From Storm and Shadow: Stormfae Book 1 Read online

  This bird-of-prey persona has been my identity for the past couple of months. Before that, I was the Ruby Scorpion. Before that, the Diamond Knife. And before that … well, my identities begin to blur together after a while. I’ve played many parts in Riven’s fighting ring. The moment I begin to gain some measure of popularity, I put that persona to rest and come up with a new one. Riven isn’t a huge fan of this strategy, but I made it clear that it was the only way I could continue to work here safely. And despite Klyde’s threat that he could easily get rid of me, I’ve always had the feeling Riven wants to keep me around.

  On the other side of the mist, Hemlock’s magically magnified voice shouts my name, bringing me back to the present. With a final breath, I step through the swirling whiteness and into the fighting ring.

  The setting is different every night, and until this moment, I have no idea what to expect. Salt fills my nostrils. Sea spray wets my skin. My gaze darts about and I take in a strip of beach battered on either side by a choppy sea. Though it isn’t raining, bruise-dark clouds fill the sky and lightning flickers overhead. I can’t see the spectators seated around the outside of the magical arena, but the distant roar of their voices reaches through the dome of magic, mingling with the crash of waves against the shore on either side.

  Then my eyes settle on my opponent on the far side of the sandy strip. Tall, broad shoulders, muscular build. A simple black mask covers the whole of his face. No scales, feathers, glitter, or fangs. No animal or fae design. He’s made no effort with his clothing either. Riven will not be impressed when he learns of this.

  I tilt my head, watching, waiting to see what move he’ll make first. He remains frozen for a heartbeat. Then another. And then he begins stalking toward me. I’ll bet he’s smirking beneath that dull mask of his. Probably thinks this will be the easiest win of his life. I almost smile. The bodybuilder types are always the slowest.

  He heads straight for me, hands steady at his sides. No sparks, no elaborate magical displays, no impressive acrobatic stunts. Just a simple, no-nonsense stride. I cock my hips to one side, feigning boredom as I gather magic above my palms. I’m half-convinced that his plan is to simply walk straight into me, but then he comes to a halt a few feet away. He doesn’t move.

  “Well,” I say, lips curving up in what I hope the audience interprets as a sultry smile. “What are you waiting for? Come and get me.”

  He steps forward. “Are you—”

  I sweep both hands through the air, my magic scooping up sand and hurling it in two arcs toward him. His shield magic is up in an instant, faster than I would have thought possible. The sand blasts against it and rains down onto the beach. Then the rippling layer of magic is gone, and he’s lunging forward, hands up, magic crackling—

  I leap aside and dodge around him. Cartwheel, back flip, perfect landing. My head snaps up, gaze landing on him and lips curving into another smile as I straighten. All completely unnecessary, but unlike Mr. Boring over there, I’m here to earn my keep by giving the people a good show.

  A lightning bolt streaks overhead, blinding me for a second, and when it’s gone I see my opponent’s fingers curled toward the water on my right. A wave rises up with alarming speed, and I barely have time to duck down and tug a layer of magic over myself like a blanket before the wave crashes right over me.

  I straighten again, and suddenly he’s a lot closer. I lash out with magic, transforming the sparks into tiny, sharpened twigs before they reach him. He knocks them aside with one arm and a powerful gust of wind. His other arm is already up, sending blue-green flames my way. They’re swallowed up within seconds by another arc of sand.

  And then the fight really begins. No weapons are allowed in here, but there are almost zero restrictions on magic. And that, of course, is more fun than any weapon. A rain of razor-sharp stones, a vortex of snow, a spray of glowing-hot lava. I’m limited only by my imagination, the speed of my thoughts, and the amount of magic I have—and I’m nowhere near running out of that just yet.

  We’re close enough now to strike out with fists and feet as well, darting forward to punch, and then dodging back to throw more magic. Spiny leaves, twisted vines, silvery needles. No matter what I throw at him, he’s ready to hurl his own magic right back at me. He comes scarily close to hitting me with a flaming boulder, but I jump, and a burst of magic plus the enchantment woven into my wings carries me higher than a normal leap. The boulder soars beneath me and explodes into tiny pebbles. I land hard, forcing a pulse of magic from my palms so that the sand flies up around me. It’s all about the show, I think, just as I hear the muffled Ooooh! from the crowd.

