Seven Black Diamonds

by Melissa Marr

  Roan gave him an are-you-serious look. “On schedule to the minute. He’ll arrive in about eighteen hours, precisely at the stated move-in time. The mighty senator wouldn’t have her son ask for any special consideration.”

  The senator was one of the few Native American congress members, as well as being one of the rare single mothers who had attained and held a seat in the nation’s New Congress. Perhaps because she was breaking boundaries, she focused an inordinate amount of attention on keeping up overall conservative appearances.

  That meant that she didn’t rage against her son’s sexual orientation; she simply denied its existence—and insisted that Roan was merely a “good friend” to her son.

  Roan’s father was also strict, but in his case it was about staying away from “New Hollywood wastrels.” On breaks from St. Columba’s the unit functioned like two smaller groups. Zephyr saw Creed and Alkamy fairly regularly. Roan was able to stay in close contact with Will. Violet, of course, was able to do whatever she wanted. No one told her “no,” or if they tried, she simply ignored them. So she was a liaison between the two groups.

  The one missing piece had been Lilywhite. None of them had a way to reach the daughter of the acknowledged head of the country’s most successful criminal organization. She’d been kept hidden from the media and the world.

  Until now.

  Until today.

  Roan guided them to a pathway that cut through a small park a few blocks from the pier. After they passed the park, they’d be in a residential area, and from there they’d eventually come up to the side of campus. It would require scaling the wall to get into the grounds, but once they did, they’d be in the gardens.

  “Creed is still communing?”

  “In the back corner, by the yew trees,” Roan directed.

  They walked in silence for several minutes, which was precisely what Zephyr needed—no extra complications. He had enough to worry about with Alkamy’s moods, Creed’s drinking, and Violet’s temper. He’d expected that Lilywhite would share his burden, be a voice of reason in their odd little group. Instead she added to his list of problems, although it was through no fault of her own. Someone had failed in their duty to let her know who she was, what she was, who he was.

  “Did you ever think that maybe it’s not an honor?” Roan’s voice was low enough that Zephyr had to lean closer to hear. “Being chosen, I mean.”

  “No.” Silently, Zephyr added, because if I allowed myself to think it, the queen would kill us all.

  Roan looked away before almost guiltily adding, “I don’t want to die . . . or hurt anyone again.”

  Zephyr couldn’t be afraid, not to die and not to kill. There was no questioning, not of the regents, not of their handler, not of the missions they would be assigned. Questions could lead to answers he didn’t like, to disobedience, and that would lead to death—and leaving his team, his friends, alone. He could die for his duty, for his friends, for their people, but he wasn’t going to die because he questioned their regents. He certainly wasn’t going to let his friends die if he could prevent it.

  “You need to stay here when I go to see the queen,” Zephyr told Roan.

  “No argument here.” Roan shuddered.

  Zephyr gripped his friend’s arm and repeated the words he’d been drilled on for years: “We owe the queen everything. She came up with a plan to save our lives, to save everyone. She’s bled for us, Roan.”

  Roan said nothing as they reached the wall that stretched along the east side of campus.

  Zephyr stroked the vines that covered the wall, asking them to part for him. The plants were meant to keep anyone from scaling the wall, but flora answered Zephyr. Once the vines shifted, Roan gripped the stone and began to climb. He reached the top of the rose-and-thorn-covered wall, and stepped over. Without seeing him, Zephyr knew the boy had landed in a graceful tumble. They’d been climbing this wall for going on four years.

  He spoke to the plants again, thanking them as he climbed. Tendrils reached out, touching his skin, seeking contact with him as eagerly as he sought their touch. It was a terrifying gift in his childhood. He’d grown up in New Hollywood, where gardens were groomed meticulously. All Zephyr had to do was take a walk, and the plants rioted. They burst into bloom out of season; they snaked across paths and fountains. They tangled in his hair and shredded his clothes. Early on, his family had a fleet of gardeners and landscapers to keep their grounds from looking wild, to protect him from accusations of fae blood, but by the time he was twelve, his parents had simply erected a high fence with a gate and told their friends that they liked the “hedonism” of an unkept garden. Zephyr still wore the key to that gate like a talisman.

