This chapter is where things start to get more into my style. I.E.: Bloodier, more depressing. Rated M for a reason. This is your last chance for escape. Thanks for reviews/alerts, everyone!
Christophe dips the brush into the bucket of paint. He hesitates for a second, eyeing the globs of black as they drip down from the brush's hairs. Then he shrugs and brings it up to swipe the paint across my face.
"Hey!" I whisper. I don't know why I'm whispering. "Be more careful!"
"You're not supposed to be pretty," he sneers down at me.
Gregory decided last night when we were discussing our plans that not only did our bare faces reveal our identities, they were also boring. So now Christophe paints three stripes of paint across my face; over my forehead, my nose, and finally, my lips. When I look into the mirror I look like a crazy moron. Perfect.
Bebe is giggling from across the room as Gregory paints her. "Hey!" she squeals. "That tickles!" He grabs her chin to force her to stay still.
My hands tremble as I paint Christophe's face. This is stupid. This is so fucking stupid of me. What if Lila - No, she won't know it's me, you can't recognize me with my face like this . . . but she said she recognized me by the way I ran-
Christophe's hand on my shoulder makes me look down.
"Eet will be okay," he promises, staring at me until I look back at him and meet his gaze. I bob my head in confirmation, and finish painting his face.
We all dress in black to blend in with the night. Bebe calls the bathroom to dress, and when she reemerges she has her cell phone out and she's grinning to herself.
"Good text?" I ask her.
She snaps the phone shut after replying, and looks up at me. Her eyes are shining in the moonlight. "Yeah," she says, and her smile stretches wide. "Red. She says she can't sleep because she keeps thinking about me, can't wait to see me tomorrow night for our second date . . . aawwww!"
I pat her on the shoulder. "Second date, huh? Might as well bring a u-haul-" She shoves me and I stumble back, grinning. This is going to be okay. This is all going to be okay and great and Lila will never know about my involvement.
We slip our weapons on. This time, Christophe gives me a baseball bat along with the gun. He says it will be more efficient for 'breaking sheet, eef necessary'. I do not doubt the truthfulness of his words, as he doubtless has more experience with breaking shit than me.
Gregory owns several cars, including a sleek Volvo, a Toyota pickup truck, and a Humvee with tinted windows Christophe fondly calls their 'genocide car'. When Christophe tells me how many extra missions Gregory took on to be able to afford them all, I snort. Bebe and I drop our backpacks to the floor of the Humvee as we slide into the backseat. A sloshing sound emits from mine, as it's full of water bottles and a bucket of black paint. Bebe strokes her gun lovingly as Gregory drives, which makes me edge away from her a bit.
Christophe fiddles with the radio station. He settles on the classical channel, which makes Bebe and me gag until he tells us to 'shut ze fuck up'.
As we turn down the alley on Fifth and Grant, Gregory slows the car down to a crawl and looks back to face us.
"I've done several tests," Gregory says. "To pass through the Portal, we must all be simultaneously aware of existence and . . . not necessarily expect to be taken somewhere else, but expect something to happen."
Bebe and I glance at each other and nod.
Gregory pushes the pedal a little bit and we inch forward. The shimmery light grows closer. I concentrate it.
"Are you even sure a car can go through-" Bebe starts, then is cut off when the world around us shifts and sighs and fades into the scrub brush countryside. At least this time I don't end up face-first in prickers.
The music cuts off, blurring into static. The Humvee growls as it maneuvers over the terrain. Even behind the wheel of a monster car with his face painted with black, wearing burglar's clothes and a gun in his lap, Gregory looks like he'd be perfectly at home at a meeting with the governor. That's just the kind of creep he is.
Christophe turns the radio off. We drive in relative silence, the quiet broken only by the growling of the engine.
After a few minutes, the silence starts to choke me. I open my mouth to say something, anything, but Christophe beats me to it. He pokes his head over his seat and inquires to Bebe as to how things are going with Red.
She stares at him. "Haven't you been paying attention to me at all tonight? They're great, Chris."
He sighs. "I am just sick of four teenagers sitting in car togezzer and no one ees shouting at anyone. Eet feels like we 'ave to get into at least one argument or our 'adolescent' card will be revoked."
"Mole," Gregory says, "just because you're so immature doesn't mean everyone else here is, too."
And Christophe gets his wish because they immediately start arguing. I sit back and rest my head against the seat. My stomach is cramping up. This is a bad idea. This is a really, really bad idea. It's become almost a lifeline to me, as if repeating it over and over again will make it less true.
We don't take the familiar path into the city. Instead, Gregory goes through the scrub brush, over some hills, and into the countryside until the earth below us is sand and the bushes look so dehydrated my mouth grows dry just by staring. A familiar cluster of rocks loom up ahead. I start to fidget.
We stop about a mile away. "There are fae positioned in the hills," Gregory warns us as he opens the door. "When we get closer we will have to be very, very quiet. I can sneak us in and out without causing too much trouble, but you must not make a sound and you must stick to the shadows. Understand?"
We all nod. Bebe says, "Why can't Chris just dig us in?"
Christophe shakes his head. "I cannot dig for zat far. Eet would kill all of you to be in a tunnel zat long . . . alzough eef we need an escape route zat ees always an option. Come on, beetches, ze nights 'ere are long but not zat long. Follow ze pretty British faggot."
Gregory rolls his eyes, slings his backpack over his shoulder, and adjusts the rapier in its sheath at his belt. He keeps his gun in his right hand even as he walks. It feels kind of wrong to just leave the Humvee here sitting out in the open, but I shrug and follow him.
Christophe lights a cigarette and offers me another. The little embers on the end glow orange against the backdrop of night. I smoke when I'm nervous, to calm myself down. Tonight definitely qualifies.
