Shards and Ashes

  “We will,” Alex said.

  Meg leaned forward in her saddle. “There was a war. A terrible war, between two magical races. What we might call fairies are known as the fair folk. And the other side are the goblins.”

  Dana pressed her fingertips over her eyes. She could feel herself tensing, as if bracing herself to hear things she was incapable of handling. She began to shake. Alex put his arm around her waist and pulled her protectively against his side. She did the same. She needed someone to hang on to.

  “Hostages were taken on both sides. Infant children, since their code of war demanded that children could never be harmed.

  “Finally, it was over. A truce was declared. They agreed to exchange hostages. One baby of the fair folk for one goblin, every Midsummer’s Eve, until there were no more. That way, peace would be kept until both sides were made whole.

  “For years, my lord faithfully brought a captive goblin baby and laid it in the cradle in the forest,” she said, inclining her head in the direction of the tall, black figure. “From the other cradle beside it, he would take the fair child left by his goblin counterpart, and bring it home.”

  Her lord? Dana thought, with a sudden rush of panic. The stranger who was her aunt called the thing beside her such an archaic name?

  “One Midsummer’s Night, the local nobleman was riding through the forest. From a hiding place, he saw the exchange. Months later, his wife gave birth to a tiny, sickly girl. The nobleman remembered the swap, and the next Midsummer Night’s Eve, he replaced the fair child with his own. What he didn’t know was that his baby carried a plague.”

  “Your . . . lord . . . took the plague back with him to the fairies,” Dana ventured, and Meg nodded.

  “The humanness of the child went undetected because it was so sick. Nearly all the fair folk died, but the goblin babies in their care seemed to be immune. War threatened to break out again, but the goblins were able to prove that they had had nothing to do with what had happened. But they used the plague as leverage. They demanded the immediate release of all their children. The fair folk couldn’t care for them anyway, and asked the goblins to keep their own children safe as well, until the plague was gone.”

  Dana pictured the cages. “But the humans took the goblin babies instead.”

  “The noble and his lackeys trapped some of them before the goblins arrived to collect them,” Meg said. “In all the confusion, the count was off, and neither side realized it.”

  “But that happened, when?” Alex said.

  “Eight hundred years ago,” Meg replied.

  Alex’s arm tightened around Dana.

  “But if they were in those cages all that time,” Dana said, “wouldn’t they grow up?”

  “They only age in their own realm. On this plane, they stayed babies. Miserable. Lonely. Unloved. For centuries.”

  “Scheiss,” Alex murmured.

  “Alex didn’t know,” Dana said quickly, and she knew that to be true. She knew he was good. And that she was safe with him. “About any of it.”

  Meg nodded. “I believe you. I was recruited by the Ritters to guard the place where we’re standing. The Pale. The border between magic and nonmagic worlds. They said it was flimsy. Things were getting across that shouldn’t.”

  She looked over at the figure beside her. “What they were worried about was the Erl King. They were afraid that he’d find out about the goblins in the castle dungeon.”

  “The Erl King? Holy shit, Alex,” Dana blurted.

  “Ja,” he said, and uttered a string of German.

  Meg looked a little confused, but she continued. “The Ritter elders never told anyone the truth. But I found out. I saw the cages. And I busted their lie wide open.”

  “It was revenge?” Alex’s voice shook. “The goblins destroyed the whole world because of something my family did hundreds of years ago?”

  “It was a rescue mission. Fair folk and goblin. Your people fought back,” she said to Alex. “During the battle, some of them found out and joined our side. But by then, the Pale had fallen. Magic poured into this world and overwhelmed it.”

  For a moment no one spoke. Dana found Alex’s hand and held it.

  Meg’s features softened. “Magic made our world sick. The fair folk baby that was stolen was the first domino. The goblins toppled next. What happened would have happened eventually. But not for a long time.”

  “And the fair folk baby survived,” Alex said.

