by Mel Sterling
"We're safe for now."
"You call this safe? Safe? There are homicidal...I don't know what they are, out there, things that—they wanted to eat me, and now you've dragged me off to your lair and for all I know you're going to eat me, you gashed my neck and—and—"
Thomas let her sputter while he turned to the door and spun its big latch mechanism. He used his sleeve cuffs to shield his palms from the metal. With his limited magic, no spells he could cast would keep the fae out, but the door's iron bindings and lock would, at least until the Queen got serious about rooting him out of his hole.
"I did it for your own good. Most of them will leave you alone from now on. They know they'll have me to face if they don't." Satisfied the door was as secure as he could make it, he started down the concrete steps to the rooms below, leaving Tess to do as she wished.
What she wished, apparently, was to fling herself at the door and struggle with the latch. Thomas shook his head and continued down the stairs.
It was several minutes before he heard her footsteps coming quietly into the room behind him. He had taken off his coat and hung it away, after checking its pockets for all his tools and weapons. He dunked a cloth in some cold water and stood at the mirror, holding the cloth to his nose. It was still bruised and sore from the ley line accident, and not improved by Tess's flailing. Tess met his eyes in the mirror. She stayed close to the wall and the stairs, but her eyes were unflinching, and in one hand she held the beach stone.
"You're hurt," she said at last, and Thomas felt his shoulders slump as tension drained from him. That kindness at the very heart of Tess was already winning out over the terrified woman he had dragged away from Underbridge. "Your hands are raw."
"It's not bad." He looked at himself in the mirror once more, seeing the creature Tess saw, the trow, and not the human man he longed to be once and for all.
"Why is it I can see you—like this—without the stone?"
"I'm not glamoured." He turned to face her. "The folk in the market, they wear glamours so the humans in the city don't discover the truth of them."
"Then you've worn glamours with me."
"Yes. I had to."
"The...things...in the market, they want to hurt me because I know the truth about them?"
"Pretty much. If the humans knew what—who—whatever—lives alongside them in their city, there would be war."
"Humans would win." She spoke with certainty until Thomas laughed.
"You have no idea what you're up against, Tess. Think about the nightmares you've just seen. Now multiply that by ten thousand. You and I have to leave here soon and find someplace safe for you to be until this blows over. I think you should get out of town for a while. Maybe a few months. Longer, even."
Tess snorted. "You're crazy if you think a bunch of Halloween trick-or-treaters are going to make me leave. I've got a job, and a house, and...no. And what do you mean? What has to blow over?"
"The fae need to forget you know about them. Some of them will betray us to the Queen."
Tess shook her head and blinked hard several times. "You've lost me, Thomas. What Queen? The one you told me about at the beach?"
After the exertion of carrying Tess away from the market, the muscles on his chest were paining him. He turned back to the mirror, opening his shirt. The bruises on his chest were fading quickly, but they revealed a deeper injury to the ribs beneath.
Behind him, Tess gasped. "You said it was nothing!"
"I said it wasn't bad. I'll live, believe me."
"When did you get those? Was it...was it after I left you at the coast?" She pushed away from the wall and took a step or two into the room. Thomas saw her fingers moving anxiously, as if she wanted to touch him, and she bit her lips. She felt guilty. Part of him was glad, because it meant she cared.
He bowed his head. How to explain everything to her, in the little time they had before something unpleasant came calling? How to convince her she wasn't safe in her own city? It had taken a nightmare before she believed him about the beach stone, but now she was clutching it like a lifeline. He turned to face her.
"When you left me at the beach, I started walking home. I was able to find one of the fairy roads pretty quickly. They run in straight lines between magical points. Do you remember the old tales of seven-league boots? If you wore the boots, a single step took you a long distance?" He waited for her to nod, though her brows were knitting above her eyes. "Well, the fae roads are like that. One step on them moves you many steps. But I ran into an old...acquaintance, someone who's not fond of half-humans like me, and there was a little problem sharing the road. Somewhere in there I got slammed against a big rock, and that's where I got the bruises."
