Touch (Touched by the Fae Book 3)

by Jessica Lynch

  “And then they captured you.”

  “That was my fault,” she says again. “I know how to see through glamour. After I made my bargain with your… with Ninetroir, I was so relieved that I let down my guard.” She frowns. “He was wearing a cap. I thought he was a harmless kid.”

  “Who?”

  “The Light Fae who had the portal waiting inside of the damn Snack Shack. He let you go instead. You were just a child and he spared you. Your father and I… weren’t.”

  No. They weren’t, were they?

  I’m speaking more to myself than my apologetic mother as I murmur, “So that’s how I ended up an orphan in Black Pine.”

  It all makes sense now. Why she was driving a stolen car alone—since she was on the run without her mate—and why she was speeding like a bat out of hell as she pulled up to the abandoned gas station. The way the black and white, grainy security cam footage showed the pretty blonde woman talking to an empty shadow, and how she managed to disappear off the face of the planet after she followed the gas station “employee” into the rundown convenience store.

  I’d often tortured myself with that footage, watching it over and over again as I tried to make sense of the reasons behind her inexplicable actions.

  I wasn’t abandoned. By making the deal with Nine, bartering my safety for a debt he owed my dad, Callie saved me from suffering the same fate that happened to her and Ash.

  While I’m lost in my own thoughts, Callie looks confused, like she should know the name but can’t quite place it.

  She should.

  “Black Pine?”

  “It’s where you left me,” I explain. “The town with the gas station.”

  “Oh.” She pales. “I guess I knew that.”

  “You do?”

  “It seems like yesterday. To me, it really was.” With a soft exhale, she says, “But twenty years…”

  For me, Black Pine isn’t just a place I knew from two decades ago when I was a baby. Fourteen years after the morning they discovered me in the backseat of a stolen Buick, I moved back to the small town in the middle of nowhere when my choice was between the asylum or jail.

  “It’s more than that.”

  “Zella?”

  She let Aislinn pass. Just this one last time, I let her have Zella.

  Instead, I tell her all about the asylum. It pours out of me. Not the magic part—not about how it’s a place where the fae stick troublesome humans to forget about them—but the sessions and the doctors and the therapy that, six years later, didn’t do a damn thing to help me.

  When I’m done, I cross my hands over my chest, building a barrier between us. It hadn’t been my intention to show her just what a screw-up I am within hours of meeting me, but I couldn’t help it.

  I don’t regret it, though. Especially since, once it’s all out, I think that Callie is finally beginning to see me. Riley. Not the baby that she lost, but the woman that I’ve become.

  Whether we like it or not, we’re all in this together. From the moment Melisandre tried to use my long lost parents as a lure for her trap, I’m not just looking out for me.

  Madelaine died because of me. Carolina… I still can’t believe she’s gone.

  No matter what I have to do—no matter how strong I have to stand against my Light Fae father—I won’t let there be any other casualties of this stupid war between me and the Fae Queen.

  Once I come up with a way to save Nine, that is.

  4

  The apartment has two bedrooms.

  I’ve already seen the living room, since that’s where we landed, and if you turn around, you see the hallway that cuts right into the kitchen. The foyer is on my left until I turn, and the hall leads to three doorways. The bathroom is behind one, Ash and Callie’s bedroom is behind another, and then there’s the last door.

  It takes a while before I work up the nerve to go back inside instead of hiding out near the elevator. Ash is waiting for us just inside the foyer when I finally do, Callie guiding the way. The shadowed look on his pale bronze face tells me he heard every word, just like I thought. To my surprise, though, he doesn’t say anything other than to offer me some of the cold food I brought back.

  The power and the gas are on. Don’t ask me how, since fae magic and electricity don’t get along at the best of times, and it’s not like someone’s been paying the bills the last twenty years, but I’ve learned not to look a gift horse in the mouth. The microwave is old-fashioned and it takes Callie to operate it, but we nuke up the burgers and stand in the kitchen eating them together.

