Nemesis

by Genevieve Iseult Eldredge

A sudden chill claws my spine.

  “Faerie,” Rouen breathes.

  Miss Mack nods. “Yes, Faerie is the linchpin. If anything were to happen to it, all these dimensions would rip free from their axes and crash into one another.” The diagram shivers as all the spheres fall free from their orbits and collide, smashing into one another like Christmas ornaments. “Some will devour others; others will cease to exist. Hundreds, thousands, maybe even millions of innocent lives snuffed out.” She snaps. “Just like that.”

  We knew all that, but somehow, seeing it mapped on the board freaks me out.

  Roue folds her arms across her chest. “That pocket púca plans to rule over whatever’s left.”

  I surge to my feet. “No way. We’re gonna stop her.” My mind’s already working overtime. “If we can get the Dark Faerie hearthstone away from her, we can use it to control her.”

  Mom makes an uneasy sound. “It’s not that easy, Syl.”

  “Why not?” Roue demands, hands on hips.

  “Because, dearie,” Glamma puts in. “Jessamine was a True Queen of Faerie. There’s no telling what would happen. You might be able to control her, yes. Then again, it could kill her outright.”

  Roue cracks her knuckles. “That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

  “I’m not.” The very idea of killing makes me queasy. “I don’t want to kill unless we have no other choice. But we do need a plan.”

  “Maybe I can help with that.” Mom reaches into her leather jacket and pulls out a can of refried beans.

  She slaps it on her desk.

  Roue and I exchange a look.

  “Ummm… Mom?” How can I put this? “I appreciate the help, but I’m not really hungry right now.”

  “Look again,” she says smugly.

  “Oookay.” I open up my Fae-sight, look at the can, and—whoa! The energy fluctuations coming off it nearly blind me. Now I notice the desk the can is sitting on. It’s sagging, like the weight’s just too much. As we watch, a screw pops out of the desk and pings to the floor. “What is that thing?”

  “Spell in a can,” Mom deadpans.

  “Ah, you brought it.” Glamma sweeps the can up in her fist and runs her finger down the label, tracking the contents with her eyes. “The perfect little charm for our troubles.”

  “In a can?” Roue raises an eyebrow.

  Glamma sniffs. “Keeps it fresh.” She plunks it back down on the desk, and the desk groans.

  Roue eyes the can with suspicion. “Are you gonna tell us what it does, old lady?”

  “There’s no need to be rude,” Miss Mack puts in.

  “I’m embracing my dark side.” Rouen turns to Glamma. “Spill.”

  Glamma points a gnarled finger at my girl. “Don’t think I’m not watching you, missy.” Roue blushes like she’s been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. “When the can is opened, it’ll release a spell-web.” Glamma tosses it to Miss Mack. “You’re up, dearie.”

  Miss Mack catches the can and then touches the overhead. A projection appears over the multiverse, a dark, velvety fabric that flows through Faerie and links everything together, like a tree shooting out roots.

  The Shroud. But it’s pierced a zillion times over, all the different rips and tears glowing blue.

  “These Bleeds are widening into Wounds.”

  So many of them. My heart races. “How do we stop it?”

  “With this.” Miss Mack holds up the can. “Once it’s opened, it’ll launch a spell-web.” She touches a knob on the projector and starts a simulation of a can being opened. A net pops out and smooths over the Shroud, covering it like a giant Band-Aid. The blue slashes glow pink, then fade as they’re healed.

  I’m at a loss for words.

  “It won’t last forever,” Glamma cautions. “But it will act as a glue to hold all the dimensions together until you and Rouen can do your thing.”

  And by “your thing,” she means the impossible, but what choice do we have? “If we don’t try, all of Faerie is doomed.”

  Rouen looks at me, her voice husky-serious. “That’s all well and good, princess, but once we step foot in Faerie, that púca’s going to use our heartstrings to control us, and it’ll be game-over.”

  “Wait.” I turn to Glamma, an idea finally forming. “What about that spell you put on us? The one back at Great Wolf?”

  Glamma considers. “That was to keep you alive. But to keep her from controlling you is…” She clucks her tongue, thinking. “Much harder.”

