The Aetherfae (4 page)

I felt two more Fae move to my parents. Billy and Tadewi were there, too.
Am I dreaming? I have to be dreaming, there is no way they’re all here.

The remaining attackers retreated, but not far enough. Faye caught one, grappling with it into the surf, where the Ohanzee were waiting. Nodin caught the other. I felt two Fae pop out of existence.
Is it over?

FOUR

HEGIRA

T
he pain stopped. I floated in the darkened space and willed myself to turn over. Below me, Gavin cradled a scorched body, my body. Everything was burned away, skin, hair, my left ear, all black and bloodied. Grandpa writhed on the floor, his eyes rolled back into his head. Grandma held his shoulders. Mom lay crumpled in a heap, her head in Mitch’s lap. He silently cried, shifting his focus from my body to Grandpa to Mom, and then to Dad. Dad was on his back, his mouth gaping slightly. The red stain that had spread over his torso was disappearing back into his body as Tse-xo-be knelt over him.

“Mags?”

Was that Dad’s voice?

“Mags?” His voice called me from the bedroom. I willed myself forward. He stood in the middle of the wrecked room. Billy rushed by him, their shoulders passing through one another.

“Dad, what happened?”

“I’m leaving now. Tell them I said goodbye.”

“No, Dad! Oh god, I’m so sorry.”

“I love you, Maggie. Tell your mom and Mitch that I love them,” he whispered.

“I love you too, Dad. Stop…oh god, please don’t go. Please, Daddy, I need you,” I moaned.

“Sweetheart, it’s time. You must promise to look after them. You’re so strong. I understand now.”

Aunt May took shape behind him. “David,” she said. Her sad eyes turned to me.

“No, please don’t go, please.”

“Girly girl, he must. I’ll take ‘im,”

“Daddy, please,” I screamed.

“Remember, always remember…” he said. He smiled and disappeared. The pain came searing back.
Oh god, I must be delirious. What’s happening?

Darkness.

* * *

At some point I realized the pain had stopped.
Did I really leave my body? See Dad? Probably not. Must have been the horrendous pain.

I kept my eyes closed for a few minutes, soaking up the warm sensation of comfortable numbness that always seemed to linger after experiencing intense pain. The noise of the storm had also subsided. The raging wind and rain seemed distant, like it was back outside the house rather than in it.
Maybe I dreamt it all.

A gentle rocking motion entered my senses. Were we moving? When my senses spread out, I determined we were in a large vehicle of some kind. The low growl of a motor thrummed in the distance. The humming sound of wide tires on a hard surface and the soft thud of concrete joints at even intervals confirmed that we were moving along an interstate somewhere. I felt Gavin’s chest swell with each slow breath, heard his strong heart beating against my ear, the welcome thumping sound only interrupted by the musical note of his voice as he whispered over and over just above my head, “You’re safe.”

Dizzy and exhausted, I forced my eyes open when I heard Mom rustling in her seat. I didn’t recognize where we were. The compartment looked like a living room with no windows. Cream curtains along the wall danced with the vehicle’s movement. Gavin held me on a white couch like the one from our living room. It sat about eight feet away from another. Mom moaned, and cleared her throat. Tse-xo-be helped her sit up, and I felt him compelling calmness. Mitch, wide-eyed and frightened, clung to her chest when she opened her eyes. Tse-xo-be compelled him, too. I turned my head and saw Billy with my grandparents. They were standing, clutching one another just feet from me, near a passageway that disappeared down a hall. Grandpa didn’t appear to be hurt.
It was a dream after all. I knew it. Where are we?

My mouth was dry and my tongue felt thick. “Dad? Where is Dad?”

“Shhh, just relax a few minutes longer,” Gavin said.

“Are you really here?”

“Yes, I’m here,” he said.

There was something wrong in his voice. It was softer and more reassuring than normal—it was the same voice he used to calm me down when I fretted about the Water trial, and the same voice he used in the hospital when Candace was near death.

Tears welled up in my eyes. “Gavin,” I whispered, “please tell me …”

The amber flecks of his eyes were submerged in tears that rolled out and over his cheeks. Only where I could hear it, he said, “He didn’t make it.”

