Fairy Tale: Winter's Bite

Chapter 5: Aurora Borealis (Part 3)

"Chris? Are you all right?"

Cassie's words were lost, unheard, wasted. Chris was out of his seat an instant later.

He snatched a sword out of an unsuspecting fairy's scabbard. The scrape and clang of the blade made everyone's spine tighten. There was an unavoidable wave of turning heads; all eyes followed him. Gasps and whispers accompanied each of his steps. After Chris nearly tore the door from its hinges, the eyes turned to the table where he had been sitting.

"Oh, God!" Joe was out of his chair, edging his way around the next table. "This has 'not good' written all over it!"

Cassie rose too and stumbled along at his heel. "What happened? He just snapped!"

"That's Chris," Joe said flatly. "Get used to it. My guess is he saw something he didn't like. We need to find him before he does something stupid."

Cassie and Joe broke away from the congestion of the tavern and stepped onto The Mainway. There were fairies strolling or fluttering by along the lamp-lit cobblestones and a few mouse-drawn carts were moving past, but there was no sign of Chris.

To her dismay, no one was on watch in front of the building, either. Vela paid her staff well and trusted them. And that could mean only one thing.

They were dead.

Joe ambled to the nearest crossroad with Cassie close behind. When they paused to check both ways, Joe began explaining to Cassie what had likely happened during Chris's abduction. Pierre joined them and took the lead with his torch. He was just in time to hear a plot-thickening twist to their already newsworthy story.

"He didn't elaborate. I don't think he knows for sure, but there must be some reason to believe they killed his wife," Joe was saying.

"That's horrible!" Cassie said. "I wish I had known. I would have—"

"There's nothing you could have done differently."

"Perhaps," she answered, urging them on with the wave of her arm and a boost to her pace. "But you should know that when I came to the cell today, I expected to find only the MacRae brothers. The children were a surprise. I did not stop to ask what might have happened to their mother. Out of respect for Chris's worry, I should have kept you in my room this evening."

Assuming Chris was pursuing a threat and if he was fortunate enough to survive, Cassie would consider the episode a lesson learned. Andromeda's scouts were already in place. Also, and even more frightening, Andromeda's Gray Coats had cast a heavy footprint in the human world. This could only mean the queen's quest for revenge had overshadowed her standard protocol for secrecy. The implications were profound; Andromeda was capable of anything.

They continued to check down alleys and around street corners until they reached the outer edges of Pyxis. They approached the last streetlamp on The Mainway; the narrow path ahead was too dark and slippery for safe travel.

Then, as they were considering how to proceed, a shadowy struggle in the rock-crevice alleyway to their left brought them to attention. It was a battle of strength and will. There was a hand on a throat and an immobilized sword shaking in the air. After a knee hit a groin, the sword broke free and its tip went in and through.

There was a winner and a loser. The loser had a sword jutting through his neck, just below the chin. He slumped to the ground.

With little regard for her own safety, Cassie sprinted over and ignored the calls of caution from Pierre and Joe. Though relieved to find Chris the victor, she realized that he was near collapse. Shaking all over, he put his hands to his face. At that moment his opponent twitched, still dangling on the edge of life. Chris pulled himself out of his fit and lunged for him.

Joe arrived in time to restrain him. "Come on, Chris. It's over."

Cassie knelt by the dying fairy, examined his facial features—brutish yet nondescript—and spotted the tattoo on his hand. "Chris was right. This fairy meant to do us harm. His hand carries the sigil from the Pyxis coat of arms, the Crown Star. Though he's out of uniform, he's still a Gray Coat, a Modifier who serves as one of the queen's mercenaries. If he was a secret operative, that means he's high ranking."

Pierre knelt down and nodded in agreement. "Your brother is lucky he's still with us," he said, looking up at Joe. "Gray Coats are all loyal and ruthless, and trained for one thing only. But these agents are particularly dangerous. They can think for themselves and yet they choose to serve a queen who has absolutely no respect for them. He is just as wingless as we are. . . ."

Chris finally stopped squirming and began to walk with Joe's guidance.

"We need to get him out of here," Joe said, stepping past the body. "He's been through enough for one day."

Cassie nodded and handed him her keys to the Aurora Borealis. "I'll be right behind you."

With Pierre, she witnessed the Gray Coat's last breath. She made sure his pulse had stopped before she removed his belongings, including his swords and vest. Blood was everywhere. Although she managed to avoid getting much of it on her hands, the stain was setting in. She was fighting back tears when she stood.

Pierre cocked his head and gave her a pout, as if she were an injured child. "Do you need assistance, mon petit ange?"

"I need more than assistance."

She knew it was only a matter of time before the Gray Coats found out that one of their own had been killed. They'd immediately notify the Crown Champions, their winged superiors. The queen's entire army would be in the area looking for them soon enough. And she didn't know where to go, what to do, whom to turn to.

Because of her thoughts, her fears, and regrets, she didn't see Pierre draw near until his hand brushed her cheek. Her flinch was too intrinsic to control. And it was costly. Once she recovered from her brief blip of terror, she watched his eyes go cold.

"Well, I would suggest you remain at the Aurora Borealis for now," he stated. "We will try to schedule an emergency meeting on the morrow to see what the committee has to say."

Then he left her there alone and contemplating the true meaning of his words.

You're on your own, my little angel.

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