Sandy Williams - The Shadow Reader

I take a half step away from Lena, afraid she’ll accidentally open a fissure right where I’m standing. Her edarratae flare, but no slash of light breaks through the attic’s dim glow.

“It might take some time,” Sethan says.

Lena paces. “We don’t have time. The humans’ guns are more accurate; they have more ammunition. Aren’s not invincible—”

“I know that.”

“He takes too many risks. He never should have brought her here.”

Stress doesn’t do good things for my patience. I cross my arms and meet her glare. “This isn’t my fault.”

“They’re your people,” she says. “It was your tech that led them here.”

“Your people.” I make the words sound like a racial slur. “Kidnapped me. And the vigilantes are no more my people than they are Naito’s.”

“Yet you were going to shoot us all so you could escape.”

I snort. “No, not all of you. Just you.”

A flash to my right cuts off Lena’s retort. A fissure rips through the air beside Sethan. After a moment of stunned silence, he nods to his sister, steps into the light, and disappears. Lena opens her own exit a second later and vanishes, too. My fingers itch to draw the shadows, but I have no pen or paper. Without sketching what I see, all I know is they’ve fissured to the Realm, to a province in the west, I think.

Kelia taps her sword on the ground and stares at the space where Sethan stood.

“Naito will never forgive himself if you die,” I tell her. Her silver eyes rise to meet mine. Edarratae flash across a tensed jaw.

“Then I better not die,” she says softly. Then, more firmly, “Let’s go.”

She gestures to the ladder. I’m tempted to refuse to leave, but I saw the rage in Tom’s eyes when he sprang at me. If the other vigilantes are as mad as he was, reasoning with them won’t work.

I heave out a sigh and make my way down the ladder, then the stairs. I almost slip when I reach the ground floor. The entryway is wet. All the first floor is. There’s still some silver glistening in the water, but the rebels managed to wash most of it away.

“This way,” Kelia says.

I follow her toward the back of the inn, ducking beneath the windows we pass. Naito’s at the back door. Aren is, too. He yanks me to the floor as soon as I enter the narrow washroom.

“Stay low,” he orders.

“I am staying low,” I snap back.

A flicker of some unidentifiable emotion shines in his eyes when I move away from him.

He says something in Fae to Naito. A second later, he and Kelia open fissures and disappear.

“They’re going to create a diversion,” Naito tells me. “When they start fissuring in the clearing, we’ll run for the trail. Aren and a few others will try to keep our path clear, but don’t stop moving.”

He rises up a little to keep a watch out the small window in the back door. Tom’s pistol is in his hand. His fingers are wrapped tightly around its grip. The firm set of his jaw indicates he’s willing to use it if necessary.

“Would your father really kill you?”

He glances at me, gives a short nod. “Yeah. He would.”

“You were a vigilante when you met Kelia?”

His expression softens at the mention of her name. “Yeah.”

Gunfire strafes our side of the inn and pings off pipes in the wall. I flatten myself on the ground, close my eyes, and pray for it to stop. In a few, long seconds, it does.

Naito shakes glass from his hair. The door’s window is completely blown out now.

The silence that follows makes me uneasy, especially when it stretches out over several minutes. I want to throw open the door and take my chances, but the rational part of my brain tells me to wait. To distract myself, I ask, “You two are happy together?”

“Yeah.” He rises to peek outside again.

“Even though most fae don’t like humans?”

“Most Court fae don’t like humans,” he corrects me. “That’s the king’s fault. He thinks we’re destroying their magic.”

“We are destroying their magic.” We’re at least damaging it.

“No. It’s cyclical. The Realm’s magic grows stronger in some centuries, weaker in others.” Naito sinks back down and studies me. “Why so many questions? You thinking about getting involved with a fae?”

“Of course not,” I say quickly. I’ve heard Naito’s theory before; fae use it to excuse the little souvenirs they take back to their world.

“I highly recommend it,” he continues. “Sex with the edarratae . . .” He shakes his head and a small smile tugs at his lips. “Trust me, you’d love it. You’d never want to be with a human again.”

I glance away, hoping Naito doesn’t notice my cheeks flushing with heat. That’s when I see two big, unblinking blue eyes staring at me. Sosch. He’s huddled in the gap between the hot-water heater and the wall.

I stretch my hand out. It’s the only invitation he needs. With a chirp-squeak, he darts into my arms. The poor thing is covered in silver dust and trembling.

“He’ll slow you down,” Naito says.

He’s right. I should leave him behind, but the grudge I’ve been holding since I found him hiding in my backpack is gone. I won’t abandon him just because he belongs to Aren.

And speaking of my backpack, it was on top of the fae’s supplies in the breakfast nook. Carrying the kimki in that will be easier than running with him in my arms, so I set Sosch on the ground, ordering him to stay.

He doesn’t. As soon as I crawl away, he chirps and follows me. Fortunately, the laundry room and breakfast nook share a wall, so I have my backpack in hand within seconds. Sosch darts into it before I return to my spot by the back door.

Naito watches me zip the bag. “The vigilantes probably wouldn’t find him.”

I shrug, then reopen the zipper a little, leaving Sosch enough room to breathe and get out if he wants.

“How much longer?” I ask, slipping the backpack on.

He doesn’t need to answer. My skin tingles an instant before a fissure opens just outside the laundry room.

“Now,” the fae says.

Naito pulls me to my feet. “Stay close.”

I don’t have time to worry about jostling Sosch. We burst from the inn’s back door and into the night. Or what’s supposed to be night. The clearing is lit with fissuring fae. The white slashes of light reflect off the pouring rain. It’s like running through a field of fireworks—the grand finale—on the Fourth of July. Gunfire accentuates the shrrip, shrrip, shrrip s of the fae’s fissures as they leap in and out of this world, over and over again, faster than I can track.

“Keep moving!” Naito shouts.

My vision is blurred with light and smudged with shadows. I can barely see where I’m running, and I’m terrified I’m going to sprint straight through a fissure. Where’s the damn tree line? Rain pelts my eyes, and I swear the clearing lengthens as we cross it.

“Down!”

The moment I realize I’ve been shoved to the ground, I’m yanked back up.

“Go!”

I recognize Aren’s voice this time. He pushes me after Naito, who’s scrambling to his feet. I ignore the stitch in my side, the squirming kimki in my backpack, and keep running.

We make it to the trail, but if I thought the forest’s cover would ease some of my panic, I was wrong. I can’t see the vigilantes, but I can hear them. I hear their guns, their heavy breathing, their movements in the wet underbrush. They’re closing in on me. From my left. From my right. Shit, a camouflaged man steps right in front of me.

I skid to a stop as he raises his gun. Aims.

Aren fissures between us. A shot rings out. There’s a flash of steel as Aren’s sword cuts through the rain, cuts through the human.