Trick of Fae

by S L Mason

  Also by S.L.Mason

  These Hallowed Hills

  Trick of Fae

  Test of Fae

  Thorns of Fae

  Trick of Fae

  THESE HALLOWED HILLS SERIES

  This Book is a work of fiction.

  All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in the novel are either products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Its not about you.

  Copyright 2019 Quick Quill Publishing, LLC

  The distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact us at www.Quickquillpublishing.com Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  DEDICATION

  To my daughter, Gillian and my son Jack.

  For inspiring my dreams and this book.

  Remember, just because you’ve never seen it. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t exists!

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  DEDICATION

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  Test of Fae

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 1

  Tuatha Dé Danann, Elves, Fae, fair folk, fairies—I used to believe in them. All those fluffy cotton candy stories they feed little girls. They sounded magical and wonderful, with wings floating around. Every story you’ve ever heard about a fairy is a lie. They do have magic, but they’re not magical. They are every bit as evil, conniving, manipulative, and barbaric as humans. They just hide it behind a beautiful face and pointy ears. The Fae live for power and conquest. Greed rules them; it is in their veins. Their vanity is really what started all of this. No human has ever become a Fae. No Fae has ever become human. We are two different races, incompatible, or so I’d been led to believe. I should back up and start from the beginning.

  This is how all fairy tales start.

  Once upon a time, there was a girl. I’m that girl, and my name is Sarah.

  It was Tuesday. I remember it was Tuesday because I always go to youth group on Tuesdays. It was a chance for me to hang out with my friends, play sports and games. I love games, any game, I love to compete, win. Plus, I didn’t have to worry about my parents giving me a hard time if I stayed out late. I was supposed to leave youth group before ten and be home by ten-thirty. The walk home from church didn’t take long, but I took my time about it.

  Sometimes my girlfriends would walk with me. That’s when I had girlfriends. That’s when I had any friends. I lost my friends. I’m not an asshole. They didn’t leave because they hated me; they’re just dead. Lots of people died.

  ——————

  The sun was fading from the sky. It was summer twilight when it didn’t get dark till ten o’clock at night. I’d left church a little later than I had intended, and I walked home in the growing gloom. The last few wisps of sunlight disappeared. Off to the side, I caught the edge of a man-shaped shadow dash away into the darkness. The only sound to follow the wisp in the gloom was the neigh of a horse. I shook my head; that’s silly! Horses don’t live in the burbs. The echo of hooves clapping on cement rang down the side road. A moment later a loud crack cut the air and a round, flat, dark objects appeared in the sky. Beings rode them like it was straight out of a comic book. They appeared tall and well-built with long white hair.

  I stood transfixed by a sound in the background, not a sound, a song. Three blocks down the street, one of these things landed. Twenty beings jumped off, and from a distance, they looked human. The longer I stared, the more little differences I picked out—the willowy gait of their walk, the lightness of a jump, or the floating quality of a step.

  An inhuman song emanated from their lips, and the descending darkness increased the luminescence of their skin. My body stood locked in fascination.

  One of them brandished a long thin object from behind him. Light from a streetlamp flashed off the edge. There was only one thing that shone in the light with such clarity—steel.

  Was he carrying a sword? I mean it was 2020 for god’s sake. People didn’t run around brandishing swords. Whoever he was, he was armed with a menacing stance. The volume of the singing increased, along with the beating of my heart. He turned away from me, freeing me from my trance.

  I bolted one block over and shouldered my way through a bush. Shouts called after me, along with the sound of feet thumping on the pavement. With a pounding heart in my chest, I ran, pumping my legs up and down as hard as I could. At the end of the block, I threw on an extra burst of energy to cross from one block to the other, avoiding the overexposure of the street. The outside air filled with screams. But the next alley was clear all the way to my parents’ back gate. My feet skidded on loose gravel as I latched my hand onto the gate handle. I pressed the lever down, yanking it open and then pulling it closed behind me. Gulping in the air and pinching my side stitch, I hurried to the back door of the house, only to be met by the smell of fresh gun oil and a black barrel.

  9mm is always a good choice for home protection. This 9mm was a familiar fixture in our house. The clicking of the safety was muffled by a gruff voice.

  “Oh my god, Sarah. Thank god, it’s you.” My father said, while two big meaty arms pulled me in for a hug. The low whimpering from my mother lingered in the background.

  “Dad, what’s going on?” I asked, shivers running over me as my chest shuttered for a breath.

  With a low voice, my father replied, “It’s some kind of invasion. It’s happening everywhere; it was all over the news. These creatures are attacking everywhere at once using the dark of night.” He holstered the 9mm.

  I looked from my mother’s wide eyes to my father’s creased brow. My mother’s incessant lip biting irritated me. “I saw some of them a couple of blocks away, they chased me,” I whispered, while trying to catch my breath.

  My father moved from one light to another, turning them off, including the television.

  CHAPTER 2

  Screams drifted in from outside. They could’ve been down the street.

