by Leah Cutter
There hadn’t actually been a sighting of the dwarf, had there? There were too many warriors out for just this creature. Surely Cornelius was overreacting, a response he’d always accused Adele and the warriors of.
They flew silently through the air, the warrior escort just behind. Adele was impressed by how strong Cornelius was. Had he always had such powerful wings? Or had he been using them a lot lately? How many times had he held a bonfire out on the beach, dancing with the other fairies? She had to admit it was a brilliant idea, and an excellent method to bring the fairies together.
He would have handily kept up with the student troop on their desperate flight up the coast.
Adele’s wings were tired. Her whole body was tired. She needed to rest. Her magic and her strength would only last for so long. But she was also prepared to completely drain every reserve she had—to not sleep for three more days if necessary.
The town hadn’t changed much over the years: The highways were still an ugly blight cut across the earth, the stench of the humans’ mechanical vehicles poisoned the sweet smell of the ocean at night, and the constant whir of the electronics was enough to drive anyone mad.
But Adele still found her heart warming to the familiar sights and smells.
All the warmth Adele may have been feeling disappeared when they landed on the hard concrete outside the lair of this creature. Holy Seven Hells. “You didn’t tell me it was this protected!” Adele complained. Even the beams holding up the walls inside the human dwelling were enspelled.
“You didn’t listen,” Cornelius said with a small smile.
It was an old joke between them, about how warriors never listened.
Adele didn’t feel like laughing.
“I’m supposed to call the Maker out of that?” Adele demanded.
“Can’t you?” Cornelius challenged. “You know her name. Better than she does.”
It was going to take the rest of Adele’s meager strength to call the Maker, to wind her call through the cracks in that fortress.
But once she did, not just Cornelius, but the Maker, would be in her debt.
Though the Maker would be more than just indebted.
She’d be completely under Adele’s control.
* * *
The splinter that held the real Nora woke suddenly. Had he returned? The monster? She touched the knotwork walls that held her safe, throwing more magic into them. They wouldn’t hold for too much longer, then she’d be fully his.
Nora shuddered again at the memory of his long, forked tongue licking her soul. The touch had been intimate and unbelievably wrong.
No one should be able to touch her that way.
Nora had no idea what Brett actually was. He smelled like death in his true form, his skin blackened and burned with age, his hair silver-gray and hanging to his waist, his eyes like a hawk’s, preying on her every move.
He’d woven some magic around the bed—she’d been able to recognize at least that. The language he used was completely foreign. She didn’t recognize his power. He wasn’t a Maker, not like she was. If she had to guess, he was more like an elemental, part wind, part death.
A bell rang somewhere outside of Nora’s splinter soul. She made the body controlled by the rest of her wake up and open her eyes.
There it was again. Only it wasn’t a bell, ringing in the deep.
Someone called her name.
It wasn’t Brett, though she recognized the caller as magic. Was it Mrs. Wentworth? Had she been able to track Nora down?
But that didn’t feel right. Nora had only just met Mrs. Wentworth. The teacher didn’t know Nora well enough to use her name.
The only one who knew her Name, could call on her soul like this, was Queen Adele.
Maybe the queen wasn’t dead. Or she’d given her knowledge to another fairy.
Nora felt her body rise to the call. She struggled to hold it back, but it was like holding back a wave.
What was better? To be enslaved to the monster? Or to the monstrous queen of the fairies? There was no good choice here.
Somehow, Nora had to keep her soul her own.
Her feet touched the cold, concrete basement floor. The call wavered. Nora snuck a glance out of her body’s eyes.
Magic lit up the room. Nora didn’t know what most of it was for—she guessed it was to keep others from reaching her.
The silver chain that linked her ankle to the bed, though, that was meant to keep her here. It was made from human metal, but also enspelled with magic.
Naked, barefoot, pregnant, and chained to the bed, sounded like the bad punch line to a joke that Nora would have slapped one of Dale’s friends for telling.
How could she unravel it? The chain was cold, so cold. She couldn’t touch it with her fingers. Even if they were wrapped in power, she’d end up freezing them off.
Nora remembered her own experiments, from what seemed like a hundred years ago but had only been the previous week, when she’d been combining Making with sound. How she’d blown down the fairy bubble that Cornelius had used to trap Dale.
Feeling her way through the various muscles, tendons, and ligaments, Nora got her other self to open her mouth. Then she dove deeper, past the huge muscle of her tongue, down her throat, to her vocal chords.
Pushing air into them felt like shoving against a three-hundred-pound iron door. But Nora was determined. She must make sound.
Sound that would shatter frozen metal.
A low moan finally issued from her body. The chain rattled against the floor.
Close, but not close enough.
If Nora had been using her arms, she knew she’d be shaking with the effort. It was so difficult to control all the moving parts inside her, the parts that she’d never had to think about before (thank goodness for the anatomy class she’d taken that spring). Then she had to concentrate on a single link of chain for her unraveling.
Nora tried again, failing, though not just the chain but the entire room vibrated with the effort.
Shit. She had to be careful. No need to bring the whole house down on top of her.
She wasn’t that desperate. Not yet, anyway.
