Secret Worlds (105 page)

***

Kheelan stood outside in the moon shadows, alone. Always alone.

There was nothing to be gained from watching the soft orange glow emanating from the girl’s apartment, yet he was drawn to it all the same. He imagined the glimmer as a muted reflection of moonlight on her mass of red hair with its intriguing streaks of purple framing her face. His fingers curled into fists, blocking the frustrated itch to feel his hands stroking that silky hair. He guessed how it would feel— soft, warm, like a safe harbor in the gathering maelstrom of Fae energy.

The blood moon of October cast shimmering beams, tingeing the treetops with crimson. By Halloween, it would reach fullness, and the balance of good and evil in the Fae kingdom would be in peril just as the veil between the human and spirit worlds would be at its thinnest. An in-between, middling time. A dangerous time.

But Kheelan was used to being in two worlds at once, yet belonging to neither.

What was wrong with him? You’d think he’d never seen a beautiful girl. Besides, even the prettiest human couldn’t compare to the charm and enchantment of any run-of-the-mill fairy. And he should know. The
daoine-sith
Fae Kingdom rewarded him with a fairy lover whenever he completed an especially dangerous mission—like they were giving an obedient dog a bone.

Kheelan smoldered at the humiliation. His skin burned from it, his mouth scorched from the angry words he must never say aloud. They had stolen him from his human family, a family of which he had no memories. He’d no doubt been sleeping unaware the night those cradle robbers came and forced him into a lifetime of servitude and danger.

He got nothing in return. No love, no acceptance, and no hope of a future. Indeed, they despised him.

Changeling
. How he hated the word, been taunted with it, as if it was some kind of deformity on his part. A mere changeling, worthy of nothing more than scorn and tolerated for what he could do in their selfish, petty wars or their unending, menial labors. He summoned his enormous will and pushed the bitter thoughts away. Deep in his mind was a place no one else could enter, a private refuge he refused to let them destroy. A soul some might call it. His and his alone.

The sound of music vibrated from the girl’s apartment. It was dramatic, haunting even. He liked it, appreciated that it was worlds different from the incessant Celtic flute, or even worse, the brain-splintering bagpipe music his captors so adored. Kheelan closed his eyes and let the melody wash over his senses.

When the music stopped, he looked up to the window and saw the light extinguished. He yearned for the light, the music, and most of all for the unknown human girl curled up in bed, unknowing and uncaring of the forces swirling around her. No, not her specifically, he corrected himself. Merely what she represented—normalcy. She probably had a family who thought she could do no wrong, who were proud of her every accomplishment, a daddy’s girl, princess-type. They had nothing in common. The human was a suspect, one of many he must investigate in this college town.

Somebody was murdering the pixies. His job was to find out who and why and bring them to the Fae’s royal Seelie Court. Should he fail . . . well, even the good Fae of the Seelie Court had their ways of punishing, and if a member of the Unseelie Court discovered a changeling meddling in their affairs, it could mean an even worse fate. As a human changeling, his purpose was to mingle with his fellow mortals, searching for information to assist the good Fae in their unceasing war with the bad, Unseelie Fae. Too bad they never entrusted him with any special powers in his work – probably afraid he would use magic to escape his bondage.

Time to leave. He would come back tomorrow night. Samhain, the witch’s Halloween, drew nearer, each year more sinister than the one before. His instructions from the Seelie Court Fae, his owners, were to find the culprit before Samhain. Or else. That left a mere two weeks. Kheelan wrapped the deep maroon duster tightly around his lithe body and disappeared into the night to join the unsuspecting, blissfully ignorant, human mass.

***

“The Moon. Five of Swords. Seven of Cups,” Glenna announced in voice laden with doom.

Skye bit her lower lip, smothering a laugh as Glenna surveyed the tarot cards. At Glenna’s expression of defeat, she tried to encourage her coworker. “Oh, come on. It can’t be all bad.”

Claribel, the storeowner, winked at Skye from across the store.

Same old Glenda, same old Claribel. Skye’s pride still smarted from last night’s rejection, but the routine of classes and her job helped keep her mind off the hurt.