"The first set of guards are up ahead," Gregory says nonchalantly. He gestures with his gun to a set of rocks on a nearby hill. Everything is quiet and dark, and it takes a few seconds for me to figure out how he knows; light reflects off something on the hill, like a mirror, or water . . . or wings. "We'll have to crawl. Please don't make a sound."
Bebe tucks her poofy blond hair under her hood. We all get on our hands and knees and duck into the bare scrub brush. Christophe mutters in French when prickers jab into his palm. I'm numb and terrified. What if I get caught? What if they turn me into Lila? What if she kills my whole family as punishment? What if, what if, what if?
"The second set of guards are up there," Gregory mutters, jerking his head to indicate. He has his gun tucked into the waistband of his black dress pants. With the paint running over his nose and his hair slicked back, he looks demonic and regal all it once. Some part of him reminds me of Lila. I shut that thought out of my mind.
We crawl quietly past the second outcropping of rocks. The cave is less than a hundred feet away. The ground up ahead of us is barren, nothing more than sand.
"All right," Christophe mutters. "I can dig us up to ze cave from 'ere. But I 'ate digging zrough sand."
He hides behind a particularly large clump of scrub brush and slings his shovel off his back. I wince when it bites into the ground. But there are no guards running our way, no yelling, no shouting, just the sigh of the wind. I force myself to inhale and exhale.
Within thirty seconds Christophe has disappeared into the ground. Gregory follows him, then Bebe, then me. The sand collapses into the tunnel and I need to shift it out of my way in order to crawl downwards. As I get deeper, the sides become studier and the ground turns into dirt. Bebe pants up ahead of me. I catch sight of the bottom of her sneakers and the butt her gun. I also get a pretty good glimpse of her ass, which makes the journey more tolerable. I wonder how the hell Gregory managed to sneak all those supplies in to the rebel humans. With his Gregory!powers, probably.
We burst out of the tunnel after almost twenty minutes of crawling. I want to gasp for breath dramatically again, but Christophe's warning glare shuts me up.
We're right outside the cave, hidden from view of the fae by several huge boulders. I shake dirt and sand out of my hair. Bebe spits out a wad of something.
"Never again," she mutters.
"Actually," Christophe says, "we'll 'ave to go zrough eet again to get out." He jumps into the hole to the cave below our feet. I watch him disappear into the darkness, hidden from the moon. Gregory and Bebe follow. I touch my face to make sure the paint still obscures my features, pull my hood up to cover my hair and pierced ears, then clench my baseball bat tightly, just in case. Then I jump after them.
After Gregory whispers, "I'm here!" several times, someone finally turns on a flashlight. Half a dozen groggy humans are awake and fully dressed in black clothing, like they've been waiting for us, like Gregory has supplied them just for this mission. The others all sleep in the corner of the cave. The little fae kid is still tied up. He's awake and blindfolded, but he jerks his head in the direction of the sound. Bebe stares at him.
All of the humans are in their teens and twenties, fit and pissed-off looking. I recognize the man who tried to save my life yesterday, and Jenna. I hide in the shadows, even with the face paint.
"Good evening," Gregory says. "Are you all ready for your mission?"
Jenna translates his statement to the rest of them. They nod.
"These are my comrades. Since this is a mission, you will call us by our nicknames; the Mole, the Sniper, and the Singer. You already know me as the Englishman." Apparently, Christophe insisted on choosing Gregory's nickname. "We will now paint your faces and hand out supplies."
Last night Gregory explained to us that the point of this mission is not only to make a statement to the fae, but make a statement to the rebel humans. We need to show them who is in control; we need to show them who they can become.
I pull out the bucket of paint and grab a brush. Because I have amazing luck, it's Jenna who sits in front of me, waiting to be painted. We sit back in the shadows and I tip my face down.
"The Singer, huh?" she says in broken English. "What do you do?"
I shrug and dip my brush into the paint. "Sing. Hit stuff with baseball bats." I pitch my voice slightly lower.
She doesn't seem to recognize me; she keeps her eyes closed as I paint.
"Those are great offensive abilities."
"Oh yeah? What about yours?" I swirl the paint around her face.
She smiles, eyes still squeezed shut. "I killed a fae with my teeth. I think I am capable."
Okaaaay, then. I study her for a little before applying the next stripe, over the bridge of her nose.
"Aren't you a little young to be helping us out with this mission?"
"Aren't I a little old to be sold to the kitchens for food?"
Ah. "Is that why you escaped?"
"I escaped because I hate them," she says, opening her eyes and staring at me. I see a glimmer of recognition, and then she brushes it off with a shake of her head. "There's no other reason."
I decorate her with the last stripe of paint and stand up. Gregory is already passing out stencils. I stuff it under my shirt, and she copies me.
He tells the six rebels about the tunnel, he tells them to be quiet, and he says this with an extra glare. They shut up. Bebe and I are used to Gregory by now. Following Christophe's example, we smirk. The rest of the rebels are still asleep or pretending to sleep. I shoot one last look at the fae child before I climb out of the cave.
Bebe moans before ducking into Christophe's hole. Jenna dives in after her. The human rebels follow after her warily. I tighten my hold on my baseball and crawl.
The dig under the wall and into the town is simple enough; either they haven't figured out Christophe can dig underneath their enchantments (hence the shovel), or they have yet to lower said enchantments to a depth necessary to stop us. We're all filthy and grimy by the time we jump out of the second tunnel. There's definitely no way any of them will recognize me now. I sneeze up dirt as Gregory divides the ten of us into five times. He puts me with Jenna again, because there is a fucking sadistic god up there who thinks it's hilarious.
"Return in an hour or less," Gregory says, tapping his watching. Jenna translates, and then we're off.
There are several fae soldiers patrolling the city, no doubt on the lookout for Christophe and his shovel. Jenna and I don't need to speak; we hide in alleys, behind stones, even in a pile of filthy cloth discarded by the side of the road.
