by Unknown
Through the one eye not swollen shut, Sam watched the muscles of Roman’s jaw roll and his hands clench into fists.
“Captain Reynolds, just who I was looking for,” Roman said in a surprisingly calm voice. “There is an issue in the courtyard. I think your presence is needed.”
“Right, well I better take her with me.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary. She’s not a vampire after all. She couldn’t have done these things.”
“Y-yes,” stammered the fed, “but she’s covered in blood.”
“And from what I understand, she was at the scene when it was found, but fainted. All the witnesses say she was there.”
“Well…”
“You better get going. The vampires are getting very unruly.”
“Right. Yes, of course.”
And with that Reynolds scurried off.
Without saying a word, Roman pulled Sam off the wall, turning her just enough to touch the zip-ties.
“Izgriezt,” he whispered in the same language Jason had used before.
The pressure released and the zip-ties slipped off her wrists, falling to the ground as though he had cut them with a knife. Sam flexed her fingers as she slowly brought her hands around front. The muscles in her shoulders screamed in agony as they shifted away from the unusual position. Sam hissed as she worked to take shallow breaths.
With her back to Roman, she zipped up her jeans.
“Thank you,” she murmured, her back still facing him.
She heard him shift and a second later felt him lay his coat over her shoulders. Gently, he pulled her back before scooping her up into his arms. She let out whimper of surprise and pain before allowing him to carry her out of the tight alley and up the street.
“What was that?” he asked as he began to make his way up to the administration building.
“Don’t take me there. You tricked Reynolds, but I may not be cleared yet.”
“Where to?”
“Heywood’s.”
“It’s not safe with him,” he countered.
Sam sighed and caught herself, the slight movement hurting her broken ribs. “It’s not safe anywhere.”
Seemingly against his will, Roman turned at the next main street, heading towards Heywood’s neighborhood. They were just nearing the second circular driveway used as a walkway up to the various levels of the parking garage where her family lived when Sam whimpered again.
“Put me down. It’s too painful,” she said between shallow breaths.
Roman obliged before stepping back to look at her.
“Where are you hurt?”
“Everywhere?” she grumbled, opting for sounding angry rather than hurt.
“Very helpful,” Roman replied, a shiver running up his spine as a strong gust of wind buffeted them.
“What’s this?” demanded a voice from the darkened driveway.
Sam turned her body, unable to turn her stiff neck. She didn’t like the idea of her father standing behind her. He stepped into her line of sight and gave her an unfathomable look as his eyes ran over her battered body.
“You’ve looked better,” he chuckled, crossing his arms. “Who’s this man? Another one of your boyfriends?”
Sam licked her lips, stopping when she tasted fresh blood from the cut.
“Dave. This is Roman Hunt, an assistant to Mr. Atticus Sterling, the executive of Michigan Plastics who is funding the remodel of our port. Mr. Hunt, this is Dave Gollet, my father.”
Dave cleared his throat and nervously wiped his palm on his pants leg before extending it to shake Roman’s. Roman gave him a dark look as he squeezed Dave’s outstretched hand. Sam tried not to smile as she noticed Dave flex his bruised fingers.
“What are you two doing out here at this time?” Dave asked after a moment’s hesitation.
“I was just walking Miss Gollet home,” Roman said, making no indication as to whether he meant Dave’s home or Heywood’s. “The feds were finished with her and wanted to be sure she was safe. The streets are none too secure tonight.”
Dave nodded, accepting the lie they all knew it to be.
“She’s been a great help to Mr. Sterling and myself in understanding the culture of the Reservation as we work directly with the mystics.”
“Her?” Dave demanded, derision dripping from his voice.
“Y-yes?” stammered Roman, unsure why his statement should be questioned.
Dave shook his head. “You human’s would pick a Void louse to show you our ways? What would she know about our culture?”
“Excuse me?” asked Roman.
“She’s little better than a leper to us.”
“You better rethink your position,” stated Roman, cracking his knuckles as though he was preparing to punch Dave in the jaw out behind the swing set.
Sam barely kept her expression neutral.
Though Sam knew Roman had enough muscle to land Dave on his backside, his real power was not in his left-hook but in his magic. If that showed through, Dave wouldn’t hesitate to call the feds down on Roman.
“It’s okay,” she said as she grabbed Roman’s arm, wincing as the movement brought another stab of pain to her ribcage.
A low rumble resounded off the concrete buildings, bouncing and re-bouncing off the structures until it became impossible to tell where the sound came from. Each of them turned toward the courtyard, feeling more than hearing the source of the sound as being the large mob still trapped by the feds. The sound ebbed and flowed, as though the masses were reaching the end of their patience and were at that moment pressing against their boundaries.
Dave swallowed as he began to fiddle with the small band of silver on his ring finger, his eyes darting here and there. Roman cleared his throat.
“I’m sorry, what were we talking about?” asked Dave, his eyes coming back to them after another moment.
Sam let out a nervous sigh. “I was telling you that I have been helping Mr. Hunt and Mr. Sterling learn about the mystical culture inside the Reservation.
Dave nodded again, his eyes continuing to shift around the dark corners of the street as the noise of the vampires increased. It sounded as though they were on the brink of violence.