  “And had children. And they had children. And that means . . .” Meg’s voice trailed off.

  “There is still magic in the world.” Dana looked at her trembling hands. “As long as we’re here.”

  Alex twined his fingers with hers. “But even if we leave, how many will be left?”

  Meg sighed. “We don’t know. We don’t even know how to find them.”

  Dana raised her head. The flames on the Erl King’s helmet flickered in the night wind. A flake of ash fluttered away, and as she thought about all that he must have lost, too, it began to glow.

  She whispered so quietly it seemed as if the wind took her words away, “I find lost things.”

  Corpse Eaters

  by Melissa Marr

  HARMONY STOOD OUTSIDE the immense vat of viscous liquid. It looked remarkably like a cross between an aquarium and one of the coffee dispensers at every church dinner she remembered. Inside it, corpses floated. The water was thick with things she didn’t want to identify.

  “Get out.” Chris grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the tank.

  She looked past him to where the PBX was attached. The explosives were precious, used only when essential, but this was one of the essentials. The body of a girl about her age floated on the other side of the wall where the hole would be.

  “Now, Harm!” He shoved her toward the door. “You were to be gone by now.”

  Silently, she apologized to the dead girl for the imminent explosion—and the damage it would do to her body. On the other hand, it wasn’t as if her body would be treated with respect if they didn’t do this. She was food now, meat and skin consumed by the creatures that Harmony’s group opposed.

  The explosions farther into the warehouse began. Hopefully, they’d draw enough attention that she and Chris could escape. Hopefully, only a few of the Nidos would be between them and the door. Hopefully, the monsters wouldn’t win today.

  “Come on,” Chris whispered.

  They moved closer to the exit and ducked behind a stack of boxes. His hold on her arm hadn’t loosened; she suspected it wouldn’t unless he had to fight. It wasn’t that she was reckless, not really. It was just that the only time she felt like life mattered was when she was taking something from the Nidos. They’d taken everything from her, from everyone who lived in North America. She liked taking something from them.

  The sounds of slithering and harsh words echoed through the warehouse. The Nidos were heading toward the explosions. Those explosions were distractions, larger charges causing destruction, but as soon as the vat blew, the Nidos would come.

  She felt it as it blew, a smallish explosion in comparison to the others they’d set. The crack in the glass was almost as loud. The fluid began to pour from the hole, and as it did, the crack widened.

  They were at the door as the gush of water and human remains flowed into the warehouse.

  “Faster!” she urged Chris. A fight she could enjoy, but being doused with a soup of decaying bodies was the stuff of nightmares.

  It was foolishness, but she closed the door behind them.

  As if sealing away the sight of it will change anything.

  There were two Nidos outside the door, but Chris wasn’t willing to waste time on them. He lifted the sawed-off shotgun he had slung across his back and emptied both barrels into the Nido on his side.

  “Got you,” she said as she threw herself on the back of the second one. The satisfying sensation of slicing his throat wide open wasn’t enough, but it helped her feel like all would
be right in the world.

  He bucked as he died, and she smiled.

  When she released him, Chris was frowning at her.

  “What?”

  “Nothing, Harm.” He gestured at the street. “Move before more come.”

  “I’m gone.” She took off in a jog.

  When Chris caught up with Harmony, he was exhausted, not from the run or from their work at the warehouse but from the fear that came from watching her take stupid chances. She could’ve shot the Nido. They both had emergency guns. She didn’t even consider drawing hers.

  “You’re on streetside.” He saw her sheepish look, but it only lasted for a blink. Then she shrugged and gestured for him to take the left side, closer to the dark alleyways and shadowed alcoves.

  He didn’t look at her as they walked, but he couldn’t ignore the conversation they needed to have. “Do you try to get injured?”

  “Nope.”

  “You know they have a few openings for transfer to the Midwest.” Chris steered her farther from an open trunk on a relatively new sedan.

  Harmony circled the car, peering in the windows. “And do what?”

