I drop my face into my hands. The leather against my skin is familiar and reassuring. I breathe in deep. It helps.

  Until Nine starts to speak again.

  “Listen to me.” I peek at him through the slivers of space between my fingers. “You must—”

  Okay. That’s it.

  I drop my hands.

  “I’m done.”

  “Shadow—”

  Gritting my teeth, I tell him, “Don’t call me that.”

  “We have to get you somewhere else. A building with iron in it would work. Either up high or down below. It’ll throw the soldiers off your scent and then we—”

  I cut him off right there. “There is no we. I told you, Nine. I’m done. Go. Leave me the hell alone. You don’t have to keep on pretending that you care what happens to me.”

  Nine blinks. “I’m not pretending.”

  He only cares because he feels like he’s repaying the woman I never got the chance to meet.

  “My mom told you to protect me, right?” That’s what Rys said. “You said the Light Fae didn’t have the power to wipe the debt clear. Do I?”

  “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

  Maybe I don’t. “Yes or no?”

  “I’m supposed to help you. I’ve accepted my duty. It took me years to understand, but this is what I’m supposed to be doing. Don’t do this. Not now, Shadow. Not when I know the soldiers are after you.”

  So that’s a yes, then. Okay. “Nine, consider your debt paid in full.”

  His silver eyes flash. I can’t tell if it’s in annoyance, anger, or relief, but a dark shadow passes across his face as his glowing eyes light up his beautiful features. He dips his right hand into the pocket of his jacket, pulling out the same rock he showed Rys. When he opens his hand, I see the rock—and I notice that his hand is almost completely healed.

  “I’ll go because you’ve asked me to, not because I consider the debt closed. I’m still clinging to the bargain, Shadow. I won’t return this yet.”

  His rock? What the hell do I want with his rock?

  “Whatever. Just go.”

  He nods. “If you need me, call me. I’ll return to you as soon as I can.”

  I turn my back on him. It’s tough, seeing Nine so defeated. My whole life, he was my knight in the shadows. My guardian. My protector. If this is the last time I see him, it’s a shitty way to go out.

  But I can’t do this. I wasn’t kidding when I said I’m done.

  “Yeah, well, don’t hold your breath.”

  There’s no answer from behind me.

  I glance over my shoulder.

  Nine’s already gone.

  I spend my first night on the outside inside of a mausoleum.

  I’ve got nowhere else to go. My first instinct was to find a way back to Black Pine and I figure out way too late that I let my trip home slip through my fingers when I forced Nine to leave.

  And, sure, he might think I have this skill to shade-walk, but I’m just starting to fully accept the powers of the fae after six years of pretending they don’t exist. Even though I obviously moved out of my room at the asylum, it’s going to take me a minute to figure out how that happened.

  Madelaine is buried here in Acorn Falls, a well-to-do little nook of a town about a city or two over from Black Pine. This is where the Everetts used to live before they moved more than six hours away. I lived here with them for close to two years, before the accident and the hearings and the decision that I should be kept inside of the residential ward at Black Pine until I was twenty-one.

  I should know where I am and how to get back. I don’t. Besides, it’s the middle of the night. What can I do? I’m not gonna be able to stay here long-term, but there’s no harm in staying over until morning. If I start wandering in the dark, I’ll end up even more lost.

  At least, that’s what I convince myself as I start looking for a place to hide.

  My instincts lead me to the old mausoleum that shielded me from the rain the last time I was here. The Richardsons’ mausoleum is big and wide. Not too long after I sent Nine away, the caretaker left. It’s just me here now. Maybe I can hide on the backside of the big mausoleum and get some sleep. I’m already exhausted. I’ll never make it ‘til tomorrow if I don’t get some real shut-eye now.

  For once, luck’s on my side. After I stumble over mounds of earth and silent graves, I see that the door is cracked open, almost as if someone has been expecting me. A thick piece of wood is wedged between the stone wall and the door, leaving just enough space for a slim person to slip inside.