  “Allison, take Sarah upstairs. Hide in your cupboard; you know which one.” Dad ordered, and pushed to me to follow.

  I laid a hand on Mom’s forearm. Her body stiffened. Her unseeing eyes met mine as trembling took over. We picked our way up the stairs following the shadows. Keeping my movements slow, I held my breath to keep the creaking of the stairs at bay by lifting and lowering each foot, toe to heel.

  With every sound, my heart leaped. I couldn’t force myself to breathe deeply. I didn’t want anything to hear me.

  The sound of my father moving furniture drifted up through the floor—scrape, silence, scrape. My mother jumped, letting a little whimper escape with every bump. She latched onto my arm with an iron grip.

  I didn’t mean to look out the window, but I couldn’t help myself. Whatever was out there, wasn’t human. I needed to look at it one more time to be sure. But the street was still, and the creatures missing. The muffled whimpers of my mother pulled me back. She clawed at me with her free hand. We moved into my parents’ bedroom and climbed into t
he over-sized cupboard. The bottom was lined with a mat and pillow. It had a lived-in feel to it.

  I shut the door, closing off the rising screams that only grew ever closer.

  I pulled out my phone and touched the screen illuminating the interior of the cabinet and seized the news feed icon. The web link revealed my first real look at three of them.

  Each had white hair and a swimmer’s build, with long limbs, broad shoulders, and narrow hips. Their eyes were every shade of the rainbow. One wore a gold breastplate like something out of medieval times. His eyes were the color of fresh flowing blood. A sound issued from his mouth, clawing at me. Words scrolled across the screen, detailing the death tolls in cities across the continent. A drone followed the creatures, filming the wholesale slaughter in the streets.

  “Mom, are you seeing this? When I first saw them, I froze. I couldn’t move, like hitting pause on a movie.” I asked, and turned the phone to her, illuminating her face in a ghoulish fashion.

  She wasn’t looking. Her mind was far away and she spoke in a distant, almost lost voice. “They said some were shot down with bow and arrows. I watched one reporter’s head get cut off. He didn’t move, didn’t flinch, didn’t do anything to get away. It is their way.” she trailed off to a whisper.

  What she said sounded crazy and didn’t make any sense.

  “I don’t know. Maybe the sounds stopped them? One of them was making some sound. I was standing next to the bushes. Maybe he didn’t notice me? But somehow I snapped out of it and got away.” I said, then tilted my head back and rested it on the wall of the wardrobe.

  That was what it was. Maybe they’re using sounds to control us. I seized on the idea.

  “Mom, do you have earplugs?” I demanded, then used my hands to turn her face to mine. The light from my cell lit us from below, giving our faces a hollowed, monstrous appearance.

  “Your father might have some in the nightstand. Sometimes he has a hard time sleeping with my snoring.” Her listless reply didn’t hinder my resolve.

  I crept out to my father’s nightstand. Pulling the drawer open, I rifled through and found a set of plugs. Who knew the old man had a whole gross of them. I’d never noticed my mother’s snoring. Then again, my bedroom was across the stairs.

  I put a plug in each ear. It didn’t kill the sound, but it stifled it. It was flat with no tone, like it was coming from a tunnel. I handed a set to my mother.

  “It makes the sound stop,” I said, and did my best to not shout while tapping my earlobe. I didn’t care if my mother thought I was crazy. Maybe I should’ve grabbed foil from the kitchen and fashioned it into hats. The truth was I’d just seen creatures that looked suspiciously like a cross between an elf and a fairy, hacking people to death, and apparently, they were singing while doing it. Crazy was already here.

  The moment my father crept in, I handed him a pair of earplugs.

  He waved me off and said, “No, I want to hear them coming.”

  “What if hearing is what gets you killed?” I replied, then explained my theory to him. After a few minutes, he shrugged his shoulders and inserted the plugs.

  I dozed off briefly in the darkness, only to be awakened by more screaming. How someone could sleep through it, I didn’t know? But I did off and on.

  Daylight dawned, and the noise from outside died down. My mother’s whimpering persisted here and there, but no screams.

  All three of us jumped from a buzzing sound vibrating in my pocket. The screen lit up to display a dark-haired kid with glasses. It was Arty, our neighbor, and my BFF. Without thinking, I pushed talk and yanked the earplugs out.

  “Are you still alive? Are your parents alive?” He demanded, his deep voice cracked with worry on the phone.

  “Yes, what about yours?” I asked.

  An explosion of air blew into the mic, reaching my ear. “I stayed at youth group. We’re all fine. Can you check my parents’ house?” He pleaded and his voice broke.

  My heart squeezed as liquid fear pumped through my veins.

  Then louder Arty asked, “Can you please look outside and see what my house looks like? Is it okay?”

  It was daylight and ‘they’ were all gone, or at least I hoped. I opened the wardrobe door.

  “Where are you going? Don’t go out there.” Mom cried, in a low voice her hands clawed at me, pulling me back. Her outburst came from the same place as my need to check did—fear. I couldn’t sit there cowering in the closet.

