By the time I got home, dawn shone over the horizon.
I parked the van and heaved a sigh. Seconds ticked by, but I made no move to get out. Instead I sat there and stared at the house. All the windows were dark and it radiated emptiness. Even my truck was absent, which was probably still parked at the base of the mountain. Tears blurred my vision, but I wiped them away roughly.
The clock read 6:36 a.m. I stared at the green, glowing numbers. They would be starting breakfast at Bea’s. If I closed my eyes, I could hear the quiet chatter and smell the frying bacon. My grip tightened on the steering wheel. Part of me was tempted to go straight there, avoid the inevitable silence of those rooms. But the customers probably wouldn’t appreciate the layer of grime and sweat on my skin. The employees, either.
So I got out and went inside.
First, I took a long shower. As the hot water pounded down on me, I finally took stock of the wounds I’d been trying to ignore. Bruises, scrapes, burns. The adrenaline had drained from my veins, leaving exhaustion in its wake. I’d only been gone three days, but it felt like three years. I moved like the old woman from the market, as though my very bones hurt.
My room was exactly as I’d left it. I pulled a pair of sweatpants from the dresser, along with a huge t-shirt. Then I curled onto the bed and stared at the flowered wallpaper.
I’d rented this house for me and Damon at eighteen—the previous owner had died and her family lived hours away in Denver. Therefore, as long as I paid the rent on time, no one bothered me.
Hoping to silence the thoughts in my head, I burrowed beneath the ancient quilt and waited for sleep to take me.
Instead, I tossed and turned for two hours. In doing so, I kept catching glimpses of the clock on the nightstand. Magic still stirred inside me, eager for an outlet. Usually I had pills in the medicine cabinet, but I’d run out a week before my trip to the mountain. It was why I’d been there in the middle of the night, restlessness driving me, despite the darkness and danger.
Now every time I closed my eyes, I was back in that cabin. Rope rubbing my wrists raw. Laughter drifting through the wall. For a while, I let myself cry. Mom always said there was no shame in it, but usually I refused to. It either drew attention or made me feel vulnerable, two things I loathed.
At last, when my eyes were puffy, I gave up on sleeping. I tossed the blankets aside and yanked on some jeans. It was only 8:47 a.m. I opened the cupboard beneath the kitchen sink, where we kept the cleaning supplies.
I spent the day taking my frustrations out on the house.
By 5:27 p.m., my skin was bright red from scrubbing. The carpet was vacuumed, the floors gleamed, the dishes were neatly stacked, the sheets were washed. I’d hauled everything out of the van, and the goblins’ belongings were either in the trash bin or on a shelf in the garage. Most of it had been wrappers and crumpled beer cans. There were a couple interesting items, though. A jar full of flesh-eating pixies—most people mistook their bites for mosquitos—and a clunky ring. Power radiated from the stones and I didn’t dare put it on.
With nothing else to do, I got back in the van and drove to town. It took an hour to buy and set up a new cell phone. Then I finally headed to Bea’s.
Granby, Colorado, boasted a population of 1,864 people. The bar I’d been working at for the past six years was a run-down building on Main Street. It was tucked between the post office and an antique shop. I found a parking space one block away and caught my reflection in the rearview mirror. I wished I’d thought to bring some concealer. It wouldn’t completely hide the smudges beneath my eyes, but at least I’d look tired instead of haunted. Well, there was nothing to do about it now. Sighing some more, I opened the door and got out.
I’d arrived just before the dinner rush. There were six or seven people filling the booths when I walked in, and I recognized almost every face. That didn’t stop them from gaping, and it wasn’t because of my obvious exhaustion. Though my power worked on most creatures, it was particularly influential on humans.
I ignored them all and went to the back. The floorboards moaned with every step. It brought me past the order window, where Cyrus was cooking at the stove. As I watched, he wiped an arm across his forehead. I reached over the metal shelf to turn on the fan for him—sometimes he forgot, if he was feeling particularly agitated—and headed down the hall. The familiarity of it all was even more comforting than being home.
My boss was in her office. She was on the phone, and when I tapped on the door, it creaked open. Wearing an annoyed expression, Bea glanced up. “Not a good …” She trailed off at the sight of me.
“Should I come back later?”
She hung up on whoever was still talking on the other end. Then she shoved the chair back so roughly the legs screeched. In three long-legged strides, Bea was there. Though she knew I avoided physical contact, she yanked me to her in a gruff hug. Somehow I’d forgotten how tall she was. “Jesus Christ, where have you been?” her voice rumbled against my ear.