  I’m no Carolina, but I make it inside by holding my breathing and squeezing my way in.

  The mausoleum has a strange smell, musty and chemical; considering what else is in this crypt, it could be worse. There is one questionable puddle along the far wall. I just make sure to stay on the other side, about three feet away from the wall full of caskets.

  I keep my head down, figuring that, so long as I stare at the concrete floor instead of the ornate shelves, I can forget that there are dead bodies in here with me.

  It’s fine. I’m not afraid of the dead. The dead can’t touch me.

  They can’t do anything to hurt me at all.

  I sit cross-legged on the stone floor, running the edge of my gloves along the side of my slipper. I’m tired, sure, but I think I’ve gotten to the point that I’m over-tired. I feel like I drank two espressos, then chased it with an energy booster or something. I’m buzzing, super focused. I use the sense of touch to ground myself. Without being able to touch another person, I’ve gotten used to touching me. I run my fingers along my slipper, my calf, my knee, my arm. I’m here. I’m in one piece.

  For now.

  I peer at my slippers. They’re damp, but still clean for the most part; flecks of dried mud cover the side and are stuck in the treads. Because I had planned on visiting Carolina, I’m not in my robe or my pajamas. I’ve got on my hoodie, but at least I’m also wearing an old pair of faded jeans. That’ll help me out tomorrow.

  For now, I’m grateful for the freezing air conditioning the Black Pine staff keeps running all year long. Even though the summer days are warm, the summer nights are chilly, so I’m kind of used to this weather. It’s really cold inside of the mausoleum, though. Without my hoodie, I don’t think I could have made it through the night.

  Eventually, I crash. It had to happen. Even though I keep thinking I hear someone coming—Nine, Rys, the caretaker, I don’t even know anymore—I drift off to sleep, curled up on the stone floor of the mausoleum.

  I don’t know how long I’m sleeping. It feels like it’s only been a few minutes when I’m blinking myself awake again, but the air is different than it was. Thicker. Heavier.

  The inside of the mausoleum isn’t as gloomy, either. Light filters in through the crack in the door. I’m so happy to see it. One, because the light tells me that it’s daytime. I made it through the night. And two, no one closed the mausoleum behind me. I’m not trapped in here with the dead.

  No, I’m just an escapee from a glorified psych hospital. ‘Cause that’s so much better.

  Slowly, I pull myself up into a sitting position, stretching my stiff arms and my achy legs. Apart from that, I don’t really move. Moving means accepting that I have to come up with a plan to get back to Black Pine.

  I never thought I’d feel homesick for the asylum. I totally do. I’d do anything to be back there right now. I’m too worried, too scared, too apprehensive to feel hungry, but that’s not gonna last. I’m gonna need to eat soon.

  And what about my pills? My morning meds? I can’t say for sure if they actually did anything. Still, I know withdrawals are no joke. I can’t just stop taking my medication and assume that everything’s gonna be okay.

  How long will it take before my body realizes it’s missing them? I’ve heard horror stories about withdrawals. I’m not looking forward to it.

  My head is heavy on my shoulders and I give it a few experimental rolls on my neck. My hair feels knotted and tangled as it hangs down my back. I wish I had a hair-tie or a rubber band or something to get it out of my face. I twist it and tuck it beneath my hoodie for now. Wiping my dirty gloves on my even dirtier jeans, I start to stand. I was thinking I should wait to break out again until it’s a little later, maybe while the caretaker is at lunch. I don’t want to risk getting caught leaving the mausoleum, but I can’t sit here any longer.

  I stay on the dark side of the crypt, pacing back and forth, anything to get rid of this nervous energy. My slippers pad almost noiselessly against the stone floor. When I turn, they shuffle; apart from that, there’s no sound. At least I’m used to the quiet. It’s one thing that has never bothered me. I enjoy it. It’s helpful, too, because when I hear the rustle coming from nearby outside, I’m not caught entirely unaware.

