Brightly (Flicker #2) (61 page)

Though Filo had glanced through the file once before, unlike Jason, he’d left the blank spaces alone. Now he looked more carefully. The pages didn’t seem to be in any particular order. Many began or ended midsentence, like the related pages were either shuffled elsewhere in the file or missing entirely.

He skimmed notes on his training, including observations about his temperament and his magic. Some of the notes were written in Old Faerie, some in English, and some in a third language he couldn’t identify, though his gift of tongues unfurled the letters like flower petals and revealed their meanings.

On a page covered in writing, a single paragraph had been mercilessly scratched out, except for one small piece:
Ash Grove.
Stuck to the back of another page, he found a scrap of paper that looked like it had been torn from a larger sheet. A single phrase was written on the scrap, in Morgan’s hand:
more than we thought.

Finally, he found what he was looking for. The page was small and mostly blank, save for a handful of words scattered across it, random pieces of sentences. When he flipped through the file the first time, he’d been able to tell that this note would be different from the rest. He didn’t give himself the chance to change his mind.

Filo sucked in a breath and pressed his hand to the paper, releasing a soft pulse of energy. His magic sank into the page, and a moment later, the rest of the words appeared, like objects rising to the surface of water. He recognized Neman’s handwriting immediately. He’d learned to write by imitating the letters she wrote down for him.

We have chosen the boy.

My sister has her doubts, but she indulges me. She thinks I am careless in my selections, but she has not seen him as he will be. I have.

If we teach him well, he will grow into a wondrous creature—and we will teach him. We will hone him like a blade. He will be something to behold. He will be everything I have seen. I know that we chose well. She will see, too, before the end.

His true and full name is William Lucan Morning. I have given him a new name: Filo Shine. Tomorrow, he will learn it. As for the other, we

The note ended there. Filo turned the paper over, looking for the end of the sentence, but even when he released another pulse of magic, the other side remained stubbornly blank. The paper trembled in his hand as he set it on the table.

He wasn’t sure what he’d expected when he read his true name. A moment of clarity, maybe, or a feeling of rightness, of something settling into place. He’d thought something would change. He’d thought he would feel better, somehow, but all he felt was ill.

William Lucan Morning.

It was a perfectly ordinary name, but somehow, it seemed strange to him. He wanted to try the name out, but he was afraid to speak it aloud. Instead, he turned it over and over in his mind. Lucan. That piece seemed almost familiar, like he’d read it in a book somewhere a long time ago, but he might’ve been imagining that, seeing associations that didn’t exist.

A wave of nausea rolled over Filo, and he wished suddenly, fiercely, that he’d never looked. The harsh, black strokes of ink that made up his true name seemed to be glaring at him. He stood hurriedly and crossed the kitchen. Leaning over the sink, he gripped the edge of the counter and told himself, in no uncertain terms, that he wasn’t going to vomit.

When nobody knew his true name, he had been safe—at least, he’d been safer. That was the whole point of the name Neman had given him. Because it wasn’t real, it could never be used against him. No creature could compel him. Even Filo didn’t know his true name, so he could never give it to the wrong person.

Now the name rattled around inside him. William Lucan Morning. It was all sharp edges, a piece of glass that he’d swallowed. He was slipping again. He pinched his already-bruised arm, hard enough that he gasped, but the burst of pain didn’t slow the frenzied swirl of thoughts like it usually did.

Eventually, Filo gathered the pages back into the file folder. The writing he’d revealed had faded into invisibility. Apparently, the effect his magic had on the page was temporary. That was a small comfort as he stuffed the file back under his mattress.

Filo lay awake for a long time, mentally chanting the name William Lucan Morning until it didn’t sound real anymore.

When he fell asleep sometime around three in the morning, he dreamed of an empty house, and a garden in summer, and a faceless, black-haired woman calling him Will.

Nasser spent almost a full minute debating whether or not to answer the door. He could sense exactly who was standing in the hall outside the apartment, and the thought of seeing someone he knew—rather, being seen by someone he knew—knotted his insides.

The visitor rapped on the door again. If Nasser did nothing, the person outside would eventually go away. At the same time, it occurred to him that something important had probably prompted this visit, or they would’ve received a note instead.

He wished suddenly that Jason were home, then froze, angry at himself for even thinking that. Not so long ago, he had thrown himself into a wall of magical fire. Not so long ago, he had looked an angry bear in the eyes without flinching. Was he really too afraid to answer his own front door?

Steeling himself, Nasser yanked the door open and said, “How do you know where we live?”

Rodney didn’t miss a beat. “I know everything I need to,” he said coolly. “But, to satisfy your curiosity, Jason has invited me over before.”

“Ah.” Nasser hadn’t been aware of that. He would have a few questions for his brother later tonight. “What are you doing here?”

“Filo asked me to drop by. He said you’re being very stupid about something, though he was a little hazy on the details.”

“Did he?”

“Oh, yes,” Rodney said lightly. “We had a very interesting talk last week. He told me about that island, and Otherworld, and a few more things he’d probably skin me for repeating. It’s a terrible shame, by the way, what happened to your leg.”

As he said it, Rodney’s gaze dipped to Nasser’s right leg and lingered. The inquisitive glint in his eyes made Nasser feel exposed. He was painfully aware of what it looked like. After a moment, Nasser cleared his throat, and Rodney’s gaze snapped back up.

“The point is,” Rodney went on smoothly, as if there had been no interruption, “Filo insisted that I pay you a visit and offer some of my sterling advice.”

“I see.” Nasser made a mental note to have a very serious talk with Filo the next time he visited. “And… what would I owe you in exchange?”