We find one of the larger houses near the walls. Decorating the wall itself will be Christophe's job, since he is the best at escaping should the need arise. My backpack contains half-a-dozen cans of spray paint. I toss one to Jenna, pull out my own, and push my stencil against the fabric. Jenna copies me at the house across the street. I squeeze red paint onto the stencil until a thick smattering of color coats the wall and I'm getting high off paint fumes.
I admire my work. The stencil is a bunch of grafiti-fied Lyah letters, which look enough like Arabic to piss me off with their familiarity. Jenna reads and writes in the language, although she refused to tell us how. The stenciled letters translate into a looped-together: "FREEDOM NEVER DIES."
It's cheesy and kind of stupid, but it makes me shiver. Because I die. I die all the time. So what does that make me?
The symbol for "human" is woven into the 'freedom never dies.' I can't read the words but Gregory told us what it meant before he sent us out on this mission. I rotate to the house next door. Within ten minutes, we've covered the entire block of tent-houses. Then I spray the symbol onto the street in huge, red letters for all to see.
We cover six blocks this way. My arms and legs shake with fear and adrenaline. The few humans passing at this time of night just smile at us. They must not have some form of 'INTRUDER ALERT!' coded into their brainwashing. Whenever we see a fae, we hide in backyards. Some houses have grass the same color as the red grass, the 'Yalyrow', except shorter and sans purple fruits. They make for good hiding places.
We begin to head back to the meeting spot. The twin suns have just started to peer over the horizon; the pink streaks throw patterns onto our faces.
"So what's it like?" she asks me as we walk.
"Huh? What?" I remember to pitch my voice low.
"Living in the human world. The normal world. The fae here call it the 'savage world.' What's it like?"
"Seriously?" I blink at her. "I don't even know. It's . . . uh . . . exhausting."
She jerks her head up and down, her teeth gritted. I realize how shallow I must seem to her. The average teen has never been enslaved; has access to education; no one's ever tried to eat any of them. If I could explain everything to her maybe she would sympathize with me. And then I find myself wondering why I care.
"Wouldn't trade it for anything," I offer at last. "Heaven is boring in comparison."
She blinks and grins, the first time I've seen her smile. "I have no idea what that is."
I don't sleep at all when we get back to our human world. The rebellious slaves are safely back in their cave. Christophe is skipping school today to hang out with them and discuss possibly digging a safe tunnel out of there. The main reason they have not attempted to escape is the presence of the injured and children, who can't run under fire.
At school the next day I try for my best zombie impersonation. I'm eating lunch with the guys. 'Eating lunch' meaning chewing on the rubbery cheeseburger that the kids in the Free and Reduced Lunch program get to eat, while dodging Kyle and Cartman, who keep arguing over Hanukkah versus Christmas. They keep throwing tater tots at each other. I pick them up off the ground and eat them; it's better than the toxic cheeseburger.
Stan sighs as he watches his best friend engage in another death fight with Cartman. "S'up, dude?" he asks me.
I blink. He rarely talks to me. I rarely talk to any of them, actually. I listen to their conversations and insert a sex joke when appropriate (always) but my hood kind of hinders my conversation skills. I wait a few seconds to see if he's kidding. Then he rolls his eyes at Kyle and I see he's just bored out of his mind.
I pull off my hood. "Nothing much." Other than being enslaved by a fairy from an alternate world, dying from a gunshot wound between the eyes, participating in the beginnings of a revolution - It's all fun and games in South Park.
He sighs. "You've been hanging out with Bebe a lot lately."
I shrug.
"Are you two . . . ?"
I wrinkle my nose. I imagine sex with Bebe would be a lot like sex with a doll. If she didn't kick me in the nuts at just the suggestion.
"No way, dude. Just friends." I consider telling him that we're best friends, that we've been best friends for a while, ever since the two of us worked on that Gym project together back in eighth grade and had to save the world from cross-dressing ninjas.
"Kay," he says, and blinks in a very Stan-like-way. Kyle has Cartman pinned to the ground on the other side of the table. "So, uh, you busy after school?"
It's my turn to blink, although I guess I do it in a Kenny way.
"What?"
"Kyle and Cartman and I were going to go shoot hoops or hit on cute girls down by the arcade. In Cartman's case, get slapped by cute girls who don't appreciate his sense of humor. Wanna join?"
I blink again from lack of a better response.
I was always the odd one out as a kid. As the years progressed and I kept dying, they started to know me as the 'unreliable kid', since all they could remember of my deaths were me vanishing whenever they were in trouble, even if I'd died to save their lives. So that's what I became. Unreliable. Good to eat lunch with, but not someone to call if you needed a friend to talk to. Even when I started to die less, they kept the same approach to me. I branched out. Made new friends. Friend, really. Christophe was the by-product of being friends with Bebe, since he's adored her since he moved here in the third grade.
We keep to our tables under pretenses. I hang with the guys because I don't want to be alone. Bebe sits with a group of girls (Wendy, Heidi, Millie, and sometimes Red's group of girls) but she's not super-close with any of them. Christophe usually hangs out at the back behind the school, close enough to the Goth kids to be associated with them while he smokes.
I glance at Bebe's table and see that Red's group has joined her group today. She and Red sit next to each other, arms brushing. Bebe is currently in the middle of attacking Red with French fries, which I'm sure makes sense in context. I turn back to Stan and see there's some desperate side to him, like he wants something. Like maybe he wants to be real friends again.
No one can remember when I die. But on some subconscious level, they register it.
Stan has seen me die a thousand times. Maybe some part of him is screaming to grab onto me before he looses me again.
I shrug. "Like old times?"
Stan grins. "Like old times. But make sure to get some sleep tonight, too, though. You look like a fucking zombie."