  Not that I can do anything about it. By the time they get close enough that I realize they’re heading for the open mausoleum, there’s no way for me to get out first.

  I freeze. Is it the caretaker? Did he finally pick up on the fact that the mausoleum is partially unsealed and he’s coming to check it out? Or, worse, was the door propped open because they’re getting ready to put another casket inside?

  Oh, no, no, no...

  A ray of golden light falls at my feet as a very tall, very beautiful fae slips gracefully inside of the crypt. Even in the dark, dank gloom, Rys seems to shine.

  So, uh, not the caretaker then.

  At that moment, I don’t think I’ve ever wished to have a weapon on me more than I do now. A baseball bat, a lead pipe, anything. He’s paused in the entryway, but I know that’s his way of making a grand entrance.

  I don’t want to let him get any closer and I resort to holding up my hands to ward him off.

  “Stay back,” I tell him. “Don’t come any closer.”

  Rys’s gleeful laughter sends chills up and down my spine. He places one hand to his chest. “Is that how you greet your mate?”

  Not this garbage again. Seriously, I think this guy belongs in the asylum. It’s as clear a case of obsessive delusions as I’ve ever seen. Then there’s the fact that I know he can go into violent, murderous rages in one second, before laughing and smiling charmingly in the next.

  I back away. One of the casket handles on this side of the crypt jams into my back, the one above it barely missing the bottom of my head. I let out a grunt of pain, though I don’t take my eyes off of Rys.

  “What are you doing here? How did you find me?”

  “Now that you’re finally coming into your power, your soul is reaching out for its mate.” Rys advances on me. My breath catches in my throat. “I have the power to follow you wherever you go. You gave me that, Riley.”

  “I didn’t give you shit!”

  “Oh? Is that so?”

  “Yes! You’re not supposed to be here. I don’t want you anywhere near me, you freak.”

  Rys stops on the edge of the light. The corners of his mouth turn up slightly, revealing gleaming white teeth. I can’t help but notice that his canines are longer than the rest. They look like fangs.

  “Unlike my kind, humans can tell an untruth. I suggest you get better at it if you want me to give up on our mating, my ffrindau.”

  “Wait— you think I want you chasing after me?”

  He does. I don’t need to use my talent as a gauge to know that he does. This fae actually thinks that I like his attention.

  What the hell?

  It’s like the day with Diana and her gold-colored eyes all over again. My breathing starts to quicken now, shallow breaths as I struggle to take in more and more oxygen. If I’m not careful, this could turn into one of those debilitating attacks that leaves me on the floor, sitting on my hands. I can’t have that. I’ve gotta keep calm.

  I’ve gotta get out of here.

  Though I told myself—and him—that I didn’t want his help, I find myself blurting out: “Nine!”

  Rys shakes his head, long, fair hair swaying hypnotically as he paces along the line that separates the light from my dark side. He purses his lips, visibly annoyed that I’ve said Nine’s name.

  “Don’t waste your breath,” he says, pouting. “Nine won’t come.”

  I hope he’s wrong. I need Nine. He’s the only one I can get to help me keep Rys away from me.

  I try again, “Nine, I’m sorry. Please come back!”

  “He can’t. There are rules, Riley.”

  My body shivers whenever he says my name. I thought it was fear the first time I shook. Now I’m not so sure. He makes Riley sound so beautiful. I should hate it—and I don’t.

  This can’t be happening.

  I focus on what he just said. Because, despite Nine telling me that he would come if I call for him, he isn’t here.

  I glare over at the Light Fae. I’m sure that he won’t hurt me—other humans are fair game but, for the moment, as long as he wants me to, like, marry him, he’s not gonna kill me or anything. I push past my terror and my conflicting emotions when it comes to Madelaine’s murderer. He’s the only one who seems to want me to know what’s going on.

  Let’s go.

  “What do you mean, rules?” I demand.

  Rys laughs lightly. It’s such a sweet, gentle laugh, and I think that’s what scares me most. He’s dangerous, a menace, and yet I feel myself being drawn to him. I don’t understand it and I have to stop myself from leaning in toward him.