I swallowed. Bea had no idea what I was or what other secrets the world hid, so she wouldn’t believe the truth. Any other version of it would lead to calling the police. And if officers went to that market, they would only find an empty clearing. “Out of town,” was all I said, pulling away.
“And you couldn’t let me know?” Bea demanded, holding my elbows in her rough palms. “We’ve been worried sick around here—you haven’t missed a shift since the day you started. We even filed a missing persons report.”
Her fears were sweeping through me, no matter how hard I tried to fight it; Bea was terrified of flying and public speaking. Some of her memories came along with them, like bits of skin on a bandage. I saw Bea as a child, standing in a brightly-lit auditorium. A man asked her to spell something, and she just stared back at the crowd, silent and frozen.
Invading the privacy of someone I respected made my head hurt. When I spoke, my voice was sharper than I meant it to be. “Do I still have a job here, or not?”
She frowned. Between her and Gretchen, Bea was the one who was always worried, and her face settled into the familiar wrinkles. “Is this about Damon, honey?”
Hearing his name spoken out loud only made the pain in my skull worse. I didn’t want to talk about my brother. “No,” I managed. “Look, I know I should’ve told you before I left. I’m sorry.”
Bea let out a breath. She pulled her long ponytail over her shoulder. “Promise me it won’t happen again.”
At this, I hesitated. Dad’s lessons were never far from my mind, no matter how long ago they’d occurred. Fortuna, never make a promise that you can’t keep. Nightmares may be lies, but we don’t have to be liars. “I’ll do my best,” I managed.
She didn’t seem to notice the evasion. Bea squeezed my arm, smiling warmly, and someone called her name. Her attention moved toward the hallway. She sighed and focused on me again. “Duty calls. Of course you still have a job here, Fortuna. There’s an extra shirt in your locker, right? We didn’t touch a thing.”
The same voice called again, a bit more urgently this time. Bea hurried out, closing the door behind her. I went to my locker and changed into my uniform. It hadn’t been washed recently; the cotton smelled like grease and coffee. I secured the apron with a loose knot, put on my tennis shoes, and clocked in for the night.
The bar was already getting busy. “Order up,” Cyrus said, ringing the bell. A server I didn’t recognize hurried to take the plates. She turned, holding the edge carefully, but the tip of her finger had still touched some gravy.
“Damn it,” I heard her mutter. The voice was familiar; she was the one who’d called for Bea earlier. My natural distrust kicked in. I appraised the beautiful girl while she adjusted her hold on the plate. She was black and petite, her hair wild and shoulder-length. Dark lashes fringed brown eyes and her eyebrows were enviously thick. Freckles dotted her nose and cheeks.
I sensed no power around her.
Just then, the girl spotted me, and a wide smile stretched across her face. “You must be Fortuna! Everyone has been talking about you.”
“Well, here I am,” I said. “Fortuna Sworn. I’d shake your hand, but …”
She lifted a plate slightly, as if to try it anyway, and laughed a little. “Oh, right. My name is Ariel. It’s nice to meet you. In advance, I’m sorry if I spill or drop something. I started last night, and they really just throw you in, huh?”
I gave her a rueful smile. “Bea has a firm belief in her ‘sink or swim’ teaching method.”
“No kidding. Well, I better bring these to table nine. He gets a little handsy if I make him wait.”
I looked over her shoulder, toward the customer she was talking about. Ian O’Connell, one of the local deputies. He was watching the two of us with a rapt, hungry expression. Our eyes met, and his burned with desire. No girl should have to deal with him on her first day. I turned back to Ariel. “I can take this one, if you want. I’ll make sure you get the tip.”
“If you’re sure,” she replied uncertainly, but she relinquished the plates easily enough.
“It’s not a problem.”
People pretended not to watch as I walked toward Ian with his food. His smile grew with every step. I’d known the round-faced deputy for years now, and he hadn’t improved from our first meeting. He’d slapped my ass and I’d punched him in the face. Though he had never tried to touch me again, Ian O’Connell knew how to hold a grudge.
I set his steak and potatoes down, along with a piece of pie. Before I could speak, he said in a low voice, “We have a pot going, you know.”
The badge pinned to his uniform gleamed, and I resisted the urge to rip it off. “What are you talking about?”
“Well, everyone has theories about where you disappeared to. Mine was that you finally got your cherry popped and were off on a three-day sex bender. Was I right? Did I win?”
God, give me patience or an untraceable handgun, I thought.
