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.