  He knows what he’s doing. It’s why I’m pressed up against the wall of caskets. I’m stuck among the dead people in this mausoleum all because part of me kinda likes the idea of walking up to the Light Fae.

  “First of all, it’s daylight. The Dark Fae are crippled during the time of the sun. He can’t whip up a portal and come running without his precious shadows. And even if you’re lucky enough to find one, calling him Nine isn’t enough. He doesn’t have to respond to it—it’s not his true name. It doesn’t have the power.”

  “True name? What’s that mean? Nine’s not his name?”

  “Not his true name. It’s like how you want to be called Riley and I’m Rys. Nine chooses to be called Nine, but it’s not the name that you can use to command him.” He pauses. “I don’t know his, but I can give you mine. I wouldn’t mind being under your command.”

  “That’s okay. I’m gonna pass.”

  His grin widens. “Would you like me to tell you yours?”

  15

  That… that was the last thing I expected him to say. In my experience, Rys doesn’t take rejection too well. The creepy grin is bad enough. But to offer to tell me my true name?

  “What? No. I don’t have a true name. I’m not… I’m not like you. I’m human.”

  “Mm.” Rys makes a non-committal noise in the back of his throat. His golden eyes shine. “Are you so sure about that, my mate—”

  “Not your mate.”

  He ignores me. “—that you don’t have a true name? Think it over. There isn’t a single name I can use that will have you doing my bidding?”

  Come, Zella.

  My whole body goes icy cold. That word. How many times did he use it and, suddenly, I was doing something I never would have in a million years?

  “Come to me. Stay with me,” purrs Rys. I notice he doesn’t say Zella now. Why not? He holds out his hand. “Take my hand. Just one touch. One dance. I swear, you’ll be glad you chose me. The Shadow Prophecy will ruin you, Riley. Come with me. I’ll save you from the Fae Queen. If you’re with me, she’ll forget all about you. If you choose Nine… well, he’s a Dark Fae. She’ll never believe you’re not the Shadow.”

  Choose Nine? That’s the part that sticks out at me the most. Who said it was a contest between the two fae? One’s a monster, the other my former protector.

  “Why does that matter? That Nine’s a Dark Fae and you’re not?”

  He beckons me toward him.

  I stay where I am.

  “Just one more dance,” wheedles Rys. “I need the touch, and then I’ll tell you everything you’ve ever wanted to know about Nine.”

  That’s very tempting. For years, Nine told me everything about Faerie and the fae—but he didn’t tell me a damn thing about himself. Not even his name apparently. Rys obviously has more answers that he can provide… but I can’t touch him.

  I can’t.

  It’s about possession. He’s making it clear that, for some reason, he wants me. That’s how the fae live. They want what they want when they want it. Nine warned me of that a long time ago. When it comes to humans especially, the fae love to possess them. To take them, to charm them, to turn them into mindless slaves, to leave them, to destroy them, to forget all about them.

  And it all begins with the touch.

  “Dance with me. One dance,” he whispers, “and we’ll both have everything we’ve ever wanted.”

  I know what he’s doing. He’s done it before, when I was sedated and I allowed myself to believe that it was a dream. Just one dance—it’s nothing but an excuse to steal another touch, to take another part of my soul.

  “You killed Madelaine,” I accuse him. I have to remember that. No matter what, he can’t take that back. But, and I’m ashamed to admit this, my protest is half-hearted.

  “I did,” he agrees. “She was a means to an end. If I knew then that she actually meant something to you, I might’ve done things differently. You must remember, though, she was just a human.”

  “I’m a human.”

  “Mm. So you keep saying.”

  There’s that noise again. He doesn’t agree with me.

  Okay. That’s it. I’m done talking to him. If I keep on listening to what the Light Fae has to say, it won’t be long before he talks me into doing whatever he wants me to. His glamour is way too strong, my defenses are weak, and I need to get my head on straight.

 

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