I thought of his first letter to little me, saying I might need a friend. But he did.
My father had left us, and because of that, I’d embraced my true self and finally took up my warrior role.
Clayton’s mother had died, taking his true self to her grave, and because of that, he’d taken revenge on everyone.
Svein surged on, words his only possible weapon. “I hadn’t realized your father worked in the Butterfly room,” he said. “Interesting. A Butterfly agent could bound your sense of essence, off the record, because you wanted to be a dentist, so you could help the fae.”
“Good one,” I said.
“And here you are,” Svein said, “about to kill your fellow half-fae whose parents hid her too. Why the hell would you do that when she’s the only one like you?”
“I gave her a chance,” Clayton said.
“To stop you,” I said. “You wanted me to stop you.”
“I wanted you to know me,” he said. “With someone like me, I could have—we could have doubled our strength. In fact,” he said, “we still can.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I said.
He took the plate away from my face, placed it beside me, and dropped to his hands, close to me. “I tried to warn you, Gemma,” he whispered. “My father was right, after all. Your parents were right. At birth, we were drafted into a war we didn’t start. Now you’re fighting for the Olde Way. Why? Don’t you realize,” he said, dropping his voice to an intimate whisper, “that they’ve sold you a bill of goods?” He poked his knee hard into my ribs. “Don’t you see that the Olde Way is not for me, or you?”
“What are you talking about?”
“We have no place there. You’re breaking your neck for a club that won’t let you in. If the Olde Way is ever recreated, the fae will live in everlasting harmony and peace, and you, the great warrior—you’ll be the underpaid security guard at the gate.”
“No,” I said. But I paused. I’d lost and sacrificed and now I was staring death in the face. That was my destiny?
“Think about it,” he said. “You and I, together, we can make a new reality. The Olde Way is gone, and the human world has so much wrong with it, I don’t even know where to begin. But you and I can start a lineage of mixed breeds.”
“What?”
“Imagine,” he said, hooking a finger underneath the bottom of my sports bra, “what we can do together.”
The smash of glass made us both jump, and Clayton’s head snapped around to look at Smiley’s office, where Avery had kicked through the window with his bound feet. It was only a moment of distraction, but it was enough. As Clayton turned back to me, I swept my arm around, whipping the back of my right hand hard across his mouth. He fell to the side, and I jumped up as he spit out a tooth.
I laughed bitterly. “Good thing you know a thing or two about cosmetic dentistry,” I said.
Clayton got up but his head still hung and he wiped his mouth. “I assume this means you don’t want to work together,” he said, “and that you’d rather just die here.”
“What makes you think you can do this, anyway?” I asked. “Are you stupid? The political candidate who promised on television to investigate you, his girlfriend, and the D.C. Digger. You think the police won’t figure that one out?”
“Who cares?” He straightened all the way up but he didn’t come after me. “They won’t see me to arrest me when I blink. Or maybe I’ll get careless and they will arrest me. And what happens then? Do you think there’s one woman on the jury who I can’t convince, with glamour, that I’m perfectly innocent? Do you think, if I end up in jail, that I can’t convince a guard to let me out, or convince an entire floor of inmates to do my bidding? I’ll be fine, and I’ll have a new plan by then, but this time, you won’t be around to stop me.”
“Pretty sure of yourself,” I commented, still smiling. “I guess you’d have to be, because you never had anything else. If you weren’t someone I was about to kill, I’d feel sorrier for you. If your father was trying to squelch your emotions, you’ve never been to a gathering, have you?”
“Who cares?”
“Don’t you think that if you’d ever seen the Olde Way, just for a second—really seen it yourself, and not heard morning fae romanticize it—you might have had a much different goal?”
“I told you, Gemma,” he said, advancing slowly, putting one foot deliberately in front of the other, “it’s not for us.”
“But, see,” I said, refusing to back up, letting him get closer and closer, “that’s where you’re wrong. I’ve seen it. And it’s calling me home.”
He narrowed his eyes.
