Radiant Shadows

  The faery turned away from Rae, staring into the water as if it were a giant mirror. Faces drifted under the surface like Ophelia drowned and tragic. Has she lost someone? Death was so much larger to faeries. When one had the promise of eternity, centuries seemed a blink. Rae had seen the reality of such loss when Devlin considered what he did for his queen. Her orders were blood on Devlin’s hands.

  “What do you dream of?” Rae whispered.

  The faery didn’t look away from the water. Silver veins like roots crept from the faery’s skin and sank into the earth, anchoring her to the soil. Rae was transfixed by the sight: faeries weren’t ever this unusual in their self- imaginings. They saw themselves much as they appeared in their waking world; their essential representation echoed reality. They were of the High Court, logical in this as in all things.

  “My son is gone from me.” The faery looked back at Rae. “He’s gone, and I can’t see him.”

  Rae’s heart ached for her. Faeries had so few children that the loss of one must hurt even more than the loss of most faeries. Rae sat beside her, carefully not brushing the roots that extended from the faery’s hands, arms, and feet. “I’m sorry.”

  “I miss him.” Six tears slid down the faery’s cheeks. They fell to the soil and rested on the ground like drops of mercury.

  Rae gathered them into her hands and carried them to the edge of the river. With her words, she reshaped the water, stretching it and widening it until it became an ocean.

  “Seven tears into the sea,” she told the faery.

  Then she returned to the faery’s side and knelt. With one hand outstretched, Rae added, “Seven tears for a wish.”

  She caught a seventh tear as it fell.

  The faery was silent as Rae flung it into the water.

  “What do you wish for? As long as you’re sleeping, you can have it.” Rae stayed kneeling beside her. “Tell me what you wish for.”

  The faery woman stared at Rae. Her voice was as a slight breeze, but she said the words, made her wish. “I want to see my son, my Seth.”

  Behind them the sea vanished, and in its place a mirror appeared. The glass was framed by vines hardened and blackened like they’d been darkened in fire. In the mirror, Rae could see a faery unlike any others she’d glimpsed and very unlike the austere appearance of most High Court faeries. Seth had silver jewelry decorating his eyebrows; a silver ring pierced his lower lip; and a long silver bar with arrow- like tips pierced the top curve of one ear. Blue-black hair framed a face that wasn’t faery-pretty, but mortal-hungry. Seth didn’t look anything like the son of the vibrant faery.

  Is he why she sees herself with silvered anchors?

  Seth was fighting with a group of faeries with moving ink on their forearms. If they’d been mortals, Rae would guess that they were the sort of people one should cross streets to avoid. In the mirror, Seth wrapped his arms around a muscular female faery and propelled the two of them through a window. Broken glass hit the cement floor inside of a bleak- looking room.

  Where are they? Did she see her son die? Is that what this is?

  Rae winced in sympathy at the thought that the faery had witnessed her son’s death.

  The faery didn’t look away from the mirror at all. She raised one hand as if she’d touch the images. “My beautiful boy.”

  Seth was laughing at the scowl on the muscular female faery’s face. “Got you,” he said.

  “Not bad, pup.” The cruel-looking faery in the image plucked glass from a long gash in her shoulder. “Not bad at all.”

  Another faery tossed a water bottle at Seth. Only the inked arm was in the frame, but even without seeing the face, Rae knew that this was another fighter. His voice carried like a rumble of thunder: “Go another round with Chela?”

  Seth shook his head. “Can’t. Summer Court revels tonight. Ash… we’re talking, and she wants me with her there.”

  “Keenan?”

  “Still MIA.” Seth grinned, but just as quickly looked away, as if his happiness was wrong.

  “Pity.”

  “Do you know where he—”

  “Don’t,” the female faery, Chela, interrupted. “It’s not Gabe’s place or mine to tell you things that we learn for our king.”

  Seth nodded. “Got it. Good fights today?”

  “You’re still broadcasting your next move too much,” the voice, presumably Gabe, said.

  “Tomorrow?”