"Didn't you hear? It's the new thing."
Kyle rejoins us, his hat askew on his head. "Hanukkah is better," he announces before sitting across from Stan and attacking his kosher hot dog. Cartman sits next to Kyle, scowling and digging into his cheesy poofs. I slip my hood up over my face.
"Kenny's coming with us," Stan says. "This afternoon."
"'Bout time, you poor piece of crap," Cartman mumbles into his food.
"Mmmppphhh!"
"Hey, it's true! You can't even pay for arcade games."
Kyle rolls his eyes and turns to Stan. "I heard Wendy's going there tonight with her girls," he says. "Bebe and Heidi were talking about it in Lit."
Stan nods, eyebrows narrowed. I recognize that look. It's the "I'll-flirt-with-girls-in-front-of-my-ex-girlfriend-to-make-her-mad" look. Oh, us males. So deep in our motives. I grin under my hood. I'll get to hang out with Bebe tonight, too. Bonus.
I feel a hand on my shoulder, and tip my head back to get a look. Gregory stands over me, one hand running through his hair. Stan wears an expression of abject hatred. What the hell did I miss between the two of them?
"What are you doing here?" Stan snaps. "Come to steal my friend, too? My girl wasn't enough for you?"
Gregory smirks. "Wendy doesn't belong to anyone, Marsh."
Stan jerks to his feet and Kyle grabs him. It's everything I can do not to burst out laughing. When did that happen? And when did Stan turn eight years old again?
I shrug my hood off again. "You and Wendy? I thought you and Chris were fucking behind our backs."
Gregory stares at me for a second. Then he says, "I'm going to ask you never to repeat that comment."
I snicker and stand up to follow him. "Be right back," I tell the guys.
As we pass by Wendy's table, he blows her a kiss. Oh god, this is legit. She even flushes and pretends to catch his kiss. Maybe she's just his beard. Him and Christophe must still be in denial over their feelings for each other.
We end up behind the school gym. The Goth kids are a few dozen feet away, smoking pot and reading out of a book of Poe's poetry. Gregory whispers as he talks to me.
"I have another mission coming up."
My stomach turns over.
On one side, I haven't yet suffered repercussions for the last one . . . which might mean Lila doesn't know.
On the other side, Lila seems to know everything. Either that or she'll find it out eventually.
I squirm a little bit. "Uh . . . what is it?"
He eyes me. I force myself to stand still.
"I've been gathering intel by sending some of the rebel humans into the city," he says. "Christophe has already reported back to me. They are distraught over the appearance of hundreds of symbols in various parts of the city. They have these things called 'tablets' which transmit information. Everyone is talking about it. I had a rebel listen to the slaves, and so far they aren't talking about it, but she did report them being more afraid than usual."
"Okay . . . ?" He just continues to stare at me. "Want me to go get Bebe so she can hear this too . . . ?"
He shakes his head. "I'll give her the details, but she won't be necessary for this next mission."
"Which is what? Come on, spill, dude."
"There is going to be a meeting within the city in about two and a half weeks," he says, "being attended by the top magicians in the country. These are the fae who write the spells and shape society. Most of them are very reclusive, being ancient beyond our imagination, and they only have gatherings like this maybe once or twice a year. It's only because this particular fae city is the largest in the country that we even have this opportunity at all."
"Your point?"
"I need someone to write a spell to remove the brainwashing from a human's mind, or at least lessen its affects," he says. "I'll ask one of them."
I stare at him. These are no doubt the magicians Lila told me about, the crazy-skilled ones who developed the spell she imbedded within me. "Are you insane? You're just a human to them! We're all just humans to them! I don't know if you've noticed, but they freaking eat us!"
"It's a risk we've got to take," he says. "And you might think differently once you've heard the layout of my plan."
I rub my eyes and wonder if there's any way of convincing him this is fucking stupid. Not likely. "Why just tell me?"
"My plan only allows for one person to come with me," he says, "due to restrictions based on resources."
"Okay. Why me? I can't shoot and I can't dig shit. I'm 'The Singer', remember?"
He smiles, just a little. "When I first suggested my plan to you, your first reaction was to tell me it was dangerous and stupid. Christophe would have bitched about it later, but his first response would be more along the lines of 'oh, sounds like an interesting challenge!" The way he imitates Christophe's accent makes me shiver. He could probably use that ability for evil. "While I do not know Bebe particularly well, I believe she would look for any opportunity to fight against the . . . 'motherfuckers', as she called them last night when she saw some of the slaves. She is too ruled by her anger when it comes to situation like this." He grins for real now. "I suppose she gets some of that from being friends with Wendy."
I make a gagging noise. "You do realize Stan's going to figure out a way to kill you later, right?"
"If I think the threat gets too serious, I'll send Chris after him."
"I don't think Chris would mind Stan and Wendy hooking up again, if it would leave you open."
It takes him a second to get it, but when he does, his expression is priceless.
"Moving on," he says. "I have other contacts, but as I said before, I am trying to keep the knowledge of this place as need-to-know as possible. And you, Kenny, are definitely one of the more reasonable people I know. Also, you appear to be a good actor. And good at keeping your mouth shut. All very important skills for this next mission."
". . . thanks?"
"And, not to be insulting," he says, "but have you noticed how all the humans in the fae world dress? They have shaved heads just like you, and most have an earring or two. Maybe you could take a few of yours out?"
I shake my head, my mouth dry. "No, I just got 'em pierced. They'll heal up if I do."
For a second, there's a flicker of suspicion in his eyes. Then it's gone and he continues talking.
"You really are the best person suited for this mission."
"Okay," I say. "I get why me. You're the brains behind this and all. So what do we have to do?"