  The gardens at St. Columba’s didn’t respond as vigorously as those of his childhood. Over time, the plants had taught him though, filled his mind with messages of patience and wisdom. If they hadn’t, he’d still be at home, unable to be anywhere other than concrete and brick vistas. He’d wondered more than a few times if that was why Lilywhite had been hidden away all of these years.

  Inside the gardens, Creed was stretched out in the sunlight. He looked listless, too limp to rise from the ground and greet them. He cracked one eye, saw that it was them, and closed it again. “No lectures, Zephyr. Kamy looks just as bad.”

  “I trust you to help keep her safe, but last night, you were both drinking before I even got there.”

  Creed flipped him off. “Alkamy doesn’t listen to anyone but you.”

  “And you listen to no one.” Zephyr dropped to the ground a few feet away from Creed. “Lilywhite arrived, so I need to go to the Hidden Lands tonight. What am I to do if the queen asks about any of you?”

  Roan and Creed looked away.

  The Queen of Blood and Rage held their lives in her hands, and she had done so since before they existed. It didn’t matter if they agreed. She owned them. If she didn’t find them worthy . . . He shook his head. Years ago, he’d asked his handler what would happen if they didn’t want to be Sleepers.

  “She’ll have me kill you,” Clara said as easily as if she were speaking about the weather. “Maybe another in the unit would be elevated, but the queen prefers seven members in your team. We’d need to import another Sleeper or eliminate the whole cell.”

  “All of us?”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time. There was an earlier version of the program. It wasn’t successful.” Clara met his gaze. “Do you want to be a Sleeper, Zephyr?”

  “I do,” he lied.

  “Do you live and die to serve the Queen of Blood and Rage?”

  “I will,” he said. If it meant keeping his friends alive, he’d be the most devoted Sleeper there was.

  “It’s for the best if you keep this conversation to yourself,” Clara added. “We wouldn’t want the others to get the wrong idea about you or about their queen.”

  “I live for our queen, Clara.” He straightened his shoulders. “That’s exactly what the others will know: the truth. I live for her, and we do serve her will.”

  And that was that. He had to be devoted to the queen, or he’d die. His friends would die. They had to be faithful in order to live—and he would keep them that way.

  Every one of them had been raised knowing about the Sleeper Program and why it mattered. Humanity had already had their chance to be the caretakers of the world. They’d failed. Glaciers melted. Cities were lost to the sea. The whole of one continent was evacuated. After one chemical company went unpunished for toxic disposals, other companies began stealthily exporting their waste, and soon all of what was once called Africa had become too contaminated for people. Whole species of animals were wiped out; others were critically endangered, no longer existing anywhere aside from zoological parks. Africa had become a global trash dump. Its displaced citizens were integrated into other lands—most often Ausland and the South Continent. Humanity had failed.

  And then, as if their pollution wasn’t crime enough, they had assassinated the royal heir
.

  The Queen of Blood and Rage decided to strike back. At her order, the fae had bred and surrendered their young to be placed in the homes of people of influence across the globe. They’d allowed their children to be raised as humans, living in a world of disease and decay, because they believed. They’d sacrificed their own children because they’d believed. His real parents had believed enough to send him here, and Zephyr couldn’t let them down.

  Clara had explained repeatedly that their people were counting on him and the rest of the Sleeper Program. The humans had far outnumbered the fae, and the fae who had come forward openly were slaughtered. So the queen had turned to guerrilla warfare. The Sleepers were only one facet of her master plan. He saw the results on the news. There was a small city on the southern coast that was taken by the sea. Almost every casino in Vegas had been attacked by poison funneled into air ducts simultaneously; the death count there was high. Old Dublin had a siege of rats carrying the bubonic plague, and Chicago had been set to burn by over five hundred lightning strikes that were undoubtedly fae in origin.

