Desert Tales

  “And you have?” He stood, and both of the chairs crumbled.

  Rika didn’t bother moving, letting herself lean into the collapsing chair, watching the streams of sand flow over her leg into the rips in her jeans. She grinned up at him from the desert floor. “No, but my forgiveness doesn’t matter as much, does it?”

  Keenan’s face was emotionless, but lightning jags around them revealed the emotion that his face didn’t. Despite the bright display of his volatile temper, he still spoke as if he were calm: “If you need anything, I am there to call upon.”

  “Actually Sionnach is here if I need anything.” She held Keenan’s gaze. “I’m solitary. Those of us in the desert . . . we don’t belong to you even now that you’re stronger. That won’t change.”

  “If you need me—”

  “There would be a price, and I’ve more than paid my dues for your ‘help.’ I learn from my mistakes.”

  The rain hit, soaking her, but sizzling to steam before it touched him. “The Summer Court is stronger,” he said. “But because of the changes, things will be unstable for now . . . even out here. Not everyone’s happy with the power shift.”

  Although Rika was wet and sand-covered, she felt victorious as she sat on the desert floor and mocked the Summer King’s understatement. “You think? We already know that.”

  She looked up at him, wishing he was most anywhere but here, wishing he wasn’t still so beautiful, wishing she didn’t understand how the curse had hurt him too. She didn’t truly hate him, but she didn’t want to feel sorry for him. Softening toward him was dangerous. That truth was unchanging. “What do you really want, Keenan?”

  “I want to protect you, to take you under my court’s protection.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t need you.”

  “I—”

  “I don’t,” she repeated. “I can’t lie because of what you made me. So let me say it again: I don’t need you, and I don’t want you in my life in any way.”

  The Summer King was nothing if not persistent though. He’d fought for nine centuries to reach the strength he had only just found. His sunlit skin glowed as he told her, “I can’t lie either, Rika: I do want to protect you. Make a vow of fealty to me, and I will keep you safe if the coming troubles reach the desert.”

  “A vow? To you? No.” She stood and brushed the sand from her jeans. “Are we done here?”

  “Other solitaries have joined my court. . . . It’s not so odd.” In that instant, Keenan looked so earnest—genuine and eager, so like the boy she’d loved. It hurt more seeing him looking at her so familiarly, but then she reminded herself that he had always sounded exactly like that when he’d successfully manipulated her. This time, he wouldn’t succeed.

  “You could talk to the others out here,” he added. “The solitary fey will listen to you, and—”

  “No,” she interrupted, foolishly hurt that he still saw her as a means to an end, a piece in a puzzle to be moved at his will. “I won’t ask them to join the Summer Court.”

  As Keenan stepped closer to her, Rika had to grit her teeth to keep from backing away. Winds spun around them, as if it were just the two of them together, apart from the world, as she’d once believed it would be. He didn’t reach out to touch her as he would’ve when she was human, but in the same tone that had haunted far too many of her dreams over the years, he whispered, “I never meant to hurt you. You know me, Rika. It’s a simple vow. Then my court can step in if anyone needs—”

  “Your court isn’t needed in my desert, Keenan. We handle things differently out here, and we have no business in court matters. The courts are a world away.”

  “You’re being foolish, Rika. Letting grudges get in the way of what makes sense. Just talk to them.”

  He obviously wanted a way in to the loyalty of the desert fey, and so he was here now whispering regrets and tender words, but she wasn’t a naïve girl, not now, not for decades. She turned and walked away from him, and she didn’t look back even though she could feel the swirls of sand stirring as he resisted his anger.

  After a moment, a gust of wind lashed against her back, and she knew he’d left.

  Melodramatic as always.

  CHAPTER 2

  Thinking about the past was something Rika steadfastly tried to avoid, but seeing Keenan dredged up old memories. She shivered, and even the desert heat suddenly wasn’t warm enough to counter the remembered chill. She shook her head as tears slid down her cheeks. Angrily, she wiped them away and looked toward the mortals in the distance climbing up the rock wall of one of the canyons. Three motorcycles—two with saddlebags and camping gear strapped down—were parked in the shadow of the canyon.