  “By the time you’re awake, it’ll be evening. If you do it right, pup”—Gabe stepped into the frame and grinned— “revels aren’t the sort of thing one follows with early mornings.”

  The words spoken by the faeries in the frame felt far too precise to be a memory. Moreover, this wasn’t a scene that ended in Seth’s death. This is not good. As Rae watched, she had the sinking suspicion that she’d done something new: she’d somehow given the dreaming faery a glimpse into the mortal world in that very instant. How did I do that?

  “Your son isn’t dead?” she asked.

  “No. He is in the mortal world.” The faery turned to stare at Rae with unblinking eyes. A clear lens slid over her inhuman pupils, reminding Rae of reptiles she’d seen. Faeries were Other. She’d known that from her first day in their world, but it was rarely made as obvious as it was in that instant.

  “Where do you come from?” the faery demanded.

  “I am but a dream,” Rae said, as she had to so many other sleeping faeries. Her voice wavered though, making her words sound false. “This is all but a dream.”

  “No.”

  “Your imagination? Perhaps you’ve seen me in a painting, something you saw in the palace—”

  “No.” The faery crossed her arms and stared at Rae. “I know every detail of every painting in my palace. You are new. What you did here was… impossible. I cannot see the threads of those tied to me. I saw him.”

  Rae froze.

  “My palace”? Threads of seeing? Sorcha.

  Rae stood and stepped backward, away from Sorcha and the mirror where Seth was walking down a street that looked nothing like the mortal world Rae remembered. Devlin’s going to be furious… if I live through the next few hours. Words were suddenly far more dangerous than she’d imagined possible. Dreams were her domain. Here, she should be safe; here, she should be omnipotent. Sorcha, however, was omnipotent. Within Faerie, the world remade itself at her whim and will, and Rae wasn’t sure if that extended to dreams.

  Or the mortal world.

  “Who are you?” Sorcha didn’t rise from the ground. Even without a throne or trappings of power, she was fierce. The sea swelled in towering waves that did not fall. It hovered, threatening to crash yet frozen. The water iced over, capturing the waves in stasis. Sorcha’s dreaming mind was taking control of the images Rae couldn’t hold on to.

  Except the mirror. It stayed in front of her, untouched by the shards of ice that were cracking from the waves and falling like rocks at the start of an avalanche.

  “A dream. I’m merely the face you’ve called into being for your amusement. Nothing more.” Rae hoped that the expectation of truth from faeries’ lips was enough to buy her time to escape. “If you’d rather I vanish”—Rae turned her back as if to walk away—“it is your dream.”

  “Stop.”

  Rae paused mid-step. Then, resolute that the safest course of action, the wisest plan, was to keep going, she continued walking.

  In a blink, Sorcha appeared directly in front of her. “I said, ‘Stop.’”

  “You can’t control dreams, Sorcha,” Rae whispered. “You can’t control anything here.”

  “I control everything in Faerie.” Her haughty look reminded Rae so much of Devlin that she wondered how she hadn’t recognized Sorcha immediately.

  “We aren’t really in Faerie though. Dreams aren’t your realm.” Rae smiled at Sorcha as gently as she could. “There are mortals, seanchaís, with the ability to twist dreams. But you? You’re just another faery in my land of dreams.”

&
nbsp; “You’re not just another faery, though.” Sorcha’s gaze took in every detail of Rae’s appearance. “Who has been hiding you from me?”

  “No one,” Rae lied. “I’ve always been here. You’ve simply not interested me before now.”

  And then, before the High Queen could learn dangerous secrets, Rae slipped out of the dream and back into Faerie.

  CHAPTER 15

  Ani was still shaken hours after she left Bananach—a situation only made worse by the fact that someone was following her. Perhaps Bananach let me leave only to find out where I’d go? Ani wasn’t sure. The Barracuda’s windows were tinted so dark that she couldn’t see the driver, but she could tell that her stalker was arrogant. To follow someone in such a sweet ride spoke volumes about the driver’s personality. In a faery, that sort of surety and egotism wouldn’t be surprising, but most faeries didn’t drive. It wasn’t an option with so much steel, and having a custom car made of faery-friendly materials was foolish.