  The attacks weren’t regular, and the media tried to explain them away, but the tabloids were filled with truth in this case. They cut through the government explanations and acknowledged that the Queen of Blood and Rage was steadily targeting humanity—and that humanity was defenseless.

  The queen was merciless when angered, and Zephyr hoped that he wasn’t going to anger her tonight.

  “I’ll let you know how it goes,” he told his teammates. “Right now, you better concentrate on getting well. No more of this, Creed.”

  Creed didn’t speak, neither agreeing nor refusing. He simply stretched in the sunlight, absorbing the nutrients it offered. Later, he’d do the same with the moon. Creed and Will were creatures of air, just as Zephyr and Alkamy were of the earth. Zephyr’s second affinity, metal, was peculiar in that it was only recharged via fighting. Alkamy had also started to show a second affinity, but hers was air. Consequently, unlike Zephyr, she could find nutrients from the sun and the moon, as well as from the soil. Violet was fire, so she drew from the sun as well. Only Roan and Zephyr weren’t able to be healed by sun alone. Roan needed water, and Zephyr needed soil.

  Zephyr stroked the plants nearest him.

  Creed drew his attention back to them by asking, “How was the explosion?”

  Zephyr flopped down on the ground, shucked his shoes so he could feel the earth against his skin, and brought both Creed and Roan up to speed on the explosion, Lilywhite, and the difficulty of what to tell the queen.

  He did not, however, tell them about the kiss. He didn’t admit that he was more stunned by the way she’d kissed or that she looked momentarily terrified when he called her Seelie. He didn’t tell them that she’d fled from him. Lilywhite was a mystery to him, and until he figured out more about her, he’d be keeping that mystery to himself as much as he could.

  twelve

  LILY

  Lily felt out of sorts as she walked through the administration building and down that over-wide, shadowed hallway. The stone murmured under her feet; the heavy bass voice of it felt like a monastic chant that soothed her nerves. Sometimes Lily felt bad for people who couldn’t connect to one of the elements, but then again, they weren’t breaking laws simply by existing.

  After several minutes, she found Hector inside a surprisingly modern office. “The campus gates should have been closed after we entered. She could’ve been—”

  “Hector,” Lily cut him off.

  The headmistress had a pinched look as she turned to face Lily. “We take security very seriously here at St. Columba’s, Miss Abernathy. The gates are in place for a reason. They keep threats out, but you should know that wandering into Belfoure alone is not something we recommend.”

  “I understand,” Lily said, tactfully avoiding any admissions.

  Hector shot her a look that made quite clear that he knew what she was doing.

  “Well then,” the headmistress said. She cleared her throat delicately and told Hector, “Miss Abernathy seems to be safe after all.”

  “Maybe the school ought to consider guards,” Hector suggested, his gaze fastened on Lily as he spoke. “I could help you set up a patrol route, Mistress Cuthbert.”

  Lily rolled her eyes even though Hector wasn’t joking. Her father had guards inside the gate, as well as a security room to keep eyes on the whole estate at all times. Daidí took extra precautions because of his career choice. Nonetheless, she was fairly certain that such measures were a bit more draconian than those that St. Columba’s employed, despite the affluence of their students.

  “We are not a prison.” Mistress Cuthbert pursed her lips again, and Lily thought she might like the woman a little bit after all. “As I was telling your driver, Miss Abernathy, students are free to explore the grounds within reason. It’s simply the area outside the gate—the town of Belfoure, in particular—that is off-limits.”

  Lily nodded. None of this was actually surprising. It wasn’t pleasing, but it wasn’t unexpected at all. Daidí held security second only to love of family in his pantheon of values.

  “If you exit the rear of the hall, the grounds extend quite far,” Mistress Cuthbert was saying. “You really have no need to go into town proper unless you need something from one of the shops, and there are sanctioned outings for that.”

  Her voice sounded almost sympathetic, and Lily suspected that she was far from the first student at St. Columba’s who had an overzealously protective parent. In this, at least, Lily might be normal.

  Abernathy Commandment #14: Blending in helps you seem less memorable should you need an alibi at some point.