  They continued down the street. “You could work in one of the research centers, help with the trainees. It’s safer there.”

  “I’m not qualified. I don’t get why . . .”

  Chris stopped and held a finger to his lips. She grinned in anticipation of trouble.

  He stepped into the mouth of the alley and moved toward the rustling coming from a pile of boxes.

  Harmony eased closer.

  An old man with rheumy eyes crouched in a nest of cardboard; he remained motionless as they approached.

  Chris stepped up to the man, but not within his reach. “It’s not safe here.”

  “Should I go to a nursing home?” The old man rose on his spindly legs and gazed in the general direction of Chris’ face. “The caretakers’ll send me to the creatures soon as I get sick.”

  Harmony’s voice was soft, neither threatening nor reassuring to anyone who didn’t know her, as she said, “No. You should get out of town, preferably at night when they aren’t as active.”

  The old man snorted. “You think? I’m not a fool, but I can’t see well enough to drive out, especially in the dark.” Bracing himself against the wall, he tottered forward. “But I have a car.”

  “Really?” Chris examined him more carefully. Cars weren’t easy for anyone to keep, especially vagrants.

  The old man cackled. “Well, maybe not have, but I can start one if you help me drag the fuel out to it.” He nudged a piece of cardboard with his foot. It slid to the side, revealing a dirty jug. “Got three jugs saved up. You help me carry the fuel out to one of them cars, and I can wire it.”

  Chris studied the man and saw no telltale signs of deceit: his clothes were unkempt, his eyes white with cataracts. His health was pretty far gone. The Center had yet to find a case where Nidos sacrificed culinary tastes for strategy.

  He glanced at his partner.

  “We’ll help you,” she said.

  After a bit of fumbling around, the old man picked up two of his jugs.

  Cautiously, Harmony stepped forward and grabbed the third. Chris’ already tense muscles stiffened. Their work was always the sort of thing that required all of his attention, but lately, it seemed like every day they were on duty was busier. Being on the front line of the fight was a sure way to see the daily proof that the humans weren’t winning this war.

  As they moved away from the shadows of the alley, the man didn’t bother to wipe the tears that fell. His voice was low as he said, “I know I’m old, but that isn’t any way to die.”

  “I know,” Harmony murmured. “You’re not going to die in a vat. Right?”

  “Right,” Chris promised. They’d get the man to safety, one person saved, and then Chris would go home and get drunk for the two days he had off.

  By the time night fell on her second day off, Harmony thought she was going to climb the wall. The down days were to help them recover, rest, and work out. She did all of that—and she still felt like she would go crazy if she didn’t move. The calm that had come from the last days of work had faded by the end of her first day off. On the second day she’d woken midday, and then she’d watched the sun slowly drop with the same lack of patience she always did at the close of the second rest day.

  She paused in front of the mirror. The scratches in the matte black painted surface revealed swaths of the glass. Before things changed, she’d spent hours looking in that mirror. Then, she had prided herself on her healthy appearance. Harmony knew that it wasn’t likely that she’d enjoy seeing her full reflection now; better to see only fragments.

  When she had first painted over the mirror, she’d dragged her then-manicured fingernails over the still-tacky paint. Tonight she trailed her now-short nails over those scratches in the ritual she enacted every time she went hunting. She couldn’t swear that the rote actions had any real impact on her survival, but that first time, not quite two years ago, she’d left angry and untrained—but somehow survived. Now, she was composed and trained. She couldn’t do anything more to guarantee her safety, but she took comfort in the small rituals she had. Ritual worked; faith mattered. Everyone on Earth knew that now.

  “Blasphemer!” her father yelled again.

  His fists thudded on the door; the shelf she kept in front of it shuddered. Her mother’s porcelain angels, remnants of an old forgotten faith, rattled in time with the pounding as Harmony leaned in close to the mirror and outlined her eyes with smudged kohl, giving herself a sickened look. The shadowed eyes added to her regular pallor and made her whole face look wan and vulnerable.

