Good side, dark side?
All of me is about to lose everything—my people, my realm. Syl.
Her eyes burning hellfire, Jardin holds the crackling, hissing hearthstones aloft as the two energy sources rip our worlds asunder. Literally. The War Room’s walls bow inward under the pressure of snow and sleet and raging sunlight. It’s like the entire chamber sucks its breath in.
Then the walls explode outward.
Boom! The rattling roar shakes Castle Knockma as the chambers buckle.
Krak! Kraaaakk! Marble floors and walls shatter. My heart seizes as the passages between the War Room and the throne room shiver then fold inward like an accordion. Stone snaps. Dark shards of marble and adamant break brittle through the air. With Jardin in control of the hearthstones, my arch-Eld can’t move. And with the bain sidhe controlling our heartstrings, neither can I or Syl. Shards of stone slash my arms, my legs. One crosses my cheek. Blood trickles down my face.
Syl shudders as she’s cut too.
“Syl!”
“I-I’m okay. Hang in there!”
I love my girl’s optimism, but I don’t share it.
Winter winds and Summer breezes howl around us. Jardin gestures with the gleaming hearthstones, and whoosh! Syl and I are caught up in a massive gust and swept toward the throne room, the nexus of where Dark Faerie lies fused with Fair Faerie. Summer sun and Winter grey glint ahead of us, the two thrones, dark and light, glowing with pent-up power.
We crash to the floor in a tangle of arms and legs.
Normally, being tangled up with Syl is something I wouldn’t mind. But with a power-hungry púca on the loose, I’m a wee bit distracted.
Still, I can’t help but flirt a little. I wink at Syl as I jump to my feet. “Let’s revisit this later.”
She blushes as she scrambles up.
Instantly, smoke rises from my skin, and it’s not from my runaway hormones. Summer washes over me, bright and lethal. Clamping my fangs over a cry of pain, I barely have the energy to cloak myself in snow and sleet. Syl washes herself in sunlight, protecting from harsh Winter.
“Incoming!” She points.
Jardin windwarps in, leering over the glowing hearthstones. “Don’t die yet, little queens. When I am Overqueen of the new multiverse, I’ll make your deaths legendary.”
An epic death was what I dreamed of as a kid, but now?
With Syl, all my people, and the entire Faerie realm in jeopardy, I know I’ll fight to the end. “Overqueen?” I snarl at Jardin. “Look around, idiot. There won’t be anything left to rule.”
“So uncreative.” Jardin shakes her head, glasses flashing. “Many dimensions will die, but many more will survive. The strong will swallow the weak. Once Faerie is dead, that is.”
Dread sinks into me. Pocket púca are in charge of their own pocket dimension, so they understand dimensional travel better than any other dark Fae. Including me. And from the look on Jardin’s face, she’s right.
Faerie is the linchpin of all the dimensions.
Pull it out, and the whole multiverse collapses.
“Let’s just help it along, shall we?” Smirking, she gestures again, weaving the glowing hearthstones through the air. Dark and light trails burn my eyes. the power boom, boom, booming in my chest as she pulls on UnderHollow.
Syl feels it too, pulling on OverHill, gathering power. “Roue, she’s going to—”
“I know, princess.” My gaze bores into Jardin. “When I get free, púca, I’ll make your end epic.”
“That’s just it, Miss Rivoche.” Her smile turns sweet. “You won’t get free. Not in time.”
Where Dark Faerie and Fair Faerie jam together, that seam begins to glow—a jagged scar that blazes white-hot then blue-cold, burning the Shroud that holds the multiverse together. The throne room rumbles as the tug-o-war between the realms intensifies to a full-on quake. Stone sifts down from the vaults. Cold and heat wash over me. Steam hisses in the air.
In a shimmering wave, all the Bleeds I’ve caused light up in burning blue as they tear wider, wider, becoming Wounds.
Once the Shroud tears entirely, all the dimensions will crash in on one another.
“UnderHollow, hear me!” Jardin cries, gripping the burning black hearthstone. Power thrums up from the very bones of Dark Faerie, from the moody moors, dark swamps, and wintry wastes.