  The headmistress turned away to answer another student who had the look of a girl who was not used to any conflicts in her life. Lily felt a stab of sympathy, both for the girl’s obvious emotions and for her inability to hide them.

  “Don’t leave the grounds again, Lilywhite,” Hector ordered in a voice not to be refused.

  “I don’t intend to leave again,” she told him, offering both an admission and a promise.

  He nodded, having been trained to know that when she offered blunt promises, she could be trusted wholly. “I’ll wait here with your things.”

  “I’m safe, Hector,” she assured him, and then she went to find peace in the gardens.

  She didn’t need both the waves and the soil to keep healthy. Either one would suffice. It was easier if she had both, but one was enough to sustain her. Daidí had undoubtedly already researched the matter. If they hadn’t already had what she needed, he would’ve paid to add it.

  The hall appeared empty so she slipped off her shoes again. The stone sang to her as she walked, speaking of a faraway quarry where men had carved the rock from the earth. The story was not told in words, not in the way that most people understood words. Stone spoke in thick slow images, like heavy syrup trailing across her mind. The news most stone could share was far from recent. Their words fell into her consciousness with a welcome surety though. Stone mightn’t know the newest things, but what they did know was true.

  On the other hand, sea was fickle, and sometimes the act of sorting through the sheer immensity of the words from the water was an exhausting task. Air, for her at least, was barely an affinity. It was there, but it came with difficulty thus far. Fire hadn’t been an affinity that she’d felt as comfortable with. Mostly, she counted on the earth for knowledge. Earth had been her first, and of the earth options, the words of stone and soil were easiest for her to hear.

  As soon as Lily left the hall, the hum of the roots seeped through the cobblestone path under her feet, beckoning her. She resisted stepping into the soil. It was one thing to walk barefoot on the old stone of the building; it was an entirely different matter to let the plants greet her, especially when her mind was so unsettled. Plants with so much human contact were chaotic in their words, more so than she could manage today.

  “Soon,” she promised.

  The g
rounds behind the administration building were beautiful. Trees flourished as if they had never known dry seasons. Shrubs dotted healthy lawns, and flower beds offered bursts of reds, golds, and violet. Beyond them, however, was something far more exciting. A walled garden waited there, and the door was open. It looked seldom used, which was exactly what she needed. She wanted to step off the stone path and onto the living earth. She wanted to lose herself in it, fill the ache inside her with the surety of nature.

  She pushed the door open farther, murmuring a soft greeting to the remnant of the spirit of the wood that still clung to the aged timber. Vines clung to the walls and exploded in every hue of green she could hope to see. Inside the garden, paths were clearly marked. At the far back of the curated part of the garden was the mouth of a labyrinth. To either side of it, the plants seemed to have been allowed to go wild. The juxtaposition of the sculpted maze and the chaotic expanse was perfection. People didn’t enter the wild anymore. Fears of fae lurking in the shadows kept most of humanity to the fringes of nature.

  Lily went into the maze and twisted through several passageways. Then, after a quick glance to make sure there were no witnesses, she asked, “May I pass?”

  The plants rustled softly as they parted to allow her into the wilderness outside the labyrinth. She stepped through the opening in the hedge wall, expecting to be alone with the rarely visited plants of the wild, but there, dressed only in his tattoos and jeans, was Creed Morrison.

  She was glad she hadn’t arrived a few moments earlier. He was buttoning his jeans.

  At her gasp, he looked up and saw her. “And here I’d begun to think you disliked me.”

  The anger in his voice was tempered by his apparent amusement at her discomfort. Lily looked down at her feet to keep from staring. She’d certainly seen pictures of him like this, bare-chested and barefoot. He’d been caught on a beach in Ibiza wearing nothing more than jewelry, ink, and a smile. He’d been photographed in the restored Trevi fountain in Roma. The journals had blurred just enough to keep from violating “privacy of minors” laws, but only just. She’d liked the pictures, as she suspected most anyone with functioning eyes would. Still, seeing the pictures of mostly naked Creed Morrison hadn’t made her feel dizzy the way the real person was.