FIFTEEN
I bounce out of Hollie’s truck, not having realized before what it means that I have it. But now that I do, I’m a happy girl. Hols can’t even run out to the gas station for some chips—she has to stay home tonight.
Leaving my big bag this time, I take only my purse. I don’t love the idea of leaving my journal, but also don’t feel the same need for it as I always have before.
I cross the street and see there are more fae walking around than I would have ever believed. They are all so different, yet alike at the same time.
Such unique qualities to each, but no doubt all faeries.
The part of town I have ended up in is pretty much just a block full of bars and restaurants. I suppose this is probably a better place than any other to find evil fae. I know it’s a stereotypical, naïve thought, but it is what it is.
Attempting to stop the first faery I come close to, I get pretty pissed when he blatantly ignores me and walks right past.
“Rude!”
The next ones I encounter say a polite ‘hello,’ but none want to stop and talk, even though I ask a few of them.
What I find intriguing, and what takes away my anger, is that the people—the humans—walking down the street move out of the way of the fae without knowing it. A couple is walking closely next to each other and, as they come up to a purple faery, they part to let her through.
Once she passes, they drift back toward each other. But I can tell it isn’t something they noticed. Heck, maybe it didn’t even really happen, as far as they’re concerned. Maybe I just saw it because it was real and I have the sight. No matter what, it’s pretty cool…
As I keep walking, an odd urge grows inside of me. The humans I am passing are starting to bother me a bit. So here I am angry, again. And actually, I’m not simply bothered just a bit. These people are starting to piss me right the hell off, way more so than the rude faeries did.
I have walked around the same blocks three or four times and every time I look at a human, the blank, unknowing expressions on their faces gets under my skin. I wonder how they can just not know.
Of course, I wasn’t aware of this other world before, either, but at least I had my dreams—or visions. And I had an idea there was more out there. I sincerely hope I never walked around looking so clueless and useless.
And then I feel like the biggest bitch in the world. Who am I to pass judgment? I’m no one. And besides, I have spent my entire life up until now as a human. So it’s not like I am much different than them. I try to force myself in check.
Dejected and disturbed, I wander down the street and stare into the storefronts rather than looking at who I pass. I want to avoid any human contact so I can think somewhat clearly. At this point I have walked pretty much everywhere I can and am learning nothing. So now I walk aimlessly, just needing to walk. To get the anxiety out of my system.
No longer rocks or butterflies, I now feel bats or some other kind of bird battling for space in my stomach. And if that isn’t bad enough, I think some have made their way out and are moving around through the rest of my body. I swear I am on the verge of exploding. Gods help anyone if they try to talk to me right now…
I pass a tattoo shop and stop for a moment. Standing with one hand on the glass, I watch the large decorated man in the back room place his permanent art on a young, bleached blonde girl. The trashy-looking chick is getting a tramp stamp.
At this point, I cannot stand a thing about humans.
Heck, it might not be so bad if Donovan does wipe out some of them.
Chastising myself immediately, I think back to what happened at Preston’s. Hard to believe that was only last night. If seems like eons ago. I feel I’ve aged ridiculously since then. So much has been learned in a short amount of time.
My new home is wonderful; I finally belong. But a tiny part of me misses the simplicity of being human. I miss last Wednesday. And the day before that, and the one before that. My emotions about the race I lived with for so long are going up and down, as if I am bobbing on a wave—no surfboard to take control and start riding.
For a minute, I consider joining blondie in the parlor. Too bad it would be pointless. Even though I can easily straddle both realms now, I belong to the faeries. Their, well, my dimension isn’t a physical one. The tattoo wouldn’t truly be a part of me. Not like my mother’s mark.
Sighing, I move along and walk until I notice a dive bar-slash-restaurant—one I never would have considered entering in the past. But what do I have to lose today? Nothing, I decide, and open the door.
As I walk into the narrow entryway, I can hardly see in front of me. So much smoke. What is it about smoking and drinking that go together? I have never understood people wanting to kill themselves two different ways at once.
I walk up to the main bar and pull out a stool. Relinquishing myself to the comfort of the cushion, I sigh and place my purse on the seat next to me. As strong as I have been told I am, I don’t think I should be this tired. And the breathing—it’s hard enough without choking on clouds of death.
The exhaustion has slowly been creeping up on me ever since I came back to the human realm. The annoying humans and their emotions that I can feel add heavily to how tired I am. And the fae feeding off of those … it’s too much.
It hits me hard as soon as I sit down. The fatigue really shouldn’t surprise me, as even the goddesses are not immune to the downfall of fae’s jealousy. But it is so foreign to me it catches me off guard. But it is true what Bonnie told me. I didn’t believe it, even with Zoë chiming in earlier, as well. I felt it while walking tonight; I know that fae are extremely jealous of humans.
