I pulled on my hand; he kept it. “Didn’t you hear? I’m dying. No fun dancing with a dying faerie.”
He pulled my hand to his lips and kissed it, then turned it over and kissed the delicate skin of my wrist too, equal parts lick and bite. “You’re not dead yet.”
I jerked my hand again, but now he held my wrist, and he was strong—much stronger than a daoine sidhe should’ve been, this close to humans and iron and everything modern. “Let the hell go or I won’t be the only faerie dying around here.”
“So you’ll only dance with humans, is it?” His voice was gentle, as if he weren’t holding me tight, as if I hadn’t used the word “faerie.” He used my wrist to pull me closer and he said into my ear, “They say that when the leanan sidhe kisses a man, he will see heaven.”
I could kill him if I had his name. I was bad at fighting, but I was good at killing. A faerie wouldn’t give me his name, though, especially one of the fragile daoine sidhe that kept so much of our magic. “Do they?”
“They do. They also say”—and his lips pressed right against my ear, promising, as all faeries did, eternal life and thoughtless joy—“that if the leanan sidhe lies with a man, it is pleasure like none other found on earth.” He reached down between us and caught my other wrist in a hot hold.
So it was to be rape. Only the faeries never called it that. They said “ravished” and “seduced” and “overcome by desire.” It was a very human thing, to be taken by a faerie against your will. A proper faerie had rights; a proper faerie would never have had this daoine sidhe’s lips on her neck and music humming through her because the queen wouldn’t have allowed it. But I was neither faerie nor human, so no one cared what happened to me but me.
I thought about all this and I thought about the way his fingers on my wrist felt unpleasant, like the touch of a milkweed, and I thought about the way the fall moon was brilliantly white as it rose above the columned-dorm like a rack of smiling teeth, while his hand rummaged over the body James had made beautiful.
One of his hands held the back of my neck, his fingers so long that they came most of the way around it. Just enough force behind the grip to tell me what he could do. He tipped my chin up, like he was a proper lover and I had flown into his grasp willingly. “I would very much like to see heaven.”
I spat on him. The spit glistened on his cheek, brighter than his dark eyes in the dim light, and he smiled like I had just given him the best gift in the world. I hated him and I hated every other faerie for their damn condescension. I could have screamed, but it occurred to me then, in a way that it never had before, that there wasn’t a single soul in the world who would hear me and do something about it, no matter where I was on the earth.
“Tears? You are very human,” the faerie remarked, though he was lying, because I never cried. “Don’t weep, lovely, it ruins your beauty.” The faerie reached inside my shirt. I jerked violently, struggling, for the second time in my life totally unable to get what I wanted.
With my free hand, I made a fist—a familiar, easy gesture—and I slammed it into his nose. I’d read somewhere that you could shove the bridge of someone’s nose into their brain and kill them if you hit them just right.
He was dizzyingly fast; he turned his face so my fist glanced off his jawbone and then grabbed for my arm. I was faster, though, and I raked claws along his forehead and cheek, leaving nail marks, pale white for a second and then full of rising red. It had to have hurt, but he was eternally smiling.
The faerie still held my wrist in his hand, gripping so tight now that I gasped, twisting against the pressure of his fingertips on my skin, the feel of him crushing my bones together.
I struggled, kicking, shoving, twisting in his grip, as if it would make any difference, but he was strong. Solstice-strong. Way too strong for a daoine sidhe right next to a human building.
I wanted my mind to tear away, to disappear into a dream of agonizing beauty, but everything I’d given to others, all the transcendent brilliance and otherworldly dreams, was out of my reach. He was taking it for himself.
James
I was awake, skin prickling, eyes peeled wide open. I was awake like I’d never been, so awake that it hurt. The room was black as a butt crack and I knew without looking that the clock glowed 3:04. I knew because my dream was still burnt on my eyes—a dream of waking a second before I actually did.
I sat up, grabbed a shirt from the end of the bed, jerked on my jeans, and thought about grabbing my shoes. No time. There wasn’t any time.
Across the small room, Paul groaned, an invisible, dark lump in his bed, turning and grabbing his pillow. He had kicked off his blankets; he must be hot, even though I was shivering.
I slid out the door and into the hallway, holding my breath, trying to be fast, trying to be silent. I didn’t even know where the hell I was going. Or why I was hurrying.