  He threw something in the hall. The tinkle of glass was followed by the bitter stench of alcohol, confirming that he had thrown another bottle. She couldn’t see the mess, but she knew what she’d see tomorrow.

  As Harmony surveyed her eyes in the exposed stripes on the mirror, she lifted her hand to touch her shaved head. The first night she’d gone hunting, she’d hacked her hair off before shaving it. Now, she could only shave the stubble. It wasn’t exactly the same, but it was the closest approximation of the ritual that she could manage.

  “They’ll find out what you’re doing and kill us both. You’re as bad as your sister was, and look where that got her,” he called through the door. That was almost a ritual too. Sometimes she wondered if she stayed here out of love or because she’d come to associate these pre-hunt rants with survival.

  He was sobbing now, drunk and broken, but she’d learned months ago that sobs would shift back to curses if he saw her—and that curses were followed by punches all too quickly.

  “Wear your charms,” he begged.

  A flash of silver was shoved under the door. She paused and stared at it. The chain held a tiny locket, a heart, and a few other trinkets. She had once insisted Chastity wear it, believing it brought her luck, and after her death, Chris had returned it.

  “Thank you, Daddy,” Harm whispered.

  She fastened it around her throat, and then she returned to the mirror. She finished shaving her head, not needing the slivers of mirror for this part of the routine. She closed her eyes and completed the task with the same precision she’d once used for curling her hair. It seemed like such a long time ago that she’d been so foolish, before she understood how dangerous Nidhogg was, before Chastity had died.

  Before I knew that gods could be monstrous.

  He started pounding on the door again; this time he kicked it too. “I won’t die because of you. Are you listening? Harmony!”

  She walked over to the door and reached a hand between the shelves barricading it. She laid her palm flat on the door.

  “I am,” she whispered. “I listen to every word, Daddy.”

  He couldn’t hear her, but their best conversations always happened when he didn’t hear her.

  “I’ll be home late tonight,” she whispered.

  She pulled her
hand away as he began quoting from the New Scripture. He’d obviously been drinking early if he was already on scripture. Before the New Religion, he didn’t drink, but she was grateful that he did now. When he was drunk, he was more likely to stay home where he’d be safe.

  Harmony slid a homemade dagger into each boot; then she grabbed her prized blade: a real machine-made serrated eight-inch knife with a good handle that didn’t get too slick when it was bloodied. She kissed the side of the steel, as she had the first night, and carefully slid it into the front pocket of her trousers, through the slit in her pocket, under the fabric, and into the sheath on her thigh. Her pants were loose enough now that it didn’t show.

  “Stay safe, Daddy,” she said loudly enough for him to hear. She didn’t tell him she loved him anymore. She hadn’t said those words to anyone since her sister died.

  Harmony opened the window and jumped toward the branch nearest the house.

  Love is a mistake when we’re all going to die any day now.

  The familiar burn of her palms connecting with the bark was quickly followed by the thud of her boots hitting the ground. The calluses on her hands dulled the sensations, but it was the reenactment of the steps that mattered, not the sensations themselves.

  Chris waited, not nervously but with the ever-present edge that came from the fear that tonight would be the night that she wouldn’t show. He’d tried to convince her that sharing quarters was wiser. Most teams did. For reasons he couldn’t understand, she refused. Most days, she claimed she couldn’t leave her father—but other nights, she insisted that she couldn’t step into her dead sister’s life.

  Although we both know that she already has.

  He flicked ash onto the street, realizing as he did so that he’d only taken one drag from the cigarette. He was just about to pinch the cherry off—smokes were far too expensive to waste—when he saw her. She stayed to the shadows, but her movements were deliberate. She looked nothing like prey.

  Yet.

  Within another hour, that would change. Harmony would adopt the guise of a victim. She’d become the very thing that the devotees of Nidhogg found alluring: weak, sickened, and ready to be delivered to their god.