“‘Course it’s bad, always is,” said Glenna, not comforted in the least. “The Moon card means that things are not what they appear. The Five of Swords reveals I am being deceived and the Seven of Cups represents illusions and confusion.”

Skye squirted more glass cleaner on the display counter. “Don’t go jumping all over your boyfriend tonight with false accusations.”

“Who says it has anything to do with Mickey?” Glenna scowled and swiped up the offending cards. “It could be anybody. Trust no one.” She wrapped the deck in a purple silk cloth and put it back in its wooden case beneath the cash register.

Gloomy Glenna, bet she’s a real blast on a date
. Skye moved on to the crystal displays, her favorite spot in The Green Fairy shop. The color and textures of the crystals never failed to enchant her.

“You could look at that tarot spread another way.” Claribel toted a stack of books to the front counter, breathing hard from the minor exertion. She dropped the books on the counter with a grunt and pushed wisps of curls away from her eyes. “The Moon represents your considerable psychic abilities, the Five of Swords can mean victory and the Seven of Cups may be warning you to listen to your emotions instead of your intellect.”

Glenna tossed her mane of long, black hair. “No way.”

Skye couldn’t stop a snort of amusement. ‘Glenna’ and ‘intellect’ didn’t go together in the same sentence. Glenna glared her way, eyes as gray and turbulent as a November storm. Actually, it was more like a half-glare since her severe side part and long bangs kept her left eye permanently obscured.

“Now girls, let’s all get along.” Claribel smiled cheerily at them. She patted her lopsided bun, which was held in place by pastel fairy wands used as hair barrettes. Gray tendrils escaped increasingly as the day went on. By closing time, half her hair would be up, half down. Everything about Claribel was a bit askew, from her smudged glitter eyeliner and tangled charm necklaces to her twisted peasant blouse tucked into a long purple skirt, now smudged with dust.

The messiness drove Skye nuts, but Claribel grew on you after a while. In the few weeks she’d worked at the metaphysical shop, her employer had taken an almost maternal interest in her. She brought in homemade brownies, worried over Skye’s unreliable old Mustang, and encouraged her to take some jewelry design classes next semester.
She’s more motherly than my own Mom
. Skye shook off the disquieting thought, determined not to go there.

“You’ve got some hanging threads by one of your shirt buttons,” she told Claribel. When the older woman started to pull at one, Skye stopped her. “Let me fix it for you.” She found a pair of scissors to snip the thread and approached her boss.

Claribel’s eyes widened and she took a step backward.

“What’s wrong?” Skye waved the scissors in the air. “You know I’m not going to hurt you with these.”

“Of course not.” Claribel shuddered. “It’s just that I’m…allergic to certain metals. Make sure it doesn’t touch my skin.”

“Sure thing.” Skye cut the dangling thread and held it up triumphantly. “All done. You’re still intact.”

Claribel backed away. “Very good. Guess it’s time for me to set out the daily treats for the Wee Ones.”

Strange. But Skye was used to Claribel’s little eccentricities.

Her boss brought out several ceramic thimbles from under the counter and squeezed a smidgeon of honey in each. Glenna and Skye watched the nightly ritual in mutual amusement, one of the few times in which they enjoyed a camaraderie.

Out came the M&Ms, the pastel-colored ones. The shop’s freezer held bags of the special candy colors that were only available during Easter season. Claribel arranged the thimbles and candy in a circle. Her last step in the ritual was to sprinkle pink and purple fairy dust, a. k. a. dime store glitter, in the middle of the arrangement since, as Claribel liked to say, ‘the fairies favor the light and the bright.’

“When we come in tomorrow, the entire set-up will look exactly the same as it does right now.” Glenna droned this observation nightly.

“Oh, but the fairies only take the
essence
of the food, remember?” Claribel was undeterred in her fairy enthusiasms. Her belief seemed unshakeable.

“Have you ever seen a real fairy?” Glenna asked.

Skye frowned at Glenna. Unbelievable that someone so unrelentingly negative found a boyfriend. There must truly be someone for everyone.

Claribel broke the tension. “Skye, you were right, business is slow today because of the football game. Let’s take this opportunity to do some real deep-cleaning.”

Glenna moaned. “Tell the brownies to do the work. Aren’t they supposed to be house fairies that clean homes when the family’s asleep?”