  And then we’re back at it, me and Mr. Not-So-Boring-After-All, dancing, dodging, lunging, kicking. He’s certainly making me work harder than anyone else I’ve faced in this enchanted fighting ring. On an ordinary night, I have to remind myself to slow down. To give my opponents a chance. But not with this guy. He’s good. Too good. As if he knows the space I plan to occupy before I even get there.

  With a flare of irritation, I wonder if he’s been here before. If he’s watched me and taken notes. But that shouldn’t make him this good, should it? Even the people I’ve fought multiple times—the people who should know my moves better than anyone else—aren’t this fast. This guy wields offensive magic as if he’s been professionally trained. Almost as if he’s …

  I take a split second to glance at his wrists, but his sleeves are too long for me to tell whether his skin bears the markings of a guardian. A guardian, in Riven’s fighting ring. What an absurd idea.

  Light streaks toward me, and my moment of distraction leaves me with no time to deflect it with magic. My right arm is up instinctively, and the bolt of raw, unformed magic rebounds off my wrap bracelet. A surprised gasp comes from the crowd. Yeah, it’s more than just a few strips of leather, I think with a satisfied curve to my lips.

  But then I feel something … different. The swish of hair against my shoulders is gone. One hand flies up, but I realize before it even reaches my head what must have happened: My opponent’s magic struck the pearl that contained the glamour for my hair. My sleek black bob is suddenly a messy tangle of silver and white atop my head.

  Well. Crap. That hasn’t happened before.

  My opponent pauses, apparently as surprised as the audience. Then he lunges forward, grabs my wrists, and tugs me closer. We’re suddenly face to face, close enough that I can see the precise color of his eyes: flecks of yellow gold in amber irises. The color is so startlingly familiar that for a moment I’m too stunned to fight back. And that’s the moment I find my legs swept out from beneath me.

  I land hard on my back. He’s on top of me, clamping my wrists together with one hand and pinning my arms down against my chest while his other hand reaches swiftly for my mask. What the hell? There may be close to zero rules inside this fighting ring, but removing someone’s—

  He rips the mask clear off my face. Then he goes utterly still. His words, a hoarse whisper when they finally come, chill my blood: “I thought you were dead.”

  His grip loosens. My hand shoots up and I tear the mask from his face. My breath seizes. His dark hair is longer, the angles of his face sharper, but I recognize him in a heartbeat.

  Ash.

  Another heartbeat passes.

  Then I roll us so that I’m the one on top. I shove away from him, rise swiftly, and run.

  Two

  My surroundings flash past me in a blur as I hurtle through the backstage passages of The Gilded Canary. I tug sharply at my necklace and feel it snap. The wing enchantment vanishes. I drop the broken necklace and skid around a corner. I’m vaguely aware of the shouts behind me, but I can’t tell if they’re from the people I’ve almost slammed into or from Ash.

  Ash.

  Ash!

  My heart is in my throat as I duck behind a costume rack laden with dresses, each one shot through with threads of glowing color. I raise my right arm, turn my wrist, and run one finger across th
e pearls threaded onto the wrap bracelet until I find the largest one. Then I squeeze it hard between my thumb and forefinger. I saved up for months to be able to afford the powerful—and illegal—spell hidden inside this stone. But tonight is precisely the kind of desperate situation I was preparing for when I purchased it, so I don’t hesitate before whispering the two words that go along with the spell.

  In an instant, I’m invisible. Still, I’m not about to take my time getting out of here. As is the case with most private buildings belonging to faeries, the paths can’t be accessed from within these walls. I need to get outside. Since I have to pass my dressing room anyway, I slam to a halt against the doorframe, lunge for my locker, and grab my jacket. I have a feeling I may need the numerous small weapons concealed within it. The jacket vanishes from sight the moment I touch it, and I tug it on as I race back into the twisting passageways.