  There are a few though.

  She tried to think over the rare faeries who’d found beautiful machines appealing enough to have nonsteel machines constructed. It was a small list. Mostly, faeries would ride a beast glamoured to look like a motorcycle or even have a car fashioned out of magic and earthen materials. They wouldn’t be able to create this. The engine growled with barely restrained energy, so much so that it appeared to shiver as it crawled after her.

  She turned down the alley. No, not a faery. Odds were that a mortal drove the Barracuda; she could confront a mortal.

  It turned in behind her. The typical heavy scent of exhaust was absent as the car eased up on her and paused. It sat—engine idling, body humming—but no one emerged. The windows stayed closed.

  “Fine. If you won’t reveal yourself”—she stepped toward the car—“we’ll do it this way.” She was beside the driver’s door. Letting her fears and angers out on someone stupid enough to cross a daughter of the Hunt seemed pretty tempting, but she gave one more warning. “You really shouldn’t try me.”

  The car didn’t back up; the driver didn’t get out or turn off the engine.

  Ani grabbed the door handle—and froze. The material under her hand wasn’t mere metal. She looked inside the now-transparent windows. Empty. The car in front of her wasn’t faery-made. It was something far rarer, something out of children’s tales that she’d long since stopped believing in.

  A riderless steed.

  Under her hand the car pulsed, like a purr. It vibrated through her body.

  “Mine?” she asked.

  Each other’s. The words came unbidden into her mind.

  It had a voice that she heard. Unlike when she rode another’s steed, hers was in her mind, a part of her.

  Of course, I am. The voice was genderless. I am yours. You will not ride any other now.

  “Never again. Just you.” She stroked the long sleek lines of the hood. It was everything a classic should be: power and beauty, strong lines and a great engine.

  It shifted under her hand, becoming a black Ducati Monster with chrome-spoked rims.

  “Daaamn.” Ani felt it laughing as she all but drooled on motorcycle.

  Then it was a horse, a skeletal steed capable of trampling every creature in their path. It lifted and lowered one leg, cracking the already-broken asphalt under a steel-sharp hoof. Like the most perfect Dark Court denizens, it was beautiful in its horror. “You’re gorgeous.”

  And lethal, Ani.

  “Yeah. That’s what I said. Lethal is gorgeous.” She stroked its neck. After the terror of facing Bananach, there was little that could ease her anxiety. This could. This did.

  You needed me.

  “I did,” she whispered.

  I felt your need to run and so I’m here. It closed its eyes and rested its head against her shoulder. We can go from here.

  It had selected her, chosen her. She had her own steed, not Chela’s, but her own. Halflings didn’t have steeds; unclaimed steeds didn’t roam in the mortal realm. Yet, it was here.

  Come, Ani. The steed became a car again. It opened a door. Ride with me. Away from here.

  Ani slid into the driver’s seat. The engine turned over with a satisfying growl.

  “Oh.” She breathed the word, and the car tore out of the alley with speed that made her heart race.

  Take the wheel. I trust you, it assured her.

  “Take it back if I fail you.” She’d driven an actual car a couple of times, but not enough to be certain she could handle it.

  Always. I’ll keep you safe, Ani. Always. You’re mine now.

  “And you…” She couldn’t say the sentence.

  So her steed did. I am yours. Always.

  After a few dizzying hours, Ani directed her steed into an alley near the tattoo shop. The riding had helped her settle her emotions, given her space to calm down, but Bananach’s demands weren’t something she could make sense of on her own. She couldn’t kill her king, even if she wanted to. She had no desire to give Bananach her strength or her blood. And, despite her dislike of Seth, she wasn’t sure she could kill him.

  Would one of the three acts be enough to appease War?

  Ani didn’t know, but what she was certain of was that Niall, her king, would not be forgiving of Seth’s murder. But if he didn’t know… The possibilities were there. Ignoring Bananach wasn’t a viable plan; she was crazy, dangerous, and powerful.

  Could I kill Seth?