"I'll fill you in on the details when I have everything solidified," he says, "but we'll be pretending to be human slaves in order to sneak in. I hope you don't find the idea too traumatizing."
I'll fit right in, some part of me snarks. I shut it down with a shrug. "Naw, I'm cool with that."
The tardy bell rings. Two minutes until class. I sprint back to the cafeteria table to pick up my backpack. Kyle and Stan are still there, since they both have the period right after lunch as their off period. They're playing thumb wars. They must be really bored or really gay.
I snatch up my backpack and begin to head in the direction for Choir. Then the stone on the chord around my neck heats up.
My blood frosts in my veins. The blood roars in my ears.
I know what I have to do.
I turn and start walking in the direction of the school gates.
"Hey!" Kyle yells. "Your class is the other way. Ken!"
I turn back and look at them.
I don't know if there's something in my expression that gives me away, or maybe they just know me too well. Both of them slump a little bit when I look back, the atmosphere dragging down a notch.
"You're not going to hang after school, are you?" Stan asks, quietly enough that I have to strain to hear him from just a few feet away.
I shake my head. "Sorry, dude," I manage. "I got shit to do."
"That's nice," he says. He and Kyle go back to playing thumb wars.
It's a long walk to the fae city.
The symbols are still up around the city, even as human slaves diligently scrub them off. It's now easy for me to tell the brainwashed first- and second- generation fae from the more immune ones; the brainwashed sit still and smile. The immune humans, as scarce as they are, fidget and whisper to each other. I catch "human rebellion" past every conversation I walk past. It makes me grin.
Fae are shooting me glares, as if they know. I adopt the idiot brainwashed grin, and soon they start to ignore me with the same disgusted indifference most fae have for humans.
I manage to find my way to Lila's mansion with relative peace. Jea greets me at the door and drags me into the house before I can even find my footing.
"You fucking moron!" he snarls. "Have you any damn clue what you've done?"
Before I can respond, he drags me through the various doors of the house. I end up in closet-sized room with Jea yanking clothes out of a box.
"Whatever you do, don't say anything," he hisses. He shoves the clothes into my arms. "Don't say anything, don't even make a bored expression. Do whatever she says. Get dressed. Now."
I strip out of my clothes and pull the new ones on, ignoring my need for modesty. The float fabric is loose and the shirt puffs up with every movement. The dark gray colors contrast with my ultra-pale skin. My heart beats way too fast. I would like to be able to say I'm not scared.
"Is she mad?" I breathe out. "Does she know?"
He snorts, still glowering. "It's Mistress Lila. Anger is the least of your concerns. Come on!"
He leads me up to another door. I peer through the strands of fabric. A dozen fae are sitting in a giant circle on the blankets on the floor. Plates lay in front of them. They drink out of bowls, and I suspect the watery substance Lila identified as super-alcoholic. They're talking to each other, murmuring so quietly I have to strain to make out snippets of phrases. Most of them are female. A human slave pushes past me and Jea, carrying a tray full of steaming, grainy food. She places it down in the center of the fae and leaves.
"Go in there," Jea hisses. "Up to her. Don't say anything!"
He pushes me. I stumble into the room. They all stop talking. Oh, god, they're all looking at me. I freeze into place, deer-in-the-headlights, natch.
Then Lila extends her arm and indicates with a flick of her finger. I creep over to her. She pats the cushion next to her. She's smiling that smile that always makes my insides twist. I sit next to her and she pulls an arm around me.
The other fae twitter. "Frrerr Lilanya," one of them says, "I didn't realize you kept pets. I thought you said they were disgusting little beasts."
"They are. This one's special." She pets my hair. "And so very interesting."
The way her grip tightens around me, I can tell she knows about my involvement in the symbols all over the city. And she's pissed.
"I've told you for a while, they can be quite entertaining." Another fae drinks from her bowl. "He doesn't appear to be brainwashed, though. The later generations are riskier to keep."
I thought they used pretty words like 'hypnotize' among the civilians. I glance up at Lila. She keeps looking at the other fae and offers me no guidance.
"He's not," she says. "He's fresh from the human world, but I decided not to hypnotize him. He stays with me of his own free will, don't you, Kenny-dearest?"
I stare at the other fae, then up at her. Then I nod and curl up next to Lila so I don't have to look at the others. They seem to find this funny, because they all laugh.
I feel like I'm on fire.
I'm not her fucking pet.
I hate her. I would rip her apart if I could.
She is a few degrees colder than the average human. I burn away as the fae keep talking.
"I can't believe what these rebellious humans have been up to," another female says. "In the old days they never used to have so much spark. It's all because of the new laws we can't just bring as many over any more."
"The ones who've been here for four, five generations should be put down before they get too rebellious," a male adds. "It's simply dangerous to our society to have so many older slaves here."
"What about you, Ala?" Lila asks. "You've been rather quiet all evening. What do you think?"
It takes me a second to remember that Lila said her main competitor was named Ala. I realize that this is more than just a meeting amongst friends.
"I think we should talk to the Aliesh," a deep male voice murmurs. "He said he'd pen some legislature to propose at the next Congregation, did he not? Make sure he is still working on that. Lilanya, you are the closest to him, am I correct?"
"You are correct," she says. She sounds amused. "I cannot believe how long it took to worm into his good graces. Even after he approached me saying he wanted to start up a pet trading business for some extra, off-the-books income, he was suspicious I was going to blow him to bits for weeks! As if I would do that to allies!"
"Frrerr Lilanya, you do that to allies all the time," another fae says, giggling.
"Hmmph," she says. "Well, he would deserve it. Sniveling piece of human waste . . . remind me why we decided to join forces with him, again?"