“Well, I’m glad she’s made a friend,” Dave said, his eyes briefly landing on Roman. “If you’ll excuse me,” he added, changing his story entirely, before scurrying back into the parking garage.
Sam rolled her eyes.
“Coward,” she muttered before spitting fresh blood from her mouth.
“Let’s get off the streets,” Roman said as he took her arm.
Sam caught her breath again as he tugged on her injured shoulder.
“What?”
“That shoulder was just dislocated.”
“Oh, sorry. What else is hurt?”
“I think I have a few broken ribs. And generally bruised to no end. I’ll be okay,” she added when she saw his brows pull together in concern. “Let’s go.”
Roman came around to her other side and took her hand. She gratefully laced her fingers in his. Sam felt the fear and anxiety ease out of her, even as her physical pain increased. They still hadn’t had a chance to talk about what had happened since the last time he had seen her battered and on the verge of death—when he had been unable to come out of hiding—much less what he had just witnessed. In fact, there was so much they didn’t know about each other, but it felt right to have him by her side, their fingers intertwined.
For just this brief moment, Sam chose not to worry about the dead bodies pilling up inside the Reservation, or her debt to Heywood, or her degrading deal with Reynolds, or the fact her body barely got twenty-four hours between one battering and the next. For this one moment, things were okay.
It was a fantasy, just as faeries weren’t real—never mind that she was one—and no one drank human blood. People weren’t killed and put on display. Bosses didn’t ask their employees to give out sexual favors for the sake of commercial advancements.
And then the spell was broken.
As they neared the entrance to Heywood’s neighborhood, Breena raced up to them. She grabbed at Sam as she skidded to a stop, twisting Sam’s back in her exuberance. Sam bit down on her split lip to keep herself from screaming. All the same, a muffled groan escaped.
“You’re hurt,” Breena said.
“Yes,” Sam whispered after a few shallow gasps.
“I was trying to walk her home. She said she lives this way,” said Roman, taking on his human persona.
Breena glanced up at the mage, her eyes taking on a new expression. Sam could easily read the admiration in the werewolf’s eyes as she took in Roman’s appearance. He was dressed in the thick, durable trousers worn by the construction workers from the outside world, but he appeared to never have seen a speck of sawdust. His long-sleeve t-shirt was black with the logo of Michigan Plastics across the back and a smaller one in the front right corner. He wore a dark beanie to protect his shaved head. He looked fairly mundane compared to his usual attire of high-end suits. All the same, he had a handsome face, and it was pulled up in a friendly smile.
The werewolf smiled back, giving him an equally friendly expression.
“Thank you, Mr. Hunt… for everything,” Sam said, hoping she could convey just how much she appreciated his interference. “But Breena can walk me home from here. I’m sure Mr. Sterling wants you.”
Roman’s eyebrows pulled down into a deeper frown.
“You can’t go back to Heywood’s,” Breena said, completely forgetting to be circumspect around a human.
Sam rolled her eyes.
“The feds won’t let anyone in.”
Sam shivered as another gust of wind whipped around them, despite Roman’s winter jacket.
“We need to get Sam inside. She’s hurt.”
Sam glanced around at the dark buildings. Most of the Reservation was asleep, or at least pretending to be asleep, their heads safely hidden under their pillows. They didn’t want to know what was going on late into the night.
“We’ll go to Jason’s,” Sam said, her feet already beginning to shuffle forward.
“They kicked him out too, and a few of the other mages.”
“Dammit,” Sam sighed.
She glanced around again, ignoring the cramp seizing the muscles running up her neck. The nearest buildings weren’t much help. There was the parking garage, the housing complex currently being searched, the apartment building mostly housing the fae, and beyond that was the courtyard. They didn’t want to get too close to the vampires; if the bloodsuckers rioted, she would likely die. Even if Roman decided to reveal his powers to protect her, there was only so much he could do against flying bullets and blood-lusting, half-starved vampires. Her eyes settled on the dark warehouse used by Fae Manufacturing.
“Go get Jason,” she said to Breena. “Bring him to the warehouse. Tell him I’m hurt. Tell him it’s bad.”
Sam didn’t wait to see if the werewolf would obey, but turned and started hobbling toward the warehouse, Roman in tow. They crossed the main street and slipped into the darker shadows of the building. Sam found the door more by memory than sight.
“It’s locked,” she said when she tried to pull it open.
“Allow me,” Roman replied. “Atbloķēt.”
Sam heard the lock click and gave the heavy door another tug. Just trying to pull it open was too much for her battered body. Roman took ahold of the handle and pulled it open, ushering her in. She stepped into the darkness and took his hand, guiding him by memory into the warehouse.
“Blāzma,” Roman whispered.
The small space around them lit with a dull glow. Sam recognized the spell as one used by Jason.
The warehouse was mostly covered in long work benches where the fae workers sat and painted silly little figurines of unicorns and fairies by hand. Each station was set up to paint one little detail before being passed on, much like the mighty machines of mass production. “By hand” they might have been, but with the same efficiency of the modern age. Sam’s mother worked at Fae Manufacturing, paining two black dots for the eyes of a unicorn figurine. She spent eight hours each day, doing nothing but painting two dots on thousands of the same figurine, passing them on to the next person who painted three streaks on the tail. The third person painted three streaks of another color on the tail. And on it went.
