The Faerie War

Chapter 11

Eleven

“I’ve always been jealous of faeries’ hair,” Natesa says as she carefully separates three narrow strands of my hair and begins to braid them. “The vibrant colors are so beautiful. I imagine if there were lots of faeries in one room it would be an explosion of color.”

“I guess it makes up for the fact that we wear black all the time,” I say. “Well, guardians, I mean. Not all faeries.”

“Black is boring,” Natesa states. “All reptiscillas have black hair and black eyes. That’s why I tie ribbons in mine, to add some color.”

“I noticed,” I say with a smile.

I’m sitting cross-legged on Natesa’s bed in front of her. I came in just now to pick up my new white cloak and told her, once again, how pretty her hair looks in braids and ribbons. She somehow manages to do it in a different style every day. The ribbons’ colors keep changing, but green seems to be her favorite. Before handing over my cloak, she said it was time for me to get some braids in my own hair. That wasn’t what I was aiming for at all when I complimented her, but since the idea seemed to excite her, I decided to go with it.

Braiding hair. Yeah. I don’t know what I did with my free time in my old life, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t this.

After a few minutes of weaving strands of hair together, Natesa says, “I’m so glad Jamon decided to get over himself and stop hating you. I was certain he was going to hate all guardians forever after what happened to his friend, but it seems like he actually gets on quite well with you now.”

“What do you mean? What happened to his friend?”

Natesa’s fingers go still. “He didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“Oh dear.” Her hands slide away from my hair. “I shouldn’t have brought it up. I just assumed he would have told you.”

“About what?” I know I shouldn’t push her if this is some big secret of Jamon’s, but I really want to know what she’s talking about.

Natesa’s fingers return to my hair. “Everyone else knows about it, so I suppose you may as well know too. It was about three years ago, I think. Jamon’s best friend was having a hard time dealing with a difficult family situation, so he used to sneak out to go drinking at Underground clubs. Then he discovered that human alcohol has a much stronger effect on fae than our alcohol, so he started going into the human realm to hang out at their clubs. One night he got into a fight with a human teenager. A guardian showed up to intervene. Jamon’s friend fought back, and … well, he ended up being killed. Jamon was there, trying to convince his friend to come home. He saw the whole thing. He got his father to go and confront the Guild Council about what happened, but nothing ever came of it.”

I close my eyes as I let out a long sigh. It now makes complete sense why Jamon hated me from the moment he first saw me. I think I’d hate guardians too if that happened to my best friend. I wish he’d told me about this sooner. It would have helped me understand him so much better.

“Thanks for explaining,” I say quietly.

“Sure, but please don’t say anything to him about it. Maybe he doesn’t want to bring it up now that he’s friendly with you.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Natesa works a little longer, then say, “Okay, I think I’ve done six braids. Go check it out.” I stand and head to the small mirror hanging on her wall. I twist my head from side to side and see a few thin braids here and there, half hidden amongst my hair’s dark brown and purple strands. It’s actually quite pretty.

“And here’s your cloak.” Natesa goes to the large pile of white fabric in the corner of the room and removes the top bundle. I take it from her, let the cloak fall open, and pull it around my shoulders. It’s now the perfect length for me. I’m still not sure if fighting in it would be a good idea, but camouflage is more important. Don’t let them see you, and you won’t have to fight them.

“It’s perfect, thank you,” I tell her.

“Oh, and your name’s stitched into the hood,” she adds. I remove the cloak and check inside the hood for my name. I burst out laughing when I see the small, purple-stitched words: Property of Violet Fairdale, Most Kick-Butt Guardian of All Time.

Natesa grins. “I thought you’d like that. It was Jamon’s idea.”

“Oh, and he would certainly know, wouldn’t he. I keep kicking his butt every time he tries to scare me.” I turn around and lay the cloak flat on Natesa’s bed so I can fold it up. “I think he keeps hoping that one day he’ll manage to—”

My vision goes black as something dark is yanked over my head. A string tightens abruptly, closing the fabric around my neck and almost choking me. I spin around with a kick and a jab. My strikes meet nothing but air.

Oh, he’s getting good.