“You can’t command the fairies to do your chores,” Claribel explained. “Either they grant you a boon or not, their choice.”

Skye rubbed her hands. She’d been itching for an opportunity to do this since she started working here. “I’ll take the storeroom,” she volunteered. She grabbed a broom and dustpan and headed to the back before anyone could stop her.

Alone downstairs, Skye took out her radio and tuned in to the game. Bama was up 21-7 on Tennessee. Yes! She pumped a fist in the air. Would Tanner get a chance to play tonight? Probably not. As a freshman, he’d warmed the bench all season, to his great disappointment. Being an all-star receiver in small-town Piedmont meant nothing here in Tuscaloosa. Small-town heroes all over the state were just more wannabes with this powerhouse SEC team. Her brother, Michael, had caught a lucky break; he’d played half a game last week when a starting lineman and the second string were both injured.

Last night’s pain returned. Resolutely, Skye pushed away the memory. She pulled her waist-length red hair into a ponytail and sized up the job. The room was dark and damp, with only a single window high up on the back wall that was grated with black, iron burglar bars, and coated with a nasty gray film from years of neglect. A one-inch thick grime had settled on nearly every object and trash was strewn everywhere. Boxes of crystals and bottles of essential oils lay next to unalphabetized books. She scowled; clearly there was no system in place.

She set to work sweeping the floor first, so as not to trip on some fallen object. The only thing in the world she enjoyed more than making crystal jewelry was getting things in order. Better make that her third favorite thing. Hanging out with Tanner was the best, even if he just thought of her as Michael’s little sister.

The radio broadcast was good company and she listened for Tanner’s name, hoping he would get a chance to play. She pictured him sitting on the sideline, helmet in hand, waiting to be called in. He’d be decked out in his pads and uniform, sweaty from a pregame workout, and his dark hair would be slightly damp and curling on the ends.

She slipped into a favorite daydream where he rose from the bench and scanned the bleachers for her in the crowd. They made eye contact and then Tanner would throw down his helmet and run up the aisle where she waited, realizing he was madly in love . . .

What the heck was this crap laying on the floor? She scowled at the huge, dried-up insect carcasses in the dustpan and threw them in a wastebasket. Major icky. The room looked like it had never been swept. A perfect breeding ground for mice. She swept up another dustpan load and checked to see if there were any mouse droppings. Whew, none. That was a relief at least.

She started tossing the mess, but looked again at the oversized carcasses wondering what kind of insects had died down here. They were fairly large, about three or four inches, and had wings.

A faint green glow sputtered for an instant in the dustpan. Skye stared harder. The glow had vanished, but the remaining dust had iridescent sparkles that glittered in the faint light. The room was eerily silent, the radio off. Now that was weird. A cold draft chilled her back and she glanced over her shoulder, uneasy and jumpy.

It struck her that she was totally alone in the basement and probably no one upstairs would even hear her if she screamed.

Get real
. The batteries were shot in that old radio and had finally died. These insects were probably . . . dragonflies.

At first glance, yes, but closer examination showed a larger body, almost human-like. No, it had to be dragonflies. Odd for October, but there was no telling the last time the storeroom had been cleaned, if ever. For sure, it hadn’t been in the few weeks she’d been working here.

And she had imagined the green glow. Really, it was probably like a floater or something in her eyes. She’d think of something else and stay busy. Claribel would be so surprised when she came downstairs and saw how much cleaner it was.

Skye smiled, remembering her strange job interview with Claribel. Her woman’s first question had been to ask her astrological sign.

Pisces.

Then Skye had to write out her full name, ‘Skye Violet Watters’, on a blank sheet of paper so Claribel could analyze her penmanship and do a numerological reading. She only asked one question, but it was a doozie. “Are you a witch?”

Skye had stumbled on the answer. “I guess . . . technically . . . I would have to say yes. I mean, my mom is one.”

“Technically?” Claribel raised an eyebrow and her lips twitched in amusement.

“I’m not a very good one,” she’d admitted. “I was raised in The Craft but I’ve never done a spell that went the way it was supposed to.”

“The goddesses have a mind of their own and usually it all works out for the best,” Claribel said, seemingly unconcerned with the confessed failure.