My virginity was a popular topic in Granby, which had become public knowledge when I’d made the mistake confiding in Angela during my early days at Bea’s. Contrary to what people believed—which wildly varied from my being a lesbian, or a prude, or a closet transgender person—the reason was very simple. While any partner I had would be focused on the sex, all I would able to feel were the fears emanating from his skin. It was also perturbing that, when they looked at me, they saw a face that wasn’t truly mine. Once, I’d almost gone through with it just to have the experience. Something stopped me, though. Maybe some misplaced sense of nostalgia. My parents had been deeply in love, and I couldn’t help wanting the same.
“Watch yourself, Ian,” I growled now, glaring down at him. “You may have your daddy’s money to protect you, but someday even that might not be enough.”
“Come on, Fortuna! Help a guy out,” he pleaded, completely disregarding this. I gritted my teeth and walked away, feeling his eyes on me the entire time.
Growing up, one of my parents’ strictest rules was restraint. To not use our powers unless we had to. But Dad wasn’t around to see all the perverts and assholes I dealt with on a daily basis. Sometimes restraint was overrated.
The instant Ian lowered his head to cut the steak, my power surrounded him. It wasn’t night, but it must’ve been close enough. At first, he only felt a slight throb behind his eye. Ian faltered, but went on cutting after a moment. The throb became a full-blown pounding. I could practically hear his thoughts. Could this be the tumor he had feared of getting all his life?
I leaned against the counter, unable to hold back a smirk. For years I’d resisted using this knowledge. But the result was so worth the wait.
“It’s good to see you, Fortuna.”
I turned to find Gretchen Nelson standing behind me. She was Bea’s partner in business and life. Where Bea was tall and heavyset, Gretchen was short and thin. For as long as I had known her, Gretchen had struggled with an eating disorder. But this was not what I usually thought of whenever I was near her —it was Gretchen’s unwavering kindness. It was she who’d convinced Bea to give me a chance, six years ago.
I wrapped my arms around her brittle shoulders; Gretchen was the only human that was an exception to my no-touching rule. Her fear shuddered through me. Finding cellulite on her thighs, being unable to button her pants, scornful stares from strangers. There were anxieties that went much, much deeper. But that wasn’t how my power worked.
A sudden cry shot through the room, and we quickly parted. At his table, Ian threw down some bills and rushed past. He didn’t even pause to offer a final leer or insult. “Oh, dear. I hope there’s not an emergency,” Gretchen murmured. We watched him practically run through the door.
I hid a smile. “Me, too.”
Gretchen gave me her full attention again, and I steeled myself. But she didn’t lecture or ask for promises, as Bea had. “Would you talk to Cyrus? He’s been pretty rattled since you left,” she said softly.
Remorse filled my throat, and I was only capable of nodding. The staff at Bea’s had always looked out for our autistic fry cook. He’d seemed fine when I walked by earlier, but it made sense that my absence would be a change in routine for him. Not that I’d had any choice in the matter. Oblivious to my dark thoughts, Gretchen smiled and returned to her place behind the bar.
One of the other servers passed with a full tray balanced on her hand. “You’re welcome, by the way, for covering your ass this week,” Angela muttered under her breath. “Are you actually going to take a table tonight?”
She bailed out her boyfriend at least once a month, and I’d covered her shifts so many times, I’d lost count. It was hard to summon any guilt. I smiled sweetly. “Nice to see you too, Angie.”
“Oh, my God, it’s Angela. How many times do—”
Cyrus’s voice sliced between us, shouting out another order. The bell rang, a high, pure sound. It was a jarring reminder of what I’d been on my way to do. Leaving Angela to her string of complaints, I hurried into the back hallway. Scents poured from the open doorway of Cyrus’s domain. Grease spat and sizzled. I rapped on the wall and poked my head in. “Hey, Cyrus. I’m back. How have you been?”
Unlike most bars, the kitchen at Bea’s was immaculate. The tiled floor was freshly mopped, the sink empty, the shelves organized. I’d sensed power rising off Cyrus the first time I met him, but whatever he was, it was an aura I had never encountered before. Eventually I concluded that he must be an elf of some kind, one that possessed particular gifts of cleanliness and productivity. If there were such a thing as elves.
It wasn’t surprising that he gave no answer. “Order up,” Cyrus called again, keeping his back to me. Ding.
I hadn’t been around then, but Bea told me he used to have anxiety attacks when the servers asked him to say those two words. The phrase didn’t seem to cause him trouble anymore, but it was all the customers heard out of his mouth. When I was hired at eighteen, it had taken him six months to utter a word in my own presence. Another six for a sentence. Consistency and patience were the keys to Cyrus Lavender’s heart.
