Chapter 5 - section 2

Returning to consciousness was much like resurfacing out of deep water in an indoor pool. Awareness arrived in broken fragments of light, memory, pain and a groggy sensation of passed time like the fractured reflections shining off of an undulating surface onto the walls. My first conscious thought was of recognizing the white blankness before my blurred vision as a ceiling overhead. I ached from extended pain, but the flat and firm surface I lay upon felt pleasant to my weary body.

I furrowed my brows, trying to look down and moved my uninjured arm out from under the covers. I had been dressed in a clean and simple long-sleeved nightgown. I struggled to sit up and the pain resurfaced, although it wasn’t the white hot agony of before. A man’s face swirled into view and he used two fingers at my sternum to push me back down against my admittedly weak struggle.

“Stop fighting. You’re weak and you’ve lost blood. If you promise not to get up, I’ll get you another pillow so you can sit with some support.” His voice was a smooth baritone; stern but with a sense of amusement warming the remonstration pleasantly.

I blinked, my eyes feeling almost as blurred and sticky as my mouth. Yuck. It felt like I had four day old soda semi-solidified and coating the crevices in my mouth, not to mention my tongue. I lifted my right hand to rub the goop out of my eyes and grunted experimentally. My voice sounded like my mouth felt, but it didn’t pain me to verbalize. As I brought my gaze to bear on the man wondering whether he was good Samaritan or kidnapper, I demanded; “Who are you? How did I get here and where is here?” I was pleased to note I sounded far less groggy and weak than I felt.

That momentary hint of warmth disappeared in irritated disgruntlement as I inspected the man standing over me. He was extraordinarily good-looking. Normally this might have brought me some pleasure, but something in it seemed unfair and wrong. Thick dark hair with a natural wave swept over his forehead just barely clearing the tapered eyebrow that arched sardonically at my inspection. His eyes were faceted grey that sparkled with intelligence and arrogance punctuating his straight, well-formed nose. Lips neither thin nor excessively plump curved in a smirk. High cheekbones, golden tan, broad shoulders, trim waist; he was the whole package. In other circumstances, I might have drooled. In spite of the fluttering of attraction that hit my gut, I felt angry. He was a setup. He had to be. I detest manipulation and his presence virtually reeked of someone trying to predict my natural inclinations.

And that arrogant amusement radiated off of him as he watched my inner turmoil. “I’m Tristam. You’re in a safe place. I brought you here. It wouldn’t do to leave you poisoned and bleeding to death after I stumbled across you.”

In spite of his warning, I struggled to sit up, waves of pain, dizziness and a profound lack of fey-awareness washing over me. He did nothing to halt my movement this time. He simply watched with that confident, knowing smirk. I scowled my way through my discombobulation. “Safe for you or safe for me? And what the hell do you mean you stumbled across me?”

His right eyebrow ticked upwards and his smile widened. “Well, that depends. You’re at a friend’s place to recover. One of my friends, before you ask. And by stumbled, I mean it very literally. You’ll forgive me the bruising of your leg, I trust?”

I responded with a surly grunt, taking a moment to glance around the room. It was a lavish bedroom; crisp, clean and elegant. The brocade curtains and sheer underdrapes, the plush ivory carpet, the white-mantled fireplace across the room all spoke volumes about wealth that was taken for granted. As opposed to the opulence of the newly wealthy, this was a richness of taste where function was as important as form. There wasn’t an excess of art or statuary, but the painting on the wall was an oil landscape of high quality with an exquisitely complementary frame. The wallpaper was ivory, white and gold and I could tell that it would have a thick raised texture if I were to touch it. My bed was carven mahogany with bright white and gold sheets. It all felt familiar, but between the ache in my shoulder and the fuzzy, drugged state of my headI just couldn’t concentrate.

I turned back to glare accusingly at Tristam. If his upraised hands were any indicator, the ensuing dizziness didn’t temper my projected ire. “What did you dose me with? How long have I been out?” I prodded at the dressing on my shoulder, ignoring the pain with a masochistic intention of figuring out how bad it was and how much had healed.

“Nothing,” the disgustingly tempting Adonis said as he took a step back. “The arrowhead was iron. You’ve been unconscious for a few days, but the worst that was done was an empathy leeching; no drugs. Just the poison. You were lucky I found you when I did.”

I narrowed my eyes and hummed. Lucky. What were the chances of some random stranger rescuing me from an assassin’s arrow? And what were the chances of him being that same assassin? I didn’t care if he knew I was suspicious, I had every right to be.

Tristam, apparently disagreed. He shook his head with disgust and stormed towards the door, his voice angry and bitter: “Nothing like gratitude. I save your ass, nurse you back to health and this is how you treat me? I know you’re disoriented, but next time someone saves you, a “thank you” might be in order.” His outburst was so unexpected that I did nothing more than stare. “Stay in bed,” he commanded before swinging the door open and slamming it closed behind him.

Bemused by his tempestuous irritation, I stared at the door for another long moment after it closed. And then it registered: I had seen that doorknob before. The brass handle with filigreed vines and the small crystal faceted and inset into the center was of distinctive design. I had only ever seen it in one other place.

I slowly dragged myself from the bed, ignoring the fresh protests from my empty stomach, pained shoulder and aching head. The sense of bewildered amazement had rendered such discomforts secondary. He had brought me to a friend’s to recover. I nearly laughed aloud. He had brought me to the Mistlands. He had brought me to my father’s own castle!

Chapter 5 - section 1

I opened my eyes and gasped inadvertently from the wonder of it. I realized then that the oxygen content must be slightly lower in the air than what I was used to, but it was survivable and this somewhere was among the most beautiful I’d ever seen. It looked as if some god had stopped the world’s clock in the gloaming of dawn just before the orange disc of the sun presents itself. The sky was a golden peach and pink confection that dazzled and shone.

Beneath that awesome sky, finger-like reflective grey waters trailed through the verdant green. Where the water’s mirrors ended, lush plantlife began without any apparent seam. As I stood, transfixed, I discovered the illusion: all of the rock surface and even the sand in the water seemed to be formed from a substance that shone like polished hematite. My discovery in no way diminished my sense of wonder for this magnificent stone enhanced the beauty of the sky, the water, the plants surrounding it.

And the plants were worthy of awe, as well. I walked on grass that was thick, bluish and ankle high, but soft as moss against my bare feet. I had read about forests and hills being “carpeted” before, but never had I encountered flora that could so perfectly emulate that kind of gentle covering. And fragrant, too; with each step, my flesh pressed upon this growth, a heady scent rose to assail my nose and intoxicate me with a sweetness like lavender, fruit blossoms and something tangier, too.

The lumbering creatures in the water that I had at first mistaken for ancient trees were as peaceful and beautiful as the rest of this atmosphere. More than one turned and I got the impression that I was examined with a mild and placid, cow-like curiosity although I couldn’t immediately determine eyes or expressions. It was the sensation exuded from the slow, graceful, controlled turns that the creatures made. Had there been wind, I might have not corrected my assumption. There was a pastoral domesticity to their inspection that made me feel my intrusion into their world didn’t concern them particularly.

There was a tickle of thought there as I extended my senses, pausing at the water’s edge to explore this novel world further. They were sentient and they had thought, although it felt slow and alien to my questing mind. And there was something else here, too. A buzzing in the back of my teeth. Something fast and cold. I stupidly closed my eyes, trying to ferret out this intruder among these peaceful giants.

It was behind me. The thought came at the same moment that I felt the excruciating pain jolt through my left shoulder. Agony threatened to overwhelm me and I looked down in horror at the arrowhead poking out of my chest below the collarbone and above the curve of my breast. I tried to move my arm as I stumbled forward from the force of the blow; tried to halt or slow my descent bringing that beautiful mossy grass towards my face so very fast. My arm wouldn’t respond.

The wash of pain as my face hit the ground was nothing compared to the white flare of unmitigated, searing misery when my shoulder struck that soft surface. It consumed me. It drew me into the white blankness and for a time, my entire world consisted of nothing but sheer pain until I ceased to think and exist.

Chapter 4 - section 3

I strode away with every ounce of dignity I could muster. I took the dirt road away from the village, away from the tents. My head was held high and my bare feet made soft slapping sounds against the packed dirt. With the sun setting, the ground was growing extremely cold, but I wasn’t about to show a single sign of weakness where Cullen might have eyes.

