Sandy Williams - The Shattered Dark

I should leave it behind. I miss what Kyol and I had together, but I chose to leave him. I chose to take a chance on somebody who risked everything to be with me. Honestly, though, I miss Aren, too.

Something flutters through my stomach. It’s hard to tell if the feeling is worry or want. It’s been almost a week since I last saw Aren. He was alive then, but it only takes a moment to die, and he and Kyol and all of the fae supporting the rebellion haven’t had a moment’s rest since taking the Silver Palace. Somebody’s organizing what’s left of the king’s fae—the remnants, we’ve been calling them—and if we don’t find out who it is soon, they’re going to overtake us.

I pick up the name-cord. I’ve never seen Kyol wear it, but it’s a family heirloom. The least I can do is give it back to him.

I slip it into my pocket, then grab my suitcase and roll it into the living room.

“I’m ready,” I tell the fae.

Trev is fidgeting with a piece of jaedric that’s peeling up from his armor. The bark is pulled off jaedra trees in long strips, then applied in layers to a molding. The former Court fae’s armor is always a dark, even brown, well oiled and with a thirteen-branched abira tree etched into the cuirasses, front and back. In comparison, the rebels’ are discolored, unadorned, and overall, pretty shoddy-looking. They’re functional, though, which is most important.

Trev lets go of the jaedric snag and nods. A chaos luster strikes at an angle across his nose, and a muscle in his cheek twitches, making the sharp angles of his face stand out even more. Fae don’t feel the lightning unless they’re touching a human, but I’m sure he saw the blue flash. His hand tightens just perceptibly on the hilt of his sheathed sword, and his eyes narrow enough to give him shallow wrinkles at the outer corners. Trev looks like he’s in his midtwenties, but the Realm ages people slower than Earth does, so it’s difficult to guess exactly how old fae are. Those tiny wrinkles on an otherwise smooth face are a giveaway to me, though, and I’d bet he’s at least fifty.

He heads for the door. I follow but stop when I see the stack of mail on my kitchen table. The top letter is from my college. I can’t resist the temptation to open it even though I’m sure I don’t want to read what it says. I make it to the line, “We regret to inform you,” before I stop and frown.

The frown isn’t because I’ve flunked out of school. The rebels found me when I was taking my very last final exam, and back then, I thought they were the bad guys. I ran out of my English Lit class—a class I had already failed twice—because I couldn’t let them kill or capture me, so I’m not at all surprised I’ve been expelled. I’m surprised because I don’t know how this letter—how any of these letters—got here. No one has a key to my mailbox and apartment except Paige, my only human friend. She puts up with my frequent absences and weird behavior. When I worked for the king, I often didn’t show up when we agreed to meet somewhere, and more than once, I left in the middle of a conversation. I had to make up all sorts of crazy excuses for my actions, but Paige always shrugged her shoulders or gave me a look that contained just a hint of doubt…and then, she let it go.

This time, though, I think I’ve flaked out too much even for her. I’ve been calling Paige every other day for over a week to apologize for disappearing at her sister’s wedding, but she hasn’t answered the phone. If she’s that pissed, I can’t see her coming over here to check on my place.

But she must have. I spread out the mail, searching for a note or letter from her. There’s nothing, and I’m about to go to my phone and call her yet again when I see the purse resting on a halfway-pulled-out chair. When I pick it up, a tingle runs up my arm.

“McKenzie?” Trev calls.

Goose bumps sprout over my skin. This is Paige’s purse and…

And oh, crap!

“I broke a ward.” I drop the purse as if I’ve been burned. That tingling sensation was more than regular goose bumps; it was a magical trip wire that will signal the fae who created it.

I spin away from the kitchen table and sprint for the front door. I don’t have to explain anything more to Trev and Nalst. They know as well as I do that a remnant must have created that ward.

“Go,” Trev orders. Nalst nods, and a strip of vertical white light rips through the air beside him. He steps into it, disappears.

With effort, I wrench my gaze away from the shadows the fissure leaves behind. Only shadow-readers like me can see the rippling afterimages, but this time I don’t need to draw out their twists and turns to know where Nalst has gone. Even though the remnants shouldn’t know where I live, we made a contingency plan. He’ll bring back help from the Realm.

But we’re not going to stand around here waiting for it.

Trev draws his sword as I yank open the door. I rush out first, turn right, and run across the cement breezeway to the staircase.

My apartment’s on the third floor. Ignoring my racing heartbeat, I focus on the steps as I fly down them two at a time. Trev stays with me, keeping pace despite the fact that he can move twice as fast or simply fissure to the parking lot below. I make it all the way down without any remnants appearing. Maybe they’re becoming disorganized, and no one’s prepared to fissure here. Maybe the fae who created the ward is dead. Maybe they—

Slashes of light rip through the air to my left. I curse, round the corner of the building…

And plow into a man. Even though he’s a good foot taller than me and extremely overweight, I have enough momentum to make him stagger into one of the cars parked outside my building. He’s human. The three beings appearing around us are not.

“McKenzie,” the man says. I almost don’t hear him because the two nearest fae lunge at Trev. He deflects the first remnant’s sword with his own, then fissures out of the way of the second’s attack.

Another fae, a woman, watches me and the human, who I finally recognize as the apartment manager when I notice his clipboard. He’s the only thing keeping her from killing or capturing me. I don’t know how long that will last, though. The king’s fae used to go out of their way to remain undetected by normal humans, but less than a month ago, they launched an attack in the middle of a neighborhood near Vancouver without any regard for human lives or property. She might decide I’m worth the collateral damage.

Collateral damage. Is that what Paige has become?

“Your rent’s late again,” the manager says, oblivious to the woman stepping around him with her sword raised. Without the Sight, he can’t see the fae unless they choose to be seen.

“Where’s Paige?”

My demand makes the fae hesitate. She looks at the manager when he follows my line of sight. While he’s distracted, searching the parking lot for something he can’t hear or see, I grab his clipboard, turn, and throw it at the head of the shorter fae attacking Trev.

My aim is perfect, and Trev is good enough with a sword to take advantage of the distraction, finding the weak area on the side of the remnant’s cuirass and plunging his blade between his enemy’s ribs. The remnant cries out, then disappears into a fissure. Whether he survives that injury or not, I don’t know.

“You’re copping an attitude?” The manager grabs my arm. “I’ve already let you slide three times this year.”

“Sorry,” I say, watching the fae behind him. When it’s clear she’s moving toward us, I use the manager’s grip on my arm to try to pull him away. “We need to go.”

“You need to pay your rent.”

The fae lifts her sword.

“Move!” I yell, this time throwing my shoulder into him in an attempt to shove him out of the way.