  Miss Mack tugs on a lock of witchy-white. “You’re not thinking—”

  “It’ll be fine.” Glamma waves her concern off. “I’ve got these to help.” She reaches into the pocket of her gingham dress and takes out two vials. My blood and the tiny trickle I got from Rouen slide around inside. “Besides, it’s only a little soul-spell.”

  Fear tightens my chest. Mom cast a soul-spell once, and the backlash nearly killed her. “Glamma, you don’t have to—”

  “Pish-tosh! I know what I do and don’t have to do, dovey, and this is too important. The multiverse depends on Faerie.” She winks. “I’ll be fine.”

  Mom, who’s been mostly quiet, pipes up. “You’ll only have a few minutes before Glamma’s spell wears off.” She looks with worry at Glamma and me.

  I nod, steeling myself with optimism. “It’ll be enough. We just have to get to Faerie, drop the spell-web, defeat Jardin and the bain sidhe, and stop the Faerie Apocalypse—all before the spell runs out.” I feel Rouen’s sarcasm rocket down the bond.

  She snorts. “That wasn’t much of a pep talk, princess.”

  “Well…” I spread my hands. “We really don’t have any choice. Besides, we’ve faced tougher adversaries before, right? We’ve always come out on top, and we will this time too.”

  There, now that’s a pep talk.

  Rouen grins, showing a hint of fang. “All right. I’m in.”

  And as Glamma begins casting the protection spell with Miss Mack’s help, I can only hope I’m right, that we’ll defeat Miss Jardin and the bain sidhe, and do it fast.

  Before Faerie implodes, rips all the worlds apart, and demands Roue and I fight to the death.

  No pressure.

  24

  ROUEN

  Rip me away

  Rip me up, rip me down

  Rip me away

  From the edge of the world

  - “Sharp Edges,” Euphoria

  “Ready, princess?” I glance at Syl as we stand before Miss Mack’s swirling yellow portal. Her skin—and mine—glitters with the pale blue energy of Glamma’s soul-spell. It’ll protect us from being controlled by the heartstrings.

  At least for a time.

  From here, we’ll pick up a ley line, slip onto the Snickleways, and try to sneak into Faerie. Outside, a storm howls and rain splats against the windows. If the weather here is any indication of how terrible it’s going to be in Faerie, we are in for one hell of a ride.

  Syl turns those serious grey eyes on me. “I’m ready.”

  “You know we could die, right? Mack said she’s dropping us back to the exact time and place we left.” Turns out, that pocket púca’s not the only one who can harness Faerie’s weird time-shifting properties.

  Leave it to our algebra teacher to figure out the formula.

  “As long as I die with you.” Syl reaches for my hand, and I give it, pleasantly shivering at the touch of her soft palm against my callused one.

  “All right, ladies.” Miss Mack’s yellow finches rush around the portal, opening it wider. I swat at one, and it cheeees, poofing into a shower of glitter. All over my leathers. Syl giggles.

  My heart goes all mushy and weird again. Whatever happens, I will protect her. “Let’s go, princess.”

  Hand in hand, we jump. The portal sucks us in, a massive bright yellow straw slurping us down like a cool drink. As we race through it, I dowse for the ley lines. Syl uses her Fae-sight.

  A glimmering blue lines whooshes past us in the aet
her.

  “There!” we both say at the same time, then, “Jinx!”

  Laughing, we grab hold of the glowing ley line, and yoink! It pulls us from Mack’s portal into the soft, crushing black of the Shroud. We zoom through, past the glowing Bleeds, each one leaking energy. Through one, I catch a glimpse of the multiverse, a mind-bending expanse of milky galaxies, planets, stars, and celestial bodies all tilting on their axes, ready to spin off and smash together.

  Guilt rides my heart. This is my fault.

  I squeeze Syl’s hand. “It’s on me. I messed up, and I’m gonna fix it—for our people, but for us too.”

  “For us,” she says solemnly. “Because it’s on me too. They’re our people, Roue.”

  Warmth coils inside me at her words. “Our people. I like the sound of that.”

  But there’s no time to unpack our feelings.

  “FrankenFaerie.” Syl points to a spot in the Shroud, a flare of battling bright and darkness. “Dead ahead.”