Inside, my heart was thumping double-time and my breathing had to be more rapid. The reactions indicated my anger as much as my fear. Although I loathed to think he could be right about anything, Cullen was when it came to my need for thought. I had to figure a way of getting out of his plans so that it didn’t end in either of our deaths.

That possibility made me hesitate mentally for an instant. Killing him would solve a lot of problems. If it came down to it, I really didn’t doubt my ability to do so. That didn’t mean that I wanted to, however. That he so casually would discuss killing me was enough to make me wish to swing the opposite direction and refuse to contemplate the reciprocal. I didn’t want to be like him. The only thing we had in common was our father and I wanted to keep it that way.

We had been called by Dad. A meeting of all the children was a rare occurrence, but the call wasn’t one that any of us would disobey if we had any choice. Dad was powerful and his displeasure was not a pretty sight to endure. Ties of blood were no immunity from his ire.

The last summons, indeed the only one to my recollection, happened about fifteen years ago. Dad’s lands had been breached by shadows and he needed strength beyond his own to best the swarm that threatened. Vicky was only ten and I was twelve. There was so much about the entire situation that I didn’t understand. It had all seemed like a great game, another training exercise, until we saw the soldiers and their bodies return.

If we had been called, it was something important. And my message wasn’t meant to reach me. Unwittingly, Cullen did me a huge favor by letting me know about it. I wouldn’t put Vicky’s disappearance past him, but I truly believed our brother’s ignorance of that fact. He was dangerous, but not that clever.

The town was lost beyond the hills by the time night’s darkness crept in. It was so agile that I didn’t even realize how late it was until the path I followed curved and I didn’t. I came face to face with a large tree. Absent any advance visual warning, I just barely managed to halt before smacking my nose into it. Given that the thick trunk probably belonged to one of the seed pod trees, I counted myself fortunate at the near miss. I was feeling addled enough without adding an otherworldy coconut contusion to my woes.

I considered my options. I could glimmer using the path, but it would place me in another location with unknown dangers, no allies, and no guarantees of food or clothing. On the other hand, I didn’t know the dangers of these woods at night; I had no way of obtaining more food or clothing beyond my current prescribed covering; and worst of all, remaining here would leave me near Cullen and his army of pig-men. The last probably should have been a lesser consideration, but I was still angry enough that it turned into the deciding factor. The sooner I left, the sooner I could get away from that ultimatum-tossing, arrogant prick of a half-brother.

I huffed righteously, wrapped my llama skin tighter and focused my mind’s eye on the boundary of the road. It’s an intense exercise of will to turn a normal boundary into the kind I needed, but the exercise is much easier when it happens to be the only real boundary in the vicinity. A physical line created by others is always more effective than one you have to imagine or create yourself. The dangers of using a weaker barrier are multitudinous. You can commit yourself to entering uninhabitable environments. Unfriendly was really the worst that I wished to deal with, but my leap into Cullen’s recruitment world was one born of necessity rather than conscious focus. With the next movement, I could start my way towards the Mistlands again, if I was careful how I visualized the crossings. I took a deep breath and stepped across the path.

Chapter 4 - section 2

I stared at Cullen in complete incredulity. “Me? You want my help?”

He cringed at the unspoken accusation in my voice and tried to explain, “Look, you stay in the Other Realm, Garrett has no idea what…”

I cut him off mid-sentence, my temper kicking in. “Garrett? That’s why you need me?” Garrett was perhaps the only family member that Cullen disliked more than me. And part of Cullen’s hatred was based off of the fact that Garret was full-blooded. My memories of Garrett were primarily of a taciturn and serious boy too old to be bothered with the antics of children like Vicky and me; or Cullen, for that matter. In reality, he wasn’t that much older than us, but growing up, that eight year difference meant a great deal more than it did now.

“What makes you think that I would want to take on Garrett on your behalf, Cullen? Hell, he’d have a better chance of me supporting him than you do.” I grabbed up my glass of wine, drinking from it to still my tongue and cool my temper.

Cullen wasn’t as equanimous as he wished me to think. He rose from his bench, grey eyes snapping with his ire. “Because you’re not an idiot, Tara. You’re half-blood like me and that means we have certain advantages. We could win this if we do it together. If you refuse, I might as well just take you out of the picture entirely.”

“Same old Cullen,” I mimicked him with unflattering mercilessness, “If I can’t have my way, I’ll break your toys so you can’t play.” I clanked my wine glass down, ignoring the splash of wine that spilled onto the table and smirked. He had made my temper flare already; there was some joy in being able to reciprocate. “But really, Cullen, sororicide? Then again, if you’re waging a war against your big brother, threatening my life isn’t such a far leap.”

The light in Cullen’s eyes grew cold, hard. For an instant I felt the chill needles of fear crossing my skin. It could have been his projection, but it wasn’t his usual overwhelming and overbearing display. He had either learned some subtlety or that fear was all my own. His voice grew dangerous, even-toned; “I will do what I must. If it means imprisoning you, I will. If it means killing you, I will. I will not be denied.” This was a Cullen I had never seen before.

I fell silent. I knew that we had passed a point where the mocking, darting and all our usual jabs end. He was serious. He was completely and utterly serious and I didn’t know how to respond. Deep in my gut, my reaction hadn’t changed. Anyone who would solicit help through threats was a bully and a coward. But that didn’t change the fact that Cullen had grown into a dangerous bully and coward.

As if he sensed my thoughts, or had grown better at reading them, Cullen gentled and slowly sat down. His tone grew earnest, “Look, Tara, I want your help. But I also can’t risk having you stand in my way.”

I nodded, crossing my arms to hold my green hide over my body as I scowled. “If I’m not with you, I’m against you?” Cullen shrugged noncommittally, as if that weren’t exactly the ultimatum he offered. The world was black or white to him and he couldn’t comprehend that I might not want any part of any of it. He and Garrett could keep their battles. What did it matter if they conquered this world or that one, so long as they left the Other Realm alone? There had to be some way to back out of this without Cullen’s unreasonable threats coming into action.

Suddenly, something clicked inside and that chill of fear swept over me again. If he was approaching me in this fashion and making such threats, what if he had already done so to Vicky? I stared into Cullen’s eyes, but the bastard had gotten good at guarding his thoughts. My voice dropped as I asked, “Did you make the same request to Vicky?”

Confusion skittered across Cullen’s eyes as he looked to one side and then the other rapidly before focusing on me again. His voice remained as calm and determined as before. “No, not yet. Why?”

I let out the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. He could be lying, but he seemed genuinely confused. His response meant he might not even be aware that Vicky was missing yet. Or it could mean that he wasn’t aware that I knew she was gone. I weighed my options and decided that it might be better to play dumb about her disappearance. If Cullen was behind it, it would be easier to find out through a slip up on his part if he didn’t know I was aware.

“Because you know she spends more time beyond the Other Realms than I do. She seems like a logical choice for your alliance,” I hazarded, although I suspected I knew what response he’d make.

Cullen chuckled, “She spends more time beyond, yeah, but she doesn’t have your control. Face it, Tara, you’re the most powerful of our sisters.”

It was a flattery that we both knew had some truth behind it. Vicky had the same potential that I did, but she had never been willing to focus and train. She just didn’t have the human self-discipline. So why had she disappeared? If this were an attempt of our brothers to take out the most powerful, they should have gone for me first. There was my buddy, Blondie, but something wasn’t adding up properly here. If they were vying for my alliance, why would they try to kill me beforehand? I had that uneasy feeling that there was something greater going on than just the sibling rivalry between Cullen and Garrett, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

Cullen watched me for a minute and then put on his smarmy diplomatic face. He thought it made him irresistible, but I had grown up with him. I’m not sure how I managed to refrain from rolling my eyes, but I’m glad I did because it might have kept him from his offer.

“I’m not wholly unreasonable,” he said, oozing benevolence. “You should have a little time to consider. Besides, we’re due at Dad’s in a week and your absence would make quite a stir.”

This made me sit up straighter. We had been summoned? Why hadn’t I gotten the message? There was a chance that Blondie had precipitated my departure before the message had arrived, but it wasn’t unthinkable that someone had intercepted my summons just so that I wouldn’t be there for something important. Family, sometimes they’re more trouble than they’re worth.

I nodded slowly. “I don’t have a burning desire to join you, but your alternatives are thought-provoking. I’ll give you a decision after the meeting?”