  This has probably been one of the longest days of my life. Traumatic as hell, too. Aside from losing Nine and gaining my parents, it’s barely been thirty-six hours since I returned to the Wilkes House and discovered Carolina the way I did.

  I need sleep.

  I wait until “dinner”’s done and the sun’s gone down before I tell them that I’m about to crash. As soon as the light fades, I notice that Ash loses the little color he earned earlier when the sunlight hit his skin. The dark goes to work on him almost immediately. Callie sees it, too. When I mention I’m dying for some sleep, she agrees and the way she clasps Ash’s hand to pull him toward their old bedroom is a major clue that she’s pushing past her own apprehension and uncertainty by pouring all of her energy into looking out for him.

  Good defense mechanism.

  Me? I make sure the whole apartment is locked down.

  Pointless, I know. If the place is condemned—and I didn’t see any signs of a single squatter—it’s not like anyone is going to try and break in. And if they do? I’m only worried about the fae, and they’ll find a way in, locks or no locks. It makes me feel better, though, and as Callie and Ash retreat to the master, I take deep breath and head for the last room.

  I open the door, but I can’t bring myself to walk inside.

  It’s… it’s a nursery.

  I don’t know why I’m so surprised. I am, though. It’s so fucking creepy. This is their home—and it was mine once, too. Twenty years ago, I would’ve needed a nursery.

  This is it.

  I can’t sleep in there. Except for the crib turned on its side, the tatters of a baby blanket that looks like it was hacked to pieces with a sword just like the couch in the living room, the nursery is in pristine condition. I almost expect a tired mama to come snuffling in, cooing a lullaby to their dozing infant.

  Only the baby that lived here once upon a time is twenty-one, wary, and not about to step foot inside this room.

  Nope.

  Pulling the door closed with a gentle snick, I move softly down the hall, tiptoeing past my parents’ master bedroom, and head back toward the living room.

  Know what? I’ve slept in a cemetery. A sewer. An abandoned house.

  Next to all that, even this place is like the Waldorf Astoria.

  I shuffle some of the strewn debris away from the corner. I’m glad there isn’t any glass, that on closer inspection the broken shards are hunks of plastic instead; it makes it easier to clear a spot for me. If we stay here—and, for the moment at least, I don’t see what other choice we have—we’re going to have to fix this place up to make it more livable.

  Especially since the mess has gotta be a constant reminder to Callie and Ash what happened here—and what I’m desperate to avoid happening again.

  Tomorrow, though. That’s something to worry about tomorrow.

  Tonight, I curl up in a ball, resting next to Nine’s boot. I snagged a pillow from the destroyed couch. Once I’m settled, I call shadows toward me, sighing in relief when they come easily.

  They’re as warm as they are comforting, and they make one hell of a blanket.

  For the first time in a long time, I close my eyes and don’t worry about what’s going to happen while I sleep.

  It takes a couple of days before Ash is back at full-strength—or as much as he can hope to be, considering that, as one of his latest decrees, we’re staying put in the human world.r />
  The Light Fae, I’m learning, has a crapton of decrees. Just like he’s learning that I’m not the best when it comes to being told what to do.

  He’s my dad. I get it. And it’s obvious that he blames himself for everything that’s happened. Then there’s the whole me being claimed by Nine thing and I feel bad for Callie who is forced to act like a peacekeeper between the two of us.

  I don’t know how to be a daughter. That’s the truth of it. I haven’t had a family since before my stay in the asylum and, as much as I look back on my time with the Everetts with wistfulness and regret, I’ve always kept to myself.

  It was safer that way.

  Now I have these two and I don’t know what to do with them. After Ash’s announcement that he wants to take on Melisandre as soon as he’s healed, I’m even more confused. To them, I’m their long lost child. To me, they’re strangers.

  I keep finding excuses to leave. It’s bad enough that my stomach tightens every time I catch sight of the frozen Nine. Staying in the same room with a bonded couple who can’t go more than a few seconds without touching each other, making sure they’re still together… it’s almost worse than the expectations in their expressions whenever they look at me.

