The Shattered Dark (14 page)

If I’d known just how weak he was, I might not have agreed to come. Most of the time,
fissuring doesn’t affect me like this. As long as my escort isn’t overly tired or
hurt, their magic shields them from the drain of passing through the In-Between. Lorn’s
magic hasn’t shielded either of us.

I squeeze my eyes shut, cough, then force myself to rise to my feet. I’m light-headed,
and I notice the human standing a few paces in front of me only after the fuzzy black
spots clear from my vision.

“Did you…were you…” He looks down at my knee. My bleeding knee. My jeans are ripped.
“Are you okay?”

The man is holding a set of car keys in one hand, a brown paper bag that looks like
it’s holding a bottle of alcohol in the other. He’s probably in his late thirties,
a family man, and, if his black slacks and tucked-in white cotton shirt are any indication,
he’s some kind of businessman.

And he obviously saw me appear out of nowhere.

“I’m good,” I say as lightheartedly as possible with a queasy stomach. “I just need
to watch where I’m going. Tripped over my own feet.”

I start walking before he can say anything else. I’m not
about to give him a chance to ask what he wants to. If he’s like the handful of other
humans who have seen me appear out of nowhere over the years, he’ll doubt what he
saw. He’s probably shaking his head now, thinking he needs some sleep or to check
his vision or something.

“You could have warned me,” I hiss at Lorn, when he falls into step beside me. We’re
on the back side of what appears to be a strip mall. Looking around, I think that
one human might have been the only person who saw me. Most likely, the cars on the
road to our left were driving too quickly to notice the girl stumbling into the parking
lot.

“I believe I did warn you, my dear,” Lorn says. I think he’s trying to keep his tone
light, but he doesn’t succeed.

“You could have been more specific.” I’m still feeling unbalanced, but at least the
queasiness is fading, and my chest doesn’t feel quite so tight. “And was this your
idea of a safe place to fissure?”

“It’s the only location I have memorized aside from the store,” he says. Then he lengthens
his stride. “Now, hurry, please. We might have already missed our opportunity today,
thanks to your delays.”

A human woman is walking toward us, so I stifle my response and follow as Lorn leads
the way around the row of connected stores. Once we’re on the front side of the strip
mall, he points to the corner retail space. The sign above the door is simple: it’s
plain white with the words
A Taste of Ether
written in a sophisticated cursive script. Sunlight reflects off the store’s glass
windows, making it difficult to see inside. The only thing I can make out for sure
is a few wooden crates in the windows.

“Is this a wine store?” I ask, thinking there might be an arrangement of bottles sitting
on top of those crates.

Lorn nods. “A human named Sara works here. Don’t let her know what you are. She’ll
be absolutely furious.”

“She knows about the fae?” I ask, surprised.

“She has the Sight.”

“Really?” I stare at the storefront again, trying to see inside. I know the five other
humans who are working with
the rebels. None of them is named Sara. Could this be one of Atroth’s humans? I only
knew a few of them. She could be working for the remnants now or—

“Don’t get any ideas,” Lorn says, eyeing me. “This is another reason I’m not going
through Lena. Sara isn’t some stray waiting around to be recruited. She’s mine.”

There’s a warning in his voice. It’s completely unnecessary. If she’s not helping
the remnants, I’m not about to pull her into the war. I wish I hadn’t been pulled
into it. I want nothing to do with the death and the violence, but I’ve been involved
too long to just walk away. I care about too many people now, and I have too many
mistakes to account for.

“A Sighted human is working in a wine store?” I ask Lorn. King Atroth wouldn’t have
ever allowed this; he’d see it as a waste of her talent.

“Profit, my dear,” he responds, his tone lightening. “Nobles love their luxuries,
and your world produces a delicious grape. I’ve tried transporting the vines to my
farms, but our soil doesn’t have the depth and personality that yours does.”

I slant him a glance. “You have farms?”

