The Slivers of Avalon: The Abandoned Edge

by Eden Tyler

  SEVENTEEN

  We share random facts about ourselves as we walk up and down the aisles made from banquet tables and milk crates. I love looking at vinyl – hearing it as it slides out of the sleeve, the feel of brushing the dust out of the grooves, the smell of the old cardboard. And those qualities are just the start. The warm static of the music itself – not much beats it, except maybe live music.

  And sure, I love my mp3 player—it’s way more convenient than lugging around a bunch of CDs, and even some LPs, but it’s kind of the same as an e-reader. I use mine and I adore it but it will never replace my books.

  Becoming so involved in what we are looking at, our chatter slows down and we move away from each other. I almost feel I am in a different world—not like Avalon different, but this is definitely a sacred area of the human realm. At least to me.

  After I grab a few favorites and some new music that looks interesting, I begin to head toward a listening booth. But I don’t make it there before Sloane comes up, ridiculously excited to show me the few things he has found. My stomach flips when I discover he likes the same music I do. I didn’t really pay attention to what he was looking at when we first came in and chatted.

  There is no way that the CDs in his hand are all he wants to talk about, so I give up my dream of listening to the sweetness of the late ’60s. They will always be here though. I might not be here if I don’t attempt to learn something from Sloane.

  “So do you mind me asking about you being a changeling? I know you said you’re uncomfortable talking about it, but you seem so at ease in here … I thought I would give the question another shot.”

  His smile and his eyes and his perfect amount of scruff and his, hell – everything—I truly cannot resist. If this is strength, I feel sorry for faeries in general because I feel weak as hell. Like a little school girl. But he is right and I give him props for reading me so well.

  “Yes. This place…” I wave my free hand around, the other is holding onto an armful of records. I have no words but I know he understands what I mean. He understands what I feel and how I feel. He understands a giant part of who I am and that makes me feel safe enough to share.

  No matter how stupid it might be…

  “Do you want to go sit down at the listening tables? I don’t really want to stand and hold all of these for this conversation.” I smile and tilt my head toward the back where said tables sit.

  Since it’s getting pretty late, not too many people are in this store. We have privacy here and it is much more comfortable than that bar we were just in.

  I glance around to see what type of stuff is back here and my eyes land on a pop fountain. With the flavors you can squirt in. I head straight over, as if it is pulling me to it, so I can make a cherry vanilla Dr. Pepper. And they even offer crushed ice!

  I might have just died and gone to heaven.

  I’m surrounded by all this amazing music and my company is the most gorgeous guy I have ever seen and he is connected to me in some magical way. And I have a drink that is almost as good as the ones from Sonic, which are my absolute favorite fast-food drinks.

  If only I didn’t have to worry about Donovan, I could easily believe I really am in heaven.

  Sloane has obviously followed me—he is making a drink, too.

  Or maybe … I should get my head out of my ass and realize that it is some really tasty pop and he could just be thirsty. Idiot! I know he is interested in me for whatever reasons, but I am most certainly not irresistible. So stop being stupid, Kellyn. Hell.

  Besides, I don’t even know if I want him to like me, or if I want to like him. I am definitely starting to trust him more and the skin similarity won’t let me forget I met him for a reason and my gut instinct about that reason is that it is good… But I still don’t know and I need to remember that.

  We get done at about the same time and choose the most obvious place to sit. A corner with five huge—no, giant—bean bags to sit in. I set my drink down and go grab the music I had chosen but then apparently dropped at a booth when I saw the enchanted pop machine.

  When I come back to the corner, I jump up and land on a surprisingly (and thankfully—since I didn’t think before jumping) soft bean bag. They are all really nice with microfiber covers; they aren’t the cheap twenty dollar ones you can get at any superstore. I settle in easily, kicking my legs up over the chair, almost lying down.

  Sloane already situated himself (on the end; I chose the middle one) and I am now hyper aware that he was watching me as I sat down. Interestingly, I’m not at all embarrassed. Just aware.

  I am also aware of him sitting on the end. Why did he sit there? He had to have known I wouldn't sit right by him. Does he not want me to? OK, you really need to stop this crap. And now.

  Grabbing my drink, I take a sip to ensure I don’t say anything stupid aloud, and then I smile at Sloane just because I want one in return. I want to see his toothpaste-commercial teeth sparkle like the rest of him.

  As great as it is staring at such prettiness, the silence is a little too quiet. I figure we should talk, seeing as I only gave him an hour of my ohsoprecious time. Of course he will get more, but I can’t let him know that.