Even now, emotions are passing from faery to faery so easily and I know how much they enjoy it. The envy has been imbedded in them for so many centuries that it is almost becoming a physicality.
After only a day, I have grown tired of dealing with the ins and outs of the human-slash-fae relationship. Not to mention, I now can feel the emotions of everyone single being in about a two block radius. There is nothing to drown them out as I sit in a rather crowded bar on a busy street, with a person passing every few minutes.
The barkeep approaches and I am thrilled simply because I can stop thinking of all this crap. But I’m already not his biggest fan—I basically have to scream at him to ask for a beer. The song playing is one I have never heard before, yet I know it is ‘Violet’ by Hole. One more freaky fae trick, I suppose. This band is from before my time, but I like the song a lot. Not that that’s anything new to me. I can find something to like in almost any type of music. And besides, Courtney Love suits my mood at the moment.
I can read that this guy doesn’t even consider carding me, which is odd. But I’m not about to argue. I have never used my fake ID, and there is no need to start now. Of course beer isn’t my favorite, but it doesn’t much matter what I drink. I found it next to impossible to become drunk when I thought I was human and it will supposedly be harder now since I have given up that part of myself completely.
Faeries are immune to the effects of regular alcohol. Something Zoë mentioned while we were eating earlier. Hence, me never being able to get drunk with all of my friends while partying. The lager fae make themselves, however—that will inebriate even the oldest, most powerful of goddesses.
A large hand slams the beer on the counter and startles me. I jump back a good six inches, catch my balance, and then reach over into my purse. Grabbing my wallet, I toss some cash down and take hold of the bar railing, noticing the griminess of the yellowed plastic. I make a face and spin around to lean my back against the edge of the bar.
Hell! Damn railing is digging right into my bra. Eh, it’s still better than standing or walking…
Glancing about the place, I can vaguely make out the shapes of the other patrons. None interest me particularly so I shut my eyes and take a big gulp of whatever I have been given—the cheapest draft.
A near fire going down my throat causes me to co
ugh uncontrollably. Not exactly painful, but still. Something is definitely up with this beer. I look down at it, and then hold the mug up to inspect it further in the dreary light, but I see nothing out of the ordinary.
I sure as hell don’t want to drink any more without knowing what exactly it is the dude gave me, so I turn back to ask him what he put in my mug.
While doing so, I glimpse another faery at a table toward the end of the bar. He raises his glass to me and I do the same.
My eyes stay focused in that direction; I couldn’t look away if I tried, but I don’t want to. I bring my drink back down, still holding on with a shaky hand, and stare blatantly at the guy who acknowledged me. It’s Sloane—Donovan’s friend I met at the gas station. And saw at the other gas station. And have been thinking about off and on all day, some of the thoughts being fantasies.
I gulp (not my so-called beer!), afraid that if he tries to talk to me I won’t be able to block him and he will read those thoughts.
Of course his gorgeousness keeps me gaping, but it is more than that. Much more. He looks entirely different than he did this morning. And I wasn’t able to see him clearly when I was in the back of Hollie’s car when she got gas.
I am hyper aware that I am staring like an idiot, but again, I can’t help it.
His skin is glowing in the exact same manner as mine.
What. The. Hell? How is this possible?
Every faery has a distinct pattern to his or her skin—I am quite aware of this fact by now. No other faery is supposed to look like me. We are like snowflakes that way.
Sure, mates’ looks slowly meld together over many, many decades of being together, as Zoë explained, but I only met this guy for about two seconds a few hours ago.
More than curious, I pick up my purse with my free hand and walk over to him, not quite sure what I am doing but doing it anyway. His skin is sparkling so brightly—not like glitter or anything else to make him appear club-like and cheesy … it is more of a scintillating radiance from within. Loud and attention-grabbing, but somehow classy. Almost regal.
He is glowing in the dark, smoky air, drawing me like a moth to a flame … as pathetic as that sounds and seems to me even as I am doing it. Especially since in the back of my mind there is something I know I’m not remembering. Some reason I should stay away from Sloane. But I ignore whatever it might be and keep walking.
He stands as I approach and then he holds a strong hand out to me. In complete contrast to his self-assuredness, I attempt to switch my drink to my other hand.
I awkwardly hold both purse and mug, then extend my free arm. When the two of us touch, the most energizing jolt zaps me just like the first time I shook his hand. But it is stronger now—it reminds me of the power and buzz of my baptism.
The bats or birds or whatever has been hanging out in my stomach disappear, leaving only little butterflies flitting around.
“Hi. It’s Alexis, right? Would you like to have a seat here with me?” He gestures with his arm.