Cullen waved his hand magnanimously. “Please. You are free to go. I’ll give my soldiers the word that you’re to remain unharmed. You have a lot of thinking to do.”

I stifled my irritation and rose from the bench. I took a moment to adjust my wrapping, ensuring the piggies wouldn’t be alarmed when I left the tent. Cullen might tell them I wasn’t to be harmed, but I wasn’t taking any chances after realizing their views on exposed flesh. As I headed towards the tent flap, though, Cullen’s voice called after me: “Oh, and Tara, if you fail to appear, I will have you hunted down.”

Chapter 4 - section 1

It was difficult to judge the passage of time. My hunger gnawed at my insides and I felt some kind of slimy dirt spread on my leg as I shifted on the straw. I prayed and hoped it wasn’t fecal matter from some former prisoner. It could have been hours or it could have been minutes, although probably the reality was somewhere in between, when my captors finally opened up the cell door enough to thrust a bowl of oatmealy goo towards me.

I was so ravenous at that point that I really didn’t care if it tasted like sodden cardboard. I gobbled the foul but sustaining substance down, licking the bowl clean before settling down to contemplate the door again. My pangs diminished and I felt sustained enough now, that I was certain I could cross when next the doors opened.

My plan was to wait in readiness and overwhelm the guard through sheer surprise. Once my foot crossed the threshold, I could glimmer and continue my journey forward. It wasn’t subtle and it would probably make the piggies even more suspicious towards people like me in the future, but at least I could get on my way. There was one minor flaw to my brilliant plan: it hadn’t occurred to me that the next person to open the door could surprise me.

I crouched in readiness, holding the bowl as an ersatz weapon. The vessel had either been carved from wood, or perhaps formed from a hollow half a seed pod. It wouldn’t form a great cudgel, but anything was better than using my hands alone. I stared at the crack of the door, eyeing the gleam in the darkness like a cat waiting at a mouse hole. I somehow doubted that cats’ muscles ached as badly as mine did from this sort of waiting readiness, but who knew. It isn’t like cats are terribly forthcoming in the best of circumstances.

I heard the shuffling of feet outside my cell’s door and I tensed. The aching in my muscles grew to a dull and painful vibration. There was more of the soft grunting, growling pig language, louder shuffling and then, as the bolt was drawn back from the door, a male voice spoke in English; “Well, let’s see the tramp.”

I froze, my plan completely forgotten. I knew that voice. It was such a shock to hear that voice here of all places that my disbelief completely paralyzed me. The door swung open and sunlight eclipsed the tall shadow that stood before me. That was fine, I didn’t need to see him. His mocking expression had been burned into my memory in the years past. I could feel his smirk, his sheer delight and I imagined how I had to look, mostly naked, covered in straw and filth.

His taunting tone made my teeth clench until they hurt. “Darling sister. What a surprise!”

I gritted out the barest of polite acknowledgements, “Cullen.”

He backed out of the light and there it was: the chance to get away, to cross. I hesitated. Curiosity and a desire to know if he knew anything about Vicky barely won the internal argument against my desire to get the hell out of this world. I waited inside the cell, wary of a trap.

“What are you doing here? And what do you want from me?” I demanded. Cullen had burned me more than once in the past. He might be blood, but I didn’t trust him as far as I could throw him. And I wasn’t really sure that I could even pick him up.

He laughed so sweetly that it almost made me smile; “Come out, Tara, I won’t bite, let’s talk like civilized people.” The jerk was trying to use his glamour on me. The sheer audacity of it had me balling my fists in fury.

Grudgingly, I crossed the threshold into the light, clutching my llama skin covering over my nudity. I could feel his gimlet eyes taking in every detail, from the dirt on my legs to the straw in my hair. Even worse, I could tell he was enjoying it. “I can’t have my own flesh and blood, my dear sweet sister, treated like an animal, now can I?” He clearly thought himself a great wit. I was inclined to disagree.

My eyes had adjusted to the light enough to see him now. He had put on some weight in the years since last we had met and I had to admit, the broader shoulders suited him. Cullen had inherited Dad’s copper-red hair and grey eyes. His wide mouth and straight nose must have come from his mother. He looked more like the rascally mischievous boy grown up than what he really was. Too bad he had never been that boy to begin with. He was a half-blood, too. One who preferred life in the Mistlands to anywhere else and growing up, he had been my greatest tormenter.

I looked around at the piggies surrounding me, spear guns lowered threateningly and scowled. “No, of course you can’t, half-brother.” The reminder that my mother had usurped the place of his own mother in Dad’s quest for the ideal partner was a barb I wasn’t above using. His laughter ceased and I smiled.

Although he looked irritated enough to order the pig-men to shoot for an instant, he didn’t. He had learned a bit of control, apparently. He led me across and beyond the village, explaining, “Primitive towns in this world. Positively medieval, most of them. I find it more comfortable to bring my own lodgings when I recruit.”

Recruit? I filed that away for later consideration. He was fond of war games, perhaps he had found a real war somewhere that he wished to get involved with. He seemed to think I had some sense of what he was talking about and I knew that I was more likely to get answers out of him if I played along than if I asked explicitly.

Just beyond the village was what looked just like some military encampment out of some feudal war history book. Granted, instead of horses, llamas had been tethered and the knights and squires were pig-people rather than human, but the atmosphere was otherwise the same. I was intrigued to note that the llamas came in several colorations, including black, dark red and brown as well as the green I had seen before. Billowing tents rose from the ground and although the sky was not yet dark, campfires were being built between them.

Cullen ushered me towards the largest of the tents and I paused to touch the material when he held the flap open for me. Silk. I ducked into the tent and looked around. This looked like an officer’s meeting tent or strategy headquarters. Maps were rolled up on one table and there were glasses lined neatly up awaiting filling. A few wooden trunks were tucked underneath. A larger table stood in the center of the tent with benches running the length on either side.

“Nice setup,” I commented, trying to keep a rein on my curiosity. What game was he about with all of this?

Cullen waved me towards the central table with one hand. “Go on, sit, sit. Let me get some wine and we can talk seriously. You can’t bargain without wine.”

Bargain. As I suspected, he wanted something from me. I began to wonder if the pigs that picked me up had been on his plan to draw me in. Or perhaps he was the one behind the assassin. I really couldn’t put it past him. The real question, however, was why? Why would he go to all that trouble and why now? And was that what had happened to Vicky? Mulling, I sat at the indicated bench and tucked my makeshift robe around me to ensure decency.

“I take it recruiting is going well? You seem to have accumulated a small army.” I watched carefully as he pulled a bottle out of one of the trunks and uncorked it to pour into two of the lined up glasses. Red wine. If he wanted to poison me, he would have laced the glass beforehand, but his system wasn’t all that different than mine. He would know it would only incapacitate for a time, not destroy.

“It’s a start,” he replied distractedly as he poured. “Some of us believe in preparing rather than winging it.”

I couldn’t tell if this was intended as a comment about my method of escaping my unexpected assassin or if he spoke on something greater. From the sound of it, the assassin was something I should have expected, but that still made little sense. There was something still that I wasn’t being told and that ignorance could probably be used against me. I momentarily wished that it had been someone I could trust who had found me here so I could simply ask the questions and be done with it. But if it had been someone I trusted, I might not have found myself in this situation to begin with.

To keep him from realizing that I had no clue what he was talking about, I responded; “For those of us with ingenuity, it’s the only way to succeed.”

Cullen snorted and plunked a glass of wine in front of me. It wasn’t the laugh of scorn that I expected and I frowned. He rounded the table and slowly sat on the bench opposite me. He eyed my current garb and replied, “Yes, success.”

He seemed more thoughtful than mocking as he regarded me. Without another word, he drained half his own glass of wine. Unease, that familiar friend, began to stir in my stomach. The sensation was strong enough to rise over the now constant buzz of fey-awareness that was tingling so steadily it was almost a form of psychic white noise. More than anything, Cullen looked older than I had ever seen him before, and he looked worried.

He heaved a sigh that sounded genuine and looked up at my face. “Tara, this could get me killed, but I want your support.”

Chapter 3 - section 3

I tried to cover myself with hands and arms. I offered up a futile, feeble, clearly not understood explanation that died midway through. The piggies were embroiled in some sort of an argument, obviously, over me. The driver headed up one side while the flower-earringed woman grunted and growled in response. Their language became more and more fraught with rage until the driver pointed his spear gun at her.

