Marc eased away from me, the colors in his eyes calming to their normal blue. "You saw that?" He pointed to his eyes.
When I didn't answer, he groaned and ran his hands through his hair. I watched him cautiously, trying to process what had just happened.
This is a dream. It has to be. I would wake up tomorrow in my bunk bed at school. Marc would already be up, studying or doing his daily one hundred sit-ups and fifty push-ups. I'd tell him about my dream, and we'd both laugh at the absurdity of it, and then we'd go to class. Or maybe I'd skip class, and he'd gripe at me for it.
This is a dream.
Maybe that would work on most people, but my brain wasn't easy to fool. I rubbed my forehead. My forearm burned with the movement, and I twisted it around. Ragged edges of skin clung to a bloody scrape, bits of black tar sticking in the wound. I never felt real, aching pain like this in my dreams.
This is real. I clutched the back of my head with both hands, dug my fingers into my hair until it hurt. My gut felt tense and cold.
"That's the only injury you have?" Marc asked.
I snapped my eyes up to him. Marc still stood several feet away from me, his arms folded over his chest. His eyes still looked like normal human eyes.
"Care to explain?" I asked again.
Marc scratched the scruff on his chin. "It depends."
"On what?"
"On what you saw."
I stared at him. "What I saw? Dude, I don't know what you're on, but I saw two really creepy shape-shifting monsters who probably wouldn't mind taking off our limbs." My breath caught in my lungs. "That just made me sound certifiable."
"Depending on who you talk to." Marc started walking up the alley, heading for the intersection.
I jogged after him, brushing my fingers on the brick wall beside me, hoping it would ground me in reality. The rough, grainy texture of mortar and old brick pulled at my fingers. We passed another Dumpster, and the sour smell made me gag. Again.
Yeah, definitely not a dream.
Marc paused at the end of the alley. He looked up and down the street. It looked deserted, and the shop windows were all dark. A stoplight stood right in front of us, the light just changing from green to yellow.
Marc hurried across the deserted street and turned, hugging the curb as he walked.
"Marc?" I caught up and fell in step on his right.
"It's pretty complicated, but—" he shrugged. "I should've known that this would happen. Stupid of
me to think I could escape the Underworld."
"Huh? What, you're involved in some kind of Mob stuff?"
Marc snorted. "If only."
Oh-kay. What was he into, that he acted like the Mob was a bunch of pansies?
He tugged at the hem of his hoodie, then tucked his hands into the pocket. "Underworld, with a capital U. Anyone who used that for the criminal world stole it from us."
"Sure. And who's 'us'?"
He glanced at me, and I got the feeling that he was judging me. Like I was back in grade-school doing a science fair. I'd won a lot of those easily. My throat tightened. Don't think I'll win whatever he's judging me on.
"The fae," he said finally, turning around to face the sidewalk ahead of us. We turned again at another intersection, coming into a busier part of town. Cars zipped by us on the street. A tattoo parlor advertised its rates in neon colors across the street, and the windows of bars were all shining brightly. A gas station, free-standing at the corner, illuminated the night shadows around it with harsh white light.
"Fae," I said skeptically, easing closer to him to let a group of drunk guys stumble past. "Sounds like you're part of a LARP group."
He barked a laugh. "Yeah, again, if only." Marc jabbed his thumb at a couple walking across the street from us. "What do they look like, Josh?"
I glanced at the man and woman. They were both
blond and wearing clothes that weren't exactly
high-end but decent. They weren't supermodels,
but they weren't off-the-deep-end ugly either. Just ordinary, average folks. I blinked again, and a ghostly image of the man and woman hovered in front of them, covering something I couldn't quite see. I concentrated, looking past the glossy veneer, and it floated away, dissipating in the chilly night air like smoke.
The woman now had platinum blond hair and piercingly green eyes, and the ears that poked through her hair curved to a graceful point. The guy's skin was ink-black, his short-cropped hair a silvery white. His blue eyes were doing that same weird Northern Lights thing Marc's had done.
The woman glanced at me, raised a finely-shaped eyebrow, and nodded, like she was acknowledging I could see her true self.
I gulped and looked away. "Fae. You mean like elves."
"Sidhé," he corrected.
"She...what?"
"Shee, Josh. The Fair Folk from Gaelic legends."
"Sidhé. Whatever."
"'Elves' works too, but I'm one of the few who won't deck you if you call us that."
I looked at him. Marc looked perfectly human right now. I sputtered out a laugh.