"The Congregational, Frrerr, the Congregation," the second female fae says gently. I move my face out of Lila's side so I can start matching voices to expressions. There are only two males sitting around the blanket, and I can tell who Ala is with just a glance. He's huge. I can tell he must be well over seven feet even when he's sitting down. His head is shaved bald and his brow is deep and dark enough to intimidate me. His expression remains flat, even as the conversation progresses, back to the discussion of what to do with the rebel humans.
" . . . all we have to do," a fae is saying, "is convince the Aliesh that he only really needs one son. Then we can just blow them all up . . . "
"He's the sentimental type," Ala says. "I do not believe that would be well-received. But the humans must be captured, before they set an inspiring example to others. They must be captured, and starved and whipped for days, then paraded through the city naked and wounded. I do believe that would be fitting."
The other fae start to agree.
"Hold on," Lila says. "If we do that, we won't be able to resell them."
"We're not going to be able to resell them anyways," Ala says. "They've gotten their tiny little heads full of naive ideas, and no amount of beatings will bash it out of them."
"My magician, Lirat, is a gifted hypnotist-"
"Most of them are fourth or fifth generation slaves. That would break their minds. They would only be able to perform simple tasks; maybe, if they're lucky, they can harvest the Yalyrow."
"Well," she says, "if they're broken all the way, then maybe we can use their staring, mind-fucked bodies as examples, can't we?"
The rest of the fae are silent and staring. Ala and Lila sit across from each other, each smiling in their own joyless way.
"What say the winner gets to decide what to do with them," Ala says. "You be the one to capture them, you break them as you will. If I-"
She snorts. "Break them in a completely different way; it doesn't matter. But yes, winner does as they will. I know many of you have a claim on a slave or two in the human rebel group, but you don't mind if Ala and I use them for our little bet, do you?" She turns to the rest of the fae. They shake their heads, all together.
"Be careful, Lilanya," he says. "I have a few tricks up my sleeves. You might not win this one."
She's smiling for real now. "Let's see how it goes."
The conversation turns to other things; to gossip, to stories of mischief, to politics. At one point a slave human brings out more food. I don't make out much of the political talk, other than the fact that some sort of 'Congregation' rules their country and there are nine members, each the 'Aliesh' of a town. Then there is the Queen, who is mostly a puppet with extremely little control. After that my attention level goes down and I start running through things I can say to Lila.
I'm sorry? Yeah, sure, she'll go for that. How about, 'it wasn't me?' I'm sure she'd believe that, except she's probably already linked Christophe's association with the human rebels, and from there to me. I might be able to hold onto that lie for a while, since there's no real proof.
I stay curled up under her arm for most of the night. The sky is black outside when the last of the guests start to leave. I remain huddled on the blanket while Lila bids them goodbye at the door.
She lets the curtain of cloth fall loose. Then she turns back to me. She's still smiling. I don't think that's a good thing.
"I have a task for you," she says.
I stand up as fast as I can. "Uh . . . yeah?"
"Follow Ala," she says. "Don't get caught. Follow him as far as you can; see what he's up to. He might be jesting with these 'tricks up his sleeve', but he's surprised me far too often in the past with a hidden ace or two. Will he remember if you die?"
I shake my head. "But he'll probably remember me being there. If I die within a couple minutes of him seeing me, then he probably won't remember."
"Hmmpph. Well, if you're found out, make sure to die as quickly as possible."
Sure, Lila, whatever. But right now I'll do anything to please her. I nod and wait for further instructions. She doesn't say anything, just stands there, tapping her toes. She looks at me and I can tell she knows.
Why isn't she pissed off? She said she would punish me if I touched her property. Maybe she's giving me a chance to remedy it by helping her in her game with Ala. But why isn't she fucking saying anything?
I wait another second and still don't get a response, so I run out the door and into the night.
He still isn't doing anything interesting.
Ala stops at one of the few stores open this late at night, picks up something wrapped in cloth, and continues on his way. I follow a few hundred feet back, hiding in the shadows whenever he slows. He doesn't have advisors with him like Lila, but his arms glow blue, piercing through the darkness, dozens of symbols throwing off light. Only a complete idiot would attack him.
I yawn and rub my eyes. If Lila isn't going to punish me somehow for disobeying her, then I really just want to go to sleep. Though with my luck, she'll probably want me to translate some more brainwashing. I disturb myself with how nonchalant I've become concerning the whole process after just a week.
Ala approaches a smaller house on one of the poorer parts of town. Strange. I would have thought he'd live in a mansion, too. I sneak up closer. He opens the door and a tiny form hurdles out and grabs him around the waist.
The two of them disappear into the house, but I sneak up around the back and press my head against the walls. By listening to snippets of their conversation, I figure out that the tiny form is his daughter, who seems to be about three or four, and she lives in this hut with her nursemaid. After about half an hour of chatting, I hear Ala bid her goodnight.
"No! Papa! Can't you stay the night?"
"Sorry, baby-girl." I hear a smack! as he plants a kiss on her forehead. "Things are stirring up at my work. There might be people angry at me. I won't be able to say the night for a while."
She complains but all her begging doesn't stop him. A few minutes later, he exists the house. I slink in the house.
We continue on for a few blocks more. Then all of a sudden, he turns and stretches out his hand. The blue light flares up. Something grabs me around the waist and yanks me for him. I yelp and try to fight but the invisible force keeps on dragging me until I'm struggling at his feet. Shit.
"I suspected you were more than just a pretty face," he says. "Tell me. What does the Frrerr want to know?"
Since I barely know, I just glower up at him. I probably have barest minutes to get myself killed.
"Normally, I would let you live with maybe a few bruises," he says, "but you've seen my daughter, and that is unexcusable." He shrugs. "Oh, well. Any last words?"
I keep on glaring.
"Fine, then. Suit yourself. Hope she doesn't mind getting you back kind of . . . handicapped."
He reaches down and presses his thumb to my forehead. His finger glows and everything blackens.