  He didn’t really belong in the Dark Court. If he mattered to Irial, it would be different. On the other hand, he was of the High Court and loved by the Summer Queen. Angering them wasn’t a great idea.

  Neither is angering Bananach.

  The engine stilled, and Ani slipped out of the driver’s seat of the Barracuda and gently closed the door. It was a beautiful beast, but it was safe in the alley. The biggest risk was that it would eat some foolish mortal who tried to strip it or leaned on it, but the steed seemed tired enough that she didn’t really expect any blood on the grill when she returned.

  She leaned down to the hood of car and whispered, “Be back soon.”

  Its engine rumbled briefly, and then the interior lights shut off.

  Ani walked up the sidewalk to Pins and Needles. She paused there. Once she crossed the threshold, there’d be questions. If she answered, there would be a lecture. Her brother hadn’t survived on the borderland between Dark Court and mortals without a spine of steel. He’d taught her what she needed to survive—and not flinched at the inhumanity in her or at the mortal sweetness in Tish. Somehow, he’d loved them both, despite their differences.

  “You going to come in?” Rabbit stood on the other side of the front window. His goatee was a braid in black and a garish shade of orange. The bone plugs she’d carved for him after one of her first hunts were in his ears. His clothes were his standard thrift-store fare: dark trousers and a mechanic’s button-up falsely proclaiming him an employee of Joe’s Stop and Go.

  Home.

  She put her palms on the glass pane of the door, covering the hours he was supposedly open for business.

  Rabbit watched her with his usual taciturn expression. He’d ask her too many questions later, but just then, he saw what she didn’t admit: she was afraid. Her brother had been the one to croon comforting words when she came home sobbing or raging; he’d taught her to cope with a world that confused her. He’d helped her come to the realization that the things that set her apart were strengths as much as weaknesses.

  She opened the shop door and went into his arms.

  He held her as carefully as he had when she was a little girl, and they’d thought she might turn out to be more mortal than not.

  Like Tish did.

  “Want to tell me what’s wrong?”

  “Maybe.” She stepped away and wandered over to the red vinyl chair in the far corner.

  Rabbit flipped the sign on the door to closed and threw the bolt. “Well?”

  “I saw Bananach.” She picked at a loo
se thread caught under a piece of black electrical tape Rabbit had used in lieu of stitching one of the rips in the chair. “She wants some things from me.”

  “She’s trouble.” Rabbit pulled down the shades so that any passersby wouldn’t see them sitting inside while the sign was turned.

  “Aren’t we trouble, Rabbit?” Ani looked up at him. He looked like trouble; stereotype or not, her family looked like the sort who’d be fine bending or breaking a few rules. They had broken both mortal laws and faery traditions. He’d hidden them from the brute that killed Jillian, the High Court, and most of the Dark Court. He’d stolen mortals’ wills and freedom when he’d bound them to the Dark Court in ink exchanges.

  “There’s trouble, and then there’s her.” Rabbit sat down cross-legged on the immaculate floor of the tattoo shop. Even out here in the waiting room, he kept it as clean as he possibly could. When she was a child, she’d built Lego cars and Popsicle-stick towns on that waiting-room floor at night when Rabbit worked.

  “She wants me to do some things… and…” Ani folded her hands together and clasped them tightly and then forced herself to meet his gaze. “I don’t want to tell you.”

  “We don’t cause trouble just for trouble’s sake. Not real trouble. There needs to be a reason. You get that, Ani, right?” Rabbit scooted over so he was sitting at her feet. “I can’t keep you safe now that you’re in the court. You exposed what you are, and they won’t let you live among mortals anymore… not for years to come.”

  She tilted her head defiantly. “Irial trusts me.”

  “So do I,” Rabbit said before glaring at the door. Someone was trying the handle despite the turned sign and closed shutters. He lowered his voice and added, “So think about whatever she asked of you.”

  “I just… I’m scared. If I don’t cooperate…” Her words faded as she thought about drawing War’s anger.

  “We’ll figure it out. Come on.” Rabbit stood and pulled her to her feet. “We can talk over dinner. I’ll make dessert.”