"What?" Marc asked, looking genuinely surprised.
My laughter was on the edge of hysterical. I staggered to the front window of a darkened shop and leaned against it, wheezing. My brain was going to short-circuit. Elves and monsters. Ha. Nice one, buddy. "Okay, I got it. This is a joke, right? To get me back for making your laptop look like it was broken?"
Please let it be a joke. It would be so much easier as a
joke. A remote part of my mind realized that I was grasping at straws, at any chance for an out, but I pushed the knowledge away.
Marc grabbed my arm and jerked me upright. "Get a hold on yourself. This isn't funny."
I shook free. "You think I'm just going to accept the whole 'elves' explanation?"
"Fae." Marc shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and walked away.
"Whatever." I shook my head. "Just because I'm a fantasy nut doesn't mean I wish I lived in Narnia or Middle Earth. I'm perfectly content to not be chased around by trolls and orcs all day, thank you."
Marc whirled. His eyes spiked with unnaturally bright color again. The look sent a shock through my gut and kicked the residue of hysteria out of my system.
He shoved his finger in my face. "Then you'd better figure out how to protect yourself. Now that you can see past the glamour, you're in for all sorts of surprises." He stomped away.
I stood still, blinking at his retreating back. If this really was a joke, how were his eyes doing that? How had that couple changed the way they looked as I'd watched? How had Blake and his blue-haired buddy turned into monsters? There were no special effects that could produce those kinds of results in real time.
How stupid could hysteria really make me?
I ran after Marc, who had disappeared down another alley. When I caught up with him in the parking lot of a music store, I realized where he was heading.
Saint Bartholomew's College.
"Why are we going back?" I asked.
"Glad you decided to join the party," Marc muttered.
My brain was still struggling to wrap around the whole thing. Elves—no, fae. Sidhe. Fair Folk. Irish legends. I know next to nothing about those. Ugh. Need caffeine—now. "So. Fae. You're fae."
"Half-fae," he said.
"What did you say I could see through?"
"Glamour. That couple I pointed out to you? They were using glamour to make themselves look like ordinary humans. It's how Sidhé hide themselves from the world. Only other Sidhé and humans who have spent a great deal of time around anyone with Sidhé blood can see through glamour."
"But you—"
"Half-fae don't have glamour. I really do look human, except for that stupid d'anam fuinneog."
I tried to replicate the words. "Fwi, fwin—what?"
We dodged around a group of gangbangers carrying beer bottles. One of the guys glanced at us. I didn't make eye contact, focusing instead on Marc's pinched expression.
He brought his right hand to the bracelet on his left wrist and rubbed his thumb along the smooth metal. "Danuhm fwin-ngog. Soul window. When my soul is troubled, my eyes are troubled. It's a general proverb about eyes that got started because of the fae. Most of us try to control it because it's not something glamour masks. Humans generally freak out when they see someone's eyes acting like the laser show in a rave club."
"That's...weird."
"It's said the Almighty created us in that way so we would be totally honest with each other." Marc snorted. "A lot of good that did. Being honest can get you killed in the Underworld. Even the Seelie know that."
"Seelie..."
Marc grimaced. "Okay, there's really no simple answer to that. The easiest way to explain it..." He gnawed on his lower lip. "Seelie are friendly—or, I should say, friendlier—to humans. They'll still screw over a human if they can, but at least they won't skin you alive like an Unseelie would."
He was quiet for a moment, and I let my brain chew on all the information he'd given me. Seelie, good guys, sort of. Unseelie, definitely bad guys. "You're Seelie?"
"Lucky you, I guess."
"So Blake is an Unseelie?"
"No, Scyrril is a troll." Marc spat and grumbled something under his breath that sounded like more gibberish Gaelic. "Technically classified under monsters, though still Sidhe. Anything that comes from our world is Sidhe. Seelie and Unseelie only apply to the 'elvish' race of Sidhe."
I followed him over a business office's neatly trimmed hedge and through their small stretch of grass. A four-lane street, McCullen, was to our right. We were close to the college. We ran across the road and jumped another hedge, approaching the college from the back.
"And why were they after you?" I whispered.
Marc shook his head and motioned for me to be
quiet. We ran across a small park and paused at the
side of the street, next to a clump of bushes. Marc
crouched down on one knee. I leaned over to catch
my breath as he studied the area in front of us.