“Svein was wrong,” I said, gesturing to where Svein now knelt beside Mahoney. “And you’re wrong. I’m not like you. Here’s the difference.” I stepped forward and met him once again eye to eye. “I belong to both humans and fae. But you belong to no one.”
I anticipated the punch before he let it loose. I heard the swish of air as I dropped to the ground and rolled away. I popped back up to my feet but he rose also, and I mean rose—suddenly he was in the air, his wings holding him aloft with no effort and barely a flap. Shocked at the vision of him floating before me, he caught me off guard and was inches from me in an instant, pulling both his knees into his chest and slamming both feet into my sternum, sending me sprawling back against a weight bench before I slid to the floor.
Again, I never saw him move, and he was upon me. His wings were warp-speed. I scrambled but whacked the top of my head on the chair, and in the moment between pain and movement, Clayton fell back to earth with all his might, on top of my left ankle.
Whether it was the white-hot knifing pain or the sickening crack of splintering bone, I didn’t know, but I screamed. I screamed out the raw, searing, intolerable realization that I was about to lose everything I’d done this for and everyone I cared about.
When my scream was only an echo reverberating around the dusty room, Clayton smiled that disturbed smile and said, “Good job. You certainly did make this interesting. I’ll be with you shortly.”
He headed to Smiley’s office.
“No!” I yelled, but he’d turned deaf to me. I looked at Avery, twisting frantically against the ropes that held him as Clayton approached the room.
Think, think. I gritted my teeth with the effort to force logic to break through the pain and the fear.
I wasn’t going anywhere on this foot. How else could I move? Crawl? Hop?
My right wing twitched.
I breathed in sharply, the oxygen shooting straight to my brain.
Bracing himself on a chair against the back wall of the tiny office, Avery used his feet to push the large metal desk in the direction of the closed door. It moved a half-inch every two or three pushes. Clayton paused at the window to watch, chuckling.
Svein was looking at me. My wings opened and closed. He nodded once. Yes.
I tried to communicate with my face, widening my eyes, furrowing my brow. How?
He mouthed something, and I squinted to see. He mouthed it again, exaggerating the words: Just intend. Just fly.
I intended, and swooped backward and up like I was on a swing set. My arms and legs flailed, and the whooshing air burned through my wounded and swollen ankle. Just before I hit the ceiling, I intended to hover, and I did.
I’d expected the skin on my back to pull, that I’d have a feeling of my body weight hanging by a thread, but it was as though I was standing still—ground unnecessary. I didn’t have to think about moving my wings any more than I thought about moving my arms and legs. They were my body, and they did what I needed them to do. My hovering was shaky, like a car that could stall at any moment, but I was doing it.
Clayton kicked the office door off its hinges and shoved the desk against Avery, pinning him to the wall.
I swooped crookedly down to the pile of jump ropes near the ring, grasping the wooden handles. Clayton didn’t see me. His full concentration was Avery, who was
squirming and angry, but not frightened. I knew he wouldn’t be, and that was my only comfort in the nanosecond it took me to get up on Clayton from behind and wrap the jump rope around his neck.
He clutched at the rope—literally his last rope—gasping and trying to breathe, trying to cough.
I pulled tighter.
I had a life in my hands, and remembered what I said to Svein. When you fae finally do bring back the Olde Way, I am going to be worthy of it.
The Olde Way needed me to fight its battles, but I couldn’t win its war. The problem was that the morning fae assumed they needed violence to win the war. And maybe—maybe they didn’t.
“Svein!”
He ran to my side as I loosened the rope and, still floating just above his twitching wings, instead wrapped my arm around Clayton’s neck. He took the reprieve to cough, tears of pain streaming down his face. “My pocket,” I said. “A little bag.”
Svein reached into my front pocket, the warmth of his hand sliding down flat against my inner thigh, grasping a handful of trinkets. He threw my keys on the floor and opened the pink pouch. I held out my free hand, and he dropped the tooth into my palm. I closed my fingers around it.