  They don’t like me leaving but, short of ordering me to stay behind, they can’t stop me—so they don’t. Ash isn’t ready to leave the sanctity of the apartment and Callie… she isn’t ready to leave her mate. With warnings not to go too far and my promise that I’ll keep my eye out for any threats, I slink outside if only to get away for a while.

  This part of the slummy downtown Newport is the last place I’d expect to find any of the fae. I feel safe here—or as safe as possible, knowing the price on my head—and apart from being hours away from Acorn Falls and Black Pine, it’s March now. I’ve been on the run from the asylum for nine months. They had to have given up on me.

  Except, I’m willing to bet, for Dr. Gillespie.

  Too bad I have no idea what he’s all about. The way he chased me into the alley after tracking me down to Acorn Falls… seriously. What’s the deal with him?

  I’m not sure and, not gonna lie, when I walk around the downtown area, I’m not only watching out for a threat from Faerie. Any sign of my former psychologist... a flash of his fiery red hair, his nasal voice, anything… and I’m ready to book it.

  I’ve been lucky so far. Going for groceries, stopping in at the Dunkin’ on the corner for coffee and donuts, buying a newspaper from the convenience store and maybe a scratchie or two, and no one’s even looked twice at me. Thank freaking God it’s March because even my leather gloves don’t stand out in the unseasonably chilly weather. Spring might suck in a couple of weeks but, since I don’t even know if I’ll still be around then, I’m not worried about it.

  Like when I was squatting in the Wilkes House, I’m still careful when sneaking into the side entrance of the condemned building. I haven’t seen a single cop patrolling this area. Doesn’t mean they’re not out there—and getting snagged heading into an abandoned building is the last thing I need.

  My poor… my poor parents would freak, wouldn’t they?

  I’m not running on my own anymore. I… I guess I’m responsible for them. What will happen to Callie and Ash in this strange new world—strange and new to them—if I’m not here to help them?

  Can’t take any chances.

  As I turn the corner, I see that the same homeless street sleeper that’s always nearby is bunkered down with his blankets and his cardboard sign and the crumpled coffee cup set out in front of him. I noticed he was missing earlier on my way to the convenience store, but there he is.

  I’ve got some change on me and a couple of dollars that I can spare. I’m going to eventually have to figure out a way to earn some money but, for now, Carolina’s wad is enough to live on for a bit longer.

  I can share.

  However, before I can pull out any money to tuck into his cup, the man glances over at me. He must have heard my approach because he lifts his head, his weathered face twisted in a welcoming grimace.

  I nod over at him, shuffling closer as I dig around in my pocket.

  “It’s you.” He resettles himself in his makeshift nest. “You’re back.”

  I guess I am. “Morning.”

  “I’ve been waiting for you. You dropped this.” He pulls a grubby slip of paper from beneath his pile of blankets. It’s folded in half and I have no clue what it’s supposed to be. “Here.”

  When I don’t take it from him, he sets it down, scooting it toward me with one filthy finger tipped with a dirty nail. “You don’t want to touch me, girly. I get it. Still, this belongs to you.”

  He’s not wrong. I don’t want to touch him, just not for the reason he thinks.

  “I think you’ve made a mistake—”

  “You see me. You don’t walk past me as if I’m not here. Just the other night, you placed a five in my cup. This fell out of your pocket. It’s yours.”

  “Umm. Okay. If you say so.”

  “I made some corrections to it. It should help you.”

  “Thanks.”

  I think.

  Bending down, I grab the folded up piece of paper, tucking it into my fist. Good thing I’ve still got my gloves on. I’m kind of iffy on taking something from anyone, no matter who they are. And I have no idea what it is he’s giving me.

  Or why.

  I don’t like how he says he’s been waiting for me. I want to be like a ghost, as invisible as he thinks he is if only because I don’t want to be on anybody’s radar. I’m just a normal chick. A nobody.