  We pick up speed, summoning our fairy winds, and zoom out roller-coaster style into the throne room, the epicenter of where the Dark and Fair Faerie realms lie fused and warring.

  So much for the sneaky approach.

  Jardin stands in the middle of the throne room amidst sun and snow. In each hand, she’s got a hearthstone, black lightning zapping and popping around the Dark Faerie one while sun-bright rays sear from the Fair Faerie one. She grits her teeth as she forces them together, the two opposing energies fighting, spitting, howling.

  Catastrophic Winter and Summer blast the chamber with snow and heat, sleet and hot winds swirling in our faces. The whole chamber judders, and I feel it in the bones of Dark Faerie. The realm rips wider apart, more of the castle collapsing. The throne room sags.

  Syl cries out, doubling over. “Fair Faerie, it’s…”

  “I know, princess.” I grit my teeth as agony worse than any Ravaging shoots through UnderHollow. “Jardin!”

  Hellfire flares behind her glasses. “You came back. How adorable.” Her chuckle echoes over the blowing snow.

  Syl steps to my side, fighting through the pain. “You can’t take us both.”

  “You may be right, Miss Skye.” She eyes Glamma’s glimmering protection spell and commands, “Ravella!”

  Obediently, the bain sidhe peels from the shadows, black yew violin cradled in her hands. Despite the ragged shawl and scraggly hair, I can imagine her as she was: strong and proud, ruling at my father’s side. My memory of her stabs a wound into my heart.

  If there’s any way to save you, Mother, I will.

  “Okay, two against two.” Syl’s positivity stays strong. “No problem.”

  And it isn’t. Not with Glamma’s soul-spell protecting us from being controlled. Because even when the bain sidhe drags the bow across our heartstrings, we feel nothing. No pull, no command.

  “Heh.” I chuckle. “The old lady’s spell worked.”

  But it won’t last forever. Time for Glamma’s Spell #2.

  Syl cracks open the can of Glamma’s whoop-ass.

  Instantly, dozens of cyan butterflies explode from the bean can, filling the room with flashing blue and the scent of olden-day summers and sassafras. They fly toward the Shroud, their beating wings melding with it. Healing it.

  The shock on Jardin’s face is a thing of beauty.

  “Let’s get her.” Fwoosh! I windwarp in.

  My fist connects with her jaw in a satisfying smack! She staggers, snarling, and thrusts out the hearthstones. A beam of Winter power shoots from it, slamming into Syl.

  Wham! Syl hits the wall, ice forming around her, trying to encase her. Already, her skin tinges blue.

  “Syl!” I shoot my lightning in there, breaking up the ice.

  She falls to her knees, gasping. “Roue, look out!”

  Whoosh! Summer fire hits me in the back in a pulse of heat. Instantly, my strength saps, the heat oppressive. I can’t breathe, fire everywhere. Panic lights up inside me.

  “I got you!” Syl windwarps in, swirling her white fire around the summerfire, taking it up into a column and off of me.

  Jardin comes around for Round Two. “How long can you avoid the power of your own realms?”

  Good question. I look at the buckling throne room, and a very real chill shivers down my spine. Because, waiting in the wings on the dark side of the throne room are the arch-Eld.

  All of them blank-faced. Controlled by the hearthstone.

  “Syl!”

  “I see them!”

  My skin tingles, the shimmering blue of Glamma’s protective spell winding down. We’ve got only seconds. Syl and I leap into action. Fwoosh! Zaaap! White fire and violet lightning light up the throne room.

  Miss Jardin deflects, the hearthstones devouring our power, glowing darker and brighter. She lifts the Fair Faerie hearthstone. “OverHill, hear me!” A screaming judder goes through the sunlit throne, and the Gates of OverHill hammer open, breathing Summer sun into the chamber. The heat blasts me back, skin smoking as the Fair Faerie realms belches out seven bright figures.

  The arch-Ýdyll.

  Jardin washes the hearthstones’ energies over them. On the dark side, on the fair side the eyes of the arch-Eld and arch-Ýdyll bleed into black pools.

  All of them under her command. Even Laguna.

  “Syl! She’s got them all.” Now I see Jardin’s plan clear as day: if Syl and I won’t restart the war, she’ll use our people to do it.

  Over my cold, dead body.