A tense moment of silence ensued as they stared one another down. I held my breath, uncertain which one to root for, but suspecting it was the woman. With a dismissive grunt, the driver turned his back on us and moved to unhitch the llamas. We had reached our destination.

The female piggy muttered something that set the rest of the frozen wagon into motion again. Each pig grabbed up some goods to unload. For an instant, I dared to hope that the woman had defended or perhaps saved me as she threw a tanned llama hide at me to cover myself with. When I glanced quickly at her eyes, however, there was nothing held within but a dark suspicion.

Under the female’s watchful eye, I disembarked and waited while the wagon was unloaded. Once everything was off and piled up, the pigs that had handled the unloading moved under the vehicle and did something there that caused the walls of the wagon to pivot and be removable. In an ingenious design, the entire wagon was broken down and reassembled as a stall beside another similar structure. The wheels were hidden behind the counter and with alacrity, the piggies stacked the produce inside.

The small workers were fast and nimble, in spite of their fleshy appearance. Clearly, they were clever and quick of mind as well, even if their view towards nudity was more censorious. I watched with undisguised interest, wondering what they intended to do with me next.

Once the woman who had taken charge over me was satisfied, she plucked at the blanket covering me and grunted a command. Uncertain of her intent, I moved in the direction she had plucked. She gave an encouraging nod and grunted again. Following such cues, she led me across the village to a small dwelling.

My stomach gurgled and I inquired hopefully, “Tak?”

The reaction was not one of amusement this time. I had lost all privilege of levity with my inadvertent indecent display. Guarded and suspicious, the woman gave me a long stare before she nodded curtly. Relief coursed through me. I could handle any number of difficult situations, but an empty stomach would limit me severely.

The woman shuffled around me to open the door. Then she circled back around me, pointing to the interior. I crouched and peered into the darkness. With surprising force, she shoved me from behind. The unexpected touch had me stumbling for balance and the movement sent me headlong. As the door slammed behind me, I realized that I had been pushed straight into a straw-lined, low-ceilinged cell.

The proportions of the room were awkward for me. The ceiling was too low to stand without hunching and the walls of the cell were only about two and a half paces long each. If they left me in here for any length of time, I was going to be in serious need of a chiropractor. The interior walls weren’t dirt as I initially expected, but on tactile exploration, turned out to be made from some sort of dark stone. Tactile was pretty much the only kind of exploration I could make, since with the door closed, the lighting was extraordinarily dim.

Grumbling at my lack of food, I settled down on the straw, keeping the hide around me. Clearly, someone was out to get me – both in the cosmic sense and the more literal sense. I ran over my mental checklist of woes. Missing sister? Check. Unknown assassin after me? Check. Social gaffe in a new world ending in my imprisonment? Big old check. But the absolute killer, the true insult to injury, was my empty stomach after a promise of food. I really didn’t think things could get much worse. How very wrong I was.

Chapter 3 - section 2

The ride was spent in a curious silence as all of them stared openly at me and I tried my best not to stare back. In spite of my initial reaction, they didn’t look all that much like pigs, beyond being fleshy and having tusks. Even so, having named them the piggy people in my mind, however unjustly, they would remain so unless and until I learned a more accurate name for them. Most of them had exquisite variegated eyes in shades of tan and gold like a tiger’s eye stone; all but the driver whose eyes boasted a dull and beady brown.

They wore clothing of a kind, many layers of tunics, skirts and pants. The clothing looked rough but well stitched and was dyed in earthy colors: browns and rusts and greens. Of decoration, most wore necklaces of clay, dried flowers and gold and a few had even decorated their tusks.

I wondered if I had happened on a single family and turned my attention to inspect the non-living cargo. Clever net bags displayed their contents without allowing anything to roll around during the often bumpy ride. Green hides and balls of textile probably came from the honking llama creatures. Mottled brown balls about the size of softballs rested on top of the softer goods and I grew curious of whether they were fruit or eggs. Netted against the baseboard and serving as a back rest for one of the piggy-people were several barrels that sloshed liquidly. Chances are the sour milky odor was coming from those vessels.

They probably were farmers of some sort or perhaps traders. The real question was if they heading towards a town or away from one? If they were farmers, this wagon was probably filled with their produce for sale. If they were traders, the cargo was more likely a sign of a successful trip completed. Lacking the capacity to inquire further, I thought it best to simply watch and wait. And pray they’d be able to help ease the growing pangs rising from my blueberry waffle deprived belly.

It took around an hour for us to reach a village. It was dirty and poor, but not without a certain rural charm. A few young pig-people were romping in a field filled with long, furry grass stalks still green in spite of the chill. Brightly glittering insects darted around like flying jewels, gleaming in the sun. The crisp air made it feel colder than it looked, but from the exertion and their laughter, the children looked warm enough.

The houses had been carved into the hills and mounds. Just by looking at them, I couldn’t tell which had come first: the geographical topography or the architecture. Other dirt paths intersected with our own. The excitement of my wagon companions was growing ever stronger as the dark green llamas tugged us forward.

It was then that I noticed the first hole in my pants. Hopefully, I could find some method of bartering for more clothing, not to mention food. At the very worst, I had to hurry things along so I could move on before my clothing disintegrated entirely. With a wry smile, I recalled Vicky’s and my pushing of our father when he explained to us the phenomenon of crossing over.

“You mean, everything will disappear? What about your clothing?” I demanded, disbelieving.

Our father smiled tolerantly at me through his coppery beard. “Everything, Tara. You’ve heard stories of nymphs, no?”

Vicky and I both nodded, our wrinkled noses demonstrating our distaste for the concept of nude women. “Yeah, they’re always naked in paintings.”

“That’s why.” He chuckled at our obvious discomfort with the notion.

Not one to be left out, “What about other stuff? Like in your pockets?” Vicky inquired.

“What happens to a faerie’s gold in the stories?”

I frowned, trying to remember the fables I had read, but Vicky beat me to it, nodding; “It all fades away into nothing.”

Certain there had to be some kind of exception, I asked about what happened to the food in your stomach or other things in your body.

“Smart girl, don’t try to outsmart the boundaries. You’ll be disappointed every time. And that goes double if you swallow something nasty in the hope of retrieving it later once it comes across!” His rumbling laughter was infectious and I was proud that he thought me smart, even if I couldn’t find a way around the boundaries.

In later years, Vicky and I both experimented and tried to find ways around it, but we failed every time.

I had to hope that the piggies had a tolerant view on nudity or, preferably, that I managed to acquire new garments in the interim. I fingered the hole in my pants with a frown before I realized that we had drawn to a halt and the occupants of the wagon were staring at me with a greater intensity than before.

A chill breeze blew and I shivered, my chest aching to my nipples. I looked down and let out a string of curses. Over half of my t-shirt had gone and I was completely exposed. I closed my eyes, trying to regain composure as the piggies, who apparently did not have a tolerant view of nudity, began to growl and grunt at each other. All eyes were on me.

Chapter 3 - section 1

I wasn’t sure where I had managed to pass myself to, but I knew it wasn’t the Mistlands. Not yet. My father’s lessons echoed through my memory as I struggled to continue on. The Mistlands are named for exactly what the moniker would suggest: their mists. Fey are surprisingly uninventive when it comes to names. Finding a proper boundary to lead through the mist is difficult. It usually takes many, many boundaries and numerous worlds before a proper crossing can be found. And every single crossing drained you. That’s why only the powerful could manage to make it from the Mistlands to the Other Realm.

The world my mother hailed from was known as the Other Realm. As I said, fey really aren’t creative when it comes to names. Centuries past, the worlds were closer and fighting between them was frequent. The Other Realm was named because it wouldn’t bow to the rule of the fey as other worlds had. In fact, humans fought back to such a degree that the fey grew concerned that humans might succeed not only in fending off the beings of the Mistlands, but that they might even succeed in crossing over and taking over the homeland. Apparently, it was of such concern that all the rulers of all the parts of the Mistlands came to a unanimous agreement (an event previously unknown and thereafter as well) and all of them gave a part of their power to pull the word back away from the Other Realm. From that point on, the two places have remained separated by worlds and worlds.

