by Amy Patrick
I’ve got to stop this train of thought before all the blood leaves my brain and I fall out of this friggin’ tree.
Squinting to see better, I get a look at the TV screen. She’s watching a movie I’ve never seen before, but I recognize the stars. The female lead is the daughter of a famous drummer—human, but pretty. The guy is Elven. An Englishman with a ready smile, he’s the personification of tall, dark, and handsome. The volume isn’t high, but I can hear bits and pieces of dialogue through the open window. The onscreen couple is arguing, and Laney is... oh god, she’s crying.
My heart squeezes in my chest, and I move out farther on the branch, drawn to her. I want to hold her—or grab the remote and get rid of the movie that’s making her sad. Why is she watching something like that?
I can’t stand to see her unhappy, and then it occurs to me. Maybe she’s been crying a lot since I’ve last seen her. Maybe she cries every night, movie or not. Maybe she wants to watch sad things because she is sad.
Over me? I’m shamed by the eager jump in my heart rhythm. I don’t want her to be sad. But it also pleases me to think that she might be missing me the way I’ve been missing her.
When the scene ends, Laney picks up the remote and clicks off the TV. Now her room is completely dark. Is she going to bed? I suppose a lack of light doesn’t necessarily mean she’s sleeping. She doesn’t need light to read or exercise or brush her teeth.
I’m not sure what to do now. I don’t want to leave. Being even this close to her after spending the past few weeks apart, I feel calmer, more even. Maybe I’ll spend the rest of my eternity as her shadow, living life, if not with her, at least near her. Of course, eventually someone will notice, and then the police will be called, and I’ll be prosecuted as the Peeping Tom that I am.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I scramble down from the tree, intending to go back to my car, get in, and drive straight up to Memphis. Instead, I find myself standing beside her porch, staring up at her dark window. It’s like there’s a powerful magnetic force emanating from her room. I feel like if I lifted my arms and didn't fight it, I’d float up into the air and through that open window.
I won’t wake her.
Climbing the porch railing and support beams, I vow that I’ll only look at her a minute or two, maybe brush the softest kiss on her cheek, and then I’ll go.
Getting onto the roof is much easier than climbing the tree was. In under a minute, I’m right outside her window screen, listening for any evidence of movement inside. Hearing none, I ease the screen up and carefully climb in. I don’t know if Laney’s father is the shotgun-wielding type, but it would serve me right to find myself on the wrong end of a rifle right about now. At least I’d be put out of my misery.
My heart is throbbing like a migraine in my chest as I get both feet on the floor and scan the room. No father. No rifle. There’s no night light either, but there is enough moonlight coming through the window for my already adjusted eyes to see her. She’s in bed, sound asleep, half covered by a thin quilt.
The floor is carpeted, so my feet make no sound as I glide across the room until I’m right next to the bed. Dropping to my knees, I gaze into her face. She’s so beautiful it makes my eyes water. Her soft, even breathing is like a salve to my soul. My own breathing slows, my tense shoulders relax. My fingers ache to stroke her long, straight hair and caress her baby smooth cheek. But I can’t. It would be wrong to touch her without her consent. Just being here is crime enough. I fold my fingers into my palm and squeeze them in a fist of frustration.
Laney makes a small noise, shifts in her sleep, and then wakes with a start, sitting halfway up. The movement brings her face inches from mine. I’m frozen in place, afraid to breathe, afraid even the resuming of my heartbeat will alert her to my presence and frighten her.
For long excruciating moments she stays frozen, too. Then she speaks. Her whisper is almost loud in the perfect silence of the room. “Who’s there?”
She doesn’t sound scared. Just certain. She knows she’s not alone. I’ve got to get out of here. But how do I leave without terrifying her and causing her to scream and wake the whole house? Very slowly, Laney lifts a hand and reaches out, directly toward my face.
As her fingers close the distance between us, I ease backward, evading her without sound. If I don’t start breathing soon, I’m going to pass out on her floor and the whole gig will be up.