Finally, Nora found the right combination of pitch and sound, combined with a laser focus of Making.
The chain link Nora had chosen disintegrated into sparkling powder. It was still magic, still dangerous. Nora found a glass next to the bed and scooped up as much as she could, assuring the other part of her that of course they were doing this to show him how badly made his chain was.
He’d want to know that, so he could chain her better next time.
From outside, the deep call echoed through Nora’s bones. Was this what Dale felt, every time the fairies called him? No wonder he’d never been able to resist, despite how much Nora had tried to protect him.
She wasn’t about to give him less grief about it, though.
At least some bit of humanness had remained in that other part of Nora, and her body paused and dressed itself before continuing out the door, then slowly mounting the wooden staircase up from the basement.
How was Nora going to fight the control of the fairy? Her splinter soul recognized the call of her name, stronger than the ensnared portion. Once she got outside, she was lost.
Nora listened hard to the call. Was there a way to resist? To break herself off again? She didn’t see it.
After Nora entered the kitchen, she was able to pause again.
The caller was Queen Adele. Nora had no doubt about that, now. The taste of the queen’s magic—even her name—filled Nora’s tongue, and gave her an idea.
The queen was having to pour magic into the call. Looking around, Nora could see how protected the house was: the walls shimmered with magic. How had she not seen it before? Brett was much better at illusions than Nora had realized.
To her shame, though, she’d also not really looked after he’d brought her over the first time.
But the queen’s name was attached to her call.
<
br /> While Nora’s body moved slowly, inexorably, toward the front door, the splinter soul of Nora worked her mouth, her lungs, her vocal chords, trying out one sound after another while lacing it with magic, tying them together, racing to find the right combination of sound and Making that would match the queen’s name.
The house lit up oddly as Nora worked, either a wall or a chair or even just the face of a photograph suddenly sparking in reaction to her Making.
Nora didn’t have the right mix before she reached the door. She couldn’t stop herself from opening it. Couldn’t prevent her body from stepping across the threshold. She was only able to pause for a moment and put down the cup full of the silvered chain next to the door.
Outside, on the driveway, stood Cornelius, looking disheveled in only a shirt, vest, and pants. At least half a dozen warriors flew behind him, their teeth gnashing, their bodies painted for war.
The queen stood there as well. She looked pale in the moonlight, thinner than a fairy should, as if she’d been ill for a long while. She wore a gray skirt that sparkled even in the dim light, and a white tunic open down the center. Her clockwork wings spread out wide when she saw Nora, as if to suddenly take flight.
“Nora,” the queen crooned, knowing all of her.
Nora had her response ready. Even if it wasn’t exactly right, it had to be close enough.
“Adele,” Nora replied, her own voice taking on the same deep bell qualities as the queen’s.
* * *
Denise walked through the quiet house, softly closing the door to her bedroom. She hadn’t slept more than a few hours after the visit from the fairy. Luckily, it was summertime, and the sun had risen early as well.
Telling herself she was being ridiculous didn’t stop Denise from silently opening the door to Dale’s room to check on her son. He was still there, sleeping on his back, one arm thrown open, the other clenched to his chest. He looked oddly vulnerable. Denise quickly stepped back, out of his room, into the hallway again.
Denise didn’t hesitate to walk into Nora’s room, though it felt just as awkward. She wasn’t checking up on her daughter—she knew Nora didn’t do drugs or fool around.
She just did magic.
Denise needed to figure out which hotel Mrs. Wentworth was staying at. Nora had described her as a tourist. That meant a hotel. But which one? There were hundreds—maybe thousands—up and down the coast. Port City was a tourist town. There wasn’t any way for Denise to call every single hotel on the off chance that she’d find the teacher.
If she was still alive. If the monster hadn’t gotten to her as well.
Though Nora didn’t have anything resembling a filing system, Denise still started at the desk sitting in the far corner of the room. Craft books, scraps of notes, as well as hunks of yarn and needles covered the top of it.
Denise didn’t bother going more than a layer deep in the first pile. If there was something there, it wouldn’t have been buried yet.
As Denise shifted the second pile, a business card slid out from between the pages and landed on the floor. It was from one of the local hotels, farther up the coast. Denise quickly bent over to pick it up.
On the back, written in a lovely cursive script, was the name “Mrs. Wentworth.”
Denise felt like doing a fist pump. Finally. They were going to be able to get some real help for Nora.
However, as Denise examined the card, all the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She quickly looked behind her. No creature or fairy stood there.
When Denise turned back around, she caught a glimpse of someone standing on the street outside the house.
Drawing closer to the window, Denise realized it was Brett. He glowed with that same cold silver that had shone through Nora’s eyes the night before.
And he was pointing at the house. No, not in general—at Dale’s window. Then he crooked his finger, calling her son to him.
* * *
Dale came up to the surface slowly. Damn it, it was too early again. And why was Bascom calling him? Hadn’t Dale just answered the damned fairy’s call?
Slowly Dale pushed himself up, out of sleep. No. It wasn’t Bascom. The fairy hadn’t seen him that year—it had been Cornelius.