Across the street was a hedge and a metal fence. The dorms of the small college campus poked above the hedge, most of the windows dark, even this close to finals. Our dorm was the closest to the street—easy to access after sneaking out, but whatever was easy for us would likely be easier for Marc's enemies.
After a few moments, Marc leaned over to whisper in my ear. "I don't see anything out of the ordinary, but I go first. You keep quiet. Got it?"
I nodded.
Marc stood up and touched his hip, drawing my attention to the long, elegant katana hanging from his belt. Right. I'd totally forgotten he had a sword.
"What—"
Marc hissed and flicked his fingers, like he was flicking water droplets at me. He stood up and dodged across the street, his hand on the sword's hilt. I ran after him. By the time I reached the street, Marc was on the other side of the fence. I wriggled through the hedge and the warped section of the fence. When I stood up, Marc was using the drainpipe on the side of the building to climb up to our second story window.
He stepped onto the wide ledge outside the window and motioned for me to stay on the ground.
Hey, no argument here, dude.
I fidgeted, glancing from side to side as Marc disappeared inside our room. It would be just my luck to have one of the security guards amble down this side of the dorms. That would get me kicked out for sure—it would be my third offense in the last two months, something they couldn't ignore.
A yelp came from our room, and Marc dove out of
the window. He hit the ground and fell forward in a roll, his shoulder absorbing some impact from the drop. I glanced up. A scaly, blue-tinged hand was disappearing from the window.
I drew in a sharp breath and scrambled for the fence.
"No, this way!" Marc snapped.
I changed course and ran after him. What was he—why were we heading for the parking garage?
Glass crashed behind me. I glanced over my shoulder. A blue shoulder protruded from the lounge floor facing the green. Alarms blared into the night.
Marc hurdled the wooden security gate. I ducked under it and ran into the concrete one-story parking garage. The lights were off, even in the security office at the back of the garage. Marc skidded to a halt by his car, a drab Ford Taurus in the middle of a bunch of sports cars.
I braced my arms against the car's trunk, gulping in deep breaths. "That's no good! What about the keys, you idiot?"
Marc dropped to the ground and scooted his head and shoulders under the car's rear bumper. He emerged a split second later with a grimy key dangling from one finger. "You really expect weekend lock-up to slow me down?"
He unlocked the car. I scrambled into the passenger side. He twisted the key and slammed the car into reverse just as the monster—another troll—crashed into the garage. Marc barreled through the exit gate.
I ducked and clutched my arms over my head as the wooden boards splintered against the front of the vehicle.
Marc swerved out onto the college road. Another crunch—that would be the street-side gate at the security booth—and my body jerked to the side as we hit the city street, tires squealing.
I twisted my head around and looked out the back window. The troll stood at the entrance to Saint Bart's, clutching his shoulder as blood trickled between his fingers.
I chuckled. "Way to go, Andretti."
Marc didn't answer.
I looked over at him. The light from the dashboard washed his face in pale green. One hand held the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip, the other hand fisted over the gearshift like he was hanging on for dear life.
"They shouldn't have found me," he ground out between his teeth. "They shouldn't have known where I was going to college."
"Why not?"
"Do you think I went to a super-strict college by choice, Josh?" He smirked. "C'mon, admit it. I'm not Saint Bart's material."
I raised my eyebrows. "And I am?"
"You have your issues, dude, you know that."
"Gee thanks." But he was right. Mr. Perfect didn't belong on an exclusive college campus with kids who caused trouble if they were given an inch. "So you transferred to Saint Bart's from MSU because you thought whoever is chasing you wouldn't be able to find you there."
"Just like I did by moving from Evangel to MSU, and before that, SBU to Evangel. Saint Bart's is safer anyway. It's not like anyone can just pop in off the
streets, thanks to their security." He relaxed his grip on the gearshift and rubbed his forehead.
I looked outside, watching the darkened buildings and streets flash past. Marc skirted around downtown and got on the main highway through town. From there, he pulled onto the interstate heading southwest.
I frowned. "Why are we heading toward Republic?"
"Dropping you off at your folks' first. Then I'm getting out of here."
"What? Hang on!" I whirled around to face him. "What did you get yourself into, Marc? No way am I letting you tackle this on your own."
He snorted. "Right. You can't fight, and you don't know anything about the Underworld. No offense, but you're just going to slow me down." He glanced up in the review mirror. "Best friend or not, you can't help me with this. Only Underworlders can."