  “At least they can’t see me.” Rika wanted to run toward them, to be near the mortals, to be far from where she’d spoken to the faery king, but she kept her pace, slowing briefly only as she passed some jumping cholla cactus. It didn’t truly jump, but like the sweetly named teddy-bear cholla, the spines were easily detached. She’d learned that lesson in her earliest days in the desert. Like some of the native desert fey, some of the plants here were beautiful but would cut her skin with only the barest touch. It was one of the things she liked about the Mojave: here, the faeries weren’t hiding their true nature behind court manners and pretty words. She liked the extreme honesty of the desert and many of its inhabitants.

  As Rika walked across the sand, a soft smile crept over her face as she saw one of those inhabitants, the first mortal to draw her attention so intensely since she’d become fey. Jayce was, like the world around him, real. She wanted to speak to him even more than usual, to lose herself in a conversation with him. She couldn’t. If he wasn’t interested in her, it would crush her.

  “It would probably be a mistake,” she lectured herself, but she still stared at Jayce. Even the lingering clouds that reminded her of Keenan’s visit weren’t enough to completely convince her that her interest in Jayce was wrong.

  The faeries in the desert didn’t come near her as she passed them. They never did, but they stood so that she couldn’t help but see them watching her. Like most desert dwellers, they peered from where they were half-hidden behind the shelter of canyon walls, eyelet canyons, and caves. The faeries who were out in the direct sun moved with a languid gait that said time was somehow more than infinite here.

  Although they didn’t approach, they did call out at her from various directions, making it clear that she was surrounded. Although the desert might look empty to those unfamiliar with it, there was always life—both natural and supernatural—all around her.

  “Rika. Hey Rika.”

  “Come ’ere.”

  “No, over here.”

  Numerous faeries smiled and beckoned her nearer. Some smiles seemed friendly; others appeared menacing. Rika looked around, tracking where they all were, assessing whom she’d fight first if necessary.

  Too many for me to handle if they attack me.

  She didn’t expect an attack, but they undoubtedly knew that Keenan had visited her. They’d be tense as a result. The desert faeries didn’t belong to the faery courts; they existed in a hierarchical system of strength and dominance, not under the control of monarchs. Like all solitary faeries, the desert fey had an Alpha or co-Alphas, faeries who were the strongest and kept order of a sort. If a faery didn’t like it, she could simply leave—or challenge the Alpha for dominance. If Rika challenged the Alpha, she’d win, but she’d never wanted power—even when she’d risked everything at the chance of being Keenan’s missing queen. All she’d ever wanted was to be loved as she’d first thought Keenan had loved her.

  “Where’s Sionnach?” Rika called to the watching faeries. He was their current Alpha, had been so as long as Rika had lived in the desert. He was also the closest thing she had to a real friend. He’d long ago decreed that she was not to be overly harassed. For solitaries, that was as good as it got.

  “He’s out playing,” said Maili, a faery girl with sand-striated skin and s
hort spiky hair. Her face was expressionless, and her eyes were solid black. She fluttered her two-inch-long nails, making her already elongated fingers look even more stretched.

  Another faery, mostly hidden in shadows, said, “Sionnach is out wooing mortals again.”

  “Which means he’s not anywhere near here.” Maili grinned. Aside from Sionnach and Rika, she was the strongest of the desert fey. If not for Rika’s decision to stay out of the politics and power squabbles in the desert, they’d have been at each other’s throats a decade ago. That didn’t mean Maili didn’t try to provoke conflict at every opportunity; it merely meant that they’d never come to serious blows.