At one end, workers made the figurines in molds, and at the other end, enormous kilns heated them into their final glossy finishes. Over all, the place was a stark, empty work environment, coated with a fine layers of white dust.
“What are you doing?” Sam hissed, eyeing the glowing light.
“We need to see where we’re going?”
“And when the others get here? How will you explain that?”
Roman sighed. “This is getting old.”
He extinguished the light with a wave of his free hand and followed her. They found one of the empty wooden benches by touch and leaned against it. It wasn’t warm within the large warehouse, but at least the wind couldn’t get to them.
Silence descended on them, and Sam could feel Roman tense beside her. He wanted to ask. She could feel it in the way he inched away from her.
“Say it,” she said, wincing at the sting in her split lip—why did everything have to hurt?
“You were going to let that man... let that man...What is going on Sam? Blāzma!” he snapped, bringing the light back into existence. “I don’t care if they find it. I need to see you. What is happening? There’s something you’re not telling me. What I saw tonight, that isn’t you. You’re a fighter. And I didn’t see a fighter in that alleyway tonight.”
Tears pierced her eyes, instantly rolling down her cheeks. He was right. She had given into Heywood’s ultimatum. She had run out of fight.
Sam swallowed the growing lump in her throat as she looked down at the floor. She couldn’t stand the accusation in his eyes.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she growled, jerking her gaze back up.
She refused to let him be right. She wouldn’t be the victim anymore, and that included being his victim.
“Don’t accuse me unless you know all the facts.”
“Then tell me.”
Sam took a deep breath and instantly regretted it as her broken ribs stabbed into her lungs.
“I don’t know where to start.”
“Let’s start with why you were letting that man…”
“Heywood…” Sam interjected before he could continue.
“That ass-hat told you to have sex with a fed?”
“Heywood deals in secrets. He’s blackmailing me. That’s why I work for him.”
“What secrets of yours could he possibly know?” asked Roman in complete disbelief.
Sam licked her split lip, once again tasting fresh blood.
“Not me. But my friends, my family. A lot of people. He would reveal it all, and those secrets would cause the Res to break out into something like a civil war. He owns me,” Sam added, her eyes drifting back down to the dirty floor of the warehouse.
“So you just take it?”
Sam started to shrug and stopped. “I can’t get out.”
“You need to let me help you.”
Sam started to laugh, barely stopping herself before her lungs could expand.
“Roman, you’re human. How could you help me?”
“What do you mean?”
“Unless you’re ready to come out, and reveal your true self, your power, to the feds, what can you possibly do to help me?”
Roman began to grind his teeth together as he stared at the dusty floor. He opened his mouth, ready to retort when they heard a sound from outside. With a quick wave of his hand, his mage-light disappeared, and they both settled back against the work bench.
At the same moment, the door creaked open, letting in a soft streak of moonlight. Light footsteps pattered on the wooden floor.
“Sam?” called a tenta
tive voice.
It wasn’t Breena or Jason.
“Carl?” Sam asked in return.
Chapter Nineteen
Carl released his power and a row of florescent lights crackled to life, lighting the long warehouse in a sickly green light. The skinny fae stared at her before his eyes ran over Roman.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, his eyes still on the stranger.
“Waiting for Breena. She’s getting Jason, the mage. Hopefully he can help heal me. The feds were… a bit rough. Oh…um… this is Mr. Hunt. He works for Michigan Plastics. He was keeping me company until someone got here. Didn’t want me to be alone.”
“Why are you in the warehouse?”
“The feds have emptied out Heywood’s house. Nowhere else to go. It’s freezing out there. What are you doing here?” Sam asked, trying to ignore the way the hairs on the back of her neck had begun to stand at attention.
Her tattoo began to itch. Absently, she realized her gift was pressing against her boundaries. It wanted to be released, and for once, it wasn’t interested in Roman’s abilities. It wanted Carl.
Sam felt her brows pull down. She had grown up around Carl. Her gift was as accustomed to Carl as she was. Why would it suddenly crave his electricity like a junky craving the next fix?
Carl swallowed, his protruding Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. His eyes flickered from Sam’s face to the other two doors before his lips pulled up into a smile.
“Breena caught me while she was looking for Jason. She said I should come check on you.”
Sam stared at her former friend for a moment before forcing her own smile onto her lips.
“Thanks, Carl,” she said, ignoring the turning in her stomach and the pull of the cut on her bottom lip. “Well, Mr. Hunt, I guess you’re off babysitting duty. Thank you again for staying with me. I’m sure you’re exhausted. I hope you sleep fast.”
Roman gave her a friendly chuckle, all the tension of their former conversation gone from his features. Sam gave him a look she hoped he understood. It said: Go home. I’m okay. And thank you. I am forever grateful.
She knew he probably wouldn’t, but she hoped he would protect himself. The last thing she wanted for him was to be caught and trapped in this life. He was free outside the walls of the Reservation.