“Yeah. I mean, yes. Of course.” I tentatively perch on the edge of the chair and set my purse on my lap. I reach up and grip my drink tightly with both hands, feeling entirely unsure of what they will do if unoccupied.
“You can relax. I just want to talk. I’m sure you noticed the same thing I did—our skin…” Sloane is straight-forward, diving straight into the heart of the matter.
“Uh, yeah. It’s kind of weird, right? I’ve never heard of this happening with a faery you don’t even really know.”
“I have never experienced it either,” he says as he leans back in his chair. “Of course I noticed it this morning, but I also knew you couldn’t see the similarity. I can see you do now, though.”
He cocks his head and I feel he is interested in my story, but isn’t going to invade my privacy with questions. He simply smiles instead. I foolishly grin back, mouth spreading from ear to ear—the elf-like ones I hate so much, yet now understand.
I look down into my drink and, with my eyes off of Sloane, I remember what was trying to nag me a second ago. This guy is friends with Donovan. But just because I saw them together doesn’t automatically mean they’re like super close or anything. And besides, Donovan told me that the two work together and their families are friends. Does that mean I should automatically condemn Sloane? No. I have to give him a chance. I think… Don’t I?
Deciding with what I like to believe are good reasoning skills, I give Sloane more than what my gut is telling me to. I look up again and am taken aback by his expression.
He is examining me and I feel as naked as I do when my mom makes me see the gyno. Not the best feeling, to say the least. He must know how he is affecting me because in under a split second he wipes his face clean, so to speak, and he reassures me with a smile that, once again, disposes of any doubt I have.
Seeing his relaxed state and feeling the strangest sort of connection, other than the obvious, I am apparently able to sense his feelings. My body loosens up without me having to try. I ease my grip on my drink and lean back in my chair.
He speaks and his husky voice is icing on the Halloween cookie. Cake is all right, sure, but those pumpkin cookies are my absolute favorite. “Just a warning, you might not want to drink that beer you have there.”
He raises his hand up, one finger held up to get one of the cocktail waitress’ attention. A girl walks over and asks Sloane what he needs, her voice matching his huskiness and I seethe with jealousy at the fact that she pulls it off.
Which is ridiculous for two reasons. One being that I know I have that natural smoky sound to my own voice and could easily sound like that if I tried. And then there is the second reason, this one being the most important – I have no right to be jealous. An uncontrollable part of myself has already claimed this guy when we have barely said seven words to each other.
“Whatever the lady would like,” Sloane tells the waitress with a smile, eyes only on me when I dare to glance his way, even though she is standing here gawking over him, clueless that I exist.
I look back at the waitress in order to let my mind think somewhat clearly. I know right away how stupid I am being. Seriously, could I possibly analyze this situation any more than I am? I tell myself I have to stop and feel it out. See what is going on. And figure out what Sloane’s connection to Donovan is.
Because I don’t know what the hell I was thinking a minute ago … if Donovan is the leader of The Depraved and Sloane works with him, that can’t mean anything good. Unless Donovan has another job, but I have no clue why he would.
If the two are even sort of friends, I’m leaving right now. Unless…
The waitress taps her pen and I feel her stare going through me. She finally knows I am here but doesn’t see me as anyone real or important. I am certainly not competition for Sloane, in her mind.
“I think I’ll just have a Sprite. I’m not much in the mood for drinking, after all.”
“Not a problem,” the waitress tells me, having looked away the second I stopped talking, and so obviously her comment wasn’t really for me. What a bitch. She looks over her shoulder as she walks away.
“What was that about?” I ask, not talking about the waitress but scowling at her all the same.
“The bartender likes to have his idea of fun with new customers. He gave you some real liquor. I didn’t sense you were up for it, so I stopped you from drinking any more than you already had. Not that it seemed you were about to, but…”
“Well, that explains why it set my throat on fire,” I say with an awkward giggle. I am feeling more relaxed by the second. It almost feels like a conversation with an old friend already. An unfinished thought lingers in my head, but I can’t imagine it’s all that important.
This is so strange. I don’t even know this guy. Weirdest day ever. Man…
“So, um, who are you exactly? I mean, other than Andrew’s friend. What are you doing here tonight? You come here often?” Oh wow, did I really just say that? No worries,
Kellyn, it’s only a tiny bit embarrassing. Ha. Yeah, I wish!
“This is my first time…” I feel my face flush even as I say this sentence, making things worse.
He has to think I am a huge idiot, fumbling over my words. Yet I don’t get that kind of vibe from him in the least. He isn’t holding in any laughter or any other even remotely negative feelings toward me.
I look away for a second, processing. I magically remember my earlier thought and continue it. Unless… Maybe I can use Sloane to my advantage. Find out some information on Donovan. And I shouldn’t feel bad about it because who knows what he is hiding from me. There is no way he can be sweet and pure enough to understand how I feel enough not to laugh at me. Shit, I would have laughed at my own ass!