"It's my fault you were hurt. Because I stranded you." She took another step toward him, her dark eyes wide and brimming with tears. "I came looking for you tonight, to see if you'd made it home safely. I haven't slept well since Saturday."
"After Saturday, I was sure I'd never see you again. It would have been better if you'd just...stayed away."
Tess shook her head. "It's all tangled together, somehow. You, Underbridge, my brother Ste-Stephen, Aaron, this Queen everybody talks about. It's all linked, and if I get to the bottom of it, I can help Aaron. And maybe...maybe my other clients, too."
She was in reach of his hands, and at her statement he could not be still. He took hold of her shoulders, pleased that she conquered the urge to flinch away so quickly. "You are the bravest woman I have ever met. But believe me when I say this is too big for you."
Crystal tears spilled over her lower lashes and left dark blotches on her jacket. "I have to help," she whispered miserably. "I can't just watch Aaron go down into the same nothingness as my brother... If I can do something, I must."
Her head bent forward, and the softness of her hair brushed his chest. Thomas closed his eyes with a groan. "Please don't cry. I can't stand that." His arms tightened and drew her close, and to his astonishment she didn't struggle, letting him bring her to the warmth of his big body. She leaned against him and Thomas felt the last of the tension leave him.
She swiped at her eyes, hiding her face from his gaze. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry—for everything, I guess—I didn't mean to cause trouble, I just want to help, and I liked you so much. And now you say I've made things worse. But I got frightened, can't you see? This is all so unbelievable."
She gave a large sniffle. He got a finger under her chin and tilted her face up. Her lashes were matted together in wet points, and it only made him want to comfort her more. The very human impulse to kiss her rose, and he obeyed, dreading how she would react to his ugly trow face descending to hers.
He touched his lips to her cheek, where the trace of tears wet his skin, and the delicious sting of human salt tingled on his lips. In his mind he could hear the market fae clamoring for her blood and lifted his head. He was no different, lapping at the salt taste of her like a dog, craving more. He swallowed hard and moved away, crossing the room to a chest where he kept certain useful items.
I liked you so much. Liked. Not like.
"Thomas?" she asked, suddenly uncertain.
"We're leaving in a few minutes. I've got to gather some things, but then we're out of here. Got any good ideas where we can hide you for a while, till I've had a chance to talk to the Queen and make sure she doesn't think you'd look nice as a statue on a shelf in her chamber?"
He rummaged in the chest, stuffing things in a sack. When he found a slender piece of cord, he tossed it to Tess. "Thread this on the stone so you can wear it around your neck. Less chance of losing it that way. Now that the fae know you have it, any of them who see you will try to take it away again. But you're better off with a tool, even though it's a dangerous one. Always best to know what you're dealing with."
Tess, wide-eyed, looped the cord through the hole in the stone, then tied the two ends behind her neck. The grayish agate lay on her shirt just above her breasts, rising and falling with her breathing. Tho
mas swallowed, realizing his gaze was lingering too long on those soft curves and turned away to rummage through cupboards for things he might need. Bits of chain and more cord, another fat nail to replace the one he'd severed the ley line with. Everything stung his already tender fingers, but he persevered.
While he was winding up a loose roll of spider thread, debating whether it would be of use or not, the pier gave a shudder and groan, and a little fine concrete dust sifted out of the walls as if the room had exhaled or sneezed. Vibrations shook the little items in the cupboards.
Tess shrieked. "What is it? Is it an earthquake? Thomas, we have to get out of here—"
"The bridge is lifting, that's all. The mechanism's only a few feet above my rooms. You get used to it. It's comforting."
She looked up as if she expected the ceiling to crash down any moment, and flattened herself against the wall. "Are you sure? It's so loud! The whole place is shaking!"
Thomas chuckled. "Of course I'm sure. And now that I think about it, now's a good time for us to leave while there's commotion to cover us. Are you ready?"