“OverHill, obey me!” She clutches the glowing gold hearthstone. Summer explodes around us, heat and fire pulsing up from the depths of Fair Faerie, smothering everything in sweltering warmth and light.
Then, she brings the hearthstones together.
Like forcing two magnets to touch.
Summer and Winter scream. The air pressure tightens, my ears throbbing like they’re going to pop. Snow swirls in the air and scorching hot breezes kick up an oppressive heat.
All the power of UnderHollow and all the power of OverHill about to erupt.
We’ll be destroyed, blasted away by the primal forces of Winter and Summer.
“Syl, I love y—”
Pop, pop! With a sound like distant fireworks, a glimmering cyan-blue bubble appears around me. Syl too, only hers glows a pale yellow.
Her grey eyes meet mine. “What’s happening?”
“I-I don’t know, princess.”
Whoosh! A figure on a crooked broom flies into the room. Tall, and all sharp angles, her black dress shimmering with accents of yellow, her dark hair shot through with white streaks.
Wait. I know that hair.
Miss Mack, my math teacher.
And she’s not alone.
Caw, caw, caw! A flock of ravens zooms at our enemies, flapping dark wings beating at the bain sidhe and Jardin. Mack shouts something—some incantation—and the ravens multiply, filling the chamber, screeching, dive-bombing our captors.
Blue butterflies burst around us, and in strides... “Glamma!”
Her steely eyes lock on the púca. “Jessamine.” Glamma powers up, cyan light building around her, wrapping her in the wistful smell of past summers and faded memories.
“Gloriana!” Jardin snarls, eyes burning in hate. With a wave of her hand, hellfire engulfs the chamber.
I don’t need the soul-bond to feel Syl’s fear.
“Glamma, look out!”
I struggle, but it’s no use. Brimstone and rose petal-stink chokes me.
So much for killing us slow. We’re going to burn.
Glamma raises a hand and hits Jardin with a burst of blue butterflies. In seconds, the púca is awash in fluttering wings, thousands of them beating her back in a wave.
I never thought I’d be cheering on a Witch, but go, butterflies!
“I can’t hold her for long.” Glamma raises her fist. “Now, Mary!”
“Hold on to your hats!” Miss Mack shouts an incantation, and the ravens flow from black to yellow, shrinking, bursting into a flock of finches. One second, we’re about to become deep-fried, then the next, the finches swirl around us, a yellow barrier between us and the hellfire. Peeping, they zip around in a circle so fast they blur into one bright swirl, and then fwash!
A glowing yellow portal opens up beneath me and Syl.
We fall, but it’s not like being blasted through Jardin’s pocket dimension. This is almost pleasant, bright and airy like traveling down a tube made of yellow feathers and soft light. My ear pop horribly, and my equilibrium goes crazy. I’m not sure what’s up and what’s down.
Finally, we spill out into…the school. Of all things.
When my vision clears, I get a glimpse of lockers, long hallways, the dark section of Maura, the old section of Richmond Elite High. I’m lying on the dusty, gross floor of Yellow Hall, the lockers a garish yellow smear around me.
I sit up. “What the—”
Syl sits up next to me. I want to grab her and squeeze her until she can’t breathe, but I can see in her eyes, she’s not really sure that my dark side is gone. The last time she thought she broke Jardin’s Darksider spell over me, thin
gs ended up even worse. I want to reach out to her, to soothe her and tell her I’m free—at least of the púca’s spell.
Because my dark side? She’s here to stay.
“Syl—”
Miss Mack zooms in on her broom, her finches zipping around her, making innocent little cheeps and peeps. “Miss Rivoche, Miss Skye.” She sets down near us. “You really should’ve stayed in school. We could have protected you better.”
I fix her with a look, brushing Summer smoke from my scorched leathers. “That’s all you’ve got to say for yourself?”
Seriously, she’s been keeping her witchy identity a secret all this time, and then she and Glamma, (who’s standing right next to her, by the way) yank us out of the Faerie apocalypse, and she wants to scold us for skipping school?
As Syl would say, the Queen is not amused.
Miss Mack’s unruffled. “I like to think I arrived in the nick of time. Settle!” She points, and the finches stop their swirling and roost atop the lockers, shuffling and puffing themselves up. “We still have one more day to save Faerie.”