I slowed but didn’t halt; only now daring to glance over my shoulder. The hot breath from my lungs hit the frigid air to form wisps of fog as I panted for breath. Crossing takes a lot out of you. The sky was the cold grey of November or perhaps February. My footsteps crunched in the frost-speckled grey-brown dead grass and I permitted myself a glance down. If Blondie came from the Mistlands and figured out which border I used for crossing, he could follow me here and this ground was leaving tracks far too easily for my taste. Opposite the stream that now trickled beside me, there were thick woods, far denser than the scraggly line behind me. It seemed a likely prospect for doubling back and hiding my tracks. I headed closer to the stream, looking for a place where the water was shallow enough and the rocks close enough to cross.

I needed to sit. I needed to eat! I had to regain strength before I sought another crossing point, but I couldn’t trust that Blondie hadn’t seen me glimmer. And if he had, he knew which boundary I had used and could show up here, in this world. I couldn’t take that risk. I had to find someplace safe. I splashed through the frigid water as little as possible, wishing that I had put on waterproof shoes, but these cheap sneakers were far more disposable.

As I suspected, the rich loamy soil under the trees was covered with dead leaves. Partial footprints might remain, but even to someone experienced I’d be much harder to track there. I jogged along, trying to determine if I had come to this world before. Periodically, I’d glance over my shoulder, checking for signs of Blondie.

Outside of my panting and the shushing of my feet against the leaves, the woods were still. Completely still. Straining for the sound of wildlife or a bird or anything, I nearly tripped over a large seed pod. Only a quick shuffle and grunt permitted my avoidance of the hazard and I glanced over it quickly. It looked like nothing more than a smooth and hairless coconut. Resuming my somewhat leisurely pace, I glanced up towards the trees. Sure enough, most of the giants around me bore similar bald coconuts, although their foliage reminded me more of gigantic elm leaves.

My stomach growled insistently and it was with great longing that I remembered my waffle; the blueberry goodness I had abandoned to the ants. I wondered if the coconut seeds would be any good to eat. Our systems were far better equipped than humans to handle poisoning other than iron whether inadvertent or intentional. “The evolution of centuries of treachery and in-fighting,” Dad was fond of calling it. Still, I wasn’t about to risk the attempt even with the post-glimmering hunger on me. Even if it wouldn’t kill me, I could be rendered severely uncomfortable or even incapacitated which was something I really didn’t need right now.

I had learned in the past that it’s far better to track down some locals, hope that they’re humanoid and try to obtain some of their grub. More often than not it would be edible, even if not palatable. Even if not, the risk of throwing up over their comestibles was better than taking shots in the dark and debilitating myself for potentially long periods of time.

Just then, somewhere off to my left and over the crest of one of the tree covered rises, I heard noise. A chorus of jingling and creaking that sounded like civilization to my hopeful ears. Well, civilization of some sort, I reminded myself as a loud gravelly honk rose over the other sounds. I scrambled up the hill, dislodging large chunks of loam and leaf in my wake, hungry for the sight of whatever people this world offered. And just plain hungry besides.

I wasn’t disappointed. Trundling along a tree-cleared stretch was a low and wide wagon upon which a few humanoids and several netted oddities sat. Harnessed to the wagon and pulling it were a team of what looked uncommonly like very large, very green llamas. Their ridiculous necks undulating as they strained against the weight of their burden, the beasts trotted along, towing the creaking wooden structure under the guidance of a squat-looking humanoid.

Hoping against hope that they might understand me or at least not immediately attack me, I careened wildly down the hill towards them. The way to the road was steep and it was either careen or roll. I figured the former was the more dignified of the two. As I ran, I called out several linguistic attempts, “Wait! Stop! Arrȇte! Halt!” The wagon slowed, but the only immediate response I received was an indignant honk from one of the llama-esque beings.

The boundary connection sometimes places you in a location where the language is similar or even the same. Unfortunately, at other times, it doesn’t at all. It’s hard to predict what form the connection will take, whether it may be social, geographical, or completely and utterly random. Much like the Other Realm, the Mistlands have regional variety in languages; many mirroring the world that had once been so close. If you have been to a location and you use the proper boundary, you can cross to the same place again and again with sufficient power. My usual path took me quite comfortably through known worlds, most inhabited, with friends along the way. But beggars can’t be choosers and if Blondie was any indication, it might be a good idea to avoid my usual route.

I kept my hands raised and digits spread to demonstrate my lack of a weapon as the wagon pulled to a stop. I halted, too, not wanting to come closer until invited. I really didn’t want them to mistake me for a thief or brigand of some sort. The road that they were on could act as a boundary if things got nasty, although a second crossing so fast would probably do me in for the day unless I gained sustenance first.

The driver hopped down from his perch and I realized he was only about four feet tall, but broad and sturdy. His bone structure appeared much heavier than a human’s. His lower mandible jutted outwards with an elongated jaw, probably built that way to support the tusks that extended from either side of his mouth. In his meaty hands, the driver gripped what looked like a spear gun. He grunted something guttural that I didn’t understand at all and I looked towards the others in the wagon. All of them were of similar facial composition although I noticed that one of them had etchings in his tusks.

As soothingly as I could, I explained in the manner of American tourists around the world: slowly and loudly stating what I wanted in English accompanied with wild hand gestures to try to promote some understanding. “I am looking…” I cupped a hand over my eyes and the piggy driver grunted. Since he made no move to shoot me, I continued on. “For a way to go…” I pointed down the cleared path in the direction the wagon was facing. All the porcine heads turned to follow my gesture. “and find some food. Food? Mmmm.” I mimicked eating motions, mouth to hand and then added the satisfying noise and rubbed my belly.

Finished, I scanned their faces for any sign of comprehension, or at least nonviolence. One, I think she was a woman, for she was smaller and her triangular ears were pierced and bore what looked like dangling dried flowers, nodded and exclaimed, “Tak!”

Uncertain, I repeated, “Tak?” My pronunciation must have needed much work, because the three in the wagon suddenly burst into snorting, grunting giggles.

“Tak,” growled the driver, all levity halting a foot short of his brusque and dangerous demeanor. He added something that I couldn’t understand, but he pointed towards the wagon and the piggy-people inside shuffled around to make room. The one with the dangling flowers stretched out a hand as I approached to help me up and I was curious to note that they only had three fingers, but each bore an extra joint as compared to our own. I took the helping hand and scrambled my way up onto the wagon.

Chapter 2 - section 3

I slept poorly. Even though I tried to shove all the worries and possibilities out of my mind, I couldn’t turn my thoughts off. When I slept, it was unpleasant and restless and I woke myself tossing and turning numerous times. My concern wrapped around me like the sheets wound around my legs. I was trapped and I couldn’t relax, couldn’t break free. It was for this reason that I was watching when that ethereal alchemist, dawn, turned the clouds from lead to gold in the sky.

In an effort to bring some relief to my sleep-deprived muscles, I took a long hot shower. It was only after filling my tiny windowless bathroom with steam enough to obscure the mirror over the sink that I felt revived enough to start what I knew would be a grueling day. I dressed quickly. Then I tore a brush viciously through my hair before it could dry. Frozen blueberry waffles got tossed into the toaster. There was no sense heading out on an empty stomach, after all.

Holding my breakfast in my mouth, I struggled with the door. When the flimsy waffle began to break under the pressure of my teeth and started to fall, I bent to try to catch it before it hit the ground. I had too much to do to waste time going back inside to make more. And besides, I really was hungry.

This action saved me. Even as I grabbed at my breakfast, two thunks resounded in the wood of the door behind me. I yelped. I whirled around and dropped to one knee only to see two nasty-looking darts still quivering from their forced entry. My heart began to pound and I could feel the blood rushing in my ears. Those were meant for me.

I scanned the road opposite my townhouse through the scraggly holly bush planted to one side of what the realtor had generously deemed a front porch. I couldn’t think. I could barely breathe. Someone was shooting at me! Even worse, peering out, I couldn’t see anyone. A few parked cars, but no sign of life within them.

The adrenaline made my nerves tingle and I felt hyper aware of everything around me. I very cautiously turned to inspect the darts. Black feathers fluttered in the crisp spring breeze. The metal forming the body of the darts was embedded in my door; a spiderweb of cracked wood surrounding the entry points. My stomach abruptly sank to my toes and a cold chill washed over me. I just knew that if I were to check, the darts would be made of iron.

The myths about faeries and iron, like many myths, are loosely based on fact. Iron won’t make us disappear if we touch it or cause us instantaneous pain. We can’t sense it and we don’t have to avoid touching it in the mundane course of living. It does, however, act as a poison when it contacts fey blood.