I wake up in Hell, as usual. It takes a few minutes of wandering around until I find myself outside Satan's doorstep. A couple knocks grants me entrance. Satan announces Damien's location - his bedroom- and goes back to stirring up cookie batter.
I open the door to Damien's room expecting to find me torturing kittens. Instead, he is sitting on his bed, watching some sort of video on the floaty screen in front of him. He looks up at me when I enter, and he wears an expression I've never seen on him before. Eyebrows furrowed together, fingers twisting with the fabric of his blankets, jittery and fidgeting.
"Do you care about your family?" he asks.
I loosen my hood so I can stare him. "Uh . . . yeah . . .? Most people do . . . ?"
"Some don't," he said, "and I wouldn't want you to, you know, screw it up if it's better this way. The way it's meant to be."
"The way what's meant to be?"
Damien shakes his head. His faces is still all angles and shadows of frustion.
"You need to get back to the surface, " he says, "right now." He steps up to me and grabs my shoulder.
"No, Damien, what's going-"
And in the next second I'm on cement.
Smoke clogs my throat and stings my eyes. I stagger to my feet, coughing, blinking and trying to adjust to the gray smog. Heat flares out from a break in the smoke; orange and bright and real. There's screaming and shouting in the distance, the wailing of a siren, the rushing of water. Something's on fire.
I stagger in the direction of the sirens. The cracks in the sidewalk under my feet turn familiar. I'm near my house. I make out the shapes of firemen up ahead, pedestrians on the street outside a burning building.
My house is on fire.
The flames bite chunks of black from the sky. Wood curls and crumbles under the onslaught of heat. I hear Karen screaming, catch sight of her outside the house, behind the ring of firefighters. Police officers hold her back as she struggles for the house. Her eyes are huge and she keeps shrieking even as Kevin tries to comfort her. His shoulders are shaking, too, but he keeps his teeth gritted as he holds on to her. Another police officer has Kieran in her arms.
Some part of me knows already, but I keep walking for my siblings, my legs jelly, barely supporting me. People notice me and try to slow me with their 'we're so sorries', but I push on until I'm a few feet from Karen.
"What . . ." I begin, and I can't finish.
Karen whirls to face me. "These freaks!" she screams. "These freaky tall people with wings came and they knocked mom and dad unconscious and forced the three of us out and they're still in there, mom and dad are still in there, we have to save them, we have to fucking save them!"
Kieran grabs our sister and squeezes her tight.
"You should have been there!" She keeps screaming. "You're the one who liked to play superhero, huh? You should have been there! You should have fucking stopped them! You should . . . you should . . ."
I step up to her and try to hug her. She pushes me away and drops to her hands and knees, shaking, and trembling on the grimy sidewalk. Police officers and firemen swarm around us. The house is little more than char now.
No. That's all I know. No. And I know this is my fault. This is all my fault. Because none of this would have happened if I hadn't disobeyed Lila.
Kevin picks up Kieran and cradles him. "This can't be happening," he tells our little brother, his voice cracking. "But don't worry. It's okay, little guy, mommy and daddy are going to be okay." Kieran is crying along with him. I touch my own face and find something wet. I must have dust in my eyes.
Someone touches my back. I whirl. Christophe. He grabs me up in a hug before I can protest.
"Zank god you're safe," he hisses into my ear. "Come on, we 'ave to get all four of you out of 'ere. Ze fae 'ave been systematically attacking each of our families. I managed to defend my mozzer from the ze attack group sent after me, and Gregory and Bebe both got zeir families out of town before anyone could 'urt zem. Ze fae must 'ave discovered who we are. Come on. We must protect your siblings."
"Mom and dad-" My voice doesn't sound like my own. It's alien, raspy to my ears. "They. They. They. They're not safe. They're dead."
"Eet's okay," he assures me, although he knows damn well it's not. "Kenny! We 'ave to get out of 'ere! Come on!"
He releases me from his hold and moves up to Kevin. He speaks quietly to my older brother for a few seconds; whatever he says must work, because Kevin nods and gestures to Karen.
"We're going," Christophe says, leading my siblings over to me. "McCormick! Eet ees not safe 'ere! Zey could be watching to get you alone! 'Urry!"
I turn and sprint.
Christophe curses and yells and runs after me. He must know where I'm going, but I maneuver the streets faster than him and loose him in a minute. My breathing is choppy and hiccupy. I am sore and numb deep down in ways I can't comprehend. I am frozen.
I jump through the portal and sprint for the city. By the time I arrive outside the gates, I'm gasping and full-on sobbing. Everything's shaking. I can barely even make out Riel standing outside the doors, bowing his head to the guards. He grabs my wrists and leads me into the city. It's still night over here, late enough for the streets to be silent and my choked breathing to echo over the walls.
He doesn't try to shush me, just offers me a reassuring smile every few dozen feet. Somehow, we make it back to the mansion. He leads me through the various doors and into a room I can only assume to be Lila's study. It has a real door of wire instead of one the flimsy cotton strand ones. She sits on an enclave built into the wall of floating wire while she pokes at a tablet. There is a blanket laid out in the corner and a bowl full of the alcoholic water next to her, but otherwise, the room is bare.
Riel leaves me. I stand there, shivering. I can't work up anger yet. Can't focus on any emotion right now. It'll hurt too much.
She sets her tablet in her lap and looks up at me. "Report," she says.
"You k-k-killed them . . . " I begin to stammer out.
"I said report."
It takes me half a second to realize what she means. I force myself to pronounce each syllable.
"I d-d-didn't find anyth-thing about a-a-a s-s-secret w-weapon he m-m-might have, but I d-d-did see th-that he has a d-d-d-daughter you might not know about."
"Interesting," she says. "You're right, I didn't know he has a daughter. That will be useful. Continue."
