The Shattered Dark (23 page)

What?

“Are you sure?” I ask. The remnants need Sighted humans as much as we do.

“I’m sure,” he says, “The walls list their names.”

My stomach churns, but I look over his shoulder at the blood painting the walls. Now
that I’m focused on the smears of red, I recognize the Fae symbols. I still can’t
read it, but it’s definitely their language.

“Why would the remnants slaughter them?” I ask, focusing on the blond girl. I recognize
her now. Her name is Anya. She is—
was
—Russian. Sixteen years old. The same age I was when I began working for the Court,
only she started when she was fourteen. While working for the king, I met fae who
disapproved of my presence in the Realm, but they accepted it because I hunted down
the Court’s enemies. I can’t imagine any of those fae doing something like this. This
is beyond barbaric.

My nostrils flare. I clench my fists at my sides and feel the fury sink in with each
blood-tainted breath I take. Lena has been trying to make contact with the remnants
to negotiate with them, but screw that. Anyone who can do something like this can’t
be reasoned with. Once we find out who’s organizing them, I’ll track him and his supporters
down. I don’t care how long it takes. I won’t let something like this happen again.

This time, when Aren urges me to move, I do, turning my back on the desecrated bodies.
We retrace our steps down the hall and are no more than four paces from the staircase
when Shane’s voice rings out, “They’re here!”

He sprints into our hallway a second later. “They saw me.”

“The other staircase. Go,” Aren orders, pushing us down the hall before taking up
position in front of the steps Shane just ran up.

I stumble, brace a hand against the wall, then turn, looking back at Aren and Trev.
Trev remains in this world only for a second more, then he disappears into a fissure.

I turn to Shane. “How many remnants—”

“Come on!” He cuts me off, grabbing my arm and forcefully yanking me down the hall.
I shake him off but run for the second staircase. Trev will bring back help, and Aren
won’t fissure out until I’m safely away from here.

My heart beats in time with the hard, fast music pounding next door. We sprint to
the other end of the corridor then down the stairs. Shane reaches the bottom first.
A glass door leads outside, but, of course,
this
one is chained shut.

Shane doesn’t hesitate. He sidekicks his foot through the glass. I’m right on his
heels, ducking under the chain after he does.

We don’t exit onto a street. We exit into the tiniest courtyard I’ve ever seen. There’s
just one door, wooden and curved on top, in the wall opposite us.

Shane runs to it, grabs the handle, attempting to pull it open.

No luck.

I scan the area, feeling boxed in by the four brick walls. The music is louder out
here. Between drumbeats, I think I hear fissures opening in the building we just left.

Shit.

My gaze locks on a metal ladder. It’s almost hidden behind an outcropping of a chimney.
It climbs the wall, stopping at a small platform one level up. There’s a door there,
cracked open.

“Shane. Here.” I jump, grabbing the highest rung I can reach, then I climb, making
it to the platform in a few seconds. I make sure Shane’s following me before I slip
inside.

Strobe lights flash in the dark. I’m in the club. Backstage. Thick curtains hang from
floor to ceiling to my right. To my left, a writhing, screaming horde of people crowds
the floor.

“Go!” Shane yells, slamming into me. “Go!”

I run, sprinting for the packed dance floor. It will be easy to get lost in the mass
of revelers, and with the near-deafening music and all the tech in this room, the
fae will be disoriented.

We have to jump down from the side of the stage to the floor. I catch a quick glimpse
of the band as I do. The bassist, a tall, skinny guy covered in tats, is headbanging
as he plays. A cord runs from his bass to the equipment behind him, a cord that, apparently,
a remnant doesn’t see. It rips out of the instrument as the fae trips over it. The
last thing I see before I shove into the crowd is a baffled look on the human’s face.

“Go! Go!” Shane yells, shoving me deeper into the crowd. I’m trying, but the place
is packed. I slip between two dancing girls, then look over my shoulder.

Shane’s gone. I have no idea where, but I keep moving, trying to get to the center
of the dance floor. Everyone is pushing and dancing and not making it at all easy
for me to get anywhere. Somehow, I end up near the front of the theater. I look up
at the stage, see a remnant standing there. He’s in fae clothing and holding a sword
as he scans the crowd. I have to assume he’s invisible since security isn’t doing
anything to remove him.

I think I might be safe where I am. I can’t see the fae spotting me here. When the
concert ends, I can file out with the crowd. I should be able to avoid the remnants.

If I survive the concert.

Despite the cool air outside, it’s hot in here. I can barely breathe in this mass
of people. My nose wrinkles when someone lights up something that’s definitely
not
a cigarette nearby. The smoke gets into my lungs, makes them itch.

Suddenly the song ends. The lights go out. The crowd becomes a sea of lit-up cell
phones and…

A flash of blue lightning strikes across a face, right in front of me.

I reach for the dagger hidden under my shirt while I back
up, pushing against the crowd as hard as I can, but the crowd pushes back. I can’t
get the dagger free. The remnant doesn’t have the same problem. When the lights flash
back on, they glint off the short steel blade in his hand. He stabs toward my stomach,
but at that exact moment, the crowd reacts, surging around us and making the fae miss.

Miss me. Not the girl who’s tripped into the space I just occupied. Her scream is
lost under the fierce, pounding notes of the next song. She collapses to her knees.
Instinctively, I reach out to help her, but everyone is still moving, shoving back
at people who shoved them.

I manage to grab the girl’s elbow. I’m pulling her up and looking for the remnant
at the same time. Someone shoved him. Unintentionally, I think, since it’s obvious
no one else can see him. He shoves back, then his eyes lock on me once again.

I need to run—the fae won’t miss me a second time—but if I can somehow get the girl
to Aren, he can save her.