Something sweeps behind my legs and knocks my ankles. I fall back. I twist before I hit the ground, landing on my palms and toes instead of my butt. An exclamation of surprise tells me he’s right behind me. I pull my knee forward, then kick backward, finally connecting with flesh. I hear his body hit the wall.

I grab at the material around my neck and pull it loose. I tug it off my head and slide out of the way as Jamon runs at me. I leap to my feet. He runs at me again. I jump and somersault right over his head. Land, spin, kick, throw him onto the ground, drop to one knee, press the other knee to his chest. I close my fist around open air, and by the time my fingers have tightened, there’s a knife in my grip. A knife I’m now holding against his neck.

With a grin, I say, “I think this gets more entertaining every time.”

He pushes my knee off his chest and sits up. “I think—” he coughs “—I can stop scaring you now. You seem to have the weapon thing under control.”

I examine the knife in my hand. Its gold diamond-like surface sparkles and shines like sunlight reflecting off water. I let it go. “I had the weapon thing under control a week ago. I think you keep coming back for more because you like me wiping the floor with you.”

“Well, the floor’s clean now,” Jamon says, “so I think my job is done.”

“Thank goodness for that,” Natesa says, stepping out from her safe spot in the corner of the room. “I was worried you were going to destroy my room.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Guilt spreads across Jamon’s face. “I didn’t even think—I mean, I—I guess I should have asked you—”

“Are we heading out again?” I ask, interrupting what was probably about to become another awkwardly overnice conversation between Jamon and Natesa. Honestly, someone should just put them out of their misery and make Jamon’s arranged union go away.

“Uh, yeah, that’s why I came to fetch my cloak.” Jamon takes the white bundle from Natesa, who seems to have trouble looking him directly in the eye. “Thanks, Natesa. You’ve done an awesome job. We definitely won’t be spotted in the snow wearing these.”

“So, who are we making friends with this time?” I ask as Jamon and I head down a corridor. I step behind him to allow a woman and three rowdy children tugging at her arms to pass.

“Merpeople.”

“Really?” I pick up the woman’s scarf that slipped off her shoulder and hand it to her before running after Jamon. “Where?”

“Creepy Hollow, actually. I always thought they stuck to open rivers and oceans and things like that, but my dad says there’s an Underground bar frequented by merpeople. We may as well go there instead of traveling to distant lands.”

“Definitely. Especially since we have to go by foot.” I found out the hard way that Draven’s guards are using the faerie paths to track people. After being ambushed twice only minutes after using the paths, it wasn’t difficult to make the connection. Fortunately only two faeries came after me each time—I guess they saw one person going through the paths and figured I’d be easy to catch—so getting away from them wasn’t a huge challenge. I realized then that that’s how Draven’s men found the reptiscilla tunnels. They were obviously slower in getting themselves organized back then; now it only takes them minutes to show up, not hours.

“It’ll be cool to see Creepy Hollow again,” Jamon says. We reach his home, and I wait in the doorway for him as he fetches his bag and weapons.

“Yeah, it will.” As farfetched as it is, I can’t help the flicker of hope inside me that this time I’ll remember something. Something that isn’t just a fuzz or a person I don’t care about. A memory that actually means something.

A thick blanket of snow covers the landscape. Jamon and I barely stand out against it in our clean, white cloaks. I’m able to lift myself slightly with magic so I can walk on the snow instead of trudging through it, but Jamon doesn’t have the same luxury. Being stronger than me, though, he’s able to plough his way through quite easily. We travel mainly in silence, but it’s a companionable one rather than the hostile silence I received from him in my first few weeks with the reptiscillas.

Late at night, when it’s time to rest, we find sleep difficult. When it’s Jamon’s turn to lie down, he starts shivering too much to get comfortable. When it’s my turn, I keep jolting awake imagining sounds that aren’t there. We’re constantly on edge, expecting an attack from any side. It’s almost impossible to relax, so our attempt at rest only lasts a few hours before we continue our journey.

We arrive at the appropriate Underground entrance late in the evening on our second day of traveling. None of Draven’s forces have shown up to attack us, so we’ve obviously managed to avoid the sensors that detect unmarked fae. That’s complete luck, since we have no clue where these invisible sensors are.

