My heart can’t stand much more of this. “Look, Laguna—”
“Summer’s Rest is breaking.”
“I know.” I raise an eyebrow. “You should’ve told me.”
At least he has the decency to look guilty, the big jerk. “Your Glamma asked me to keep it under wraps, but things have changed. The arch-Ýdyll are awake.”
His words punch the air from my lungs in a comical whoosh! I sink to the dressing room table; now, the elephant’s not just sitting on my chest, it’s tap-dancing. “They’re awake? Already? That was fast.”
He nods gravely. “We look to you to lead us, my queen.”
Yeah, right into war.
I take a breath and a minute to recap: Roue’s gone evil, the dark Fae are massing to attack, my people are awake, and now I only have seven days to break the Darksider spell, save Rouen, and keep all of Faerie from sliding into the apocalypse.
No pressure.
Still, I look to Laguna. The arch-Ýdyll are my council. They’re here to advise me in governing my people. I’m responsible for everyone. “Gather them, Laguna. I want to meet them.”
A smile breaks his grim expression. “You bet, sweet summer.”
I half expect him to wave his hand and vanish in a flash of sea foam or bubbles or something, but instead, he turns like a pro on those six-inch platforms and sashays out the door.
I look around at the empty dressing room. Roue’s not coming back. We’ve averted the war so far, but we can’t avoid it anymore. I need her blood, no matter what. I can’t stand to think of what “no matter what” even means. Because if it comes to it, I will protect my people.
Even if it tears my heart out in the process.
6
DARK - ROUEN
My Wild Hunt,
Come to me
Obey me, do my bidding
- “Wild Hunt,” Euphoria
Violet lightning lashes the night as I peel back the tattered Shroud and step into the mortal realm. With all of Faerie in upheaval, traveling the labyrinthine Snickleways isn’t an exact science anymore. I end up in a parking lot near Circuit Bar, an adult barcade in Scott’s Addition that Syl likes to frequent. I scent the night air, seeking her unique vanilla-and-sunshine scent as I weave through the parked cars. Urgency grips me, my heart picking up pace as I do.
I want to see her. I need to.
With a wave of my hand, I throw up a Glamoury to mask my appearance. A shimmer tingles over my skin, smoothing away the fangs, pointed ears, my glowing eyes, and all the magic crackling around me. Overhead, a deep rumble booms, clouds smothering the moon. An early autumn fog lingers, curling over the asphalt in wisps like smoke.
I don’t even need to summon a fog.
Tonight’s the perfect night for hunting.
Murder burns in my heart, and my mother’s black yew violin pulses in my hand. Tiny zaps of electricity race from my fingers to the instrument, making the Moribund circuits hum. The sudden stink of burned rubber fills my nostrils. In my mind, the violin’s screams intensify, blotting out reason and thought.
The urge to hunt, to kill intensifies, lairing in my guts like living fire.
Thunder cracks overhead, and a few stray snowflakes drift down to land in my black hair. It’s September, but Winter and Summer warring in Faerie spills over to the mortal realm. Winter in RVA, me and Syl and snowball fights, finding the perfect Christmas tree… My soul cries out for her, my heart a hollow in my chest, echoing my hearthstone’s pitiful cries.
I need it if I’m to win the war and save Faerie, and that means doing what Jardin wants.
For now.
I stuff the rest of my feelings down deep.
Cars race past, splashing through puddles, streetlights reflecting drowned moons on the wet streets, neon club signs hazy. The night air brings the delicious smells of food truck tacos, fried chicken, pulled pork.
My stomach grumbles, but my dark self turns her nose up. Pulled pork? This is what you’ve been eating instead of blood?
Guilt washes over me. As a baobhan sidhe, essentially a Faerie vampire, it’s natural to feed on the blood of my victims. Before I met Syl, I’d join the Wild Hunt, tracking my prey across the gloomy moors. The pounding of their panicked hearts always made the blood so sweet. My fangs ache, and my mouth pools with saliva.
Ever since Syl, I’ve been using junk food to feed my blood cravings.
Pathetic, I chide myself, but I’m here to hunt, not to feed.