  As Rika watched, Maili waved at a group of faeries just a bit farther away—near the humans standing atop a small cliff. The faeries scrabbled up and across the rocks like misshapen crabs. They were almost human in their appearance, but with a worn meanness. Unlike Rika, they’d never been mortals, but always something Other. After so long in the desert, Rika didn’t usually notice their Otherness, but her conversation with Keenan had unsettled her and reminded her of their differences. No matter how long she’d been this—and it had been far longer than she’d been a human—she’d always be an outsider to them. She had been mortal; she had been a part of the faery courts. She was the reason Keenan, a faery king, had just walked across their desert. No matter that he’d cost her more than he would ever be able to cost them, she was not one of them.

  Rika wanted to argue, to tell them that she was a part of their world now, but she’d held herself apart for so long she wasn’t even sure she could be a part of the solitaries.

  A word rang out, loud in the still of the desert. “Oopsy.”

  Suddenly, Jayce was pushed off the rocky ledge where he’d stood. He shifted with surprisingly quick reflexes for a mortal, angling himself to take the impact with his hip and side.

  Rika didn’t think, couldn’t think; she simply reacted. In a breath, she was a blur across the remaining distance. The world felt like it sped and slowed all at the same time. The mortal—the person—who had finally made her feel like life was worth more than enduring, like living again could be possible, was falling.

  And then she was under Jayce, catching him, and becoming visible in the process. She knew she looked far too frail to catch a mortal in her arms, so after a brief hesitation, she let her legs give out from under her and collapsed to the sand with a mortal atop her.

  With Jayce touching me.

  Limbs tangled, they were still on the desert floor. Neither spoke or moved for an awkward moment. Rika tried to soak in every feeling, to notice as much as she could since he was finally touching her.

  Then he rolled to the side so he wasn’t. “I’m so sorry. Did I . . . Are you . . .” He looked from her to the cliff and back at her. “Don’t move. I’ll get help and—”

  “I’m fine.” Rika scuttled backward. A rush of panic washed over her. Despite the usual comfort she found in the vast openness of the desert, she felt suddenly cornered and stood, poised to flee. As calmly as she could, she repeated, “I’m fine.”

  Even in her panic, her gaze slid over him. Jayce’s sleeve was torn, and his jeans were sand-caked. He had scratches on his face, and she knew that he must be in pain from the impact. Yet, despite his injuries, he was completely fixated on her. “You’re in shock or something,” he said. “Just sit down and—”

  “You’re bleeding.” She pointed to the blood seeping through the sleeve of his badly ripped shirt. His clothes were often tattered and worn, and he’d been injured from climbs and skateboarding, but she’d never seen him bleed so much. She didn’t like how it made her stomach feel.

  One of the other mortals, Jayce’s friend Del, came into view atop the cliff. Like Jayce, he looked pretty grungy, unlike his skater girlfriend, Kayley, who now joined him. Rika had watched them enough to know that Kayley might look like she didn’t belong with a boy whose electric-blue hair stuck out from the edges of his bandana, but she was every bit the adrenaline seeker he was, often more so.

  Del called down, “Kayley wants to know if you’re broken.”

  Only Rika could see the faeries who circled Del and Kayley in a mockery of a dance.

  “Want to see if you can catch two at the same time?” one faery asked. He ran a hand through Kayley’s hair, lifting it and letting it fall into her face.

  Absently, Kayley shoved her hair out of her face and stepped to the side.

  The faery smirked.

  Kayley might not know the cause, but she felt something. Mortals often reacted without knowing what they were evading, chalking it up to wind or insects. Faeries took amusement in it. Such was the normal order of things.

  This time, however, Rika tensed. These mortals mattered. Even though they’d never spoken to her, they were the closest things she had to friends in the human world. The faeries who circled them knew it; they knew exactly how to hurt her—and right now, they wanted to hurt her.

  All because Keenan had visited.

  “Jayce?” Kayley prompted, sounding a bit more concerned now.

  Oblivious to Del and Kayley’s danger, Jayce stretched, bending both arms, shifting weight from foot to foot, testing his body before answering Del. “Just bruised and bloodied . . .”

  Del stepped forward and tossed a rucksack down. “Steri-wipes and bandages in here. Use ’em. We’ll be down soon.”