The Underground entrance is hidden beneath a bridge of interwoven tree roots that spread from one side of a quietly flowing river to the other. We climb carefully down the slippery bank and over a few ice-covered rocks in order to get beneath the bridge. I balance on one of the rocks while Jamon searches for the entrance and whispers, “Try not to get dragged underwater by any dangerous creatures.”

I stare at the black water with suspicion, but I can’t see anything beneath the rippling surface.

“Come on, here it is,” Jamon says as he disappears into the shadows. I follow him and find a hole in the ground behind a rock. I wonder if this entrance floods when the river rises or if magic keeps the water out.

Once inside the tunnel, we remove our white cloaks and stuff them into our bags. Jamon leads the way. Torches held by fist-shaped brackets in the tunnel walls light our path, their flames flickering blue and green. A musty smell fills the air, and my boots crunch against wet earth. Perhaps I was right about the flooding thing.

We come to a fork, and Jamon takes a small piece of paper from his bag and examines it before heading down the left tunnel. It curves and zigzags and heads downward quite steeply until eventually we find ourselves at the edges of civilization. The tunnels are wider, with closed shop doors set into the walls and hundreds of footsteps pressed into the damp ground. Various fae walk past us: dwarves, pixies, and others I can’t identify. Whoever they are, they have one thing in common: They all travel quickly, avoiding each other’s eyes—and ours.

It’s clear no one feels safe.

We continue onward—Jamon checks his directions once more—until we come to a tunnel with an aquamarine glow. “This is the one,” Jamon says. I follow him down the tunnel toward a doorway where the glow becomes more intense. Slow, sultry music beckons us. We’re about to step through the doorway when a large man appears, blocking our way. His hair is one color and doesn’t match his eyes, so he can’t be a faerie. Perhaps he’s a halfling of some kind. Half an ogre maybe, judging by his size.

He speaks, and his voice is so deep I can almost feel it. “Show me your palms,” he commands.

My fingers clench involuntarily. What’s the ticket to get in here? Marked palms or unmarked? If it’s marked, we’d better get ready to run. I look at Jamon, who nods. We raise our right hands at the same time, like some kind of salute.

The man steps aside and inclines his head ever so slightly. I let out the breath I was holding and walk forward. This Underground bar is nothing like I imagined it would be. The room is divided by a curvy counter that runs diagonally from one corner to the opposite corner. On one side of the divide is a pool with clear, turquoise water lapping a few inches below the level of the bar. The other side of the divide, the side we’re standing on, looks a lot more like I expected: dry ground, regular bar stools, and some low tables and couches. In the center of each table is a bowl of luminous purple liquid with tiny white flowers floating on the surface.

There aren’t many people here. A couple on a couch feed each other the white flowers before locking themselves into an inseparable embrace; someone with spiked hair hunches over the dry side of the bar; and two mermaids glide through the pool. Their heads break the surface of the water at the same moment. They rest their arms on the bar and smile at the spiky-haired guy.

“Is that who we’re here to talk to?” I nod toward the two mermaids.

“I’m not sure if there’s anyone in particular we’re meant to talk to,” Jamon says. “I don’t know if my dad’s message got here before we did.”

We’re about to walk forward when a girl wearing impossibly high silver heels sashays out of a side door and comes toward us. Her hips sway in time to the music. She tucks her flamingo pink hair behind one ear before saying, “Can I get you anything?”

When I don’t answer, Jamon says, “Popular place, huh?”

“Oh. Yeah.” The waitress rolls her eyes as she places one hand on her hip. “Everyone’s hiding since The Destruction. It’s totally boring here now, but since I’m the only one brave enough to come to work, my boss is paying me double not to leave. He figures people will start coming back eventually.” She shrugs. “Hopefully he’s right. Anyway, do you want a drink or what?”

“Um, have you got iced night?” Jamon asks.

“Yeah.” She turns her uninterested gaze to me.

I don’t know if I’ve ever ordered anything from a bar in my life. If I have, it must have been an important moment because my brain has chosen to forget it. “Uh, I’ll have the same.” I figure that’s the safest option.

“Sure.” She spins on her silver heel and heads back to the side room.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve ordered?” Jamon asks as we climb onto a pair of barstools.

“Nope. But if you can drink it, I can drink it.”

I can’t read his smile as he leans forward and waves the two mermaids over. “Hey, girls, I was hoping you could help me with something.”