Closing her fingers on empty air, Laney withdraws her hand, letting out a long breath. I take the opportunity to gather some long overdue oxygen myself.
She must hear me inhale because in one abrupt motion, Laney throws off the covers and sits up, turning so her tiny toes touch the floor beside her bed. If she stands and takes a single step forward, she’ll trip over me.
“Culley?” She gasps. “Is that you?”
I don’t respond. I don’t move.
Only once before in my life have I ever felt such a mixture of terror and excitement and wonder. I was nine, visiting Kakadu National Park in Australia’s Top End with my mum’s servant Callum. We were hiking alongside the Yellow Water billabong, talking about how beautiful the day was and cataloguing all the turtles and bird species we’d seen so far. Suddenly, there was an enormous crocodile right in front of us. Either we’d stumbled across its resting spot, or it had stalked us in the lily pads along the water’s edge.
I knew in that moment that it could be my last on this earth, but I didn’t care. The experience of seeing that fascinating animal so close, so alive and beautiful and powerful and deadly—it would have been worth it.
This is like that ten times over. Hearing her say my name. Hearing that note of hope and even... joy? in her voice.
The enormity of my foolishness hits me all at once. I am not the only one this little walk on the creeper side could hurt. I should never have come here. If Laney thinks about me even a fraction as much as I think of her, then my nocturnal visit could re-open wounds for her that were apparently starting to heal based on what I saw with bicep boy today.
And she needs to get over me. Her feelings for me change nothing. I’m still bad for her. My world is still too dangerous, and even if it weren’t, I’d only end up dragging her down to my level if we were together.
“I knew you’d come,” she says. With a sob, she adds, “I miss you. I love you.”
A fierce joy seizes me, inside and out. That’s it. I have to go—noise or not. Shotgun or not. Scrambling to my feet, I cross the room to the window and duck out onto the porch roof. Before leaping to the ground, I glance back inside one more time to see Laney sobbing, stretching a hand out toward the window.
Chapter Twenty-three
Poetic Justice
“Why do you have to leave tonight?”
Ava follows me around my room in Altum as I gather my belongings and stuff them into my travel bag.
“I just do, okay?” I can’t stay in Deep River another minute much less a whole night. If I don’t get on the highway immediately, I’ll wind up back at Laney’s house, falling at her feet, and this time, confessing that I love and miss her, too. “My business here is done. I’ve given Lad all the information I have. You have my new number. Let me know when the Light Elves are ready to move on the supply lines. I’ll be in contact if and when I determine that Hakon will help us.”
“Where will you go now?”
“Back to Memphis. I’ll... sleep on the plane or something, wait for Hakon to return.”
“Culley, wait. I’m worried about you. You’re not acting like yourself. Stay one more night, get some sleep and a good meal in you before you take off again.”
“Listen, I appreciate it. But you’re not my sister, you’re not my bond-mate—God knows how you passed up that tantalizing opportunity. Just... let me be. I need to get out of here. Tonight.”
“You saw her.”
I give her a death glare in answer and stuff the last of my things into the bag. Lifting it from the bed I turn to her.
“Come here.”
She takes a few steps until she’s right in front of me.
“I’m fine, all right? I’ll be fine. Now take care of yourself and give my regards to the Light King and his queen. We’ll talk soon.” I press a brief kiss to her forehead and leave the room.
I am so not fine.
I miss you. I love you. Laney’s words repeat in my mind over and over as I drive ninety miles per hour on the highway to Memphis, my brain refusing to even dull the sweet sound of her voice. With every mile I put between us, the urge to pull a U-ey across the highway median and go back grows stronger.
Why did I go see her? Did I think it would make things better? Whereas before the pain of being separated from her was a steady smoldering burn, now it’s a drought-fueled wildfire. I can hardly stand being inside my own body.
Reaching Memphis, I drive past the exit for the airport and head downtown, cruising past Beale Street and pulling into the parking lot of a club on the bluff overlooking the fast and wide Mississippi River. By now I’ve learned to recognize the clubs that offer cheap drinks and loud music, dark anonymity, and drunken oblivion.