“Vast areas of fertile land suitable for the raising of crops and livestock? Yes.
I have several.”

I try picturing Lorn as a farmer and fail.

“What do you grow?” I ask.

“Cows.”

“Cows?”

“All quite illegal, in fact.”

“You have illegal cows?”

“I do,” he says with a pleased smile. “And the Realm hasn’t imploded yet.”

Obviously, Lorn isn’t concerned with damaging the Realm’s magic. It’s mostly the high
nobles and extremely conservative fae who want to keep human goods and culture out
of their world. King Atroth appeased them, ordering his people to arrest merchants
who were caught with human goods or with anchor-stones that were imprinted with Earth-based
locations. The only exception, of course, was for his
own swordsmen who had to escort Sighted humans through the In-Between. But I guess
I shouldn’t be surprised Lorn didn’t follow the rules.

“Maybe Lena will lift the ban on nontech human goods,” I say.

“I should hope not.” Lorn gives me a look of exaggerated horror. “Wine and cows won’t
be worth half as much if she does.”

Sometimes, I think Lorn is a halfway-decent fae being. Other times, I think he’s exactly
as selfish as he seems.

Lorn taps a finger on the sketchbook I have tucked under my arm. “Make sure your map
of Aylen’s shadows is accurate. I’ll fissure inside as soon as she leaves.”

“I want Paige’s location first.”

“I’m sure you do,” he says. “But that’s not the way I work. I’ll give you her location
after you read the shadows.”

I cross my arms. “I don’t even know if you really have her location.”

“So little trust,” he says, tsking. “I always keep my word.”

I let out a sigh. He better know where she is. “How long until the fae shows up?”

“No idea. Could be in ten minutes. Could be in a few hours.”

“And I’m just supposed to hang around until then?”

“Yes.”

I roll my eyes. “What am I supposed to say when Sara asks why I’m there?”

Lorn smiles. “You’ll figure something out.”

A
BELL ABOVE
the door chimes when I walk in. Sara is younger than I am, early twenties probably,
and wearing black slacks and a burgundy top with ruffled sleeves. She has a creamy,
dark complexion—African-American and maybe a hint of something else? Bottles of red
wine are in neat rows on the shelf in front of her, but she straightens them anyway,
making sure each label faces out, before she turns to me.

“Can I help you with…something?” Her tone changes drastically after she takes in my
T-shirt and ripped jeans, and about that same time, I realize this isn’t some little
Podunk wine store.

I swear there’s not one trace of dust on the bottles, and each display has been set
up with meticulous care. There’s a lot of floor space, and more than one bottle has
a small table to itself in the middle of the floor. Those bottles might as well have
spotlights on them. They’re displayed in small wooden boxes and cradled in a bed of
black shredded paper. I don’t see a price tag anywhere in the store. That’s a flashing
sign that says I can’t afford this stuff.

So, what am I supposed to say to her? I look around the store, searching for an idea.

“I got in a fight with my boyfriend,” I say. It’s the only
thing I can think of to explain my ripped jeans and the dried blood on my knee. “Do
you mind if I hang out here for a while? Just to be sure he’s gone?”

She folds her arms, cocks her hip. “I assume he’s your
ex
-boyfriend?”

“Soon to be, yeah. Definitely.”

Her posture becomes much more casual. “Then, honey, you can stay here as long as you
want.”

“Thanks.” I pretend to stare out the window, looking for the asshole who skinned my
knee. After a couple of minutes pass, I see Sara’s reflection approaching behind me.

“Here,” she says, handing me a glass of red wine. “You look like you need to relax.”

That’s
an understatement.

She looks out the window. “Is he out there?”

I take a sip of the wine. “I think I saw his truck a second ago.”

“Should I call the cops?”

“No.” I cough. “No. That’s okay. I’m sure he’ll go away soon.” Before she asks more
about my imaginary ex-boyfriend, I ask, “Do you own this place?”