Iron is one of the reasons, among others, why half-bloods like Vicky and me are rare. The iron in human blood means that carrying a half-breed to full term is incredibly difficult. Such pregnancy is more difficult than the initial conception. It does happen, though, as Vicky and I were living proof. For us, it was something of a tolerance to iron. We could ingest more than the normal fey in red meat and spinach and other iron-rich foods. And an iron weapon piercing our skin wouldn’t kill us immediately.

Iron weapons were still more dangerous to us than to humans, though. Vicky once had a rusted iron nail pierce her foot. Even though it was embedded in the floor and didn’t remain in her foot, she was bed-ridden for months and limped for nearly a year. The puckered ugly scar on her left foot remained a reminder to her and a warning to me.

Whoever shot these darts sure as hell wasn’t fooling around. I shivered under the thin sheen of fear-induced sweat I had acquired. Whoever attacked me knew what I was. And he wanted me dead.

I sat there shuddering under my realizations for a moment before the nagging vibration in my bones reminded me how incredibly stupid it was for me to remain still. Whoever shot at me had seen me and probably realized that he hadn’t hit me. Just because I didn’t see him didn’t mean he wasn’t there. And I wasn’t about to let him get in a second shot at me just because I was stunned he had tried the first.

Abandoning my waffle on the ground for the ants – threats of bodily harm are a great appetite suppressant – I quickly vaulted over the rail of the “porch” to land in the mud behind a rhododendron. There I paused, tasting the silence and deciding which direction to go. I had already intended to make a trip into the Mistlands, but this made my need more urgent. Dad would protect me, but in order to get there, I had to make it away from here alive.

Slowly, after a glance over my shoulder, I began to creep backwards. I never thought I’d be so grateful for residing in an end unit. I moved just in time, too, because a shadow was making its way across the concrete porch. I held my breath, heart hammering as I caught a glimpse of my assailant. He was big; light on his feet and quiet for a man so big. The sun gleamed off of his golden hair and I caught sight of a dark red tattoo covering his hand. It wound around the fingers and across the hand and something about its twisting shape seemed familiar. I didn’t have time to think, though. The reason I could see his hand so well was because it was lowering from the weapon he held, heading towards his belt. Fuck. He had a gun there and there was little doubt in my mind that he had frangible bullets.

The normal lead bullets or bullets jacketed with steel or copper-nickel alloy could sure as hell hurt, but unless they hit a vital organ, they were unlikely to kill me. Urban cops have the tendency to use frangible bullets which are made out of powdered iron. They disintegrate on impact and lessen the risk of ricochet. I wasn’t about to take my chances; not after seeing those darts, not when the vibrations rattling my bones told me he was something not of this world.

I faded back around the house, trying to stay silent and out of his view. Every step sounded like it was a claxon advertising my presence. I couldn’t move slowly enough to keep myself quiet. I couldn’t move quickly enough to get away from my own house. And all the time, my mind was racing. Who sent him? Did this have to do with Vicky? Was Laila this upset about my releasing her thrall? Or was this some other threat entirely? And if Blondie here was the one who had been following me for the last day or so, why did he wait until now to try to take me out?

I stiffened as I heard loud retort of a knock at my door and then picked up my pace. Just behind my tiny little yard there were trees. It was a narrow line of trees, but it was just what I needed right now. Even through my fear, I remembered my father’s explanation of what the Mistlands are and how to get there: our elementary lessons. You had to find a boundary. The fewer boundaries in a place, the easier it would be to cross.

I heard the rustling of bushes behind me. I didn’t dare look over my shoulder as I hiked up my pace to a full sprint. If he was following me, I was going to give him a good run for it. If I could just make it to the trees, I could lose him in the mists, I knew it. I squinted, not willing to close my eyes all the way in a full throttle run, since the last thing I needed was to trip and fall. I called on my inner reserve of strength, trying to find peace within the terror that was sweeping my body and crossing the row of trees. Stumbling, I emerged somewhere else.

Chapter 2 - section 2

Once in the car, I had time to regret my interaction with Laila as I fought with the metal beast to start. Fey might not keep friends, but they’re notorious for holding grudges. She really wasn’t an enemy I wanted to have, but I’m a fool when it comes to my temper. I consoled myself as I finally put-putted my way towards Foster Street, that at least she didn’t know the full extent of my powers. Hopefully it meant she wasn’t aware of all of my weaknesses, either. Even if she would be more careful now, having underestimated me once; I was a variable difficult to assess thanks to my heritage.

Because of who my father was, I was afforded abilities stronger than many full-blooded fey. Vicky had inherited these strengths, too. We were lucky. Not all of our half-siblings were so fortunate. Maybe our mother had some diluted blood in her past to make this possible. Maybe not. It was difficult to tell and such things are supposedly quite difficult to predict.

Needless to say, our father was pleased when he learned about our burgeoning abilities and took us intermittently to the Mistlands for training. Self-control isn’t what one normally considers when one thinks of the beings of the Mistlands, but it’s a means to an end. Control brings power. And if there’s one thing that the creatures of the Mistlands like more than glittering objects, it’s power.

Not to mention that in our ignorance, Vicky and I could have done a world of hurt to normal humans if we hadn’t been provided with some manner of training. Enchantment and glamour like Laila toyed with were the very least of the dangers. It isn’t that charming someone was free from risk. It wasn’t hard to destroy a man’s life; but at least in the end, he still had a life to go back to.

My thoughts on dangers and destruction of lives took a rapid turn as I swerved to pull in on the proper block of Foster Street. The particular house wasn’t hard to find. It was a narrow townhouse, not unlike mine, but drabber. The beige exterior badly needed a coat of paint and the interior visible from lit windows lacked any touch of curtains or warmth. It looked like a cheap rental property. It wasn’t these features that made it so easily recognizable, however. Not when it had an ambulance, fire truck and three police cars outside. The variety of flashing lights bathed the section of the street in a multi-colored strobe effect, none of them in synch with the others.

I leapt out of the car and towards the blocked off section of sidewalk. The knot in my stomach wrenched and my fear was so great that I could barely voice to myself my concern. To give it even a mental voice was to acknowledge it and make it a possibility. Vicky and I might not be close, but she was my sister. I didn’t want to see her dead.

I couldn’t help blanching at the sight of a gurney wheeling out, the body held inside covered from top to bottom. Death. It permeated this place. I frantically tried to catch the attention of one of the cops.

“My sister. Her friend said she was going to be here. Her boyfriend, too.” It was a slight prevarication, but I think under the circumstances, an understandable one. I was genuinely surprised at how badly my voice shook. One of the closest pair of cops turned to look at me, not without an efficient sort of sympathy.

He was middle-aged, evidenced by the spreading grey at his temples. His belly looked a little soft, but he had strong shoulders and kind grey eyes. His mouth was stern, however, a sharp line with thin lips. I gulped and carefully avoided direct eye contact. The fear had to be radiating off of me and I clamped down on it as best I could. “Is she…?” I couldn’t bring myself to end that sentence.

“Your sister wasn’t here, ma’am. Leastaways, not when all this happened.” His baritone was soft and calming with the faintest tinge of a gentle southern influence. The smoothed fricatives but absence of a twang were probably intended to be comforting, but it was the reassurance of his words more than his voice that I sought.

“You’re certain? She doesn’t look anything like me and I was told she would be here.” I didn’t want to argue, but I had to be certain.

His lips twitched grimly. “Positive, ma’am. In this house? All the people in there were men.”

Relief washed over me, in spite of the sudden cold sensation creeping up my spine. This couldn’t have anything to do with Vicky. Unless someone expected her to be here. Another gurney was getting shuffled through the door and I frowned.

“What exactly is “all this”?” I asked. All was an ugly word and in these circumstances it looked to be even uglier.

Any hope of reassurance ended as the cop’s warmth snapped off like a shutter drawn across a lantern. “I’m sorry, ma’am, I’m not at liberty to discuss it.”

Shit. It had to be bad. No simple accident. Two more ambulances pulled up with flashing lights but dead sirens. Not a good sign. The thought of asking more from the cop skittered through my mind, but his solicitude had apparently run its course as he turned back to talk to one of the EMTs. I murmured my gratitude and it was recognized by a slight distracted nod.