This call wasn’t a fairy call. It wasn’t as perfect, it didn’t click along his bones like a great clock ticking in time with his heart. This call was colder, carried on unnatural winds. Though Dale felt an urge to go see the caller, it wasn’t as compelling.
What the hell?
Dale rolled out of his bed, wincing as his feet struck the carpet. Damn it. He really wasn’t awake.
It couldn’t be Nora, could it? It seemed to hold some element of her, though he couldn’t have described how.
Eagerly, Dale went to the window and threw open the shade.
Brett stood there, out in the street, pointing at Dale. His face didn’t fit—it flowed from his usual, dumb-town-boy grin to a black death mask.
Shit. What the hell was he?
“Dale,” Mom called from his door.
“Still here,” Dale assured his mom, though he didn’t move from the window.
The call was growing more compelling.
“What does he want with you?”
Dale wished he could chase away the fear he heard in his mom’s voice. “Don’t know,” Dale said, though he doubted it was any good. Brett had always pretended to be nice to Dale, but Dale had been well aware that Brett hadn’t liked Dale, not for Dale’s sake.
“Don’t go,” Mom said.
Dale shook his head. “I’d like to say I’ll be able to resist, Mom, but it’s magic. I don’t have any defense against it.”
Mom walked into his room and grabbed his wrist, wrapping her fingers around the bracelet Nora had tied there. “Does this help?” she asked.
Dale shuddered. He saw the creature—the monster that was Brett—better now. His black skin looked burnt, with deep crevices and pocked holes. Golden eyes pierced the house. Dale knew that Brett saw him clearly through the walls. There wasn’t anywhere he could hide.
And the call was growing stronger. Iron bands had wrapped themselves around Dale’s ankles and wrists, pulling him forward.
“I found Mrs. Wentworth,” Mom said. “I’m going to call her.”
“Quickly,” Dale said. He shifted from one foot to the other. Had Brett always been able to call him this strongly? Had he been toying with Dale earlier? Or just learning his name better?
Mom went to get her phone and Dale found himself drawn out of his room. He tried to detour, to go into Nora’s room, but it was as if the door was blocked by an invisible web.
“Mom!” Dale called as he fought to stop moving. He dropped to the floor, but found himself still crawling forward. “I can’t stop!”
Mom came out of her room and grabbed ahold of Dale’s ankle.
“Don’t!” Dale shouted, but it was too late. He hadn’t been able to control his reflexes, and he’d kicked her.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Dale said, glancing over his shoulder.
Mom sat with a stunned look on her face, her hand cupped to catch the blood dripping out of her nose.
Dale groaned and slid forward more. “I have to go to him,” he said through gritted teeth. His body was no longer his to control.
Mom nodded, then got up and ran to her office.
Dale continued with his inexorable crawl. He tried dropping to his belly, but that made the urge to get up and walk again stronger. At least crawling he was able to go slower. He reached the living room, dinging his fingers into the carpet there. The old gray couch blocked clear sight of the door, but Dale could already smell it, smell the freedom going outside would bring.
He shook his head. No, not freedom, not out there. Nothing but death.
Mom suddenly grabbed his ankle again, this time with a sheet roped around it. She was back far enough that he didn’t kick her this time. She grinned at him, her nose and upper lip bloodied. “Always threatened to tie yo
u up once you could start dating,” she said with a grin.
Dale groaned and reached for his ankle. He had to get outside.
Mom wrapped the cloth around Dale’s wrists, so he could no longer free himself.
“What are you doing?” Dale asked through gritted teeth. He pulled on the sheet, bringing it up to his mouth, tearing at it with his teeth.
“Delaying. That’s what Mrs. Wentworth said to do. The creature’s call can’t last that long, and she’ll be here soon,” Mom assured him.
The spark of hope that flared in Dale died when the front door suddenly slammed open. The winds tore into the living room, shoving at the furniture, pushing it aside, trying to get at Dale.
“I love you, Mom!” Dale called as the winds choked him, rushing across his neck, stealing all his breath.
“NO!” Denise called. “You aren’t taking my son too, you bastard.”
But it was too late. The winds had already found Dale, lifting him off the ground and carrying him out the door.
The clear sky was still pale with morning clouds. It would have been such a great day to live. Dark shapes appeared against the gray, fighting the wind.
Those weren’t fairies, were they?
Dale couldn’t hold onto consciousness long enough to find out.
* * *
Adele closed her mouth against the cool night air with an audible click. The Maker did not know Adele’s true name. It was just a weird echo of her own name. Cornelius, standing beside Adele, grew stiffer. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him raise his hand and motion the warriors to come closer.
“Nora,” Adele called again, using the Maker’s true name. The fairies around her couldn’t use it, they were only aware of the magic Adele had woven into the calling, not the actual name itself.
The Maker took one shuddering step forward. Then she stopped, drew herself up, and called out, “Adele.”
The queen shivered and took an involuntary step toward the Maker. The girl didn’t quite have her name right, but it was close, so close.
Nora called Adele’s name again, lowering the pitch this time, certainty rounding out the notes. She was closer still to the queen’s true name.