  Then the two mortals walked away, breaking through the ring of faeries that they couldn’t see, going farther back on the cliff where they were out of sight.

  While they were talking—and Jayce wasn’t looking at her—Rika had started walking away. She wasn’t up to dealing with the confrontational faeries or the fact that she’d revealed herself to mortals. She couldn’t become invisible just yet in case one of the mortals looked her way and caught her, but she might be able to quietly slip away.

  When Jayce turned, he called “Hey!” and came after her. As he reached her side again, he added, “Hold up.”

  “I need to be gone.” She stepped farther away.

  Jayce held his hands up. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. It was an accident. . . .” He glanced briefly at the cliff. Del and Kayley were well away from the edge, and since he couldn’t see the faeries on the edge of the cliff, he saw nothing amiss.

  Rika, however, could see the faeries watching; several were now sitting in postures akin to gargoyles. They perched and watched her. She knew that their irritation was a result of Keenan’s meddling in the desert, but she had no idea what to do about it. Later, she’d talk to Sionnach, but for now, all she could do was get away from the mortals, draw the surly faeries’ attention away from them.

  Jayce frowned. “It felt like a gust or . . . maybe the edge gave . . .” He shook his head and proceeded to do what mortals typically did when confronted with the impossible: he created plausible explanations. Then, he added, “It doesn’t matter.”

  One of the faeries waved at Rika, and she tensed. Jayce’s back was to them; all of his attention was fixed on her. There had been days during which she was invisibly at his side and wanted this very thing, but now that he was looking so intently at her, she wanted to flee. Behind him, the faeries watched too attentively, not actively threatening her or the humans but observing everything so carefully. It had been selfish of her to let on that she cared for the mortals; she saw that now.

  And it was selfish of Keenan to come here.

  It didn’t matter though. Solitary faeries could not strike a king, but they could strike her or the humans. As calmly as she was able, she told Jayce, “I’m not angry; I’m not hurt. I just need to go.”

  “Let me give you a ride. We can get you checked out. . . . I fell on you.” Jayce was trying to comfort her, even though he was the one bleeding and injured. Much like he cared for meandering tortoises or wounded birds, he tried to nurture her too. “Please wait?” he asked.

  The gentle tone in his voice made it impossible to resist. He was injured because of her attent
ion, and even though she feared that her presence there beside him would make it worse, she couldn’t refuse the plea in his voice. She took a step toward him, but almost faltered when he smiled at her. Seeing that smile actually directed at her was more heart-stopping than she could’ve imagined.

  Quickly, she forced her gaze downward, but then blanched at the sight of his injury. He was ignoring it because he was more concerned with her well-being, but she couldn’t tell him that she was completely uninjured, that it would take far more than catching a falling boy to hurt her. Instead she said, “I’ll wait if you bind that. Sit down.”

  “What’s your name?” He was still standing, as if he was unsure whether she’d dart away or not. “I’m Jayce.”

  “Rika,” she said as she walked over to collect the rucksack that Del had tossed down.

  Several of the fairies on the cliff scrabbled down; others stayed at the edge, kicking their feet in the air. Maili had apparently joined them on the cliff while Rika’s attention was on Jayce.

  “What do you think he’d do if he saw us?” Maili taunted. “What if he knew what you were?”

  A few of the faeries pelted Rika with rocks, mostly small, but a few larger stones were tossed at her.

  Rika didn’t back away from them despite the sudden rock shower. The rocks hurt, but not enough that it made her react. After years of carrying snow and ice inside a body not created for such things, it took far more than rocks to cause her to wince.

  Jayce, however, couldn’t see the faeries. All he saw were rocks falling. He called out from the ground where he was now kneeling, “Be careful.”

  “I’m fine.” She scowled pointedly up at Maili. “It’s a little unstable up there. Maybe it needs to be knocked down.”

  “Do you really think you can ‘knock down’ all of us, Rika?” Maili’s smile grew wide with glee, no doubt thrilled to finally get Rika’s temper stirred. “I’d love for you to try. . . .”