“Come on!” I have to yell at the girl so that she can hear me over the music.

She takes one step, then her knees buckle. I strain to keep her on her feet, but her
arm slips from my grasp. No one else helps her. They don’t notice the blood soaking
her clothes.

The remnant is only a pace away. That’s when the anger takes over. Anger at the unfairness
of the girl’s impending death and the brutal torture of the Sighted humans in the
building next door. With a scream that nobody hears under the roaring music, I attack
the remnant.

It’s clear he doesn’t expect it. There’s a moment of shock in his expression as I
ram into him, my fingers reaching for his silver eyes. My nails scrape down the side
of his face instead.

I scramble for the hand that was holding his dagger a moment before, but can’t find
the weapon. I look at the cement floor to see if he dropped it, but he grabs a fistful
of my hair. He jerks my head down, brings his knee up.

Tiny glints of silver dance through the air.
Stars,
I think, as he slams his knee into my face again.

When my vision clears, I’m on my hands and knees, still
alive somehow. Breathing makes my face hurt, but I draw in the hot, smoke-tainted
air and look up. Aren is here. He’s wrestling with the fae. Neither of them has his
weapon in hand; they’re trying to kill each other with their fists.

Aren dives for the remnant’s knees, gets underneath him, then lifts. I think he intends
to body slam the other man, but the fae gets his arm around Aren’s neck, throwing
him off-balance. They fall recklessly into the crowd, taking two guys down with them.
The humans can’t see what happened; they have no idea what’s going on, but they make
assumptions. The first guy throws a fist at the second. Someone jumps in to help,
and all of a sudden, the whole place becomes one giant mosh pit.

When someone steps on my shoulder, I realize I’m going to be crushed if I don’t get
back to my feet. I stagger forward, half crawling, half standing until I trip over
the girl the remnant stabbed. She’s still breathing. Still crying.

Grabbing her arm, I heave up. I have her halfway to her feet when an elbow to the
ribs sends a sharp pain down my side. I’m shoved back to the ground. I make an effort
to get up again, but people are stepping on the edge of my open coat, pinning me down.
The crowd presses in, and the gap I once occupied disappears.

I can’t breathe. Someone steps on me, then someone else. I’m lying on top of the girl,
almost cheek to cheek with her. Her eyes are open, glassy. A reckless foot kicks her
head. She doesn’t blink or cry out.

The screams from the crowd are actual screams now. I manage to slip out of my coat,
then try to get off the ground yet again, but there are too many people around me,
on top of me. I’m going to be trampled to death.

Then I’m wrenched back to my feet. I look over my shoulder, expecting to see Aren.
It’s not him. It’s a human. Someone I don’t know and who doesn’t know me. Just a random
stranger saving my life. I want to thank him, to make sure he gets out of this okay,
but I lose sight of him when the crowd surges again. We’re all converging on the exit,
an exit that’s far too small to accommodate this many people. Everyone’s
screaming and yelling and shoving and pushing. No one will make it out that way.

I shove backward and sideways at the same time, manage to slip through the thinnest
gap in the crowd. Adrenaline and a desperate urge to survive are fueling me now. Everyone’s
trying to escape the club, so the farther I get into it, the less resistance I meet.

To my left, a trio of girls have broken a window. They’re climbing out of it. I start
to head that way when something on the stage catches my eye.

Paige.

A fae has a sword in one hand, my friend in the other. He wrestles her behind the
thick, black stage curtain.

“Paige!” I scream, even though I know she can’t hear me. I don’t see any other fae
in the club. They could easily have fissured out, so I run, jumping on the stage and
sprinting for the split in the curtain where I saw them disappear.

There’s an exit back here. I run through it, scan up and down the street. I don’t
see Paige or the remnant, just humans, some who were obviously in the club and others
who are watching the rest of us spill out the exits. Some of the women are sobbing.
The men look disoriented, too, and the sound of sirens grows louder as the authorities
respond to the scene.

Then I hear something else, something I’ve heard far too much lately: the sound of
fae fighting.

It’s coming from a side road to my left. I run that way, stop at the corner of the
building to peek around its edge. Trev brought back help. He and Aren and at least
ten other rebels are fighting an equal number of remnants.

“McKenzie!”

I turn to see Paige sprinting toward me. Before she reaches me, fissures open up all
around us.

“Paige!” I scream when a remnant appears out of a slash of light right next to her.
She doesn’t blink or swerve away from the fae. Normal humans can’t see the battle
taking place in the middle of a London street; she has no idea how close her enemy
is.

Fortunately, the remnant doesn’t pursue her. He intercepts a rebel’s attack, swinging,
then fissuring and swinging again.

She reaches me. I take hold of her arms as she takes hold of mine. She has a scrape
across her left cheek, but otherwise, she looks okay.

“This way,” I say, pulling her to the right at the same time that she pulls me left,
and says, “Over here.”

“No, Paige—”

“Come on!” she yells. “We have a plan.”

“A plan? Who’s we?” I demand, but she’s still pulling me down the street. “Paige,
what are you doing?”

She turns back to me.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” she says. “I’m saving your ass.”

S
HE’S
SAVING
ME
?

My gut tells me I know what that means, but I don’t have time to ask what the remnants
have told her. A police officer or cop or whatever it is they call the authorities
here approaches us.

“I need to see your identifications,” he says in his lilting British accent. Lights
from the city’s emergency vehicles make his neon vest bright. They also disorient
me. I tense with every flash in my peripheral vision, but I don’t see Aren or Shane
or any of the remnants. Where the hell did they go?

“Now,” the officer demands, taking a step forward and resting his right hand on the
baton at his hip.