“One…what?” I don’t need any soul-bond to read the devastated look on Syl’s face. “No. We had at least four days left—”
Syl’s gasp cuts me off. She grips my arm. “Roue, Miss Jardin…She used the hearthstones!”
A growl rumbles from my throat. “That dirty little…” Time works differently in Faerie, and of course, Jardin would hedge her bets by ensuring we spent what we had left listening to her monologuing about her Evil PlanTM.
With both hearthstones, altering Faerie-time would be easy-peasy.
Still, I’m not losing to any cheating púca. “We’ll beat her anyway. Somehow.”
Syl nods, the look on her face the one she gets when a plan’s forming. “We’ve got less than a day, and Jardin’s already started ripping apart the multiverse.”
“Yeah,” I put in, “and writing her name all over it.”
“That’s why we’re here, dovies.” Glamma sidesteps from the yellow portal, and it fwooshes shut behind her.
“Listen.” I try not to sound like I’m trying to get rid of them (even though I am). It’s up to me and Syl to do this. We messed it up. We’ll fix it. “Thanks for the assist, but—”
“No buts.” Miss Mack holds up a hand. “Besides, you won’t be thanking me in a second.”
“What do you m—”
Seated primly on her broom, Mack smiles like she’s got a secret. “Get her, boys.” In a burst of yellow feathers, the finches explode into ravens, dark, flapping wings beating toward me, wrapping me in tight bands.
The bands squeeze, and I go out like a light.
21
SYL
Witches and Fae
Have long worked together
- Glamma’s Grimm
It’s official: we’ve got less than twenty-four hours to save Faerie.
Our enemies are Cheaty McCheatersons, Roue’s Darksider spell is broken, we’re both heartstrung and exhausted, Miss Mack’s a Witch, Jardin’s got the hearthstones, she pulling the multiverse apart, Faerie’s going all supernova, and my mind is complete toast.
I need to take a breath, slow down, hit pause. Or maybe rewind.
But I can’t.
That’s why I’m slightly, guiltily relieved when Miss Mack puts the whammy on Rouen, her ravens exploding into black bands that wrap around her, squeezing. Roue’s eyes roll back up in her head.
She keels over.
“Roue!” I leap in and catch her, easing her to the ground. Her skin’s smoking, her leathers in tatters from being so close to Fair Faerie and all that Summer energy.
Is it true? Can the Darksider spell really be broken?
I press my forehead to hers, her singed hair brushing my cheeks. This close, her bourbon vanilla and autumn leaves scent hits me in the gut. My mind spins even more, and sudden tears spring to my eyes.
It’s been so long since we were close. I miss her.
And we’ve got other problems besides our romance drama. Having your heartstrings torn out feels like someone’s opened me up and poured acid into my chest cavity. I grit my teeth, my vision blurring.
Can you even live without your heartstrings? I guess we’ll find out.
Pulling Roue close, I bury my face in her hair. I go dark for a second, then the darkness lights up with pale blue butterflies. They flit around me, cocooning me and Roue in blue trails.
When I come to, Glamma’s leaning over me, crooning, “There you are, dovey. Glamma’s got you.”
My skin tingles with the aftereffects of whatever spell she’s cast. A few stray cyan butterflies flutter around her head, and I smell the bygone days of summer and faded photographs.
The pain of my lost heartstrings fades.
“Wha—” I sit up, look blearily at the school hallway. It’s the middle of the night, and it’s weird being here after hours. The classrooms lining the hall dark and empty, the only light from the exit sign over the door. It reminds me of the time me and Roue were trapped here. Together. Gently, I kiss her temple.
I will get you back. Heal our soul-bond. Heal both of us.
I feel like a dish rag. Wrung out and tattered. “Glamma, what’s happening?”
Glamma straightens, clutching her chest. She staggers, white-faced.
Worry shoots through me. “Glamma!”
“I’m fine, child.” She looks at me with steely eyes. “The spell I cast will take care of the pain of you and Rouen’s missing heartstrings, but I cannot stop the bain sidhe’s control over you.”
The bain sidhe. Roue’s mom. “Is she really Contracted to Miss Jardin?”
Glamma nods gravely. “She’s under a very powerful geis, yes.”