Tentatively, I stepped over the threshold. “Listen … I’m really sorry that I took off like that. It wasn’t cool.”
Silence settled over the small room. One thing I’d learned about Cyrus over the years was that he wouldn’t lie. Responses people usually gave because it was expected or normal didn’t occur to him. “You worried us,” he said finally.
“I know. I would never make you guys feel that way on purpose.” But apparently my friend was finished speaking, because his only response was to throw some egg shells into a bin next to the deep fryer. It was almost overflowing, and I frowned at the sight. Replacing bags was the servers’ job, and Bea had once given Cyrus stern instructions to never do it for us. It must’ve been driving him insane since his shift started at noon. No wonder he was in such a bad mood. “Did Angela forget to take the trash out last night?”
“There was a man here asking about you,” Cyrus said abruptly, as if I hadn’t spoken. “I didn’t recognize his face, but I think he was talking to Regina a while before someone told him to leave.”
Regina Hart was the local gossip. It seemed every town had one, and she was ours. Her husband had died a few years ago, leaving behind a sizeable life insurance policy, so she spent most of her time eavesdropping at Bea’s. But strangers asking about me wasn’t out of the ordinary; both men and women often took it upon themselves to find out who I was. Many left phone numbers. Once or twice, talent agents left cards. To them, I was the next Marilyn Monroe, Audrey Hepburn, or Kate Winslet.
I was about to answer when some oil slid down the side of a hot pan. Before I could warn Cyrus, it plopped onto the burner. A flame burst from the stovetop. It died a second later, but that was all it took. Cyrus recoiled. I was already in motion when he hit the opposite wall, shielding his head with his arms. He slid down so he was pressed into a corner. “Cyrus, it’s gone, it’s over,” I said, kneeling beside him. His entire body trembled.
Soothing sounds and meaningless croons left my mouth. Slowly, I dared to touch his hand. Freckles covered every inch of it, and I concentrated on that instead of Cyrus’s terror. It spread through me anyway, images of a roaring inferno. I studied the top of his head, thinking of how women envied his hair. In certain lighting, it looked like fire, too. If that wasn’t irony, I didn’t know what was.
Cyrus was beginning to calm. The tremors weren’t so violent, and his ragged gasps had gone quiet. Food continued cooking on the burners; already there was a faint smell of something burning. Gently I said, “If you need a break from the kitchen tonight, no one would be upset if you washed dishes or cleared tables. Gretchen can cook.”
He lifted his head and stared at the stove for a moment. Then he pulled his hand away, avoiding my eyes. “No. I’m fine.”
After a beat of hesitation, I nodded. Cyrus began to stand, and I moved toward the garbage bin to pull the bag out. Liquid dripped out of the bottom. As I adjusted my grip, I noticed a second bag, tucked behind the bin. It was so full, old food was about to topple onto the tiles. Damn it, Angela. “Cy, I’m going to take these out, okay? If you need anything, let me know.”
He nodded. I hated to leave Cyrus like that, but I suspected he wanted to be alone. It was a feeling we often shared. So I rushed out of the kitchen, trying to keep the bags from dripping on his clean floor, and pushed the back door open with my shoulder. The hinges squealed.
Moonlight shone into the alley, bouncing off Bea’s truck. The dumpster waited in the shadows, tucked against the building. I blew some stray hairs out of my eye and hauled the bags down the stairs. Someone had thrown a knife away in one of them, and the tip was poking out. The plastic was going to tear any second. Grunting, I used all my strength and tossed it in. A piece of bacon landed on my shoulder.
“Shit,” I muttered, flicking it off.
“You escape a black market full of slavers and the first thing you do is go back to work?” a familiar voice asked.
I stiffened. Part of me insisted that it was a hallucination or an illusion—there was no way he’d found me here. When I turned, however, there he was. The faerie from the black market. And faerie he was, because I could see those telltale ears now, poking out from beneath his silky-looking hair.
He stood next to Bea’s truck, hands shoved in his coat pockets. He looked different from our first meeting. The glamour was still there, but it had altered. The features that had been nondescript during our first encounter were sharper and brighter. The most notable variation, however, was a long scar along one side of his face. It dragged the corner of his left eye down. Somehow it didn’t detract from his allure.
“Those goblins won’t be coming back. I made sure of it. Plus, no one else is going to pay the bills,” I added. My cheeks felt hot. “How did you find me? Are you stalking me now?”
“Hardly. I simply wanted to speak again. Would you like some help with that?”
