Irial couldn’t explain why he felt so drawn to this town. He walked around Huntsdale, Pennsylvania as if there was something that would jump out and answer the anxiety plaguing him.
The main street of this little town was a mix of buildings that hadn’t seen better days in longer than even he could fathom. Humans were so peculiar. Why did they stay here? Why did they let poverty and disease eat them alive instead of moving somewhere with work? The simple idea of permanence in misery confused the Dark King—and he and his kind fed on the ugliest of emotions. If he could feed on humanity’s misery instead of only fey pain, he might set up a home here.
He couldn’t, though, so why did he feel like he wanted to stay here?
Irial summoned the Wild Hunt, sending his summons out of the bond he had with the leader of their nightmarish crew. “Come to me.”
As he walked, invisible to mortal eyes, Irial studied facades that were presumably once attractive, but now bore telltale signs of age and decay. Stubborn weeds sprouted from cracked sidewalks and half-abandoned lots. It was a mundane town, steel tracks and abandoned train cars. There was nothing magical here. Sure, there was a portal to Faerie, but he was the Dark King. He could always find entry there.
The Summer King and Winter Queen had both relocated there, and as much as he tended to try to stay clear of their drama, this was one of the times he couldn’t.
He was standing under a building, staring up at it, when Gabriel drove the Hunt through the streets of the steel town.
The Dark King inhaled the roil of terror and panic that accompanied their arrival before he turned to watch them. Cars, motorcycles, and beasts surged through the city. In Faerie, forever ago now, these steeds could wear whatever form they wanted all of the time. When invisible, they sometimes still did, but as centuries slipped away they became increasingly likely to take forms of machine over creature. A few skeletal horse-like steeds exhaled noxious clouds as they panted from whatever speed they’d used to reach him quickly.
Near the front of the mass of writhing, straining creatures and machines, stood the faery who was as close to a brother as Irial had in either world. Once he would’ve used that word for the long-dead Summer King, Miach, but he was centuries dead now. And while the Dark King wouldn’t admit to Gabriel that he was always relieved to see the Hound uninjured, Irial still allowed himself a moment of thanks that his oldest living friend was here.
“Getting slower with age,” Irial said in greeting.
The massive Hound snorted and swung a meaty fist toward Irial. The laughter it elicited in all of them eased the worst of Irial’s anxiety. They were neither slow nor easily countered.
“Why am I called to you?” Gabriel grumbled.
Irial studied him. “Busy?”
“Later,” Gabriel muttered, glancing back at his mate.
As Irial looked over the assembled group, he noticed the increased presence of piercings. The toxic metal caused them pain, as it did all things fey other than royal or unusual exceptions. The Dark Court fey had developed a recent predilection for piercings that were popular among mortals, as if creating their own pain was pleasure. Admittedly, they tended toward silver, but Irial saw a few scattered Hounds with a steel ring or stud in his or her skin. They’d switch out, but Irial couldn’t help but appreciate the pain-pleasure he drew from them.
“I will expect answers,” Irial said.
“See Rabbit,” Gabriel muttered in a low enough voice that Irial had to wonder what crisis that would lead to, but today was reserved for the uncomfortable need Irial had felt to find and guard the missing mortal girl.
He walked over to stare up at the unsightly iron-coated building, closer than most fey could go. From above him, he saw the curtain slide to the side and a woman stare down at him. She looked familiar, although he couldn’t imagine why. As he stared at her yet again, his memory tickled. Could she be the child of a faery he wasn’t recalling? There were reasons this mortal called out to him, eliciting protective instincts.
“Why do I care about this one?” Irial asked as Gabriel approached, a roll of fear accompanying his steps as if it was a tangible cloud.
“This one?” the Hound echoed.
“She’s here,” Irial said quietly. He didn’t need to specify that he meant the one human in all the world who could change the shift of power between the faery courts. The girl the Summer King sought was here. As creator of the curse, Irial knew. He’d always known.
“Here?” Gabriel motioned out toward the dying city.
Irial caught his eye and then looked up at a window of the building. The curtain dropped closed, so it was simply a covered window, but she was in there. “No. Here.”
A look of worry came over the muscular Hound. “And what do you ask of the Hunt?”
“I want her protected, from all of them, from us,” Irial scowled. “The mortal and her mother.”
Gabriel scowled. “Protect . . . mortals?”
And despite not understanding why, Irial felt a tightening around his chest that made no sense whatsoever. It felt like a geas. What vow had he made, though? When he tried to understand, he felt an absence, a missing space in his mind that was only possible if the High Queen had been sinking her magic into his skin or if he had been cursed.
“Iri?”
The Dark King shook his head. “Keep them safe. I need to run an errand.”
“Chela could do this,” Gabriel offered. “I’ll be at your side on the errand. If the other courts are here, you’ll need to pay your respects to Beira.”
Irial clasped his friend’s arm. “I need to go to Faerie first.”
At that, Gabriel stepped back. He wasn’t eager to step foot back in the place where they’d been first formed. It might be the original home of the fey, and the Wild Hunt might be allowed free roam there, but the wild energy that the High Queen wielded was disquieting to the steeds that made up the Hunt. They preferred this side of the veil—and so the Hunt trusted that instinct.
“We shall guard them,” Gabriel vowed. Ogham marks spiraled over his skin, confirming the Dark King’s orders, and with that, Irial turned away from the window that had drawn his attention so strongly.
For reasons he couldn’t explain, he paused and looked back. “She has the Sight. Moira Foy. She’s Sighted, and she has . . . she has fey blood, Gabriel. Dark Court blood. I feel her, not just because of the curse on the Summer King. Her mother, too.”
The entire Hunt had heard.
Irial met the gazes of the steeds and Hounds alike. “She might be their missing mortal, but she is of our court, somehow, too. Someone I know is parent to these mortals. No High Court fey may know of their heritage.”
He thought of the fate of the Sighted. Eyes gouged out. Lives cut short. The fey were notoriously private, not liking their affairs to be the business of mortals. Those who saw them knew not to speak to them, not to spend time with them, not to be near to them at all if possible.
And as much as he needed answers from the High Queen, he decided not to share this detail. She collected the Sighted, but these mortals had Dark Court blood.
“Protect them,” Irial stressed, sending the message out over the lines of connection he had with the entire Dark Court. “No Summer or Winter may harm them. Your lives for their safety if we must.”
No one questioned his orders. They wouldn’t when he was willing to unleash the Hunt to protect them, but he questioned it.
Why do these mortals matter?