  I decide I shouldn’t make him ask me the same question yet another time so I dive right on in.

  One more sip of my yumminess in a cup and I set my drink on my hip. “I’m sure this will always be hard to talk about, but the wound is raw as can be. So please bear with me if I start having a hard time.”

  Sloane nods and tells me I should know this is a given.

  “So, the day I was born, my real mother was killed. I was kind of hidden, I guess, so I would stay safe. But after it all happened—I’m not sure how much later—some people found me in the park and took me to the hospital here in Wales. And that’s the beginning of how I came to be who I am. Or was. Whatever.” I shake my head at the strangeness of it all.

  As hard as I try to focus on Donovan and why I shouldn’t be feeling this level of comfort with one of his friends, I would bet my last dollar that something keeps physically knocking those thoughts out of my head. Like a kick to my temple every time one starts. It’s actually kind of painful and I already have a headache and am exhausted, so I just give up. Give in to the other feelings—the good ones.

  Also, it has all been too much today and, as bad as the subject matter is, I am happy I can talk about this with an almost-stranger. It almost feels like therapy, or what I would imagine therapy to be like. Not that I imagine it a lot, but – see, this is how fried my brain is…

  “Ever since I can remember, I’ve had these dreams. About Avalon. Of course the place never had a name but it was definitely another world full of faeries and other creatures. Well the creatures were fae too, but that was something else I had no clue about. The dreams are, were, apparently a way for me to have a glimpse of Avalon and to embed in me that faeries exist. And more importantly, that I have something to do with them. I dreamed to prepare myself but I always thought they were simply dreams.

  “Or maybe not… Because I’ve always kept a dream journal. Some feeling deep inside told me I needed to document the things I saw at night while asleep. If they were only regular dreams, I wouldn’t have felt such a strong need to journal every single morning, without fail.”

  Sloane and I both pick up our drinks and take a sip at the same time. I wonder what he is drinking. We just watch each other, which causes us both to start giggling. Well maybe Sloane is more chuckling than giggling, since that doesn’t much seem like a manly thing to do. Then thinking the word ‘manly’ makes me wonder how old he actually is. Sure, looks a bit older than me but I also look ridiculously young for my age. I’ve never even attempted to see a rated-R movie at the theatre because I know I’d get caught. But he made a differentiation between our ages when we were talking in the bar.

  But for now, I stay on the same topic.

  “So I guess on some level I’ve always known what I really was, but of cours
e no rational part of my brain would allow me to believe it, you know?”

  Sloane takes another sip, swallows, and then nods. “Of course. I can’t imagine any human believing we exist, let alone one believing they’re one of us.” He pauses, eyes squinting in thought. “So how did you come to find out everything? Your story and all? About your mom—wait, your faery mother?” Another pause. “How could she have been killed?” Confusion turns his blue eyes stormy and I find myself lost in them for a second, forgetting the question.

  I realize I am looking like a total dork staring away at this guy, so I shake myself out of the daze. “I have no clue when most faeries first hear the story, but I had to wait until today to find out … obviously,” I say with a tilt of my head and a raise of my eyebrows. “But yes, my mom is the one who was hunted down in the park and I’m the child the creature left in the fountain.”

  “Wow—that was your mother? How awful. I’m sorry to hear that.” Genuine concern and pain shows on Sloane’s face, and I can feel a healing power attempting to escape him and come toward me.

  Now see—there’s another thing an evil person wouldn’t bother doing. I can tell it’s not fake.

  “Long story short, my housekeeper, Bonnie, told—well, showed—me all of it … I guess the same way everyone else finds out.” I shrug and continue. “I don’t know, but Bonnie has been around my whole life, supposedly protecting me because of what happened to my mother. The thing is, now is the time I really need protection because it’s supposed to happen again. To me. But since I’m just now learning everything and Bon’s not around because I’m off trying to figure out what to do, I’m not sure how to stay safe.”

  “Let me guess—Donovan, right?”

  Sloane sits up a little, to pay better attention and also because he is a little uncomfortable. He knows Donovan isn’t good, but isn’t sure how bad he really is. And he isn’t sure he wants to find out.

  And damn! I am getting good at reading this guy. Unless maybe he isn’t trying to guard himself, but still. It shouldn’t be this easy, I wouldn’t think.

  “Yeah,” I answer reluctantly, heading exactly where Sloane doesn’t want to go, but needs to. “I know he’s your friend and all but, he’s not a good guy. I mean, not in the least.”