But standing outside the arcade bar, smelling the alcohol, the sweaty press of human bodies, the coppery-rich tang of blood, a headache pulses behind my eyes.
Yes, low blood sugar is making the Dark Fae queen cranky.
Ahead of me, the door to Circuit Bar opens, spilling the sounds of pinball machines and fighting games and a group of drunk college dudes into the street. One’s got toilet paper stuck to his shoe, and they all stink of beer and stupidity. My nose wrinkles. I keep walking, even though my dark urges try to make me linger.
There’s easy blood right there.
Hush you.
“Hey!” the toilet-paper guy yells. He’s so drunk his friends have to hold him up. His breath could knock a harpy off a hell wagon. “Hey, sweetie-pie!”
I sling Wasteland over my shoulder and keep walking. The last thing this guy really wants is for me to turn around.
“I’m talking to you!”
“No answer means no, pal.”
“Tch!” I hear a disgusted snort from the shadows. Wrapped in her cobwebby green gown and red cloaks, the bain sidhe lingers nearby in a trash-filled alleyway. What’s she doing here? Generally speaking, bain sidhe exist for one reason: to wail for the Doom or Death of the royal family. She hobbles over to the gutter, snatches an empty Big Mac container, sniffs it.
Looks like she’s not here to wail, but she’s not going to be any help, either.
“Dumb chick can’t hear too well, can you?”
I stop dead. I swear, you can hear the sinews in my neck creak as I turn toward Mr Sweetie Pie. On my periphery, the bain sidhe mutters as she tears at the Styrofoam with serrated teeth. “Starting a fight…”
Starting one? No. Ending one? Hells yes.
I stride over to Sweetie Pie and pals. “I couldn’t quite here you from over there. Why don’t you say that again?”
His friends snicker, but something about my height, the look in my eyes, or maybe it’s the timbre of my voice—like I’m going to rip his spleen out and eat it right here—makes Sweetie Pie back off a step. I’m looking at him like he’s dinner, my dark self licking her chops. His blood smells delicious. Wasteland’s Moribund circuits pull and whine hungrily.
Sweat crawls down his face. “I…uh…”
“Yeah.” I pause to meet every one of their gazes. “That’s what I thought.”
I turn on my heel. A huntress of my caliber doesn’t need to waste time with bozos.
Smash! A beer bottle shatters on the ground, peppering my boots with glass. “You should smile more,” Sweetie Pie catcalls. “Because you’re one heck of a bi—”
“Get him,” I whisper to the Moribund. I hold up Wasteland, and the black circuitry leaps at my command. Its power slams into me, dark, sinister. Unforgiving.
Oh well, I gave him a chance.
My Glamoury shatters as liquid-black Moribund chains lash from my mother’s violin. Circuitry zapping, they wrap the drunk college guys up like living mummies, swallowing their screams. Across the street, a couple turns to look, but I renew my Glamoury, bolstering it with the power of Dark Faerie. Shimmers cascade over my skin as the magic settles into place.
Now, I’d be able to have a parade and a three-ring circus in the middle of the street, and no one would bat an eyelash.
Sweetie Pie shouts, “Let us go, you crazy bi—”
“I thought you wanted to see me smile.” Grinning my face off, I don’t stop the laugh bubbling up my throat. It feels so damn good. I revel in my power, letting it dizzy me. The Moribund c
hains tighten around them, ravenous and chittering, undulating like ink. They want to devour their prey, but I hold them in check.
For now.
I pace around my prey. “I have better uses for you. Every huntress needs a Wild Hunt.”
“Yessss…” The bain sidhe capers at my side, her six-inch claws clackering hungrily as she looks at them with her black-pool eyes.
The guys whimper. One of them starts begging. “Please don’t hurt me, please—”
Typical. Now that they realize they’re not predators, they’re prey, they change their tune. “Quiet. I’m trying to concentrate.”
I’ve never done this before—combined Moribund magic with dark Fae magic—but I’m feeling strong, reckless.
Silently, I call upon UnderHollow, the center of my dark Fae realm. Wham! Its throbbing power slams into me, filling me up with storm and shadow until I’m sure my skin will split. In a flood, inky black power erupts from me in thrashing tendrils, like I’m some kind of sea witch rising from the depths.