The sticky, sweet scent ran up my nostrils and into my brain, coating my mind like molasses. White light radiated from the crown of my head and dissolved into a rainbow that slid down the length of my body, branching out into my fingers and toes, pulsing warmth into my injured ankle. The chorus of otherworldly voices faded in and wrapped itself around me like a lace blanket, humming in and out of the surface of my skin. We all came from here, this place of purity. The light moves in and out of all of us. It’s eternity. It’s not gone …
“You can’t even kill me,” Clayton managed in a hoarse whisper. “The legendary warrior can’t finish the fight.”
As at peace as I would have been had I just been tucked into bed, I stretched my legs out behind me and put my mouth close to his ear. “The Olde Way,” I whispered, “is that we all exist in each other. If I kill you, I kill us, and then I fail.” I squeezed my elbow tighter, and he scratched at my forearm. “You opened my eyes,” I said. “Because I understand now that to win, we don’t need violence. We only need what we already have. We only need to share the memory with those who can’t remember. Or won’t remember.”
Still weak from his near-strangling, he struggled, pushing back at me, but I held fast. “In the end,” I said, “you poisoned yourself with your toothpaste. And to beat you, I need to save you. Innocence is stronger than me, and it’s much stronger than you.”
With the hand wrapped around him, I reached up and pinched his nose shut, and he opened his mouth, his gulps for oxygen hissing over his tongue and through the gap where I’d smashed away his perfect grin. Blood slid from the corner of his mouth.
Fae blood. Our shared blood.
“For the record, I wish I didn’t have to do this, because I don’t forgive you,” I said. “But this is my destiny. Now, smile wide.”
I jammed the tooth, shimmering and scented with innocence, into the empty hole in his gum.
He howled long and hard and convulsed, tugging at his own face and lips, but still I held him until he abruptly silenced and closed his eyes. He softened completely, and when I slipped my arm away and backed up, he nearly tumbled backwards, so I eased him to the ground before my underused wings gave out and I fell against the wall next to him. He curled up, trembling, and hugged his arms around himself. Then he smiled.
It wasn’t the killer smile of Dr. Clayton. It was the smile of Riley, a child skipping downstairs to find a pile of colorful gifts under a Christmas tree.
He tilted his head back, and I knew he was hearing the song. His breathing slowed, and I knew he was breathing in the freshness and purity. His eyes rolled back and forth under his lids, and I knew he was seeing the rainbow light. The Olde Way pulsed through his blood again, surrounded him with love.
Then he opened his eyes, bright and wet. “I saw it.” he murmured. “I saw it. I saw it.”
Svein, lingering in the doorway, and Avery, silent and restrained, watched. Then Svein went to Avery, removed the towel from his mouth, and began working through the ropes.
I tried to limp, but had to drop to a painful crawl on my forearms, dragging my battered foot, to get to Greg Mahoney.
For a moment, I thought I was too late. Then his eyelids fluttered strangely and opened into slits. “Mahoney, you bastard,” I said. “Don’t die.”
“I think,” he rasped, “I already did.”
My wings opened and closed behind me. “No, it’s me,” I said. “I’m what you’ve been searching for.”
“You’re real,” he whispered. “I knew. I knew I saw her. I was a kid.” He swallowed with tremendous effort. “No one believed me.”
“Well, hotshot,” I said, and my words caught in my throat, thick with emotion. “I hope you’re finally satisfied.”
“Biggest story of my career,” he said without moving his lips, and closed his eyes. His breath rattled funny, and I shook his shoulders. He didn’t move. “Greg,” I pleaded, laying my head on his chest. Then I yelled. “Svein! 9-1-1, now!”
Phone in hand, he was at my side in an instant, his face sober. I looked up at him, hot tears falling fast down my face. “Hurry up!”
“Gemma,” Svein said quietly. “It’s too late.”
I stared, numbed. Svein knelt beside Greg’s body.
