Sandy Williams - The Sharpest Blade

I wrap my arms around him, hug him tight. Over his shoulder, a number of humans gape at me. Someone asks if this is a prank or a TV show. Fae are naturally invisible in my world unless they choose to be seen by un-Sighted humans. They didn’t see me fighting the elari . They don’t see Aren holding me now. They see a crazy woman with a sword. Right now, I don’t give a damn.

Aren stiffens. I move back slightly, just enough to see his gaze is focused behind me.

“Inside,” he says.

I keep hold of his arm as I turn. It’s Nimael . . . and Cardak. The false-blood himself came to kill us.

“Come with me,” I say, pulling Aren toward the entrance. He resists.

“You’re hurt, Aren. They’re not.”

His jaw clenches, but he nods, lets me pull him inside the automatic doors, and into . . . the electronics store.

Crap. It’s wall-to-wall tech: flat-screen TVs, sound systems, computers, laptops, even refrigerators and freezers. Aren sways under the bombardment of it all. Even Kynlee looks uncomfortable, standing in the middle of the aisle.

I look over my shoulder, praying Nimael and Cardak won’t risk this much tech. They’re standing just on the other side of the threshold.

“Hey, you can’t bring that in here,” a human, one of the store clerks, says, eyeing my sword. Most people in here are smart. They’re backing away.

“Sorry,” I say, keeping my arm relaxed at my side. I don’t want to look threatening, but I’m not about to let it go, especially not when Cardak cautiously steps into the store.

“Damn it,” I mutter. “Come on.”

I pull Aren toward the back of the store. He’s way off-balance. If Caelar hadn’t beaten the hell out of him less than twenty-four hours ago, he wouldn’t be affected quite this badly, but this isn’t good for him. I need to get him and Kynlee out of here as soon as I can.

Kynlee glances behind us. “They’re both coming!”

“In here.” I lead us through swinging doors and into the store’s back room. It’s filled with boxed electronics, but there should be an exit somewhere.

A few TVs and computers are plugged in along the right wall, awaiting repairs it looks like. A workbench is behind them, and an employee drops his screwdriver as he leaps to his feet.

“Is there an exit this way?” I ask him. He nods, then he hurries back the way we came.

He passes Nimael and Cardak. My heart pounds, hoping they don’t turn their swords on him.

They don’t. Nimael opens a fissure. I hear the sharp shrrip of him reappearing behind us. We’re sandwiched in.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Aren can’t fight both of them. Neither can I.

“I’ve got Cardak.” Kyol’s voice cuts through the air. My adrenaline’s been pumping way too hard to realize how close he was. He’s just entered the back room and is standing a few strides from the false-blood.

I nod, acknowledging Kyol’s words, then look at Aren. He’s facing Nimael, but his brow is furrowed.

“McKenzie?”

Crap. The elari is illusioned.

“Swing!” I shout as Nimael rushes him. I shove a rolling cart forward. Aren’s wild swing makes the elari twist out of the way, but the cart hits him. A toolbox and a small TV topple over.

Sparks erupt when the TV smashes to the ground. They’re blue sparks, bright and sizzling. Aren leaps back, but Nimael falls on his back with a cry.

“Drop the sword!” someone shouts.

I wouldn’t pay any attention to the order except that it comes from a human.

I look behind me, see a security guard with a Taser pointed at me. Kynlee’s standing next to him.

Kyol sees the Taser, too. He fissures away from Cardak’s attack and knocks the device out of the human’s hand.

It skitters across the floor, landing by my foot.

“Behind you, Taltrayn!” Aren shouts at the same time I yell, “Kynlee, run!”

Kyol sidesteps, barely avoiding the false-blood’s attack.

Aren’s back on his feet. He and Kyol close in on the fae. Cardak’s glare shifts between the two of them, then, ever so casually, he raises his sword and slashes through the security guard’s stomach.

Kyol and Aren both lunge forward, but Cardak fissures out of the way. Some instinct tells me he’s going to appear behind me so I sweep up the Taser, turn, and fire.

The cartridge shoots out, striking the false-blood’s cheek. Edarratae explode across his skin like a million blue veins. He drops to the ground, shaking, vomiting.

His legs kick out, striking me so viciously I’m knocked off my feet. A surge of electricity flows into me, but it disperses quickly, and I watch Cardak twitch as froth bubbles out of his mouth. I don’t feel a twinge of remorse. I remember Sosch and Shane and a countless number of others who are dead because of him and when his body gives one last twitch before it disappears into the ether, I know that this is a death that I will never regret.

“Are you hurt?” Kyol kneels in front of me. He searches for an injury.

I grab his hands, hold them still. “I’m okay. Lena?”

“I fissured her to the Realm,” he says.

He fissured her to the Realm. She’s safe. The false-blood’s dead.

My breath whooshes out of me, carrying with it a thousand worries. I squeeze Kyol’s hand as I look past him, searching for Aren. I find Nimael instead. He’s still here, still alive. His eyes are wide, like he’s just witnessed the death of someone he worshipped, and he’s still on his back with the TV and the tools and parts scattered around him. I don’t think he’s a threat, but—

No. He is a threat. The edarratae draw my attention first. They’re leaping and spiraling and crashing over the hand he lifts. The hand that’s holding the Taser I dropped when I fell.

“Kyol!” I scream, but I’m too late. Nimael lunges forward, firing the Taser as he slams it into Kyol’s back. Light explodes all around us, then . . .

ALL I SEE are shadows upon shadows. In this emptiness, I should feel nothing, but there are sensations. Sensations of falling. Sensations of burning.

Sensations of loss.

I try to catch hold of something, anything that will ground me and make me whole again.

THERE may be light in the shadows, bolts of blue and white and shades of silver at the edges of my vision, but every time I try to focus on the flashes, they disappear. I think they might be remnants of my soul. It’s missing, and I’m a shell of what I was before. Shells can be crushed. They can be ground into powder and scattered in the wind. I feel scattered. I feel lost. The only way to find a path home is to follow the lights. There’s a certain color I need to hold on to. It can sew my soul back together, so, blindly, I search the shimmering night . . .

LOW, incoherent murmurs invade the darkness. The shadows fluctuate with the volume of the voices, but I’m still lost. Still cold. Still wandering.

“. . . better when . . . together.”

“. . . loves him.”

“Of course . . . Ten years. Not even you can erase that . . .”

The conversation should make sense. If I listen harder, if I climb my way out of the abyss, I can understand.

“I want her to be happy.”

“So does he.”

He. Kyol. Aren. The names twist through my memory. I have to climb out of this abyss. For them.

H OW long has it been?

My question is attached to a voice. Not my voice, though. It’s Aren’s.

“Long enough that I’m ordering you to leave.”

That’s Lena. I’m almost there. The fuzziness in my brain is fading, but something’s still not right. I don’t feel . . .