Kiersten White - Paranormalcy

“Aren’t you tired of being cold?” he asked, trying to draw me in. “Cold and alone. You don’t have to be. Our time grows short.” His eyes were pools of amber, deep and eternal. Pools you could drown in. “Dance with me again.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. He was right. I was tired. I had been alone my whole life. The foster homes, the Center—what was the difference? Why was I resisting him? I felt his hand on mine; he was so warm. The heat started to spread up my arm, slow and insistent. Why not give him my heart, my soul? No one else wanted them.

He could feel my surrender and pulled me close. “There is no one else for you, my love. Let me fill you.” There was no one else for me. I opened my eyes and looked into Reth’s golden ones—and the image of other eyes, eyes as clear as water, flooded into my memory. Why I thought of Lend right then I have no idea, but it was enough to pull me back. I lifted the silver knife and held it between us like a talisman.

Reth looked surprised, then angry. “What are you doing, child?” He hadn’t let go of my other hand, but I resisted the warmth. It was barely past my shoulder, now slowing. “Don’t you know what I’m trying to give to you?”

I shoved the flat of the blade against his chest and he let go of my hand, backing up a step. Iron is the best against faeries, but they aren’t fans of silver, either. “Enough,” I mouthed, pointing to my neck. Glaring, he flicked his hand and my throat tingled.

“Why are you fighting this?”

“Because you’re a lunatic! I don’t want this! I don’t belong to you! I never will!”

A half smile twisted his perfect face. “You’re wrong.”

“Well, I’ve got a silver knife that begs to differ. Now—”

“Take you home?”

I nodded.

His smile spread. “That wasn’t a command, and you’ve got to sleep sometime.” Before I could command him to take me home he disappeared, his silvery laugh lingering in the absence.

I was starting to miss the vampires.

I screamed for him to come back, then sat heavily on one of the couches. He was right. I was exhausted from not sleeping last night plus a very full day and rather stressful evening. And if I fell asleep, I couldn’t hang on to the knife. And if I couldn’t hang on to the knife …

It was a problem. I didn’t know what he was trying to do to me, and I didn’t want to find out.

Not surprisingly, there was no signal on my communicator. I didn’t even know if I was technically on the planet anymore. The Faerie Realms coexist with ours, but cross time and space and all sorts of other boring and weird physics things that I never cared about before now. I added Faerie Realms and knife fighting on my list of things to pay more attention to.

I could call for him using his real name again, and he’d have to come. But that worked out so well before. The phrasing I used still killed me. I need you? The way I figured it, he took that as the command and would now fill what he thought my need for him was. If I called him back and negated my command before he took my voice again, there was no telling how he would interpret it. If you give a faerie conflicting commands, they can’t fill them and therefore come up with something completely different (and always bad). I was so screwed.

Faeries are the slipperiest things in the world. IPCA (before it was IPCA and back when it was APCA and all sorts of individual country acronyms) worked for decades to find a faerie, any faerie, and learn his true name. Their plan involved using pretty young girls as kidnap bait. Dozens of pretty young girls, none of whom were ever seen again. Except one girl, who discovered a great secret.

Faeries are unaffected by alcohol, but much to her surprise—and the faeries’ undoing—they get very, very drunk on carbonation. Using copious amounts of Coke, she was able to discover a single faerie’s true name. With that she was able to force that faerie to do her will and reveal several other faeries’ names—who were forced to reveal other faeries’ names, as well. Thus followed the great Faerie Catalog and Control Operation of ‘95.

It sounds more impressive than it was. A whole bunch of workers on the project ended up dead or missing, and faeries guard their names closely even from one another, so IPCA only got a fraction of them. Here’s what IPCA should have learned, still hasn’t quite learned, and probably never will learn: you cannot control fairies. Can. Not. They aren’t logical or rational. They don’t obey the same laws (physical, social, emotional, traffic—you name it) that we do. They always have their own agendas and are just plain smarter than us. Plus, in finding and using their names, we were messing with paranormal magic deeper and more powerful than any of us understood.

I say us. I mean arrogant IPCA.

I pondered all this as I sat on Reth’s couch, trapped in the Faerie Realms and wondering how long I could hold out before I had to sleep, eat, or drink. Or pee for that matter, because I wasn’t seeing a toilet. Stupid immortals. Was faerie magic really worth all the mess and risk we incurred by working with them?

There had to be another option. I couldn’t—wouldn’t—call Reth back. I knew he would never let me out, and there was no way to escape other than the Faerie Paths.

Another faerie! It was perfect. The faerie names I had been assigned were to be used only in dire straits. These were dire enough for me. I opened my mouth and stopped.

I still couldn’t remember. The names were so strange, and I had been so scared I’d blocked it out. Lying back on the couch, I stared at the ceiling; it shimmered with crystals. I watched it and racked my brains for the ruby-haired faerie’s name.

The crystals reflected an unidentifiable source of light. It seemed like there was some sort of meaning, a pattern. And now I was detecting faint colors, too. They were telling me something. If only I stared long enough, hard enough, didn’t think about anything else … and if I closed my eyes and didn’t think, it would be even better and it would all work out….

“No!” I sat up, blinking to keep my eyes open. No more ceiling.

What was her name? I knew that I knew it. And then I remembered—she was the faerie Lend had hitched a ride with. Fehl! Fehl was her nickname. And her full name was …

“Denfehlath!” I shouted, triumphant. After a few seconds the outline of a door formed on the wall and she walked through, still looking bored.

“Oh.” She frowned.

I jumped up, giddy with relief, but stopped myself before I said anything stupid. This time I would be careful. Specific. “Please take me back to the IPCA Center where I live.”

She held out her hand and I took it.

“Stop!” Reth commanded from behind us. I didn’t let go of Fehl’s hand as I turned to look at him. “She’s mine.”

Fehl gave him a sharp smile. “It’s a named command. I have no choice.”

Reth’s golden eyes brimmed with rage. That’s another thing about faeries. Nasty tempers. I had seen him lose control once before—it was what finally shocked me into giving him up.

“Let’s go, now.” I pulled on her hand. The ambient light in the room had shifted; now everything seemed to glow with a red, menacing hue.

We darted through the door and into the Faerie Paths. More frightened of what was behind me than around me, I kept my eyes open for once. Fehl squeezed my hand so hard it hurt; the look on her face was pure fury, tinged with a hint of smugness. I wondered if there was something going on. Those two had a weird dynamic. Whatever. I didn’t care as long as I got home.

But then I had a brilliant idea. “Can you open a door to Lend’s room?”