How could it feel so good to kill Unseelie if I was their creator?
“See? More proof I’m not,” I told myself in the mirror with a nod. My reflection nodded sagely back. I selected the medium heat setting on my dryer and began to blow-dry my hair.
The Unseelie had retreated. Word of us had spread through the streets and they’d withdrawn from combat, flapped, sifted, and slithered away. I guess after being locked up for their entire existence, they were in no hurry to die now that they were free. I’d left Barrons, the two Keltar, and V’lane looking remarkably unsatisfied and about to fall at one another’s throats. I’d been tired, sore, and beyond caring. If they were stupid enough to kill each other, they deserved the resultant problems it would create.
As I slipped into pajamas, a pebble rattled against my bedroom window.
I was so not in the mood for V’lane right now. Yes, I had questions, but tonight was not the night to ask them. I needed rest and a clear head. I kicked away the backpack, crawled in bed and pulled the covers over my head to block out the blazing light from five lamps. The Shades were supposedly gone. “Supposedly” isn’t a word I live with well.
Another pebble.
I squeezed my eyes shut and waited for it to stop.
Five minutes of incessant pebbles later, a stone crashed through my window, spraying glass and scaring the hell out of me.
I shot up in bed and glared at the mess on the floor. I couldn’t even march over and snap his head off. I had to dig around for shoes first.
A chilly breeze flapped the curtains.
I tugged on boots and crunched to the window. “I’m not talking to you until you fix the damned glass, V’lane,” I snapped. Then, “Oh!”
A cloaked, hooded figure stood in the alley below, and for a moment it reminded me of Mallucé. Dark robes swirled in a gossamer cloud as the figure moved jerkily forward, as if every step was agony. The exterior spotlights gleamed across the cloak, and I saw it was fashioned of frothy light chiffon.
My first thought was of the Sinsar Dubh, hiding somewhere beneath those many secretive folds.
“Drop the cloak. I want to see hands, everything.”
I heard a sharp inhalation, a wheeze of agony. Arms moved with arthritic carefulness, loosening a brooch at the throat. The hood fell and the cloak rustled to the ground.
I nearly vomited. I bit back a scream. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. It was Fiona, in the badly mutilated flesh.
“Merssseee.” Skinned lips parted on a sibilant hiss.
I turned away from the window and leaned back against the sill, hand over my mouth. My eyes were closed, but there was no escape. I could see her on the backs of my lids.
She’d tried to kill me, in what seemed another lifetime. She’d taken up with Derek O’Bannion, then Darroc.
All because she loved Jericho Barrons.
The night the Book had brought her to my balcony, skinned alive, I’d wondered if all the Unseelie she’d eaten would keep her from dying. Eating Unseelie has remarkable healing properties. But apparently growing a new human skin—or maybe healing from any magical injury the Sinsar Dubh had inflicted—was beyond its ability.
“I thought the Book killed everyone it possessed,” I said finally. My words rang out in the hushed night.
“It has … different appetites for … us … who eat Unseelie.” Her pained voice floated up.
“It killed Darroc. He ate Unseelie.”
“Silencing … him. For what … he knew.”
“Which was?”
“If only … I knew. I would …” She made a garbled sound, and I assumed from the wheezes and moans that she was stooping to retrieve her cloak. I tried to imagine what would hurt worse on flayed flesh—the cold night breeze or clothes. Both would be a walking hell. I couldn’t imagine how she stood the pain.
I didn’t say anything. There was nothing to say.
“Try it … myself,” she finally continued, “pray it … killed me … too.”
“Why are you here?” I turned and stared down at her. Although she’d put her cloak back on, she’d left the hood down.
“Can’t heal.” Gray eyes shimmered with constant pain in bloody sockets. Even her lids were gone. “Can’t die. Tried … everything.”
“Still eating Unseelie?”
“Dulls … pain.”
“It’s probably what’s keeping you alive.”
“Too … late.”
“You mean you think you’ve been eating it so long that even if you stopped now you might not die?”
“Yesss.”
I considered that. Depending on how much she’d eaten, it was possible. Mallucé had been marbled with Fae like a steak with fat. Maybe even if she stopped entirely, she would never be fully human again. I’d eaten it only twice in my life and hoped it had passed from my body forever.
“Can’t find …” Her gaze drifted to the abandoned Dark Zone, and I understood that she’d hunted for a Shade to kill her. But they’d moved on long ago to greener pastures, literally, and she didn’t look capable of walking very far. I couldn’t imagine her driving a car, sitting on that flayed flesh. I shuddered. “Only spear … sword … will—”
“—make the Fae parts quit keeping you alive,” I finished. I looked away, stared out over the roof of Barrons’ garage at the hundreds of dark roofs beyond. “You want me to kill you.” There was a terribly irony here.
“Yesss.”
“Why not try Dani? Don’t you think you might have better luck there?”
“Said no.”
I blinked. She’d actually known about Dani, found her, and Dani had refused?
“Said … you had to …”
“And you think I have mercy?”
“Can’t … look … at me.”
I jerked my gaze back to her skinned face. “I can ignore you for the rest of my life.” But it wasn’t true. And she knew it.
“Merssseee,” she hissed again.
I punched the ledge of the window.
There were no easy choices anymore. I didn’t want to go down there and look at her. I didn’t want to stab her. I couldn’t possibly let her go on suffering if I could do something about it, and I could.
I gazed longingly at my bed. I wanted nothing more than to crawl back in.