Pushing through the doors of this one, I smile widely. Bingo. The house lights are low, the sound barely short of deafening. A shirtless DJ with blond dreads and full sleeve tattoos bounces at the far end of the room, and the dance floor writhes with zoned out club goers.
I walk directly to the bar, order two shots and down them both in quick succession. It’s been hours since I’ve last eaten, and the alcohol hits my bloodstream quickly. But I can still hear her, see her, smell her sweet peach-vanilla fragrance. Throwing myself into the mass of bodies on the dance floor, I move among them, stopping and grinding with several girls who turn to me and give me predatory smiles.
Nothing. It does nothing for me except maybe make me feel more miserable. These girls aren’t sweet like Laney. They don’t have her innocent beauty. They hold no appeal for me at all. Shit. I am ruined for life. How am I supposed to go on living with this monstrous longing filling up every cell of my body?
“Hey, pretty boy.” A guy bumps into me. “Want to score some S?”
I look down into his greasy face. This guy must be an independent operator. My father would never assign someone so unappealing to push his product.
“How much have you got?” I ask him.
He grins, showing me a poorly tended set of teeth and motions for me to follow him. I do, curious to find out whether he’s actually gotten his hands on some and how much of a personal markup he and his partner are applying.
The guy leads me to the back hallway where an equally shabby woman waits. She smiles widely at me, thrusting out a generous chest barely covered by a black tank top.
“Hey sugar. Looking for some fun tonight? I got S. If you want to go old school, I got some smack. Hell, for you, I’ll even throw in a little free ride.”
“Hey,” the guy protests, but the woman only laughs, pretending she was joking, though I know she wasn’t.
“Just the S will do. Where’d you get it?”
“A lady never tells her secrets. Don’t worry. It’s the real thing,” she assures me with a wink.
“Fine. I’ll take it. Three pills.”
Her eyes widen. “Oh my, somebody’s in for a good weekend.”
Handing over my money, I scoop the pills from her palm and walk away, equal parts disgusted and frantic to get the drug into my system. Contrary to her assumption, I won’t be spacing the pills out over several days. These are all for tonight. If I’ve ever needed an escape from my own scrambled thoughts and raging emotions, it’s right now.
I’ve never tried any sort of illicit drug—S is the only one that reportedly even works on Elven people. I’m praying that it works tonight. If I don’t do something quickly, I’ll find myself flying back down the highway to Mississippi and proposing to Laney at sunrise.
I order a beer at the bar and swallow all three pills at once. At first, I feel nothing but the rush of cool liquid down my throat.
Damn it. It doesn’t work on Elves after all.
And then there’s pain. A wall of it. A mountain of it.
I double over then fall to my knees. Molten agony coats my bones and pools in my organs. I’ve never felt such pain and sickness—wait—I have.
A memory floats over my fevered brain. A picture of that day I tried to cross the border of Asher’s family farm and encountered the buried iron barrier. Only this is a thousand times worse because the source of the pain is not buried or even nearby, it’s inside me. I can’t get away from it.
Iron. The white trash couple must be selling an early version of S—maybe even some from the very first batch. Less addictive than recent batches, it contained high levels of iron.
I grimace against the internal torment and force out a groaning laugh. This is the death I deserve. It’s really just a complicated form of suicide if you think about it. If I’d never stolen the raw saol residue from the processing room at Altum, S might not have ever existed.
The pain is lessening now, replaced by an all over numbness that’s not exactly pleasant, though it’s less excruciating. Through clouded eyes, I see a circle of concerned faces hovering above me. Someone screams something about 9-1-1 while someone else rips open my shirt. The freed buttons fly through the air in slow motion, spinning and changing colors as they reflect the DJ’s lighting setup.
The music is still pounding, but instead of hearing auto-tuned vocals, Laney’s sweet voice fills my ears. I knew you’d come. I miss you. I love you, Culley.