  “I’m going to take a peek out the window. Arty stayed at the church. He doesn’t know what happened to his parents.” I offer, while peeling her hand off my arm.

  A ray of light cut across my father’s face over his left eye. It was the muscle in his jaw that I saw first. It worked its way over the bone again and again.

  “Hey, Arty, let me call you back,” I replied, then let the phone slide down the side of my face as Arty rambled on.

  “No, don’t call me back! Keep me on the line. My parents aren’t answering the phone. Please, I beg you.” He yelled, choking on the last words.

  I moved the cell back to my ear. “Okay, give me a minute,” I said, and handed the phone to my dad, and then opened the door. I hopped out before anyone could say another word.

  My heart pounded with every movement, and eyes searching every corner and shadow. The interior of the bedroom appeared untouched. I hadn’t heard any loud crashing. I didn’t think anyone came into our home. But adrenalin flooded my veins. What if I was wrong?

  My mother grabbed my hand, silently pleading. I pulled her hand off.

  “I have to use the bathroom. Stay in the closet,” I said.

  She pressed her lips closed and nodded her head as tears streamed down her face.

  My mother wasn’t as strong as Dad or me. She wasn’t stupid, just softer, purer. She needed someone like Dad. She wouldn’t make it on her own. It was something I’d learned about her a long time ago. I love her, I just can’t rely on her.

  When you’re a kid, you can always tell which parent was the stronger of the two. Rarely were they both strong. These days everybody’s parents were spineless. My dad was pretty well grounded though. He wrapped his free arm around her, and she leaned into it.

  I headed for the closest window on the north side of the house. I didn’t want to move the curtain or even be seen in the window. I pressed my body to the side of the frame.

  My mother loved sheer curtains. She said they gave her a semblance of privacy while still letting in the light. During the day, you couldn’t see anything. At night from the outside, you could see the outlines of anyone in the house. I’d stood outside several times, waiting to sneak back into the house. I always waited until the lights went out.

  The northern window of the house faced the street. It looked like logs were strewn at all angles all the way to the end of the block and beyond. The day grew brighter, along with my realization that the logs were in fact bodies, and they weren’t moving. The asphalt around them was spotted with dark circles of blood everywhere. There must’ve been fifteen or twenty bodies that I could see.

  It looked like whoever these creatures were, they’d moved the bodies onto the streets and sidewalks. That was why the screaming had been so loud. They weren’t people anymore. They were dead, every single one of them. They’d been our neighbors and friends.

  A lump formed in my throat as the heat rose to my eyes. My already pounding heart tightened painfully. I dragged my eyes away, and then tiptoed over to the other side of the hall, pressing firmly against the southern window frame. I didn’t see anyone alive, only more bodies.

  Not far from our property line on the sidewalk lay Arty’s mom. She was surrounded by a massive puddle of blood with a slash across her chest. Kneeling next to her was Arty’s father, or what was left of him, slumped on his knees. A bloody stump remained where his head should’ve been.

  I felt acid tickling my throat as it rose up to greet my tongue. I ran to the bathroom. A subtle sheen of sweat covered me as t
he contents of my gut spilled into the sink. Callused hands held my hair back.

  “Okay, get it out. Get it all out.” My father whispered, and smoothed my hair back from my brow.

  I threw up the only thing left in my belly—golden bile. My stomach muscles clenched and unclenched. Standing over the sink with one hand on either side, I met my father’s eyes in the mirror through my own watery eyes.

  “How do I tell Arty?” I choked.

  He ran his hand up and down my back. “You don’t. That’s my job, baby girl.” Dad said, and went back to the bedroom.

  I turned on the faucet, letting water flow into my hands. I splashed the water into my mouth and over my face.

  I overheard my dad talking. “Arty, don’t go home. It’s not safe around here. Stay there. I know Doug and Lisa would’ve wanted you safe. No, they didn’t… I’m sorry.” Dad said, and anguish altered his voice.

  He returned to the bathroom, and he thrust the phone under my chin. I pressed it to my ear.

  “Did you see?” Arty asked. It was more a cry than a question.

  Clearing my throat I responded, “Yeah, I saw them.” The burning taste of bile still lingered in my mouth, stinging my nose hair.

  “Was it quick?” His inquired, as his voice cracked with pain.

  Tears pricked at my eyes again. “It was. It was really quick. I don’t think they suffered.” I offered, swallowing back the lump. I could never tell him about the screaming, crying, and whimpering.

  “I want to see them.” He replied.

  I rushed on, “No, you don’t. You absolutely do not want to see. I don’t I’ll think I’ll ever get it out of my mind. Don’t come. You stayed with the youth group. It was the smartest thing you could do at the time. I almost didn’t make it home.” My heart sped up, thinking about my mad dash.

  “You think I’d be dead too?” He asked, then coughed.

  “Yes, you’d be dead,” I replied, swallowing to clear the lump that had lodged itself in my neck. “If it wasn’t for my dad’s smart thinking and me running like hell, I would be too.” I finished. Holy shit, Arty’s parents are dead.