Tess stared at him. "I guess. I mean, I didn't want to be here in the first place, but I don't want to be out there with them, either..."
Above them, the mechanism made a grinding, metal on metal sound. Tess moaned.
Thomas stretched out a hand. "Come on. We'll go together."
She looked from his hand to his face, then back at his hand, but at the next bone-shaking thud, put her hand in his. "Together, then." Her voice was shaky, but her grip was firm. "I'm scared."
Thomas closed her soft fingers in his rough, raw hand, brought the tips to his lips and kissed them swiftly, ignoring the nagging internal voice that told him she wouldn't be happy about being kissed by bloodlusting trow lips. "Together," he promised, and led her up the stairs.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
IT WAS THE MOST TERRIFYING thing Tess had ever done.
Thomas kept urging, with a strangely comforting monotony, "Don't look down, don't look at your feet. Just walk. Hold on to me. Don't look down."
As if she were a star gymnast and didn't have to look at her feet. The steel girders of the underspan were wide—quite wide, if she thought about it—but beneath them, many feet down, was the river, hypnotic and irresistible. The worst part was the steady vibration of the girders as the bridge's center leaves lifted, followed by the massive shudder as the mechanism stopped with the leaves in their highest position. That jolt nearly joggled Tess off the girder, but Thomas turned in a flash and brought her body tight up against his until her gasping squeaks quieted and her balance returned.
At the next big jolt, when the span leaves began their downward trip, Tess and Thomas reached a joint where the horizontal girders met the vertical. Now Tess could clutch at something besides Thomas.
True to his word, he had not let go of her hand. She knew it cost him the better part of his balance and made the crossing awkward for him. In a weak moment she considered asking him to carry her again, but she was too frightened they would both topple into the Willamette. His pace was far, far quicker than she would have managed on her own. She struggled to keep up, so as not to be a hindrance to his balance, but by the time they were over solid ground, still high up, Tess was panting, sweating, and shaking with exertion, adrenaline overload, and fright.
They halted at last. Thomas guided her sweaty, clenching hand to a vertical and held it there while looking into her eyes. "I'm going to drop down first, then I'll catch you."
Tess, speechless with fright, shook her head. There had to be a better place to climb down from the bridge, some place without a dozen-foot drop.
Except she couldn't see one.
"Quick and quiet, here where it's dark," Thomas said. "I'll catch you."
Again she shook her head, trying hard to swallow the lump in her throat.
Thomas gestured toward Underbridge. "If you wait much longer, they'll be the ones to catch you, not me."
And with that horrific little reminder, he leapt.
"Thomas!" In the puddled blackness beneath, she could not see where he had landed, and clung desperately to the vertical girder.
"Shhh. I'm here. Just jump, it's not far, and I'll catch you."
"I can't see you." Despite his repeated assurance, she couldn't quite leap into the darkness.
"But I can see you, and that's what matters. Trust me. Jump."
She swung her head back the way they had come, wondering if she'd be able to cross the span again in the gathering dark, knowing she wouldn't be able to open the door if she could reach it.
A half-asleep pigeon shuffled and fluttered in a hole in the girder above her. With a startled shriek she flinched away, lost her footing and tumbled.
Below her, the blackness said, "Oh, fuck!"
There was a scrambling noise and then she landed—not hard, but not easily, either—in the cage of Thomas's arms, on her belly. The air left her lungs in a brutal whoosh and she first curled in on herself, then starfished her arms and legs, flailing in search of air.
"It's all right, I've got you. Your breath will come back in a moment. I think."
Bright blackness starred her vision, purple and electric blue in storm-cloud black. She panicked without the air, clutching at Thomas. Her shocked diaphragm at last kicked in and a gasp of beautiful air, scented with the aroma of the pumping station and Thomas's own peculiar smell whistled into her lungs.
"You smell weird," was the first thing she said. "Like...soy sauce."