  I just about throw myself through the door back into the main part of the club. I race across the Gold Floor and then the Rainbow Room, ignoring the startled cries of patrons as my invisible form shoves past them. Finally, I’m hurtling beneath the water droplet curtain and across the foyer toward the main doors. I ram into the right-hand one to shove it open, and one of the bouncers cries out behind me as I jump down the steps.

  I run. My sneakers slam the sidewalk, I swing myself around the corner, and then finally I come to a gasping halt. I raise my hand—already holding my stylus—to the wall. The words I write are a shaky mess, but they’re enough for the doorway spell to work. Darkness spreads across the wall, revealing an entrance to the black nothingness of the faerie paths. I lurch forward, throwing a final glance over my shoulder. No one there. I try to feel relieved as the edges of the doorway melt together, sealing me inside the safety of the paths. But there is no relief. Only panic.

  I picture my apartment. Warm yellow light permeates the darkness ahead of me. I hurry toward it, my next steps carrying me out of the paths and into my lamplit bedroom. I catch myself against the edge of the bed, my chest heaving as my heart continues to pound.

  Ash. Ash. How did he find me? After more than two years, I thought I was safe. With my stylus still clutched in my hand, I touch the simple aquamarine stud in my left earlobe—one half of the charm that’s supposed to protect me from all tracking and summoning magic—and rush to the wardrobe. I reach into one of the shelves for the glass jar partially concealed behind a messy pile of half-folded T-shirts and sweaters. The jar should be filled with blue liquid. Whenever the level is within an inch of the bottom, I redo the spell and top up the jar’s contents. Always. Except—

  Right now, there is not a single drop left.

  CRAP!

  Fear paralyzes me, and for a moment, all I can do is stare at the empty jar. How did I let this happen? How long has it been empty? How could I have become so … complacent? I’m supposed to check it every day. It’s supposed to be in my line of sight the moment I swing the door open every morning to find something to wear. The only reason I ever put anything away in this darn wardrobe is so that I’m forced to open it on a daily basis. And the jar had to hide in the wardrobe because I couldn’t very well leave it out in the open where one of my overly inquisitive friends might see it.

  Okay.

  I’m okay.

  Breathe. Think. Plan.

  I turn blindly away from the wardrobe, leaving the jar inside. I squeeze my eyes shut, but all I see is Ash’s face. His amber eyes, his angular jaw, his honey-streaked dark hair. My brain is already cataloging all the ways in which he’s changed. Taller. Broader. Stronger. And yet … he’s the same Ash. My heart squeezes painfully.

  I force my eyes open, press my fingers to my temples, and pace to the window. The city lights are smudges of color on the other side of the dirty glass. This tiny apartment is nothing amazing, but it’s been home for over a year. The thought that I may no longer be safe here makes me sick.

  Logically, Ash shouldn’t be able to follow me through the paths. Not without touching me. But if he tracked me to The Gilded Canary, he can track me here too. Perhaps he has already located this apartment. Perhaps the protective enchantments I cast when I moved in are the only thing keeping him out. I’ve always wondered whether they actually work. After all, what does a teenager with zero experience in that particular area of magic know? Most people would pay a professional for that sort of thing, if they can afford it. But perhaps I should have had more faith in my skills. Perhaps I did a good enough job to keep unwanted faerie visitors out.

  Focus, Silver! Make a plan!

  What should I do first? Grab my go-bag and run, or make more cloaking charm? If Ash can track me, then it doesn’t matter where I go. I won’t be safe until I can magically conceal myself. I drop my hands to my sides, my grip tightening on my stylus. Cloaking charm, I decide. I’ll trust that the protection I placed on this apartment will keep him out while I grab all the necessary elements and prepare a new batch. Then, when I leave here and go somewhere new, he won’t be able to—

  “Please don’t run.”

  I whip around, my heart jumping into my throat once more. And there he is, on the other side of my bed, so out of place in this room, in this world. I guess I was right to doubt those protective enchantments after all.