They slide beneath the water and resurface in front of us. Water drips from their turquoise hair and lips. Their ocean-colored eyes sparkle as they giggle. The one with the braid over her shoulder says, “I’m afraid you’re not really our type.”

Jamon chuckles. “That’s a shame, but fortunately for you, that’s not what I’m after.”

“What can we help you with then?” The other mermaid crosses her forearms on the counter and rests her chin on them. She stares up at him from beneath her eyelashes. Considering Jamon isn’t her type, she sure is doing a good job of flirting.

Jamon leans forward and lowers his voice. I know he’s going to get straight to the point; he always does. “We’re looking for allies in the fight against Draven and were wondering if the merpeople might be interested.”

The mood changes as quickly as if ice cold water has been dumped on the counter. Both girls cast furtive glances around the nearly empty room. “You can’t say his name here,” the one with the braid whispers. “If someone from their side knew we were talking about him, we’d—”

“Two iced nights.” Pink hair blocks my vision of the scared mermaids as the waitress leans around me and places two glasses on the bar in front of us. They’re tall and narrow and flare out at the top like trumpets.

“Thanks,” Jamon says, leaning back and placing a few silvers in the waitress’s hand.

When the waitress is out of earshot, the braided-hair mermaid says, “Um, you should talk to our father. He’s the owner of this bar. He’ll know what to tell you.” Before Jamon can respond, they sink beneath the water and glide away. They disappear through a dark, round hole in the wall.

I pick up my glass and examine the midnight blue liquid. Tiny sparkles float in it like stars in a night sky. “You don’t think perhaps you should tread more carefully with a subject that clearly scares everyone?” I ask Jamon.

“It’s all going to lead to the same question, so why waste time?”

I shrug before raising the glass to my lips and taking a sip. I swallow, then gasp as liquid colder than frozen metal burns all the way down my throat. I cough. “How can you … drink this? It’s horrible.”

Jamon gives me one of his quirky smiles. “What was it you said? ‘If you can drink it, I can drink it’?”

The dark liquid is so cold, I can’t even figure out if it has a flavor. I slide the glass across the bar toward Jamon. “Here. It’s all yours.” I may be stubborn, but I’m not stupid. I’d rather not lose all feeling in my mouth and throat.

I watch the hole in the wall as a figure slips through it. Strong arms pull at the water, propelling him quickly from one side of the pool to the other. He surfaces in front of us, aqua-colored features dripping water and a frown already in place. He reaches for something below the bar, then slowly raises his arm and places a harpoon on the counter. His eyes examine the two us, then narrow in on me. With a sigh, I raise my palms to show him my unmarked status.

“A guardian and a reptiscilla,” he says. “Interesting combination.”

“Yes.” Jamon ignores the harpoon and leans forward. “Did your daughters pass on my message?”

“They did. Sounds like you’re looking to pick a fight with the biggest bully in the forest, and you need friends to help you do it.”

“We’re not the ones looking for a fight. Draven’s going to come after us one day, and we’ll have to fight back. It’ll be better for everyone if we stick together and don’t fight alone.”

The merman nods slowly, his gaze sweeping the room behind us. “We have an agreement with the sirens. If Draven comes after us, they’ll come to our aid, and vice versa.”

“That’s great. We’ve spoken to the elf and pixie populations that survived The Destruction, and they’ve agreed to fight with us. We were hoping—” Jamon lowers his voice further “—that if we gather enough fae willing to fight, then we won’t have to wait for Draven to come after us. If we make the first move, maybe we can bring him down. Would merpeople and sirens be willing to join us?”

“I certainly hope so. I’m nowhere near in charge, though, but I can put you in contact with—”

“I said, GET OUT.” The booming voice of the giant who blocked our way through the door echoes across the room. I swivel in my chair—and see them at the same moment Jamon grabs my wrist and pulls me onto the floor behind the nearest couch.

“Guardians,” he whispers. “Marked guardians.”

I nod. I saw the wrist and palm of the guy who was leaning casually in the doorway. I hold my breath, wondering how many friends he has with him and hoping they won’t be interested enough in a dying bar to spend any time here. The dull thump of a heavy body hitting the floor kills that hope like a fist squashing a sprite. I peek around the edge of the couch and see the passed-out form of the giant.

Crap.