I try to speak but nothing comes out. I sink until my knees hit the carpet.
"You had them killed," I manage to say this time.
"That I did," she agrees. "I do not tolerate disobedience, Kenny-dearest, as I had so hoped you'd learn by now."
"You killed them. You killed them. You fucking killed them!" And I'm on my feet again, stalking towards her, fists clenched. I don't know what I'm trying to accomplish, and I don't get anywhere, because her hand shoots out and she grabs me by the neck.
"I find your disobedience amusing." She climbs to her feet, still choking me. I struggle to breath but my vision dims.
She drops me to the floor and my legs give way. I end up sprawled, panting.
"But it's gone on long enough. Report, Kenny, dearest. Tell me what happened."
"I'll fucking kill you!" I scream, and I'm up again, fists raised, shrieking bloody murder.
I black out for a minute. When I come to, I'm hunched over with my back against the wall, blood pouring down my face and sticky in my eyes. My right shoulder has been popped out of its socket. I grit my teeth and roll it back into place. Whimpers escape me while it rotates. The agony lessens once it's positioned correctly, but it keeps on throbbing along with my heart. I wipe some of the blood from my eyes with my uninjured hand.
Lila crouches over me, her breath on my cheek, her knees spread over my legs. She relaxes back until she's sitting in my lap, entirely too close. She starts to play with my hair again. It's matted with drying blood.
"You're simply so adorable when you're injured," she murmurs. "You almost look dead. I quite like it."
I try to speak and nothing comes out.
Her fingers tighten in my hair, pulling my head towards her. Her lips brush my cheek, down over my jaw, sighing over my collarbone, towards the collar of my shirt.
"Let me go." My voice comes out scratchy and unrecognizable. "You killed them. You killed them. Please let me go."
I cry as she kisses my neck. With her left hand, she tears my shirt from my body. With her other, she slams my head back against the wall and covers up my lips with her own, smothering my sobs. I bite and when she pulls back her mouth drips pink-crimson blood. It just makes her smile wider.
I lurch and push. My attack must catch her by surprise, because she falls off me and I manage to get to my feet. First I stumble. Then I sprint.
I make it out the door, the scraps of my shirt falling from my torso. I'm in a hallway of sorts, cloth walls twisted with wire. Slaves smile as I stagger past them. I don't which way I'm going, how to get out of here. I hear Lila behind me, calling my name in a twisted singsong.
I find another door of twisted wire and burst into it. I'm in some sort of kitchen. Fires churn in open pits. Cooks shout orders and human slaves run around carrying trays full of food. Children wash plates in the corner. They stare at me when I enter. I glance back and Lila is after me. Not running; not racing. Just walking towards me.
My knees give way again and I end up on the floor. I'm still sobbing, everything shaking. Because they can't be dead. They can't.
Jea sits on a counter a few feet from me. It looks like he was in the middle of a conversation with a cook; now he's just frozen and watching.
I reach up. My hand latches onto the leg of his trousers. I cling to his ankle.
"Please," I say, and look up at him, and beg as best as I can with my bloody mouth and red-veined eyes. "Please help me."
He kicks me loose and pulls away, shivering. And I realize how pathetic I must look.
Lila grabs both my legs and drags me back. I scream and writhe but she hauls me over the hard-packed earth floor and out of the kitchen. And as soon as the door's shut, the kitchen sounds return to normal. We're out of sight; out of mind. They don't have to worry about me anymore.
I try to break free. She kicks me in the ribs twice, which effectively shuts me up for a few seconds. Then she forces me to my feet and drags me back through the halls, back for her study. When I keep on struggling and whimpering in that high-pitched, keening whine, she twists my injured arm.
I clamp down on my shriek of pain. She shoves open the door of her study and throws me onto the blanket on the floor. I curl up in the corner, as far away from her as I can get.
She shuts the door. For a second we just stare at each other.
I'm the first to speak.
"W-w-why don't you just use a sp-sp-spell or something to m-make me st-stop fighting?"
She sneers. "Where would the fun in that be?"
I begin to rise and she kicks me again.
"However," she says, "I will not tolerate any further attempt to fight me. Although I will never touch your free will. You simply wouldn't be as interesting without it."
I start to snarl at her, because I don't have anything left but primal responses and basic emotion and raw, raw wounds.
She grabs my chin and makes me look at her.
"You still have three siblings left, Kenny-dearest."
My throat tightens. I stare up at her for the longest seconds of my life. Then I close my eyes.
I wake up alone in a pile of the blankets. I'm wearing my jeans, even though I don't remember pulling them back on. I touch my face, then my arms, then reach around to feel my back. Bruises and scratches decorate my flesh.
I hide my head in my knees and cover myself with my arms. Light streams in from the tiny window in the corner.
I suppose back at home my brothers and sister must be panicking, convinced I'm dead. My friends are most likely scouring the fae world for my corpse. And right then, I don't care at all.
I hurt deep down in ways I never imagined.
"I was supposed to be the one who died," I whisper to no one. "It was just supposed to be me."
Lila steps through the door, bearing a cup of the watery substance. She sits down at her built-into-the-wall chair and sips it, ignoring me. She sits there, smug and satisfactory, and I remember every single inch of her. My breath speeds up.
'I will not tolerate any further attempt to fight me.'
"We already have the names of three humans," she says after a short while. I glance up at her. She's still focused on her drink. "We are scouring the human city you hail from in search of them. Now I want to know how you've been getting though the walls, and if there are any more humans associated with the rebellion in your world."
I reply without thinking, without considering the consequences. I tell her everything she wants to know without any more prompts. And when I'm done, I curl up even tighter and stare at the wall in front of me.
"Good for you," she says, and comes over and pats me on the head. I flinch. She smiles.
"From now on, I'd like you to call me 'Mistress.'"