  “Silver—”

  Magic rises instantly to my palms. I hurl a handful of sparks at him. He dodges easily, but that’s all the time I need. I’m across the room before my stained-glass lamp—the unintended target of my magic—hits the floor and shatters. I race through the tiny living room, dodging left past the armchair as I sense the crackle of magic behind me. Sparks shoot past and strike the couch, blasting a hole through one of the cushions and slamming the cheap piece of furniture against the wall. Ducking down behind the armchair, I raise one hand and hastily cast a shield of protective magic between Ash and me. He’s in my bedroom doorway now, his mouth opening to speak. “Please just—”

  But I’m up again, dashing to the nearest wall, lifting my stylus to scribble a doorway spell. Some baser part of my brain screams at me to free every weapon from inside this jacket, drop my shield, and hurl them at him. I’m faster than he is. He’d be down within seconds. But it’s Ash, and I—

  “Hey, wait! Just wait! I’m not here to hurt you.”

  “You just fought me and then told me I’m supposed to be dead.” I pause halfway through the doorway spell and look back at him through the shimmering, near-transparent layer of my shield. “If all you wanted to do was talk, Ash, you could have knocked on my front door instead of surprising me inside a fighting ring.”

  “I didn’t know where you lived! I found you there last night and tried to follow you, but you vanished as soon as the fight was over. And then you wouldn’t let me get a word in tonight before attacking me, and I just—we don’t have time—and I didn’t even know for sure that it was you! Silver, I—” He cuts himself off, raking a hand through his hair. Something in his expression seems almost … desperate. “I thought you were dead. All this time, I thought you were dead. That’s what we were all told.”

  I hesitate as his words dig their fingers into my brain. But even if what he says is true, it doesn’t change what he did that night.

  “Holy fae,” he whispers. “I can’t believe it’s really you standing in front of—”

  “Wonderful,” I interrupt. “So people lied to you. And now that you’ve discovered the truth, you’re here to finish the job? Well good luck with that.” I return my attention to the doorway spell. The glowing half-written words have disappeared. I start again.

  “What? No.”

  A doorway melts open across the wall. I take a step—

  “No! Silver, just wait, please!”

  Instead of disappearing into the dark opening, I hesitate. It’s stupid, I know. I should be running as fast as I did the day the Guild tried to kill me. I should be turning my back on Ash and never allowing him space inside my head again. But it’s him, it’s him, and there’s something inside me tha
t simply … can’t.

  “No?” I repeat. “No?” I whip back around to face him. “You, Asher Blackburn, my best friend in the whole world, tried to kill me! And now you show up out of the blue as my latest opponent at The Gilded Canary, and I’m supposed to believe that you’re not here to try again?”

  He goes silent, a look of horror crossing his face. “I—what?” he stutters. “Kill you? Are you insane? We were told that your parents had murdered two Guild councilors because those councilors discovered your parents were Unseelie spies. We were told that you were in on it too, that you’d helped them steal information. I was trying to catch you, not kill you. I figured there must have been a good explanation for—”

  “Oh, you were just trying to catch me? That’s all?” My right hand curls tightly around my stylus. “Because you believed I was an Unseelie spy and should be locked up by the Guild? Wow. I feel so much better now.”

  “Silver—”

  “I told you the truth that night, but you chose to believe them over me.”

  “No! I didn’t know what to believe. I was … confused. Bergenfell … she was so damn convincing. She said the three of you had been lying to us since the moment you stepped into Stormsdrift all those years ago. And I kept thinking that it couldn’t be true, there was just no way, because I knew you. But also … what if it was true? What if you’d been lying to me all along? Because it wasn’t just Bergenfell saying those things. I overheard multiple councilors that night. The people we’d always looked up to and respected and trusted. The people I had been trained to obey. The people you were trained to obey.”

  I release a short breath of utter disbelief. “How long did I live in Stormsdrift, Ash? Ten years? You honestly thought I’d been lying to you every single day for a decade?”

  “No! I thought … I thought …”

  “You thought what? Do tell me, Ash, exactly what was going through your mind when I was running for my life and you were the one throwing magic at me.”