The guys’ screams get really shrill now.
My tendrils hit them in the chest, mingling with the Moribund chains, and explode into a thousand smaller tendrils that wrap them up in liquid darkness. All except Sweetie Pie. He watches, freaking out as his friends drop to all fours, their bodies warping, snapping as they transform into—
“What you calls them, poppet?” The bain sidhe squints a black-pool eye at me and sucks at her teeth.
Good question. Agravaine had his hounds of the Hunt. Fiann had her Môrgrim.
Something simpler, less pretentious. Syl’s got her Glamma’s Grimm… “My Grymm.”
“Hnh.” The bain sidhe makes a noncommittal noise, and we watch as they finish transforming.
Here’s the thing: magic of this magnitude takes something from the host. What it takes from these guys is all their ugliness and prejudice. It turns it—and them—inside-out until their inner ugliness explodes to the surface. Misshapen snouts burst from their faces, their hands and feet bloating into massive paws. Spikes and spines jut from their backs, each one rushing with purple Moribund electricity as they hunch over, their screams turning to the baying of beasts.
My Wild Hunt. They’ll hunt for me, and then in the morning, I’ll release them, exhausted, faestricken.
They won’t die. But they’ll wish they had.
I bare my fangs, “Not you.” I point to Sweetie Pie.
“It was just a joke.” He starts to cry softly. I almost feel bad for him. “Let me go, you freak!”
Almost.
My fangs itch, a burn that tells me just how long I’ve been neglecting my true hungers. Saliva pools in my mouth, the scent of blood suddenly overpowering.
I can’t hold back.
It feels so good to lunge, my fangs plunging into his neck. All that coppery, thick blood. It fills my mouth, my senses, making me drunk with it.
It’s only with a monumental effort that I don’t drain him to death.
As he collapses to the ground, I wrap him up in my power. He’s still screaming insults as it takes him over, making him into one of my Hunt. The one upside for them is that Fae magic is protective. They’ll heal any wound, no matter how grievous.
They line up now, all six of them, jaws slavering, hackles raised, claws digging into asphalt.
Green cloak dragging the ground, the bain sidhe paces before them, a judge at the oddest dog show ever. She tugs a one hound’s ear, checks another’s teeth, slaps one on the rump. It yelps. “Interesting choice, poppet.” Her chuckle is rusty knives carving against each other.
“I’m so glad you approve.” It’s time to get down to business. “But what are you doing here?”
The bain sidhe eyes the violin in my hand. “Knew she’d give it to you, poppet.” She sniffs, picking Styrofoam from her teeth with a long claw. “Curious, we wants to see what Queenie will do.”
The last thing I want is a chaperone, especially one so powerful. But bain sidhe are above Fae law, and this one literally has the power of Death over me. Plus, when a million-year-old bain sidhe who can murder you with a single scream says she’s riding shotgun, she’s riding shotgun.
Wiping blood from my mouth, I pour all my desire to find Syl into my Wild Hunt. “Find her, my pretties.”
7
SYL
For best protection against the Fae:
A circle of iron
- Glamma’s Grimm
What’s the official protocol for meeting the most powerful Fae in the history of ever? Seriously, how do you prep for that? Buy a new dress? Get a full makeover? Mani/pedi? All I know is Laguna’s breezed off to whatever’s left of the Fair Faerie realm to gather my arch-Ýdyll, and I’m standing outside the Nanci Raygun, greasy pork sandwich bag in hand.
It’s not exactly queenly.
People mill about me, smoking, talking, waiting for entry. Anonymous in the crowd, I look up at the night sky. RVA’s all lit up, the city skyline blazing a hazy white. What would I be doing if Roue were here? Don’t do this to yourself, Syl. But I can’t help thinking of her. We’d be off on some caper, running across the rooftops of RVA, eating pork sandwiches, laughing, fighting, kissing, loving.
I clutch the greasy bag tighter. Missing her is a knife in my heart.
I’m surrounded by people, but I’ve never felt more alone.
It’s not forever, Syl. You’ll get her back.
I will. I promise, Roue. But it’s late, and I need to head home. By now, Mom’s probably ready to send out a search party. Besides, it’s a school night. I should tell her I’m not going back, even though I know she’ll freak out.