Warning bells were ringing in my mind, but I tried to convince myself that this was unrelated to Vicky. For a second, I wondered if it could have been Laila, but I dismissed that option quickly. The timing was all wrong. She might have been jealous, assuming she had told the truth, but judging the pressing sensation of death, she would had to make it here well before me to kill these men at a time when she was engaged with conversation with me. Unless she had killed them before we spoke.

Mired in unpleasant consideration, I headed back to my car. The icy fingers simply would not relent on the back of my neck and I shivered as I found the key to put to the car’s lock. The old hunk of junk had been made before fancy automatic locks and I lusted after owning a car that had them. Before I could turn the key, realization dawned. This wasn’t just the chill of death. The vibration underneath it, the cold sense of eyes on my skin; someone of the blood was watching me.

I feigned difficulty with the key and cast a sideways glance over my shoulder. There was someone across the street, but without street lamps and in the black evening hour, I could only catch an impression of height and movement amidst the shadows and flashing lights. The moment I turned to look more closely, he was gone. So was the vibration.

My eyes narrowed. He would have still been visible if he were going to the end of the block. He couldn’t have simply disappeared. He must have ducked into an alley or into one of the houses and yet, if he had done that, I should have been able to sense him. Unless he went into the Mistlands, my inner voice nagged. I dreaded that possibility and didn’t want to entertain it. It was bad enough that the only avenue I had left to try to track down Vicky was to go see Dad. I really didn’t need someone from the Mistlands spying on me as well.

Chapter 2 - section 1

I stood stone still, ignoring the jostling around me and mentally cursed. Fey come in all different types and it’s a blood-based hierarchy. The one thing that it inevitably means, no matter the sort of fey with which you're dealing, is power. Unfortunately, as a half breed, even one with the unusually potent blood of my father running in me, I wasn’t completely immune to the power of others. My abilities were far above what even some full bloods can manage, but it’s still damn hard to resist a full-blooded fey getting her glam on when the human in you responds.

Even worse, friendship in fey terms doesn’t truly exist. Getting an honest answer out of Laila wasn’t going to be easy. Knowing what was honest and what wasn’t would be even harder. If I had any other leads with which to hunt my sister down, I would have turned around and walked away. Unfortunately, at that moment, no such options existed.

I gritted my teeth, set my mental resolve and resumed motion.

“Tara, how lovely to see you,” Laila trilled sensuously as she lifted a languid porcelain hand towards me.

The silent curse in my mind doubled itself. She knew my name. My sense of wrong rose, momentarily cresting the buzz of fey awareness that jangled my nerves. My stomach turned, but I counted that as a blessing since it bothered me enough to ignore a little of Laila’s oozing glamour. As the sudden heady fragrance of flowers and sweetness swirled like an invisible fog between us, I swallowed, the foul taste in my mouth countering some of the effect.

“Do I look like some sort of pollen sucker to you?” I growled irritably. “And where the hell is Vicky?”

Laila’s exquisite green eyes flattened and her smiled faded. So, too, did the overwhelming olfactory presence. “Touchy, hmm?” she lilted, sizing me up. “What do you want with her?”

A grim satisfaction added strength to my efforts at shielding her glamour. She might have pulled my name from my mind, but she didn’t know my relationship to Vicky. That meant I might have the upper hand here. Laila could sense the blood in me, I had no doubt, but she’d have no idea the extent of my reserve.

A flicker of a smirk twitched the dark-haired beauty’s lips and a sudden wave of pain nearly doubled me over as if someone had punched me in the gut. I lost my breath with a grunt. She was strong. She’d have to be in order to make it out of the Mistlands or at least have accompanied someone strong, but this was clearly all her. I could feel the sweat at my forehead and the back of my neck as I focused, forcing her back enough that the pain was merely discomfort. Fortunately, I’d had plenty of practice fending off attacks like this from Vicky when she didn’t get her way, though it did little to improve my mood.

“Someone asked me to find her,” I managed to get out with a tone normal enough that it surprised me.

Clearly it surprised her as well. The attack halted as quickly as it began and Laila’s lower lip actually jutted out in a pout. With the glamour still on her, she managed to make even that ugly expression somehow alluring. The man closest to her began to stroke her arm and the others pressed closer, trying to get near to her. “You’re no fun. She’s not here.”

“I’m aware of that. Where is she?”

Cat-like, the enchanting woman’s eyes narrowed to slits at my query and I tensed, wrapping my irritation and anger around me like a protective cloak. Even if I knew damned well the fey thrived off of their games, I didn’t have to like it. While I was loathe to let her know my strength, I sure as hell wasn’t about to let her play with me more than necessary.

“Find the toy she stole from me. She’s probably still playing with him.”

This seemed promising. Her jealousy seemed realistic enough, although I kept my gaze fixed on the beauty. If she had been cheated out of one of her charmed, she might consider it fitting revenge to send someone to break up the liaison. At the same time, I had to keep on my guard. Promising or no, it seemed just a bit too easy.

“Who is he and where can I find him?”

I was ready for her next attempt at an attack and the fear she sent whipping at me like an emotional shadow was halted before it even had the opportunity to touch me. That was one of Vicky’s other favorites. I felt a stirring of satisfaction as this success cracked the Fey’s glamour long enough for her to scowl at me. For just a second, her eyes gleamed dangerously and she bared her teeth. In an eye’s blink, she recaptured her control.

“What’s in it for me?” she hissed.

I couldn’t help but smile inwardly for some of her sultry tone had been lost, too. Now we were getting somewhere. “How about you tell me what I need to know and I leave all your happy little thralls intact?”

“You don’t have that kind of power in you, little half-breed,” Laila scoffed. Her composure had returned and she exuded nothing but sleek confidence. “You might be able to resist me, but I can smell the human in you. You don’t have anything to bargain with.”

My temper flared. I had a problem with escalation and this particular fey was bringing out the worst in me. I knew I shouldn’t. I knew it would make an enemy out of Laila and I knew that I’d regret it later, but the yearning to put her into her place overwhelmed me. I’m sure my eyes must have flashed as I drew myself up to my full height. My only thoughts were of showing this arrogant creature who and what she was dealing with as I opened my free hand.

I sent out a small spark of my energy towards the man still stroking her lovely white arm. With a careful touch and eyes locked on the Fey in front of me, I explored the invisible silken strands of her will wrapped around him. As I expected, her hold on him wasn’t tight like a cocoon, but something more like a net, allowing him to move and think for himself within the constraints of her desire. Touching my thumb to my middle finger, I plucked the strands holding him prisoner. They broke with a silent twang that felt like ethereal rubber bands tugged so taut that they split. Laila was aghast, her eyes widening in disbelief and her glamour loosening on the remaining men.

The liberated fellow shook his head, blinking. He looked like someone entering a dark room from the vivid glare of a noonday sun and unable to get his eyes to adjust. “Where? What time is it?” He held up his watch to his eyes, trying to focus. “Shit!” Alarmed at the hour, he beat a hasty retreat to the door.

I dropped my hand and took a sip from my Guiness, although my sense of satisfaction died under the ice of Laila’s stare.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

And she was probably right. I shouldn’t have, but I really can’t bear to be challenged. At least this way, she knew my threat wasn’t idle. “Now that we’re clear that I can, perhaps you’d like to tell me who this guy is and where I can find him? Or should I free a few more?” I sloshed my glass towards the men drifting slowly away from her.

Like dogs hitting the end of their leashes, the men halted, all of them at once. Clearly, my mention reminded Laila of them and she had renewed her hold on them. She tightened it, too, if their motion was anything to judge by. She gnashed her teeth and gritted out unwillingly; “Travis Loome. 210 Foster Street.”

“That wasn’t so hard, was it now?” I ignored the waves of ire steaming behind me as I turned, dropping my glass onto one of the nearby tables.

Her voice held an arctic chill when she called after me, “Who the hell are you, Tara?”

I was still basking in my satisfaction at finally besting her and so without thinking, I answered. “One of Allister’s bastards.”

The force of her stunned silence paused most of the bar. I took that opportunity to force my way back through the crowd and out of the joint. Without looking over my shoulder, I made my way back to the car. Even the sensation of being watched couldn’t rob me of the joy of a minor victory.

