soon.” Before she asks more about my imaginary ex-boyfriend, I ask, “Do you own this place?”

  She takes a sip of her wine, then shakes her head. “Not yet.”

  The bell above the door jingles, and a man walks in. Sara gives me an inquiring look, and I shake my head no. That’s not the ex.

  She helps him pick out the perfect wine for his anniversary. Another customer comes in after him, and she helps him, too. While she’s working, I nurse my wine. Half an hour passes. I think Sara is getting annoyed, but just when I think she’s about to kick me out, my skin prickles.

  Sara definitely has the Sight. She tenses when the fissure cuts through the air. The woman who emerges is about my height, which is short for a fae. She’s not wearing jaedric, just a turquoise tunic over fitted black pants. The pants are tucked inside a pair of black boots that are embroidered with a pattern of gold half circles and diamonds. The design matches the scabbard holding her sword at her left hip. I’m surprised to see the name-cord in her hair. I wish I knew what kind of stones they were. If I did, I might be able to place where she’s from, but I don’t think I’ve seen these before. They’re two different shades of red with smaller black stones that might be onyx between them.

  The fingers of my right hand start to tingle. I want to sketch the shadows, but they always tell me a fae’s exit point, not where they’ve come from, and since I already know where we are, there’s no need to draw out their curves and angles. Plus, I don’t want to get caught staring at something I’m not supposed to be able to see. I down the rest of the wine to distract myself and try not to make a face when it tickles my nose.

  “Finished?” Sara asks, her tone clearly saying she wants me out of there. I can empathize. I hate trying to communicate with fae when Sightless humans are around.

  I hand her the empty glass. “I think my ex is gone, but can I use the restroom?”

  She presses her lips together. I think I’m going to have to find another excuse to stay, but finally, she says sure and points to a back room.

  “Thanks,” I say. The restroom is on the left side of the storeroom. I open and shut the door without going inside, making sure it’s loud enough for her to hear, then I tiptoe back to the open doorway of the storeroom and listen. I don’t really care to hear what they say; I just have to be able to see Aylen’s shadows when she fissures out.

  “Quick,” Sara says. “Before she gets back.”

  I peek around the doorframe, see Aylen tip open a draw-stringed pouch. Strands of gold slide out. Necklaces. Thin bracelets. A couple of plain rings. If Sara makes deals like this with fae often, she must be making a fortune.

  “It’s behind the counter,” Sara says.

  Aylen nods. She opens a fissure as she walks behind the register, but it’s not until after she bends down to pick up a crate of six bottles that I realize this isn’t going to work. Half her shadows will be hidden behind the counter when she fissures out.

  My sketchbook is already open and I’m halfway across the store when she disappears. Sara’s back is to me, so I give in to the urge to scratch down what I see. A swoop of black tinged with shades of gray fades in and out in the upper part of my vision. Aylen’s gone to a coastal city. I’ve drawn the waves on the top of the page, so she’s on the southern edge of a body of water.

  I turn to the next page, draw a craggy spine down the left side of the page. She’s gone to Criskan Province. There’s a city that’s bordered by mountains to the west and the Daric Ocean to the north. It’s called…

  I frown, trying to recall my mental map of the Realm. I don’t have every single city memorized, but this is a major port town with a gorgeous beach and a dense population. I should know it.

  I close my eyes. I’m going to have to remember the name of that damn city before Lorn will give me Paige’s location. What is it?

  “You didn’t flush.”

  My eyes snap open. Sara is standing directly in front of me.

  “What?”

  “The toilet,” she says. �
��It sounds like a tornado when it flushes. You didn’t flush.”

  “Oh. Um.” I look over my shoulder at the opening to the storeroom. “Sorry, I’ll—”

  Her gaze drops to the sketchbook in my hand. My map is a mess of wavy lines and lopsided trees, but it’s clear she knows exactly what it is. She looks at my drawing, then up at me, then over to where the fae disappeared, then back at my drawing.

  “Son of a bitch,” she says. “Who the hell are you?”

  Well, crap. The game is up. Might as well be polite.

  “I’m McKenzie,” I say, holding out my hand for her to shake. She doesn’t take it.

  “Who sent you?” she demands.

  As if on cue, a fissure opens to my left.

  “Lorn,” Sara all but snarls when he steps out of the light. “You brought her here?”

  “She didn’t stumble upon you all by herself,” he says, staring at the map, not at her. “Where is this?”

  Good question. I still can’t remember the name of the city.

  “It’s at the northern part of the Jythia Mountains,” I say. “The big city on the coast?”

  He glances up at me, then stares down at the map. “This is Eksan?”

  That’s it. “Yeah. That’s where she went.”

  Lorn raises an eyebrow, waiting. He’s probably memorized at least one location in Eksan, but he needs me to say the city’s name out loud to have any chance of fissuring close to where Aylen did, and I’m not about to name it. Not yet.

  “My customers trust me, Lorn,” Sara cuts in. “They don’t expect to be stalked by their competition.”

  Lorn laughs. “Aylen is hardly any competition for me.” He turns to me. “Now, name the city.”

  “Don’t,” Sara says, her fists clenched at her sides. “My business is none of your business.”

  “No one will know I tracked her from here. The city, McKenzie.”

  “Tell me where Paige is first.”

  His lips flatten into a thin line.

  “You gave me your word,” I remind him. “And you always keep your word.”