I felt a hand on my shoulder. I didn’t turn around, just bowed my head. “Bricks,” I heard in my ear. “I’m glad you’re okay.” I turned to see Not-Rocky cradling his broken arm with the other. He leaned into me for an improvised hug. “Shirley’s all right. He’s lying down. He didn’t see nothing. And me—well, I didn’t see nothing either. Understand?”
I nodded my gratitude. He nudged my arm with affection, warily eyed my wings, and moved away.
Svein took my hand, but I lifted my head, and Avery was in front of me.
There was nothing I could say. As it turned out, I didn’t have to.
I let go of Svein.
Avery knelt and opened his arms, and I crawled to him. He wrapped one arm around my shoulders and one around my waist as I sobbed. As I pressed my chest to his, I felt him sobbing too. I cupped the back of his neck and drew him down. His kiss was as strong and forgiving as mine. My wings shivered and folded into my back.
CHAPTER 23
One week later, I was still in bed. Sorrow, exhaustion, relief, and my broken ankle were four good reasons not to get up. Avery, as often as he could, was the fifth.
Staying in bed also meant staying out of the news, for the most part. As far as the public was concerned, my story wasn’t the compelling one, anyway—I was just a bit player that night. This is what the world understood: the dentist whose career was ruined had killed the journalist who’d broken the story and tried to kill the politician who had it in for him, as well as the politician’s girlfriend and a couple of local fighters who’d tried to help us. A rambling confession by Clayton made the paperwork a whole lot easier. Avery was comfortable in the spotlight, so he spoke for both of us.
There were a few things he didn’t need to say, however, because no one knew to ask.
That night, while Clayton rocked and babbled in the corner and I cried in Avery’s arms, Svein had called in several people from The Root, a team wearing jackets emblazoned on the back with a large purple butterfly. They arrived swiftly and closed themselves in the office with Clayton to bind his fae abilities, effectively turning him into a masqueraded human. After they left, the police arrived. As the cuffs were slapped on him, the little baby tooth fell out of his mouth, and his nonsensical chattering immediately ceased. When they led him out to the squad car, he passed by me, and I tore the blood drop chain off my neck and dropped it in his pocket. A token of respectful acknowledgment of his sad story.
He looked over his shoulder at me, and although I’d never know what he felt in that moment, I understood that it wasn’t
hate.
Before we’d all parted ways that night, I’d asked Svein one last question. Would Riley Clayton tell the police, tell the world, about the fae? “No,” he’d said. “Because now that you’ve shown him the Olde Way, he knows that he risks losing it too. He’s become one of us.”
I had a lot of time since that night to think about everything, including the kids that Clayton had already gotten to—the sunken-cheeked, hollow-eyed kids in his waiting room, and little Brian’s foul-mouthed apathy. I wished the poison effect would wear off, that their parents would be able to get their children back, but I knew firsthand—as did Clayton himself—that once innocence is taken away, it’s gone forever.
In the last week, Mom came to visit me a few times and we mainly talked about my father. Dad came to visit me a few times, and we talked about Mom. They had yet to visit me together, but I knew they would. Soon.
In the meantime, Mom told me, she planned to attend the next fae moon gathering. She offered to bring me but I declined, remembering my difficult journey last time. I did ask her, though, how she could have stayed away for so long. I felt responsible, I said, that I was the one that kept her away.
“I did miss the company of other fae,” she’d said. “But I kept two of your baby teeth in a box. If I needed to remember, I poured the box into my hand and let my little girl take me there.”
Today, Avery was at Greg Mahoney’s funeral. Though my broken ankle was a convenient excuse, it wasn’t the reason I couldn’t go. I just—couldn’t go.
When Avery returned, it was noisily. The door opened and there was scrambling and shuffling and I thought I heard something heavy fall in the kitchen. “Avery?” I called. When he didn’t answer, I hauled myself out of bed and balanced on one foot as the clatter neared, ready to spring if I had to.
Avery threw the door open, and a bomb hit me. A furry beagle bomb. I fell back onto the bed, and the dog landed on top of me, licking my face, barking once with happiness.
“Down, boy,” I managed to say, and we wrestled some more. “Down, Canine!”
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