You do have a responsibility.
He looked at the Shadow Queen, his baby sister, and smiled. She still needed him. That much was clear.
So stop this, he reminded himself.
“I was thinking about building a few tattoo machines.” Rabbit stepped away from his sister and opened an old-fashioned squat, dingy white refrigerator that was covered with stickers for old-school punk bands. He pulled out a pitcher of iced tea.
Ani sat at the garish lime-green kitchen table and watched him as he dropped ice cubes into two jelly jars that served as drinking glasses. The ice popped as he poured the tea in, and he paused. The tea was warm.
He opened the fridge; it was working.
“Did you make the tea?” he asked.
His sister shook her head and started to stand, but Rabbit raised a hand. “Don’t drink it.”
After taking the glass from her, Rabbit walked out of the kitchen and into the tiny living room. It was empty. He checked the bedroom, bathroom, studio, and even the patio. No one else was here.
The side door, however, was wide open.
Cautiously, he stepped outside and heard Her voice. “You’re late.”
“Late?” he asked.
“Possibly early.” The artist gave him a once-over, and then she frowned. “I find your timeliness troubling tonight.”
“Oh.” Rabbit looked around. Although he saw no one else, he still asked, “Did you put tea in my house?”
The artist laughed. “I knew it was somewhere.” She took his hand in hers as she walked past him and into his house.
Bemused, he let her lead him to his kitchen.
Once there, she nodded to Ani and took a seat at the table. She poured two glasses of tea. The first she slid to sit in front of her, the second she handed to Ani. “Queen.”
Ani accepted the tea with a smile. “Olivia.”
“Olivia,” Rabbit repeated.
“Yes?”
“You’re Olivia.” He went to the cupboard to get another glass, but as he grabbed it, the faery—Olivia—said, “No.”
He turned.
She held her glass out to him. “You will share my glass.”
Neither Olivia’s gaze nor her hand wavered as he stepped toward her.
“Okay.” He took the glass and drank. As he did so, he felt a strange peace slide through him. He took another tentative sip. “This is … what is this?”
“Tea and starlight.” She motioned with one hand, lifting it as if she were able to direct the glass from her seat.
Obediently, he drank the rest of the glass. “Why?”
Olivia shook her head. “If I am to stay, you must get used to starlight.”
“Stay?” he repeated.
“You require me.” She turned to look at the doorway. “I will need the house grown larger and my studio brought here.”
Rabbit looked to the empty doorway as Ani started, “I can—”
Devlin walked in, interrupting Ani’s words.
“What…” Devlin took in the small group. “Livvy?” In a blink, he took the glass from Ani. “Don’t drink that.”
“Why?”
“It’s not for us.” Devlin upended the glass, pouring the contents back into the pitcher.
For a moment, the four of them were silent, and then Olivia smiled at Devlin and Ani. “My studio should be here now.” She looked at Devlin, and when he nodded, she bowed her head to the Shadow King and Queen. “Give the other queen my greetings.”
“You may come to my studio,” Olivia told Rabbit, and then she walked toward a door that hadn’t been there before. It opened as she approached it, lengthening into a hallway.
For a moment, he hesitated, but it was only a moment. “Did Olivia just move in with me?”
“It appears so.” Devlin motioned. “You might want to ask her about the starlight.”
After Rabbit was gone, Devlin turned to Ani and gently suggested, “We ought to leave them.”
“What if she hurts—”
“Ani?” Devlin took her hand in his and pulled her toward the door. “Olivia wouldn’t hurt Rabbit.”
“She might not mean to, but—”
“No,” he interrupted. “She wouldn’t hurt him. I’m not sure she could now.” Devlin leaned in close to Ani. “She fed him starlight, and it didn’t injure him.”
“I don’t understand.”
“She gave him some of her energy, her peace, herself.” Devlin trailed his fingertips over Ani’s jawline and onto her throat. “They are both being nourished by the starlight that is her essence. She will heal your brother.”
“Why?” Ani’s gaze darted to the doorway that now led to Olivia’s studio. “I’m glad she’s trying to heal him, but why?”
Devlin traced the edge of Ani’s collarbone. “Why do you nourish me? Why do I feed you?”
At that, Ani stared up at him. “So they…”
“Are together,” Devlin finished.
“Together,” Ani echoed. “Is that what we are?”
“No.” He brought his fingertips back up the path they’d traced, along her collarbone and to her throat. He paused there. “We are much much more than merely together. You”—he felt her pulse speed under his fingers—“are the faery who gives me strength, who gives me reason to wake in the mornings, who infuriates me, who enrages me, who enthralls me.”