I risk looking back up and all I see is his skin and his eyes, like the night sky but clearer, more of a liquid version. He could not be any more beautiful.
Sloane answers the question I have almost forgotten with a large grin, “Yeah, I tend to spend a lot of time here. Me and my buddies. My best friend, Donovan, is usually here with me but I can’t get a hold of him tonight.”
I swear my blood turns from warm liquid straight to ice. I can’t move a muscle and, just as sure as I am about my blood being ice, I feel my heart has stopped beating. So he knows Andrew as Donovan, too. I look at his eyes and tell myself to calm down—it’s not like I didn’t already have a pretty good idea. What I don’t get is why he would try to hide this from me since he first met me when I was with ‘Andrew.’
I sit back in my chair and stare at Sloane, trying to gauge anything from his expression or maybe a vibe coming off of him. But I get nothing. He turned it all off. Even the good stuff. And that’s good, I suppose, because I am starting to remember that simply looking at him made me forget his connection to Donovan.
My voice doesn’t work the first time I try to use it. I swallow what little I can in my desert-dry mouth and then speak. “Donovan? I know someone with that name. It’s not that common, either, is it?” I haven’t a clue how the words left my mouth and am scared shitless to hear the answer.
“Well, there’s only one I know of who’s around our age … well, your age, I guess. Tall, dark hair, green eyes with an odd bit of orange in them. Is he the same guy you know?”
Pleasepleaseplease don’t let me throw up all over the table. I have had enough of that today as it is.
“Yup. Same guy.”
All I am capable of is sitting and staring at the table. I can’t bring myself to look at Sloane. Odd, considering just moments before I couldn’t look away. The thoughts of mistrust that vaguely ran through my head when I did look away come crashing back at me and they are not vague anymore. These feelings mix with intrigue and infatuation and my head is way, way beyond spinning—so much so that I physically feel dizzy.
The waitress comes back and breaks the discomfort as she sets down my drink. Leaning forward, I take a sip, hoping it will help settle the churning starting up in my stomach, the butterflies long gone. No such luck. I thought 7-Up and Sprite were supposed to help with this sort of thing. I suppose not for faeries. Just my luck.
“Hey, are you all right?” Sloane asks me, leaning toward me, his eyes genuinely concerned.
What is that about? He is as bad as me, switching all over the place every couple of minutes.
Or maybe I am only seeing him that way because of how I feel. That sounds more likely.
“Uh, honestly,” I say, daring to look up, “I’m not sure. See, this is really weird but I kind of have this … thing going on with Donovan. I’m actually hoping to find him myself soon. But not quite yet. I’m avoiding him for the moment.” Or as long as I possibly can, which of course is stupid. “Do you think he’ll come here?”
Sloane keeps a blank look on his face—I bet he would make a fabulous poker player, yet I can tell he is considering quite a lot. What to say next and how to say it.
He breaks. “All right. So obviously you know who Donovan actually is. I couldn’t exactly say it since you were with him when he was posing as Andrew earlier, but I can tell from your reaction that you know a lot more than I thought you did. It appears you have learned some things since we first met… And if you are worried about him showing up here tonight, it probably won’t happen, just so you know.”
I grab my drink. Something stable to hold onto. “OK—but if you know all about him, why would someone who seems as nice as you want to be friends with him?”
I’m not at all sure I want to hear the answer, but I have to. I cannot risk not knowing what—and whom—I am dealing with here.
Sloane starts by taking a deep breath and I look right at him, waiting. I’m not letting him off the hook. But he doesn’t seem to want to be let off. Again, he appears to be contemplating what to say.
I sense he has something important on his mind and can almost feel what it is, like when something is on the tip of your tongue – but I can’t quite read him well enough. Something is blocking me. But almost as if bringing it up equaled me asking permission to invade his thoughts, the door swings open and I am allowed access.
I’m glad to know that the weak vibe coming from him is a good one. One of confusion, but of purity and relief. Something is going on, that I know for sure. Something complicated, yet it will help me. And knowing this is creeping me out.
Even though I was curious to know and had faith I had the power, I almost don’t want it now. Sensing things and reading Hollie is one thing but knowing a song I had no clue existed and then knowing, really knowing—not just thinking I know—these things about Sloane.
I have to take it as a good thing, I guess. Use it to my advantage. And hope that if he is the enemy, he doesn’t know too much about me and my thoughts.
“Well. I guess what I say next depends on what your relationship is with the guy,” Sloane offers after what feels like five years. He is nervous for the first time since I laid eyes on him.
I take a deep breath—something I am getting super sick of doing—before answering. “OK. To start with, I think he wants to kill me.”