Thomas drew in a long breath, as if he'd been holding his in concert with her, and let out a relieved chuckle. Tess realized she was sitting on the pavement between his knees with him squatting behind her like a portable shelter.
"I smell like a trow."
"And you live under a bridge. Like the Billy Goats Gruff." A sort of manic laughter began to bubble out of her, born of panic and pain and the need to screw the reality of her world down tight so it couldn't fray like this.
"That's trow, not troll."
"Is there a difference?"
"Why not catch your breath before you insult me? But be quiet. We don't want the market to hear."
She remembered anew their danger. That killed the laughter. Thomas waited for the space of a few breaths, until her gasping squeaks had quieted.
"Stand up." He rose, taking her hands. "Can you walk?"
Tess nodded. He inched the two of them a few feet toward the chain link fence that surrounded the pumping station, and passed into a small pool of gray security light. Tess stared at him. It seemed he was shrinking, growing his normal close-cropped hair, his face shifting to look like the Thomas that had first attracted her so. He was putting on his glamour, she realized, his human face. He saw her open-mouthed stare and met it with a smile of dark humor twisting his lips.
"This should make you feel better, yes?"
She nodded, held up the stone and peered through it. There was the trow, looking at her in the gloom with Thomas's eyes. "This is insane," she whispered to him.
"Tell me about it." He reached out to the fence and stood with both palms toward it for a brief moment. The chain link sagged out of the way, and Thomas ushered her through. She paused, torn by the impulse to run screaming for the Jeep, and the need to wait for Thomas to tell her what to do next in this strange new world.
"Now what?" She fought the urge to bite her lip and cry. All her therapist training was screaming this couldn't be real. She'd been drugged or had a psychotic break of some sort.
She'd nearly been eaten by a pack of preternatural streetfolk. She'd been inside the Burnside Bridge pier, for God's sake, with a trow. And now she was standing in the shadows of the bridge with what looked like a man, though she knew differently. Just now he was tightening the belt of his oilskin coat, looking around as if he expected to meet Deep Throat and pass along state secrets.
Thomas held out his hand again. "Now we run."
"But where?"
"To the nearest l
ey point."
"What?"
"Fairy road."
Tess, about to take his hand, pulled back. "No. No way. You're not getting me deeper into this."
"Do you have a better idea?" He wrapped his hand around her upper arm and hustled her along the outside fence of the pumping station, keeping as much out of the light as possible, heading north.
"My car's back there. I'm not leaving it behind."
Thomas sighed, but softly. His eyes flicked everywhere, checking for pursuers as he hauled her with him. "Maybe we can get it later, but for now I've got to get you far away from here."
"We'll go faster if we take the Jeep."
"Fairy roads are faster than that."
"If you think for one moment—"
Thomas's hand pressed over her mouth, silencing her. He froze next to one of the vertical beams stretching up to form the structure of the bridge. Not far away, pigeons disturbed at their rest in the upper girders of the bridge flapped into the night, their wings squeaking. It sounded like the noise of panic to Tess, and she struggled with Thomas, seized by a terror she could not explain, because it felt more basic than any she'd ever felt before. He wrapped her tight in his arms and pushed them both against the beam, in the darkest shadow. When Tess could no longer struggle, he pointed upward, where something darker than shadow was moving stealthily along the skeleton of the bridge. A pair of red eyes gleamed like cats' as dim light winked into them.
"Fuck," whispered Thomas, for the second time that night.
Tess thought crazily how out of character the cursing seemed, but the strange figure above them held every scrap of her attention.
"What is that?" Her mouth was close to Thomas's ear as he pressed her against the iron pillar.
"Not what. Who. Hunter."
Something in the way he murmured the word sent an atavistic shudder through her. She heard his dread and fear, and could feel his tension in the way he gripped her. He stiffened for a moment, glanced around, then pulled her back the way they had come. "I wasn't expecting him. Not alone like that, or so soon. Change of plans. Your car?"