Like I’d been forced to swallow Quint, my throat burned and my airway felt crushed under the spasms that wracked my neck and chest. I rolled out of Gavin’s arms and slid to the carpeted floor. Gavin lifted me to my feet and led me down the corridor, past Grandma and Grandpa. In a small, dark room toward the front of the vehicle, Gavin pushed open a door. Dad was on a bed, his hands crossed over his chest. There was no blood, no gaping hole in his chest. I watched, hoping to see his chest rise and fall. I expected to see him glance over, his green eyes locked on me, his dimples forming as he managed a smile. But he didn’t move.

A sob forced itself through my chest up to the iron vise-like clamp around my throat. It fell back into my stomach. I struggled for air, wrestling with my body to fill my lungs. Only a wisp of air made it through, gurgling through my heaving body. Then, finally, I realized I’d actually said goodbye to him.
Oh, my god. He’s really gone.

My head spun and I felt sick. “Stop this thing.”

Gavin’s eyebrows pressed together as a pained expression crossed his face. “Let me help you. I can make it go away”

“No, I want this. I need air…stop…now. I need air.” I clutched my stomach.

“Okay.”

A minute later, I was out the back, heaving and screaming on the shoulder of I-91.

“What can I do?” he begged.

“My dad’s dead,” I wailed.

Gavin steadied me, propping me up as I wobbled on numb legs.

“He’s dead.” The words came out garbled, high-pitched.

With one hand, I squeezed his forearm, trying not to topple over. With the other, I wiped tears, vomit, and mucus away from my face. “Never leave me.”

“I won’t.”

“No—you promise me,” I moaned. “You can never die…”

He curled his thick fingers under my chin and gently turned my head to face him. The soft red glow of brake lights illuminated his square jaw and straight nose, and glinted off his eyes, as he wiped my face. I ran my fingers across his lips, trying to keep my eyes on him. My body ached and my throat burned. “Promise me, no matter what, you can’t die. I can’t handle another. You have to stay safe.”

I flailed at him, beating his chest. “Say it. Say it. Damn you, say it.”

“I promise.”

He scooped me into his arms, cradling me against his body. “I promise.” His voice cracked. “I’m so sorry.”

“Please help me,” I begged in a pathetic moan. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

He squeezed me a little tighter and for a moment I felt safe. “I’m going to clean you up, get you some water, and then I’m going to make you sleep—I promise I won’t leave you. Is that all right?”

“Yes.”

* * *

My old scuffed watch, the one I always wore, was gone—destroyed when Naji nearly killed me. Gavin made me another, gold of course, with an elaborate face and slender hands. It said 9:00 a.m. While I slept, a tiny gold sun in the watch face had pushed the little moon away. Ten hours had passed since we left Boca. We were still moving, driving through curves now.

Somewhere in the back of the vehicle, Mom was still crying, calling Dad’s name over and over. Grandma tried to console her. Billy offered to compel her. I wouldn’t let him. On the couch, Mitch was curled up with his head in my lap with one arm cinched around my waist, the other draped over Justice on the floor in front of us. I stroked Mitch’s hair, whispering how much Dad loved him while forcing my own pain deeper into the back of my mind. It only partially worked—I drifted back and forth between visions of Dad lying twenty feet away in the dark room and memories of him alive and well. I saw him in the stands at nationals, making the speech at my sixteenth birthday party, and teaching me how to swim.
Be strong.

Each memory hit me more powerfully than the last, but I managed to keep my composure. I had to be strong for Mitch—those were Dad’s last words to me. The guilt and anger I felt were harder to control, but for the time being, I kept a lid on them. I knew the feelings would eventually explode, boil out and consume everything, because I could feel them chewing away at me. I couldn’t let that happen—not yet. The night before had been bad enough.

Grandpa sat across the room, smiling when we occasionally made eye contact, but mostly wiping the tears from his red eyes. Silently, like all of them, he must have been wondering what had happened to his world. Tse-xo-be had told them bits and pieces of who they were, describing himself and the others as law enforcement. All my family really knew was that we were in danger and Tse-xo-be and the others had come to save us.