  I look at Sloane, trying to gather some more clues, but he looks as lost as I feel.

  “So, if you don’t mind me asking—because I kind of have to know—why are you so close with this guy if you know he’s not decent in any sense of the word? I mean, you’ve gotta know that about him, right?”

  I pause, and wait for a reaction or answer. Neither come. Sloane has closed himself off in the last three seconds and looks at me as if waiting for more before he will speak.

  So I keep talking. “Donovan is essentially my entire problem right now. Everything that’s wrong with the world comes down to that asshole. Not only do I need protection from him, but I need to protect others from him, too. And I don’t have a clue how to do it. And I do feel bad talking about your friend, but only to an extent. Because I know what I know, as do many other fae, so I can’t apologize for telling the truth about some guy who wants me … dead.”

  I swallow, my throat dry, not liking the sound of my last sentence. Picking up my drink, I realize I have been bending my straw again. I don’t remember ever having that habit before. But whatever. I take a drink, ready to complain about Donovan some more.

  I open my mouth to speak and no words come out. I am just now really realizing what exactly I am saying and who I am speaking to. “And here I am, telling my secrets to the one person I probably shouldn’t be telling secrets to.”

  Smiling hesitantly, I hope I haven’t made myself too vulnerable. I search Sloane’s face for some sign I have totally screwed up and left myself open for him to go get Donovan to come kill me. No matter what I think during the good times, the reality of Sloane being so close to the leader of The Depraved—the guy who is so evil he possessed the creature that killed my mother, simply so he can be stronger (or at least that’s the only reason I know of), is a reality that cannot be ignored.

  But even with that disgusting reality holding strong in the front of my mind, I know I haven’t made myself vulnerable. The feeling of comfort and belonging is too strong, and is building by the second. I know Sloane won’t betray me. Not a clue how I know, but it is as certain as any other fact is to me—as certain as the earth being round instead of flat.

  “Don’t worry. You can trust me even if, on paper, it seems I am the last person you should trust. I have a few secrets of my own I can let you in on. Also, and this might sound rather odd, but I think I might be able to help you. But first, to answer your question – why am I friends with D?”

  Sloane takes another drink before answering. I can’t tell if it’s because he doesn’t truly want to answer or just because he’s thirsty. The guy is a bit hard to read (again) now that he mentioned helping me. How in the freaking world can he help me? And why would he?

  “Well,” he starts, “in a word—destiny. Or try family. Or maybe arrangement. But mostly tolerance.” He sits up straight and scooches his bean bag closer to the middle of this corner. Closer to me. I sit up, as well, not wanting to seem rude. Besides, I am actually interested.

  “Basically, I really have no choice but to have D in my life. He’s been around a long time and I haven’t been able to get rid of him. Not yet, at least.”

  The word tolerance strikes a major chord with me. That is what I’ve done with Donovan, or Andrew, for the past three years. Simply tolerate him. The fact that Sloane said ‘yet’ hits me oddly, too.

  I want to know exactly what he means by both of these words. And I also wonder if he seriously wants Donovan out of his life, or if Sloane is more just annoyed with him or something.

  “Interesting,” I note. “You ready to elaborate, or no?”

  “I’m not sure yet. We’ll see how the conversation goes,” he says with a smirk. He can lie with his mouth, but his face gives it all away, blowing his mysterious act.

  “All right. I know a tiny bit of your background, so I suppose you can know some of mine. You have spent your whole life thinking you were something you’re not, while I have spent mine knowing what I am supposed to be and what I am, but not wanting any part of it. I suppose I am royalty, of sorts, but I have no interest in it and would rather just be unaffiliated—be a Solitary.”

  “Ah, so you’re part of one of the courts.”

  Mischief runs through mind until realization clouds over in a flash, making me feel extremely stupid. So he actually works with Donovan—with all that evil. This cannot be good in any conceivable way… Except—wait – Sloane said he has been trying to get away from him and this could be the reason. Sloane doesn’t seem cut out for the type of work I can only imagine they do. I still have to ask the obvious, though.

  “But your court is The Depraved, isn’t it?”

  My palms become clammy and my stomach is sick again. I rub my hands around my cup, wiping the condensation over my palms to get rid of the dirty feeling.