Chapter 1 - section 2

I paused by the door to peer into the dusty mirror hung upon the wall. With a grunt of disgust at my disheveled appearance, I tried to comb my fingers through my tangled hair. I looked myself up and down. My jeans and t-shirt weren’t doing me any favors, but I had looked worse. The clothing hid my form from view and given the curves I was endowed with, something more form fitting would have been flattering, but I wasn’t about to change to search for Vicky. My brown curls looked like a weed whacker had been at them, but there wasn’t anything to do about that. They looked like that more often than not. Unable to get my fingers through my hair, I gave up.

I grabbed my battered leather jacket and used both hands to grab the front door knob. The paint-peeling portal was encased in a frame that had warped from moisture and stuck abysmally. It was but one of the numerous home repairs I always intended to see done. In the interim, I tried to convince myself that it provided a sort of older charm to the townhouse.

After a heave and a satisfying slam of the door, I hopped down the steps leading to the street. The sharp tattoo of the wooden heels of my clogs beat time against the chipped sidewalk. To my ears it sounded like it was calling out, “Trouble. Trouble.” And the words echoed in my mind.

Laura wouldn’t be much help, but the bar at the corner of their block might. I’d at least be able to find out who Vicky was spending her time with these days. Trouble. By human standards, Vicky had always been just that: trouble. She took after our mother in looks, our father in attitude. I considered it just my luck that I drew the short straw in our mutual genetic pool. I was all responsibility and better built for a sturdy fight than anything else. Vicky had inherited all the willowy charm that had enticed a creature of the Mistlands to dally with our mother for a few years. And responsibility, well, let’s just say that she had inherited all the personality traits of the fey. Vicky lived for today and rarely thought of anyone beyond herself.

Still, she was rarely without companions. It was hard not to admire that style of living, even if most of us discover our consciences won’t allow our attempts at imitation. Vicky’s inability to recognize consequence and the bookend trait of self-indulgence ensured that her companions were as variable as the weather. But if I could just pin down one of them, I’d have a better idea of where she might have disappeared.

Trouble. Trouble. Assuming she went willingly. I squelched that thought as quickly as it rose, but something about this just felt wrong in a way I didn’t dare communicate to our mother. If I tried to explain this nagging feeling, she wouldn’t understand. Even if I tried and she did, it would only cause her more worry and she didn’t need that.

As I determinedly strode my way the three blocks to where my battered and ancient VW Rabbit stood, I noticed a blond, spiky-haired youth loitering outside a cramped corner convenience store. More precisely, I noted him watching me. His gaze latched on and then he quickly turned his head, affecting the manner of someone taking excessive interest in the cigarette butts littering the sidewalk.

I quickly surveyed him. He was thin to the point of flirting with emaciation and of moderate height. Like many teens, he was gangly at the wrist and ankle, although his clothing seemed to fit him adequately. Really, the kid wasn’t bad looking, with a snub nose and eyebrows slashing at angles that might appear angry. That emotion was denied by the natural curve of his lips, however, leaving him with a more mischievous air.

A faint tingle formed along my spine, like the hint of an electrical charge sometimes felt before a storm strikes. It was a distant and vague hum and I frowned. To some extent, this kid had fey blood, although probably diluted to give me such a light reaction. Unless someone else was near.

I glanced over my shoulder only to find no one else around. I hurried on and filed away thoughts of this kid, since the combination of his somewhat familiar features and his probably bloodline bore further consideration. But for the moment, far more important things required my attention.

Like getting the car to start. I cursed, hitting the wheel with the heel of my hand as if that would help. Piece of junk. I’d held off buying a new car for what had to be eons. In the meantime, I had probably dumped more than a new car’s worth of money into repairs on this hunk of wasted metal. But my current job didn’t pay well enough to spring for a new one all at once. My sister would have no qualms at using other methods to get what she needed, but I hated to do so. It just felt wrong to me.

I turned the key, pleading aloud with the car to work, just this once. I really didn’t want to cope with alternative means of transportation right now. Luck was on my side, fortunately, and I let out a triumphant shout as the engine ignited. The moment the harsh rattling turned over to the rapid hum of life, I made a mental note to treat the old heap to a car wash in the near future.

Victoriously, the Rabbit and I put-putted into traffic. The trip to my sister’s block was uneventful, if riddled with red traffic lights. Former block, I reminded myself as I made a mess of an attempt at parallel parking behind Laura’s sleek little hybrid. With one rear wheel on the curb and at an awkward angle, I figured I had done well enough to not get hit and exited.

The red sportscar of foreign design behind me had done nearly as bad of a job of parking as I had. Catching sight of the mountain of tickets piled on the interior dashboard and the two under the blade on the windshield, I sighed. Bad parking had to be something of a family trait. But that did nothing to ease my growing concerns. Clothing and car had both been left behind; this wasn’t a normal mode of departure for Vicky. I shook my head and hurried my way down the block to the tavern bustling with life and fluorescent signs advertising different beers.

Friday night. Could there have been a worse time to head into a bar? The din from outside rose to deafening proportions as I edged my way into the crowded vestibule. At least someone who knew Vicky was likely to be in residence. A muscular fellow wearing a backwards baseball cap and positively reeking of stale cigarette smoke and spilt beer looked me up and down with a dismissive sneer. He opened his mouth to make some sort of snide remark when his bloodshot eyes met my gaze. Even though I quickly looked away, his comment died unspoken.

Thankful for small blessings, I quickly elbowed my way towards the bar. The bartender had to be harried with this crowd, but you wouldn’t know it to look at her. She was all efficiency; a whirlwind of economic motion.

“What’ll it be?” she asked, glancing up as she somehow managed to fill four pints from two taps without missing a beat.

“A pint of Guinness and a question answered when you have a moment to breathe,” I ordered hopefully.

Her glance sharpened and she bobbed her head curtly. “Gimme five for the question. Pint for you in the meantime.” As she spoke, she topped off what I realized was my glass with only a moderate bit of head. Impressed, I nodded my thanks and grabbed the drink, squeezing between the occupants of two barstools.

Taking a sweaty ten from my back pocket, I shoved it onto the bartop and took the time to look around. The people on either side, although claustrophobically close, were part of two larger groups leaving me to the sight of their curved backs. The roaming packs surrounding the bar were loud and young. This was definitely Vicky’s kind of place. And her friends would no doubt be the loudest and most glamorous of the crowd.

My roaming sight paused on a black-haired beauty of a woman, lithe and flawless. She was dressed in some sort of slinky black pants, probably leather and her top glittered with silver and green sequins. She was surrounded by a congregation of attractive young men and was laughing delightedly. She had potential.

The hair on the back of my neck rose and I became conscious of someone’s attention resting on me. I turned back, scanning the conversations. The impression intensified, but I couldn’t see anyone. Before I could track down my unseen viewer, the bartender returned, leaning closer to call out over the din to me.

“What’s your question? I don’t have long.”

“I’m looking for my sister. She’s a regular and I was hoping you could point me towards her friends. Assuming any are here.”

The tender’s quick brown eyes gave me the once over, her brow furrowing in perplexity. Her confusion was predictable and I quickly added, “I know, we don’t look anything alike. Vicky Petrov. Tall, thin, with pale blonde hair?”

The bartender blinked at me and then laughed. “Yeah, I know her. You’re right. You really don’t look related at all.” I smiled wryly, used to such reactions. “She’s a regular all right. Hell, she brings the party to us on our slow nights, even if she tips like crap.”

That was Vicky all over. “So, are any of her party companions here?”

The brunette paused to glance over the crowd. Unerringly, she pointed at the black-haired, sequined beauty. “Laila’s your girl, although it’s been a few days since she was in with Vicky.” In nearly the same breath she called, “Gimme a minute, I’ll be right there!” towards some young guy flinging himself onto his stomach on the bar to extend one wildly waving arm.

“Thanks. Sorry to keep you,” I said with a chuckle, motioning her back towards the impatient kid.

She rolled her eyes with an amused smirk before tacking on a more professional smile and moving away. Holding a glass close to my body so it wouldn’t get hit by an unruly elbow, I followed suit. I slid through the press of flesh, trying to make my way towards Laila and her entourage.

A tingling ran through me. The rising sensation had absolutely nothing to do with beer. I glanced around warily as I elbowed my way forward. The feeling grew stronger, becoming a vibrating hum in my bones. I wasn’t very far away from my striking target when she looked up and her emerald gaze locked onto me.

I stopped where I stood, clutching my glass. Fuck. She was the source. Laila was full-blooded fey.