She takes a sip of her wine, then shakes her head. “Not yet.”

The bell above the door jingles, and a man walks in. Sara gives me an inquiring look,
and I shake my head no. That’s not the ex.

She helps him pick out the perfect wine for his anniversary. Another customer comes
in after him, and she helps him, too. While she’s working, I nurse my wine. Half an
hour passes. I think Sara is getting annoyed, but just when I think she’s about to
kick me out, my skin prickles.

Sara definitely has the Sight. She tenses when the fissure cuts through the air. The
woman who emerges is about my height, which is short for a fae. She’s not wearing
jaedric
, just a turquoise tunic over fitted black pants. The pants are tucked inside a pair
of black boots that are embroidered with a pattern of gold half circles and diamonds.
The design matches the scabbard holding her sword at her left hip. I’m surprised to
see the name-cord in her hair. I wish I knew
what kind of stones they were. If I did, I might be able to place where she’s from,
but I don’t think I’ve seen these before. They’re two different shades of red with
smaller black stones that might be onyx between them.

The fingers of my right hand start to tingle. I want to sketch the shadows, but they
always tell me a fae’s exit point, not where they’ve come from, and since I already
know where we are, there’s no need to draw out their curves and angles. Plus, I don’t
want to get caught staring at something I’m not supposed to be able to see. I down
the rest of the wine to distract myself and try not to make a face when it tickles
my nose.

“Finished?” Sara asks, her tone clearly saying she wants me out of there. I can empathize.
I hate trying to communicate with fae when Sightless humans are around.

I hand her the empty glass. “I think my ex is gone, but can I use the restroom?”

She presses her lips together. I think I’m going to have to find another excuse to
stay, but finally, she says sure and points to a back room.

“Thanks,” I say. The restroom is on the left side of the storeroom. I open and shut
the door without going inside, making sure it’s loud enough for her to hear, then
I tiptoe back to the open doorway of the storeroom and listen. I don’t really care
to hear what they say; I just have to be able to see Aylen’s shadows when she fissures
out.

“Quick,” Sara says. “Before she gets back.”

I peek around the doorframe, see Aylen tip open a draw-stringed pouch. Strands of
gold slide out. Necklaces. Thin bracelets. A couple of plain rings. If Sara makes
deals like this with fae often, she must be making a fortune.

“It’s behind the counter,” Sara says.

Aylen nods. She opens a fissure as she walks behind the register, but it’s not until
after she bends down to pick up a crate of six bottles that I realize this isn’t going
to work. Half her shadows will be hidden behind the counter when she fissures out.

My sketchbook is already open and I’m halfway across the store when she disappears.
Sara’s back is to me, so I give
in to the urge to scratch down what I see. A swoop of black tinged with shades of
gray fades in and out in the upper part of my vision. Aylen’s gone to a coastal city.
I’ve drawn the waves on the top of the page, so she’s on the southern edge of a body
of water.

I turn to the next page, draw a craggy spine down the left side of the page. She’s
gone to Criskan Province. There’s a city that’s bordered by mountains to the west
and the Daric Ocean to the north. It’s called…

I frown, trying to recall my mental map of the Realm. I don’t have every single city
memorized, but this is a major port town with a gorgeous beach and a dense population.
I should know it.

I close my eyes. I’m going to have to remember the name of that damn city before Lorn
will give me Paige’s location. What is it?

“You didn’t flush.”

My eyes snap open. Sara is standing directly in front of me.

“What?”

“The toilet,” she says. “It sounds like a tornado when it flushes. You didn’t flush.”

“Oh. Um.” I look over my shoulder at the opening to the storeroom. “Sorry, I’ll—”

Her gaze drops to the sketchbook in my hand. My map is a mess of wavy lines and lopsided
trees, but it’s clear she knows exactly what it is. She looks at my drawing, then
up at me, then over to where the fae disappeared, then back at my drawing.