Rodney wrinkled his nose. “Don’t be crass. Filo’s manners aren’t
that
terrible. We settled that between the two of us, so you’re not stuck with the bill.”

“Look, Rod, whatever Filo told you—”

“For what it’s worth,” Rodney said, “Filo made it abundantly clear that he and I would no longer be on speaking terms if I breathed a word of any this to anyone. And I can’t have that, obviously, so your secret’s safe with me.”

Nasser hesitated. Then he sighed and opened the door wider. “You might as well come in, since he’s already paid you.”

Beaming, Rodney followed Nasser into the apartment and shut the door behind him.

It was strange to see Rodney standing in the living room, and stranger to know that he’d been here before, on Jason’s invitation. Nasser found it weird enough that Rodney and Filo spent so much time together, even before adding Jason to the mix. If Nasser were a centuries-old ex-knight of the Summer Court, he doubted that he would go out of his way to socialize with human teenagers, no matter how magically inclined.

As he settled himself on the couch, looking perfectly at home, Rodney said, “Nuada, the first king of the Tuatha de Danann, lost one of his arms in battle against the Firbolgs. Did you know that? He won the battle, and he was a wise ruler, but tradition demanded that the king be physically perfect, so he was replaced.” He paused. “Do humans have such traditions?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Nasser said frostily. “Is that what you came here to talk about?”

“There’s no need to get testy. I was only curious,” Rodney sniffed. “And, no, that’s not it. Filo thinks that you would benefit from my knowledge of the Guild.”

“Oh.” Nasser leaned his crutches against the side of the couch and sat down. “Do you know much about it?”

“You seem to be under the impression that there are things I do not know,” Rodney said, his tail flicking. “I’ve had my fair share of brushes with the Guild. Maybe more than that. What is it you want to know?”

Nasser considered. “How much stock would you put in a Guild member’s word?”

“Promises are serious business to all magical folk, including the Guild,” Rodney said. “Guild folk keep their word and honor their agreements. When they’re dealing with one another, their word is practically currency. If you can get a Guild member to promise you something, they’ll make good on it. As I understand it, that’s in their laws somewhere. You just have to listen closely to the terms, as you would in any deal. Keep in mind that their first priority is always the Guild, and their dealings are designed to benefit them.”

“To the detriment of the people they’re bargaining with?”

Rodney shrugged. “Sometimes, probably, just like anyone else. Based on my experience, though, the whole outfit isn’t as outwardly nasty as you might imagine. If you play by the rules, so will they.”

“Is it true that the Guild sometimes pardons and accepts illegal practitioners?”

“Yes, certainly. They’re always looking to strengthen the Guild. It wouldn’t be in their best interest to blind or jail every practitioner who doesn’t happen to be born into their society.”

“And they’re always focused on the Guild’s best interests,” Nasser said. “Right?”

“Precisely. The Guild wants to become bigger, not smaller. If anything, they’re thirsting for new blood. Greedy for it. They’ll even take in the odd half-breed, if the creature shows exceptional promise.”

Nasser recalled Amelia’s words:
I want what’s best for the Guild—and what’s best for the Guild is promising young practitioners.
He shifted restlessly.

After a pause, Rodney said, “Filo didn’t tell me what that Guild woman offered you, but I think I have some idea. I take it you declined.”

“I did.”

“Sometimes I forget that you aren’t very old,” Rodney mused. “Then you remind me.”

Nasser wondered if that was Rodney’s way of calling him stupid. “You would do it differently?”

“My priorities would be different, certainly. I have a very powerful self-preservation instinct, while you appear to lack one entirely. You are perpetually doing things that aren’t to your advantage. I can’t decide if it’s admirable or just foolish.”

“Is this part of your
sterling advice
?” Nasser drawled.

Rodney smirked. “Oh, that’s just an observation. First one’s free. Would you like to hear the advice now?”

Nasser sighed. “Sure.”

“You seem to have made that Guild woman’s offer, whatever it entails, to be either black or white. It’s good or it’s bad, with no middle ground. That is a terribly human way to see things.”

“The fey don’t deal in absolutes?”

“Why should we? Absolutes are restrictive. When you have forever—or close to it—you want the flexibility to do as you please and to change your mind.”

“I’m human, though,” Nasser said. “It’s different for me than it is for you.”

“Quite. But you are too young to be so set in your ways. My advice, Nasser, is to stop oversimplifying and let that offer be what it is.”

“And what is it?”

“An opportunity,” Rodney said plainly. “Neither good nor bad. It is what you make it out to be. Play your cards right, and you could benefit from this deal as much as the Guild does. That’s not good or bad, either—and there’s no shame in wanting that.”

There was a great deal of shame in wanting that, Nasser thought, and even greater shame in acting on it. But he didn’t feel like debating that with Rodney just now. Instead, he just sighed again. “Well, I think you’ve done your due diligence. I appreciate the information.”

“I’m happy to give it.”

Nasser reached for his crutches, meaning to walk Rodney to the door, but Rodney just smiled an unreadable smile and shook his head. “Don’t get up,” he said, standing. “I can see myself out.”

The cold quiet of the supermarket was a relief from the relentless afternoon heat. As Lee and Jason paced through the aisles, everything gleaming under the florescent lights, she could almost pretend that this was a normal day.

“I think you should talk to Nasser,” Jason said, dropping a loaf of bread unceremoniously into the cart.

Lee glanced up from her grocery list. “About what?”

“He’s not… adjusting very well. I thought he would feel better once we were home and everyone had a chance to settle in, but that’s not happening. Haven’t you noticed?”

“I know he hasn’t exactly been himself,” Lee acknowledged cautiously. “But I don’t know what he’s supposed to be like at this point. I’ve never done this before. I don’t know what’s normal.”