  Seems like I caught his attention, though.

  Suspicion runs through me. It’s not surprising. My Shadow Man taught me long ago to be wary and on my guard. With everything going on, I’ve been a little overwhelmed and, okay, a bit reckless.

  Right now?

  He’s got my attention.

  The other day, I wondered if maybe he could be the same street sleeper who warned me about Dr. Gillespie back in Acorn Falls. It didn’t seem possible and I let it go.

  Not this time. With all my alarm bells ringing, I pause along the curb, peering closely at him.

  His vibrant green eyes aren’t rimmed with red. They’re not filmy or glazed, either. The man in Acorn Falls had blue eyes, too, I remember. And a full-on beard, not just the scruff. Plus, he reeked of old booze. This guy doesn’t.

  Still.

  “Do I know you?”

  “I don't know. Do I know you?”

  I fucking hope not.

  Just my luck. I throw a couple of dollars into a stranger’s cup and, out of the whole neighborhood, he’s the one who wonders if I’m familiar.

  Good going, Riley.

  I’ve gotta get away from him. This whole interaction is too strange and, believe me, I know what strange is. I offer him a half smile, shaking my head in answer to his question, then start to move away from him.

  Two steps later I remember the empty coffee cup perched in front of him. Guy’s a weirdo, sure, but I won’t forget what it was like to sleep in the sewer and be so hungry that I thought it was a good idea to eat a cursed peach (even if I hadn’t known it was cursed at the time). I might have the urge to run, but not quite yet.

  “Um. Hang on.” Still holding onto the scrap, I dig into my pocket, pulling out a couple of bills. I see a ‘1’ printed on them in my haste. Could be a single, could be a ten. I don’t care. I quickly shove them in his cup. “For you. Take care, buddy.”

  “You do the same.”

  He doesn’t say ‘thank you’. As I hurry away from him, it hits me that he didn’t say ‘thank you’. And it’s not like I expect it. I’m not giving him money because I expect any gratitude or because I want to feel better about my shitty situation. Honestly, I couldn’t care less that he accepted my money like it was his due. Hey, no strings attached, right?

  Not when you’ve spent a lifetime running from the fae. The same fantastical creatures who abide by barg
ains and trickery but who refuse to offer any thanks.

  I come to a sudden stop inside of the empty lobby of our building. His eyes were green. Not silver. Not gold. Green.

  I should be fine.

  Should be.

  What did he give me, I wonder. I don’t remember dropping anything.

  As soon as I open it and see the two different handwritings cramped together on a page of crumpled paper, I suddenly remember.

  I’m thrown back to that awful night when I discovered Carolina sprawled out on the floor of the Wilkes House. She was dead, a piece of paper a few inches from her outstretched hand. I grabbed that and her money, and while I’ve been blowing through her cash, I forgot all about the paper I had shoved in my jeans pocket.

  This is it. It has to be.

  I can’t stop myself from reading it, then reading it again.

  It says:

  Holy shit. If this is what I think it is—and despite the highly questionable source, I’m betting it is—then I’m finally looking at what might be the complete Shadow Prophecy.

  But… wait a second.

  This isn’t right. Even before the strange “corrections” and obvious additions, it isn’t right.

  Back in the abandoned house in Acorn Falls, Carolina and I dissected every line of the Shadow Prophecy after she insisted I memorize it. The whole part added to the bottom of the page, but meant for the top, wasn’t in the prophecy Lina showed me. I mean, to be fair, she did tell me that her awful mistress—aka the horrible Fae Queen, Melisandre—only allowed her to have a snippet of it, but still.

  What is this?

  I recognize the original handwriting. It’s definitely Lina’s.

  But it’s wrong.

  “ ‘...more than an adviser, a confidante, a friend…’” I recite under my breath. That’s what I remember. That’s what she told me, made me memorize.

  That’s totally not what this says.

  I glance back at the page, ignoring the added scribbles in script.