  But of course, Glamma’s soul-spell picks now to end, fading away in shimmering blue. Crap. There goes our protection.

  Jardin smirks. “Ravella, the heartstrings!”

  “Spell’s up, poppets.” Snarling, the bain sidhe rips the bow across Wasteland. Thrummmmm! Syl and I crash to the floor, writhing as pain fills every inch of my body, burning, searing like fire through my veins.

  Clack, clack, clack. Jardin walks up to me in those infuriating high heels. “I could kill you instantly, but what fun would that be?” She hefts the hearthstones. “Let your people bear witness as you kill each other. The Queens of Faerie at war again. Then, I’ll turn your elders loose to finish the job. Let all of Faerie die in ruin.”

  I bare my fangs in hatred. “You’re meat for the Moribund, Jardin!”

  But the pocket púca only grins manically. “Do it. Ravella.”

  And as our realms scream and die around us, the bain sidhe plucks the heartstrings. My body jerks to obey, all my Winter power building, filling me from head to toe.

  “Roue!” Syl’s panic trembles her voice.

  I can barely look at her, glowing with Summer fire. Fear jolts down my spine. My power’s ramping up inside me, ready to burst. “Princess.” I want to reach out to her, but I don’t have control of my body.

  The bain sidhe grins. “Let’s make this more interesting, yes, poppets?”

  “Sure, why not?” I snarl at her, imagining stringing my own bow with her guts.

  She plays a single shimmering note, and my body jerks around. Eyes wide, Syl does too. Now we’re back to back. I can’t help it, my legs start walking me away, my body refusing to obey me.

  We’re like two gunslingers walking twenty paces only to turn and fire.

  Sweat crawls into my collar with every footfall. Jardin looks like the only thing missing from her experience is a giant vat of popcorn.

  Anger sweeps through me. “I swear, púca, when I break free of this…”

  “You won’t,” She tells me cheerfully.

  Violet lightning crackles around my fist, tangling into a blazing violet ball of my personal gramarye. Panic makes my voice break. “Syl! Run!”

  “I-I can’t! I’m sorry, Roue.”

  “Me too, princess…” I never wanted her dead, not even when I was fully Dark-Rouen.

  But now I’m about to kill her.

  25

  SYL

  Hearts are

  More powerful than

  Heartstrings
<
br />   - Glamma’s Grimm

  You know in the movies when the bad guy taunts the heroes, and you just want to punch their jerky face off? Jardin’s like that, times a thousand. Smirking, enjoying the show as the bain sidhe twiddles Roue’s and my heartstrings, forcing us to walk twenty paces from each other. “Just like the Wild West. How exciting!” she gushes.

  Oh yeah, it’s exciting, all right.

  When we get to twenty, we’ll turn and fire.

  We’re on eleven.

  Which gives me loads of time to regret all my bad decisions.

  “Roue!” White flame gathers around my hands, forming a raging ball of Summer. I’ve never burned hotter or brighter, as if C4 were made of pure liquid sunlight. Only, it’s building up inside, my body powering up to fire a huge blast. Across from me, the same thing’s happening to Rouen, snow and lightning gathering in storm and squall around her.

  I know why. We were born mortal enemies, and our power knows it.

  But Roue and I never wanted to fight or hurt each other.

  We never wanted war.

  Twelve steps…thirteen.

  “Syl…” Roue looks at me over the vicious ball lightning, every line of regret in her face stabbing me like knives.

  Desperate, I call on my power, I call on OverHill, I even call on the arch-Ýdyll.

  But Jardin controls it all.

  Fourteen…

  Rouen and I both controlled by the heartstrings, the arch-Eld and Ýdyll ready to battle to the death at that púca’s command. Summer and Winter scream and clash across the throne room, chaos in the collapsing of all Faerie. Jardin stands above it all, a dictator pulling all the strings.

  Pulling Faerie apart bit by bit.

  All so she can set the multiverse on a deadly collision course, larger dimensions swallowing smaller ones, growing more and more powerful. So she can rule them as Overqueen.

  Fifteen…sixteen…

  Not on my watch.

  But I can’t stop myself. I lurch forward, flames whooshing around my hands. Rouen and I are on our own. Like it’s always been. Trapped, with no one to help us.

  Seventeen…