Dreamfever
Page 22
“Behold me. I believe you can.” Was that grudging respect in his voice? He shimmered and was suddenly something else.
I’d seen a vision similar to the one he showed me now that morning at the church, when the three Unseelie Princes had circled around me, morphing from shape to shape. My brain hadn’t been able to process what I’d been seeing, and I’d guessed it was a complex state of being that had more dimensions than humans could comprehend.
Unlike the Unseelie Princes, however, V’lane didn’t continue moving from form to form. He adopted a static one. At least, I think it was static. It wasn’t change. Stasis and change are how the Fae define everything. For example, if a human dies—or, as they say, “ceases to exist”—they don’t perceive the loss of life at all, they merely perceive “change.” They’re cold bastards.
My eyes could see V’lane, but my brain couldn’t define him. We’ve invented only words we’ve had need of, and we’ve never seen anything like this. Energy—but multidimensional? I don’t understand the first thing about dimensions, just the little I learned in school about space, time, and matter. My mind strained to grasp what was before my eyes … expanded … nearly tore itself in two trying to reconcile the image with some frame of reference I understood. I couldn’t find one, and the more I searched and failed, the more frantic I felt, which in turn made me keep trying to find one, which in turn made me more frantic. It was a backfeed loop, escalating quickly. Stop fighting it, I told myself, stop trying to define and simply see.
The strain eased. I stared.
“You apprehend me in my true form. Mortals cannot do so and retain a unified mind. It fractures. Well done, MacKayla. Was it not worth it? Would you not do it all over again?”
Bile rose in my throat. At the cost of a piece of my soul? That’s what he thought? That if I’d been given the choice, I would have chosen to go through what had happened on Samhain? That I would have chosen Dublin falling, the walls coming down, the Unseelie getting freed, being raped and turned into an animal that’d had to be rescued first by Dani, then by Barrons? “I would never have chosen it!” It wasn’t just me who had suffered. How many humans had been slaughtered that night and since?
He was back in his human form. “Really? For such power? You are immune to me—a Fae Prince. Impervious to sexual glamour. You can gaze upon my true form without your mind fracturing. You can walk through wards. I wonder what else you can do now. What a creature you are becoming.”
“I’m not a creature. I’m a human and proud of it.”
“Ah, MacKayla, only a fool would still call you human now.” He vanished, but his voice lingered. “Your spear is at the abbey … Princess.” Laughter danced on the air.
“I’m not a princess, either,” I snapped, then frowned. “And how do you know where my spear is?”
“Barrons approaches.” The words were nearly indistinguishable from the chilly morning breeze. A breath of sultry warm air, in sharp contrast to the frigid wintry day, gusted down my shirt and caressed the tops of my breasts.
I yanked my coat shut and buttoned it. “Stay out of my clothes, even as the hot air you are, V’lane.”
More laughter. “Unless you wish to see the one that exploited you at your weakest, perhaps even made you so, go southeast, MacKayla, and quickly.”
A snapshot from late last night flashed behind my eyes: me, nude, straddling Barrons’ face.
I went.
Certain dates are stuck in my head, permanently scarred there.
July 5: the day Alina called my cell phone and left a frantic message that I ended up not hearing until weeks later. She was murdered mere hours after she placed that call.
August 4: the afternoon I stumbled into a Dark Zone for the first time and ended up on the front steps of Barrons Books and Baubles.
August 22: the night I had my first skull-splitting encounter with the Sinsar Dubh.
October 3: the day Barrons fed me Unseelie to bring me back to life and I experienced the intoxicating effects of dark Fae power.
October 31: yeah, well, enough said. It had been an insane few months.
Today I had no idea what the date was, so I couldn’t etch it into my memory just yet, but I knew I would never forget a single detail of it.
The entirety of Dublin had been devoured by Shades, turned into a wasteland. If there was another person alive in the city besides myself, they were in deep hiding.
I walked for hours through eerily silent districts. Not one blade of grass remained, not a shrub, bush, or tree. I knew I shouldn’t waste time, especially if Barrons was nearby, but I needed to see this.
I collected snapshots of the city like bricks, and I stacked and mortared them into a wall of determination: I would live to see this affront to humanity undone.
What few newspapers were left on the stands were dated October 31, the last day Dublin had functioned. The city had fallen that night and never gotten back up.
Storefronts were bashed in, windows broken out. There was glass everywhere, cars abandoned, some on their sides, others burned.
The worst part of it was the dried husks—I quit counting after a while—blowing down the streets, tumbleweeds of human remains, that part of us that Shades find indigestible.
I would have wept, but I didn’t seem to have tears left in my body. I gave the bookstore wide berth. I couldn’t bear to see if it had been destroyed. I preferred to keep my second-to-last image of it in mind, the way it had looked the afternoon of Halloween: Everything in its place, waiting for me to return, push open the door, pick up the mail, straighten the magazines people were always riffling through, start a fire, curl up on the chesterfield with a good book, and wait for that first customer of the day.