This is the lady who made Roue, a dark Fae, think of her future in the mortal realm.
It’s probably going to be a rough scene. Sighing, I start walking in the general direction of Jackson Ward. As soon as I’m out of eyeshot, I’ll summon my fairy wind, the magical Summer breezes that enhance my speed.
Arrhooowooo!
A haunting howling splits the night, prickling goose bumps down my arms. All my senses on high alert, I glance back at the crowd around the Nanci. No one else seems to notice. Am I that tired, or is this—
Arrhoowwoooooo-oooo-arhoooo!
This time, it goes on so long my ears ring, and the hair at the nape of my neck stands up. I turn toward the sound, chills clawing up my back.
The fog seems to warp, my Fae-sight picking up a powerful Glamoury washing over the night. It looks like Vaseline smeared over a lens.
Something wicked this way comes.
Arrhooowooo!
And I have a good idea what it is.
The night rips open as six monsters tear around the corner and pelt down the street toward me. No one else sees them, but they’re real, all right. Black lightning zaps around them as massive paws, claws, and cloven hooves crack against the pavement. Bristles and spines and wing barbs glint with black circuitry that pumps a pungent ozone stink into the air.
Circuit fiends? No, these are different—broken, misshapen things. Moribund things.
And they’re after yours truly.
For the first time in months, my soul-bond with Roue prickles open in my mind. “How do you like my Grymm?” Fear stabs my brain, leaving me cold. That’s the voice of Roue’s dark side. I feel her dark presence in my mind, my soul.
“They’re…um… Can’t we talk about this?” I send back, hopefully.
“Nope. Sure can’t.” Her dark chuckle kills my hope dead, dead, dead. “I’ll see you soon, Queenie.”
“Roue!” But she doesn’t answer. The bond goes dead again.
Another knife to my heart. She’s hunting me.
Zzz-zzzzt-wham! An explosion of black lightning zaps from the lead Grymm’s jaws, ripping up the asphalt toward me. Dodging aside, I throw up a Glamoury to bolster theirs.
It’s about to get real messy up in here.
With a thought, I summon my white flame. The heat of a thousand Summer suns flushes through my body, rushing down my ar
ms. Fwoosh! White flames flash to life in my hands. I stand my ground. The last time a dark Fae sent the Wild Hunt after me, I was still Awakening to my power.
Now, I’m a full-fledged queen.
Okay, doggos, let’s go.
Howling, they tear down the street at me, all slavering jaws and burning circuitry. Their charge shakes the ground. I take a sec to scan them with my Fae-sight. Distress rushes through me as I see them for what they really are.
Humans. People. Innocents.
That changes everything. I close my fists, snuffing out my white flame.
As the Grymm bay louder, boiling toward me, I turn tail and run. It’s my only chance. I don’t want to hurt them, and I certainly can’t let them catch me. My heart hurts at the thought that Rouen spelled innocents, turned them into her Wild Hunt.
No, not Roue. Her dark self.
My heart aching, I race through the city, down side streets, through alleyways, my mind spinning. Have to find a way to stop them without hurting them. I jump a dumpster, the Grymm streaming over and around it, claws, hooves, wings, and tentacles rippling over the obstacle. One leaps at my heels, snapping jaws catching only air. Moribund tentacles shoot from one’s shoulders and tear the asphalt where I just was.
Sweat crawls down my back. My best bet’s to let them trap me. The Wild Hunt hunts. It doesn’t kill.
Once they’ve got me backed into a corner, they’ll bay for Roue.
But where…?
Groowwrr! In a shower of bricks, a Grymm punches through the alley wall and slams into me. Fangs scrape my cheek as we crash to the ground in a tangle of arms, legs, and black spiny Moribund tentacles. They say that the Wild Hunt is as powerful as the king or queen who commands them.
Well, these are powerful all right.
It takes all my effort to heave the thing off and scramble to my feet.
A second Grymm latches on to my jacket. I shrug out of it, leaving him with a mouthful of fabric while I speed away. Scraped, bruised, bleeding, I decide to cheat a little.
Nemesis Page 4