Dull greenish light in the hallway vaguely illuminated the closed doors of the other rooms. I padded down the hallway, into the dim stairwell that smelled of sweat and the middle of the night. I paused by the window I normally snuck out of to see the antlered king, but that wasn’t what I’d seen in my dream. It was the back door I needed.
I crept into the main hallway of the ground floor, past Sullivan’s room. I imagined the door opening up and Sullivan springing out like a knobby jack-in-the-box, but it stayed shut and I made it through the lobby to the back door. I turned the lock to make sure I’d be able to get back in, and then, shuddering with the cold, I pushed the door open and stood on the back porch.
I saw Nuala.
She was curled against the side of the dorm, body unnaturally twisted, arms stretched sort of above her and out, like she was crucified. She had her face half-turned toward me, tears streaked down her cheeks, and she was kicking in front of her. It seemed to take forever for her to notice me, standing there, staring at her, and when she did, I saw some weird, unidentified emotion in her eyes. In that long moment, her body jerked in a weird way, and I finally figured it out.
Because I can see Them and you can’t.
“Don’t just stand there,” Nuala snarled. Not nasty, though. Like a trapped wild animal.
I grabbed at my iron bracelet, working the knobs loose from my wrist, and I lunged toward her. Nuala’s arms dropped, released, and she pointed me toward her invisible attacker. Too late to be useful to me.
Something struck me, hard, electric, inhuman, and I staggered and swung with the iron bracelet. I was blind, but I wasn’t stupid. An invisible body thumped hard against one of the columns, and I charged at the column with the iron outstretched in front of me like a sword. I punched again, and this time the faerie appeared, green-tinted, beautiful, and alien.
“Hello, piper,” he hissed at me.
And then he was a swan, as if he had never been anything else, and he winged through the columns and away. I watched the white blot disappear into the dark sky, and then I turned back to Nuala. She was crouched on the bricks, ineffectually pulling at her hair like she was trying to make it look presentable, and she was still crying. Not like a human, though. Her tears streamed silently down her face, one after another, and she didn’t even seem to notice them as she jerked at her shirt and sucked at some sort of cut on her wrist.
“Was he the only one?” I asked.
“Bastard,” Nuala said. She spoke as if her tears didn’t change her voice. “Bastard faeries. I hate Them. I hate Them.”
I dropped down in front of her, not sure what I was supposed to be doing or feeling. The bricks were cold and prickly through the knees of my jeans. I didn’t know what to say. Was I supposed to say “are you okay?” I didn’t even know what had happened. Had she been raped? Was there such a thing as almost raped? Her clothing was all messed up and she was crying—the psychotic creature was crying—so I mean, that couldn’t be good. I mean, it had to have been something bad.
I felt like maybe I should give her a hug, or something, even though she’d never indicated that she was the sort that would appreciate fond human contact. Unless it was the brush of your skin against her fingertips as she stuck a knife between your ribs.
“Just shut up.” Nuala pressed her hand over her face. “Hell, James. Just shut up.”
I realized that she meant my thoughts at the same moment that Nuala realized there were tears on her face. Standing up, she pulled her wet palm away from her face and stared at it, looking absolutely stricken and very human. She moved her fingers slightly, watching the tears glisten in the faint light. Looking at them made more silent tears streak from her eyes, one after another, as if they would never end, as if the worst thing in the world was that she had discovered she was crying.
I felt disoriented. We had roles that we played when we were around each other, and now Nuala was letting me down. I didn’t know who I was supposed to be around her anymore.
Nuala scrubbed her hands against her short jean skirt, wiping the tears off in an angry movement, and then jerked down the bottom of the skirt, straightening it out. I reached behind her to knock the crap off the back of her shirt. She flinched at my touch. I didn’t know what to do about that so I pretended not to notice.
“So now you know.” Nuala didn’t look at me, just kept busy flicking invisible pieces of lint off her clothing.
This was easier than silence. “Now I know what?”
“How it is. With me.”
I blinked. Clearly, from the expression on her face and the ragged edge to her voice, this was supposed to be a statement pregnant with meaning. I ran back over the scene in my mind and everything she’d said. “Nuala, you’re the one who reads minds, not me.”
Nuala looked back at me and her stance said so clearly no, never mind that I almost thought she’d said it out loud. But instead she said, “I’m one of the solitary fey. You know what that means?”
She paused as if she really did expect me to answer.
“Means I’m a freak, James.”