  Sloane doesn’t look pleased that he has to tell me I’m correct. He doesn’t appear pleased about anything, in fact, while he is talking about it. Which reassures me a good amount. I can’t stop the four-hundred-and-twenty-seven questions spinning and soaring and crashing into each other in my brain, though. Sure, I was having a moment with this guy, but I need some real information to take back to Zoë and Landon.

  “Yes, that is my court—‘the evil one.’ I’m basically D’s right-hand-man. I help him out with all the decisions and necessary tasks. I was born into the position, my father having done the same job before I came of age. I’ve spent a lot of time trying to play both sides. I have to be loyal to D or else it would cause a lot of trouble for me, but I’ve also been searching for a way out.”

  Sloane stops speaking and looks into my eyes, reaching down to my soul, seeking an answer.

  With wistful eyes, he says, “I have th
e strangest feeling you’re the one who will set me free.”

  Set him free? I suppose he is telling the truth, and my assumption was right. It must really be bad being with all of those evil fae… Although I don’t know how I can help, except for the fact that I want ‘D’ destroyed.

  I can feel a deep redness rise up my cheeks, but I embrace it rather than let myself be embarrassed. He obviously has so much trust and confidence in me, and that is an amazing compliment. I sit up and lean toward him just the slightest.

  “Well, maybe I can. Because I need to stop Donovan. If he’s no longer in charge, you won’t have to be his buddy, right? And you probably know him better than anyone―know any weaknesses he might have.”

  He looks interested, in the way I want him to be, and so I arch one eyebrow and take a giant leap of faith. “If we work together, I’ll bet we both can get what we want—and need.”

  After the words leave my mouth, I feel as sure of this conclusion as I had about the fact that Donovan is in control of the monster who killed my mother—once I actually believed it, that is. Except for now, I don’t feel sick about the realization. My insides begin buzzing with a thrilling motivation.

  “Exactly. And then we can move on…” The way Sloane says this makes it clear this is what he was hoping for from the start. Or at least since he found out I despise Donovan. And he is also implying how he feels about me. He not only wants to move on, away from The Depraved, but he wants to move on with me.

  Which I’m not at all against. This surprises me at first thought, but even though I barely know this guy, I feel I know his soul. He has been showing me pieces of it all along and, as we sit here, looking at each other with no words, he allows every single wall inside of him to fall.

  The admiration and belief, and attraction—on both of our ends—crashes over me and I can barely breathe. It is by far the best feeling in the world.

  I do think of Blake briefly, and I am glad to know the good in me has stayed, that I haven’t become selfish. But as sad as I feel about all that happened, this that I have right here, right in front of me – this is real. This is it.

  I belong in his life. And we will move forward together.

  And kick some ass.

  It is so great to have this sense of excitement after the disaster with Blake and after so many other things that have gone wrong, like the situation with my parents. I sense a new love on the horizon, and a possible end to a horrible beginning—maybe even before the hell truly gets a chance to start.

  “So do you want to get out of here and walk around and chat? It’s nice out and I’m getting kind of antsy sitting, my head spinning with all the info we could be sharing and what we can do with it,” I ask Sloane.

  “Definitely. I can feel all you are feeling and I am as eager as you. We were meant to meet up tonight, I know it without any doubt. Let’s go talk and figure out a plan. But can I ask you just one question first?”

  He is giving off an awkward vibe and I have no clue what to expect. But faith is what this is all about so I can’t be afraid.

  “Sure. What?”

  “Well, even with all the talking we have done … I never caught your name. I know you are Alexis, but that’s your human name, right?”

  I think for a second and realize this is true. He doesn’t know my name. How strange that never came up…

  “Wow,” I say, laughing. “You’re right. Sorry about that. Yeah, I was Alexis, but my name is Kellyn. My human parents called me Alexis, but yep, my name is definitely Kellyn.”

  Sloane holds out his hand and I accept it. The spark is still there. It has even intensified, but that doesn’t faze me because there is such a lack of surprise.

  “It is great to meet you, Kellyn.” He smiles—a crooked, goofy grin. Then he stands up and helps pull me up and out of my bean bag, but he doesn’t let go of my hand right away.

  He even holds it as I bend down to grab what’s left of my pop, because I’m for sure not wasting it. I leave the music sitting where it is, not even worried about listening to it anymore. At least not right now.

  It isn’t until we are standing and facing the front of the store that he drops my hand. And then all he does is switch the hand he was holding mine with so we are side by side. So, with Sloane leading me, we walk around the booths and tables and out through the door. Together.

  I have no doubt that, to anyone who might be looking, we seem every bit a happy couple in love.