“We’ll have to break it.” Then, dread fills me up. “What about Roue?” I’ve settled on the floor, Roue’s head in my lap. She looks so calm, peaceful, even. ”Is she…” I swallow hard, stroke a lock of dark hair. It’s too much to hope for. “Jardin broke the spell. Is real Rouen back?”
She purses her lips like she’s bitten into a lemon. With a glance at Miss Mack, Glamma takes Roue’s face between her palms and rubs her temples. “Hmm… hmmm… hrmmm.” She tilts Roue’s head back and forth.
Meanwhile, I’m dying, my wounded heart crashing in my chest.
I’m about to jump out of my skin when she lays Roue’s head down. “Syl.”
My hope dies. I know that tone.
She puts her hand on my shoulder. “Jessamine’s Darksider spell didn’t add anything that wasn’t already there.”
“Oookay…” I draw the word out, raising an eyebrow. “What does that mean exactly?” I want old Roue back. My Roue.
Sympathy darkens Glamma’s eyes. “Rouen’s dark side is a part of her, dovey. Spell or no spell, it will never be gone. She’s been…suppressing it all this time.”
Her words hit me so hard my breath whooshes out. My poor Roue! “Is it…” My throat closes up, and I have to force the words out. “Because of me?”
Outside, a boom of thunder trembles the school, and a stroke of lightning lights up the hall before leaving us in darkness again. Glamma’s face is unreadable. My heart freaks out even more.
The Shroud is tearing, the multiverse collapsing, and it’s all Bleeding into the mortal realm.
Miss Mack clears her throat, her gaze darting to the shadows in the hallway. “We should move somewhere more secure.”
Worry tightening my chest, I bend down and pick Rouen up. She murmurs something and turns her face into my shoulder. My heart melts, and more tears blur my vision.
If Roue’s been fighting her dark side all along, why didn’t she tell me?
Miss Mack and Glamma head toward the math labs, and I follow, heartsick, carrying Rouen. Miss Mack touches her broom to the door, and a tiny yellow finch flies from the handle into the lock. Twee-click! The door swings wide, and we go in. She doesn’t flick a light on, but a soft yellow energy glows from the sweep part of her broom, shining through th
e curly willow and rowan berries. Before I became a Faerie princess, then a queen, I spent a lot of time in here as a mathlete, crunching numbers to rep the school in math meets.
Now, ruling a Fae realm doesn’t give me much time to geek out over numbers.
The room is vaguely rectangular, the walls lined with faded, old-school blackboards, all kinds of equations, formulae, tables and charts meticulously written there like some secret code. The smell of chalk dust and old books tingles my nose.
Miss Mack goes behind the big mahogany desk. “Close the door.”
When I close it, a deep thud shudders the room and fwash! The equations, formulae, and all the charts and grafts light up with the glittering yellow of Miss Mack’s power. The buzz of magic lifts the hair at the back of my neck.
I can’t help but stare at Miss Mack. Witches and magical math?
My night’s gotten weirder by a power of ten.
“There.” Glamma moves to a student’s desk and shoves her barrel shape into it. “Now we can talk without interruptions.” She gestures for me to put Rouen into one of the chairs, and I do, carefully, making sure she won’t slip out of it and end up on the floor.
My Roue’s very conscious of her image.
“What shall we do about the dark queen?” Miss Mack asks calmly.
“She has a name, you know.” My heart skyrockets into overdrive. “Glamma, what did you mean that Rouen’s been suppressing her dark side?” I choke back tears. “Why didn’t she tell me?”
“Oh, dovey.” Glamma leans out and squeezes my knee. “I doubt she even knows she’s doing it.”
“That” —I look at Roue’s beautiful face— “doesn’t make any sense.”
Miss Mack taps sharp-looking fingernails on her desk, but I don’t care. I need to get to the bottom of this, and now.
Rouen and I can’t fight together if we’re fighting each other—or ourselves.
“Glamma?”
“All right.” Glamma shifts her stoutness in the chair. “All dark Fae have a dark side that craves power and possession. Ever wonder why the majority of them have claws and fangs?” She levels her gaze on me. “It’s to take down their prey. They’re predators, and they eat…”
Nemesis Page 12