I growled and crossed my arms. "At least explain—"
"No. I'm done talking about this." Marc punched the radio button on his console.
I started to yell at him, but a screaming-loud guitar riff drowned me out. Marc shifted, sped up, and wrapped both hands around the steering wheel.
I flopped back in my seat and shook my head. Fae, monsters, conspiracy. It was insane. I gave Marc a sideways glance. His face was tight, his eyes staring straight ahead at the road. He'd never told me, through all those years we'd been friends. Maybe that should have bothered me more, but it didn't. Marc and I'd been friends for years, long enough that I trusted him without question.
I drummed my fingers against the windowsill. He was probably right. I'd be in way over my head if I
tried to help him, a liability rather than an asset. Still—
Brakes squealed. The chest strap cinched tight over my shoulder as the back end of the car jittered back and forth. Marc screamed something incomprehensible over the music. I snapped my head forward.
A huge black truck barreled toward us, the lights off, the windshield gleaming in the moonlight like the eye of a malevolent cyclops.
Marc cranked the wheel to the right. The truck clipped the front bumper, sending us into a spin. Marc jerked on the wheel again, trying to compensate.
I saw it coming. He was pulling the car too hard to the left. In my mind's eye I could clearly see the trajectory of the car, right into the guardrail—
I cringed.
The tires hit the curb, and my side of the vehicle slammed down into the ground. Glass breaking, metal crunching, the feeling of being trapped inside a carnival ride gone wrong. The air bag threw me back in the seat. Something smacked the side of my head, and my vision tunneled.
Silence.
Darkness.
I opened my eyes. I didn't remember closing them. Everything felt wrong—there was a heaviness at the crown of my head and my legs and arms seemed to be hanging toward the ceiling...
"Upside down," I said. "Of course. That would be just my luck."
I looked forward. I wasn't in the driver's seat. Who had...
Marc. His arms hung limply toward the ceiling, and his head flopped to the side. Was he dead? I took a
deep, shuddering breath. No, I could see dust swirling in front of his mouth as he breathed. What were we doing here? The air was full of grit and dust and the smell of gasoline. I sneezed, felt my neck pop. Pain shot through my shoulders. My vision tunneled again.
I ground my teeth. No, no, no! I couldn't pass out. Had to get Marc out...
I reached up and braced myself against the ceiling with one hand. My hands trembled so much and felt so weak that I had to push as hard as I could to pop the seatbelt. I collapsed on the ceiling-turned-floor, bumping my shoulders again and feeling another, duller wave of pain. The interior of the car looked less crumpled than I would have thought. My window was webbed with fractures. I kicked it, and the glass crumpled outward.
I crawled out, bits of glass scraping into my skin through my jeans. Carefully, using the edge of the car as support, I pulled myself up and glanced toward the road.
We'd just missed the guardrail. There was a muddy track down a mild slope to the car. We hadn't rolled down, we'd flipped onto the roof and slid. That's why the car wasn't completely crumpled.
I hurried around to Marc's side of the car and paused.
There were no buildings around us. I frowned. That wasn't right. We'd been in Springfield the last I could remember, at the coffee shop. It had to be a weekday, otherwise the car would be locked up in the St. Bart's parking garage.
I shook my head, earning another jab of pain in my neck and shoulders. I kicked at Marc's window. It
broke apart and I reached through and grabbed his
shoulder. "Marc!"
His hand seized my wrist, his eyes opening wide in spiking shades of blue. I jerked back, but his hand tightened on my wrist, making me wince. After a second, the wild look in his eyes calmed, and he breathed out a sigh of relief.
"Josh. You're okay?"
"I think..."
A door slammed. I glanced over my shoulder. A truck had parked at the shoulder, and I saw several figures hurrying down toward us. One looked huge...monstrous, even...why did that ring a bell?
"Get me out now!" Marc clawed at his seat belt.
"Whoa, careful, you're probably hurt!"
"Not as hurt as we're going to be if those guys get hold of us, genius!" Marc jerked at his seatbelt again. "We're dead. We are so dead. Scyrril's going to kill us."
"I'll just leave you here if you keep complaining..." My brain started to catch up to my mouth. Scyrril. My thoughts were fuzzy, but I knew he was bad news. I knew it.
I started to stand.
Hands jerked me away from the car, and an arm slid around my neck. I clawed at it. The world started spinning.
Marc screamed, and the sound shattered the night sky into thousands of glass shards. For the second time in the space of a few minutes, I blacked out.