Gavin sat beside me, his arm wrapped around my back. He pressed his forehead to my temple. He knew exactly what I needed: contact and silence. The rest of the Ohanzee waited unseen in the front of the semi-truck. Our escape vehicle—an eighteen-wheeler. Anonymous. From one end of the trailer to the other, Tse-xo-be wrapped us in a Clóca barrier. We were invisible cargo for the moment, fleeing Florida and whoever else might be trying to kill us.

Another hour passed before Mom wandered back into the compartment, shaken but in control. She and Grandma squeezed onto the couch with Grandpa. Mom was always so strong when she needed to be, and this time was no different. She smiled at Mitch and me.

“I need to see him,” she whispered.

“I do, too,” Mitch said, choking on the words.

My heart sank, and despite my best efforts, tears burned at the corners of my eyes. “I’ll be right there. Can I have a minute?”

“Yes, baby,” Mom said, wiping her swollen eyes.

Tse-xo-be nodded and turned to lead them down the hall.

“And then I want answers,” Mom said.

“I will give them to you,” he said, glancing back at her.

“Mags, where are they taking us?” Mitch whispered.

“Somewhere we’ll be safe,” I whispered back.

Mitch considered it for a moment and sat up next to me, his face wrinkled into a scowl. “Are those people still after us?” he asked.

Tse-xo-be answered, with a softness in his voice I’d never heard before, “We had to move you before anyone else came. You are safe for now.”

Mitch glared at him. “I want to see my dad.”

Grandpa walked across the room and took Mitch’s hand. “I do, too, Mitch. I’ll take you,” he said, keeping a wary eye on Tse-xo-be.

When they left the room, Wakinyan materialized and sat across from me.

“How did you know to come last night?” I asked.

“The intensity of the hurricane—its location. As soon as we heard, we feared … I am sorry we did not make it sooner.”

“And you?” I asked, turning to Gavin.

“The same. When you left me to find the Council, I relocated to Cuba—it’s not safe for me to linger anywhere more than a day. When I drew close enough to the storm, I felt the energy. I came as quickly as I could,” he said.

“The Fae did that, too? Turned the storm into a hurricane?”

“Yes.”

I closed my eyes. “How many people just died?”

“Many.” Gavin said.

My hands clenched so tightly the nails dug painfully into my palms. “Did you get the Fae responsible?”

“Those Fae are no more.” Wakinyan said, his nostrils flaring.

“Good,” I said through clenched teeth. “Who were they?”

“Naji was once a member of a small European clan that inhabited present day Poland.” Gavin whispered. “The clan was nearly eradicated by the Seelie. They were blood drinkers.”

From an old memory, Sara’s face flashed trough my mind’s eye. “I remember Sara telling me about them—the day of my Earth trial, I think. You’re talking about vampires?”

Gavin’s mouth curled like he’d bitten into something sour. “His kind probably had as much to do with those legends as any. The taste of adrenalin and cortisol together, they claim, is addictive. Naji has been a loner for millennia, an independent. In our tongue, he was an Arustari. In yours, a mercenary—an assassin.”

“Tse-xo-be got him? He’s dead?”

“He is, but…” Gavin paused.

“But what?” I demanded.

Wakinyan rubbed the back of his neck and cleared his throat. I turned my focus to him. “He was paired with another Arustari. A Fae known as Mara in the Far East, as Marazanna in Eastern Europe, as…” Wakinyan stopped when I closed my eyes.

“I apologize,” he said.

“No, I get the picture. She’s worse than Naji, isn’t she?”

Neither of them answered.

“What? Tell me.”

Wakinyan quietly whispered, “Yes. Her name translates into goddess of death. She’s ancient—the eighth of our kind.”

I fell back into the couch and ran my hands through my hair, pressing my palms to my temples. “Really? The goddess of frickin’ death? You’ve got to be kidding me? Oh, sorry guys, gotta run. I’m being hunted by the goddess of death.”

Dad’s words, “You’re strong,” echoed through my head.
We’ll see, Dad. We’ll see.