In response, I lifted the second garbage bag and threw that one into the dumpster, too. I smacked my hands together, then faced him squarely. I didn’t miss that he hadn’t offered an explanation on how he knew where I worked. “Why were you talking to Regina about me?” I demanded next, putting two and two together. Cyrus had mentioned a man asking questions. “Not sure if you know this, but it’s considered creepy when you try to learn things about someone without talking to them directly.”
He gave an elegant shrug of his shoulders. Laughter drifted in from the street. “Actually, she volunteered that information. I said I was there to see you. She started talking and couldn’t seem to stop.”
Everything about his demeanor was nonthreatening, but the power emanating from him was even stronger now. It felt like sparks. This creature didn’t come to Bea’s for conversation.
“Listen closely, because I’m only going to say this once.” I spoke as though there were a razor in my mouth, slicing and cutting with every word. “I’m not a faerie groupie, and I don’t like people that come on strong. Whatever you want, you won’t get. So go away and leave me alone.”
The faerie appraised me. “I’ll respect your wishes. But first, I’d like to give you something.”
Alarm bells went off in my head, and every muscle in my body went rigid. If he reached for a weapon or used magic, I would fight. No one was going to take me again. “You have no idea what I’m capable of,” I warned, readying myself.
“Of course I do,” he replied affably, giving me that faint half-smile again. “You’re a Nightmare. Your kind has been feared for so long, you’ve been hunted nearly to extinction. Your hearts are coveted like the fountain of youth. It’s been a long time since I’ve encountered power like yours, but I recognized it instantly.”
Hearing the truth out loud, as if he were talking about the weather, made my breath catch. If he had already figured out what I was, nothing I said would deter him. But that didn’t stop me from trying. “If I see you again, I’ll kill you,” I managed. My eyes searched the alley around us, hoping to spot something I could use against him. Then I remembered the knife in the trash bag.
My threat rolled off the faerie like rain down a roof. He inclined his head, looking thoughtful. “I don’t make such statements lightly, Fortuna Sworn, but I swear that I intend you no harm,” he told me. I remained silent, still considering the time it would take to dive into the dumpster and get that knife.
He waited for a moment or two. When it became evident I wouldn’t respond, the faerie bowed. He strolled away without further comment. So much for that gift, I thought. A car drove past the mouth of the alley, a flash of lights and metal. Though I jumped, the faerie didn’t falter. His movements were graceful and leisurely, which only rankled more; clearly nothing posed a threat to him.
That would have to change.
After he’d rounded the corner and disappeared from sight, I lingered next to the dumpster to make sure he was really gone. The fresh surge of adrenaline coursing through me slowly faded. Its absence made me sag against the dumpster. I hardly noticed the smell. God, I was tired. But there was still a long night ahead of me and I’d committed to a shift. I never broke a promise.
So I straightened, tightened my ponytail, and went back inside.
The hours crawled by. Faces and words blended together. I smiled, I nodded, I moved. Orders materialized in my notepad and plates appeared in my hands. By closing time, around one a.m., I was nearly delirious. Music played from the jukebox, and the lyrics sounded like they were being sung underwater. I bent to scrub a booth, and someone took the rag out of my hand. “Go home, Fortuna,” Bea ordered. Normally I would protest, but this time, I could only manage a bleary nod.
Once again, I got into the goblins’ van and drove home.
It occurred to me that the faerie could be following, but if he’d already found where I worked, there was no point in trying to hide. Even so, I glanced in the rearview mirror now and then. There was nothing behind me but trees and a dirt road. Did faeries drive?
Concentrating on the road drained whatever endurance I had left. The moment I put the gear into park and killed the engine, I wanted to close my eyes and fall asleep right there. But the air reeked of stale beer and unwashed bodies, bringing unwanted memories along with it. I forced myself to get out and trudge up the sidewalk. At the front door, I struggled to fit the key in. Darkness hovered at the edges of my vision, and I stumbled in an effort to remain standing.
My foot landed on something hard and raised. Swaying, I looked down. Moonlight reflected off a gilt-edged mirror someone had left on the welcome mat. What the hell? I thought wearily. Any other night, I wouldn’t have touched or looked at the thing without knowing exactly where it had come from. But caution had disintegrated, along with any of my usual instincts. I leaned over to peer in the glass, expecting to see my own face.
There was something else in the mirror.
Not my face, not the sky above. The haze of exhaustion began to clear as I frowned, picked it up, and brought it closer. Part of me had thought I was imagining the image, but it still depicted a man. He rested on his side, back turned to me. There were scars covering his skin. Not from a whip; these were too short and deep.
As if he could feel me watching him, the man glanced over his broad shoulder. I gasped and almost dropped the mirror.
It was my brother.