I’d seen a vision similar to the one he showed me now that morning at the church, when the three Unseelie Princes had circled around me, morphing from shape to shape. My brain hadn’t been able to process what I’d been seeing, and I’d guessed it was a complex state of being that had more dimensions than humans could comprehend.
Unlike the Unseelie Princes, however, V’lane didn’t continue moving from form to form. He adopted a static one. At least, I think it was static. It wasn’t change. Stasis and change are how the Fae define everything. For example, if a human dies—or, as they say, “ceases to exist”—they don’t perceive the loss of life at all, they merely perceive “change.” They’re cold bastards.
My eyes could see V’lane, but my brain couldn’t define him. We’ve invented only words we’ve had need of, and we’ve never seen anything like this. Energy—but multidimensional? I don’t understand the first thing about dimensions, just the little I learned in school about space, time, and matter. My mind strained to grasp what was before my eyes … expanded … nearly tore itself in two trying to reconcile the image with some frame of reference I understood. I couldn’t find one, and the more I searched and failed, the more frantic I felt, which in turn made me keep trying to find one, which in turn made me more frantic. It was a backfeed loop, escalating quickly. Stop fighting it, I told myself, stop trying to define and simply see.
The strain eased. I stared.
“You apprehend me in my true form. Mortals cannot do so and retain a unified mind. It fractures. Well done, MacKayla. Was it not worth it? Would you not do it all over again?”
Bile rose in my throat. At the cost of a piece of my soul? That’s what he thought? That if I’d been given the choice, I would have chosen to go through what had happened on Samhain? That I would have chosen Dublin falling, the walls coming down, the Unseelie getting freed, being raped and turned into an animal that’d had to be rescued first by Dani, then by Barrons? “I would never have chosen it!” It wasn’t just me who had suffered. How many humans had been slaughtered that night and since?
He was back in his human form. “Really? For such power? You are immune to me—a Fae Prince. Impervious to sexual glamour. You can gaze upon my true form without your mind fracturing. You can walk through wards. I wonder what else you can do now. What a creature you are becoming.”
“I’m not a creature. I’m a human and proud of it.”
“Ah, MacKayla, only a fool would still call you human now.” He vanished, but his voice lingered. “Your spear is at the abbey … Princess.” Laughter danced on the air.
“I’m not a princess, either,” I snapped, then frowned. “And how do you know where my spear is?”
“Barrons approaches.” The words were nearly indistinguishable from the chilly morning breeze. A breath of sultry warm air, in sharp contrast to the frigid wintry day, gusted down my shirt and caressed the tops of my breasts.
I yanked my coat shut and buttoned it. “Stay out of my clothes, even as the hot air you are, V’lane.”
More laughter. “Unless you wish to see the one that exploited you at your weakest, perhaps even made you so, go southeast, MacKayla, and quickly.”
A snapshot from late last night flashed behind my eyes: me, nude, straddling Barrons’ face.
I went.
Certain dates are stuck in my head, permanently scarred there.
July 5: the day Alina called my cell phone and left a frantic message that I ended up not hearing until weeks later. She was murdered mere hours after she placed that call.
August 4: the afternoon I stumbled into a Dark Zone for the first time and ended up on the front steps of Barrons Books and Baubles.
August 22: the night I had my first skull-splitting encounter with the Sinsar Dubh.
October 3: the day Barrons fed me Unseelie to bring me back to life and I experienced the intoxicating effects of dark Fae power.
October 31: yeah, well, enough said. It had been an insane few months.
Today I had no idea what the date was, so I couldn’t etch it into my memory just yet, but I knew I would never forget a single detail of it.
The entirety of Dublin had been devoured by Shades, turned into a wasteland. If there was another person alive in the city besides myself, they were in deep hiding.
I walked for hours through eerily silent districts. Not one blade of grass remained, not a shrub, bush, or tree. I knew I shouldn’t waste time, especially if Barrons was nearby, but I needed to see this.
I collected snapshots of the city like bricks, and I stacked and mortared them into a wall of determination: I would live to see this affront to humanity undone.
What few newspapers were left on the stands were dated October 31, the last day Dublin had functioned. The city had fallen that night and never gotten back up.
Storefronts were bashed in, windows broken out. There was glass everywhere, cars abandoned, some on their sides, others burned.
The worst part of it was the dried husks—I quit counting after a while—blowing down the streets, tumbleweeds of human remains, that part of us that Shades find indigestible.
I would have wept, but I didn’t seem to have tears left in my body. I gave the bookstore wide berth. I couldn’t bear to see if it had been destroyed. I preferred to keep my second-to-last image of it in mind, the way it had looked the afternoon of Halloween: Everything in its place, waiting for me to return, push open the door, pick up the mail, straighten the magazines people were always riffling through, start a fire, curl up on the chesterfield with a good book, and wait for that first customer of the day.