“I love you too,” I answer, relieved to finally say it out loud. And I’m happy. Now she will be truly safe from me forever.
And then I see her beautiful face above me. All the others are gone. There’s only Laney and her trembling smile and her shining eyes. For the first time ever they’re clear and sharp and focused directly on me.
I see you, she says. And you are beautiful.
The lovely apparition begins to move away from me. I am desperate to follow. Wait for me love, I call out to her. Wait for me. I’m coming.
* * *
“Hurry. Get him outside. He’s dying.”
My body is being lifted and moved. The sounds and lights of the club fade, replaced by warm night air and the dizzying whirl of stars and smog overhead.
“Oh, I knew it,” a worried female voice says. “What have you done, you big idiot?”
I know that voice. It’s not Laney’s. It’s Ava.
A deep baritone responds to her. “He took something. I saw a lot of junkies when I was working as a volunteer firefighter. This one’s bad, though. He might be OD’ing.”
“Help him, Asher,” Ava pleads.
Asher. That’s who the deep voice belongs to. What’s he doing here? What are either of them doing here?
“I’m trying,” he says. “But I’m not very good at this yet.”
Good at what? Playing the hero and making me look like the schmuck? Oh, he’s plenty good at that. Although, since I’m the one who’s overdosed on iron-laced drugs, maybe I am a schmuck.
“Open the tailgate,” Asher’s voice instructs. “Okay good, now back up. I’m going to lay him down.”
Lovely. I can’t open my eyes to confirm it, but I do believe my former romantic rival has just carried me through the streets in his arms like a child. Like a schmuck. Like a—
“Asher! He’s not breathing. Do something!”
All my muscles seize as a glowing heat fills my chest and belly. I feel like an egg in a microwave, boiling from the inside out. A loud cry rips from my throat, and then all the tension leaves my body at once, and the world goes blissfully cool and dark.
Chapter Twenty-four
Dual Identity
My eyelids open, heavy as iron themselves, but I manage to lift them and take in a hazy vision of colored lights. I’m still in the nightclub, though I guess they’ve turned off the music out of respect for the dead.
“He’s waking up,�
�� a soft feminine voice says.
Trying harder, I force my eyes to open wider. Oh, not club lights—those are colored glowing stones.
“Is this... Alfheim?” I croak. It figures the afterlife would be just like Altum. An eternity in the Kingdom of Mud is about what I deserve after the life I’ve led.
Several giggles precede a carefully controlled response. “No, Culley. You’re still alive. You’re in Altum. You’re okay, but you gave us a big scare last night.”
Turning toward the voice, I blink several times. Ryann’s face comes into focus. She smiles at me and glances over at Ava. Rolling my head to the side, I take in Lad and Asher’s somber gazes.
“How do you feel?” Lad asks.
“I... I’m not sure. Okay I guess. Weak. A little nauseous. How did I get here?”
“Asher and I followed you to Memphis last night,” Ava explains. “I was worried about you. And it’s a good thing we weren't far behind, or you would be waking up in Alfheim today.”
And in Laney’s arms, I think bitterly. I much prefer the sweet end-of-life visions I experienced last night to a real life without her here on earth.
“What were you thinking?” Ava asks. “Why did you take S? You know better than anyone how bad it is.”
“I was... having a bad night.”
“Well, you could have died.”
I sit up and look around, finally regaining my senses fully. “Why didn’t I? I could feel it happening. My blood was poisoned with iron. I was walking toward the light, the whole bit.”
“You can thank Asher for that,” Ava said. “He healed you.”
My head whips around to face the lanky black-haired boy who is now wearing an abashed expression. “How? Human medicine doesn’t work on us.”
“I know,” Asher says, twisting his lips uncomfortably and nodding repeatedly. “Apparently that’s my glamour. I’m a healer.” He gives a weak laugh that tells me he was as shocked to learn this as I am. “I’ve been studying under Wickthorne since we figured it out. Last night was the first time I ever saved anyone, though.”