“Oh.”
He leaned down and kissed her throat. “You are my passion, my fury, and my soul.”
“Ooooh,” she breathed.
“Shall I explain further?” He leaned away so he could look directly at her.
And his beautiful Hound gave him a dangerous smile. “And to think you used to try to be a creature of reason.” She drew his lips to hers and kissed him with the sort of consuming intensity that was uniquely Ani.
Rabbit stood for a moment, not sure of how to proceed. He understood that something had happened, that it was peculiar to drink starlight, that having a faery decide to move into his home was … unusual. At the same time, he’d become caretaker to his sisters the same way: one day he was alone, and the next he was a big brother, acting as father to two tiny hellions. He was a Hound—not completely, but not mortal. Olivia was not a Hound, but she was very much not mortal.
Silently, Rabbit walked into the studio that was now a part of his house.
My home. Our home now.
She glanced at him, and for a moment, he saw the flash of fear in her eyes.
“Can you tell me your name?” she asked.
What name does she seek?
He looked at her, the faery who had apparently decided to move into his home, and wondered what he should feel. She sang quietly to herself as she began painting on the wall in front of her. He wasn’t entirely sure what to do.
“You are living here now?”
“Yes. With you.” She didn’t look back at him, but her hand stilled momentarily. “Do you know your name yet?”
“My name…”
Olivia made a noise that sounded very close to a growl. “I’ve waited for you for six centuries, but you weren’t born, and then you weren’t here, and now you are.” She sounded breathless now, out of sorts for the first time since they’d met. “I waited. I’ve been patient. I’ve drawn so very many things, but they were not enough.”
Rabbit walked over to stand behind her. Tentatively, he slid his arms around her. “Olivia?”
“I should have another name. I have waited.” She leaned back against him, and he saw the starlight trails of tears that slid down her cheeks. “I knew you would be sad, but I would be here. I would make you whole.” She turned in his arms. “I will be whole now. Finally.”
“With me.”
“Yes,” she breathed. Her eyes glimmered with bursts of light, and for the first time, he didn’t try to look away.
“You will be with me, have waited, and we are together now,” he mused.
She tilted her head up, waiting for the kiss that he carefully bestowed. Whate
ver peace he’d sought, that he’d only that morning despaired of finding, slid from her lips into his body. It wasn’t a forever peace—not yet—but it was the most right he’d felt since everything had gone so horribly wrong.
Possibly before that.
He wasn’t fully Hound, but he was Hound enough to understand what Olivia had been waiting for him to figure out.
“What name is yours?” she asked softly. “You know now, don’t you?”
“Husband,” he confirmed. “Mate. Yours.”
And his mate began to glow; her skin shimmered with the same celestial light that was always in her eyes, as she stared up at him. “Yes. Husband. Mate. Mine.” She laughed, looking even more beautiful than he’d thought possible, and added, “You are finally home.”
Tears were in his eyes, even as happiness filled him. He’d lost one of his sisters, feared for the loss of one faery who’d been friend and family since his childhood, but he’d found the partner he’d never thought to have.
A mate.
A home.
Olivia stood and gently led him to the middle of the floor. His hand firmly held in hers, she said, “Now, we can finally talk.”
And for the first time since he’d entered Faerie, he had no sense of time not because of sorrow, and not because of strange cotton candy skies, but because he was lost in discovering the faery who was to be his mate.
UNEXPECTED FAMILY
“YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING.” SETH tossed the letter onto the table and paced the confines of his tiny train-house. He’d been so caught up in faery politics, his ever-changing role in the faery world, trips to Faerie, and his recently much improved relationship with Aislinn that he hadn’t thought about the stack of mail that had accumulated at his postbox.
He snatched the letter up and skimmed it again. Words jumped out at him, words he would much rather ignore: campground … no mail service … wait here for you. He crumpled it and wished that the calm he felt in Faerie was within reach right now.
“Why?” He closed his eyes and took several calming breaths.
One … two … three… How in the hell am I to get there? He tossed the letter onto the table with the less frustrating envelopes and back issues of magazines that had accumulated in his box the past few months.
In the last year, he hadn’t often had to think much on his mortal life’s limitations—like the lack of a car. He had money saved, so he could fly: his weird fey status meant that he wasn’t sickened by iron like most faeries. He’d never really liked the idea of planes, though. He snorted at the lie he tried to tell himself. Not liked them? He was terrified of flying. It seemed unnatural to strap himself into a giant—heavy—metal tube and assume it wouldn’t fall out of the sky.
When he’d been fourteen, he discovered that flight was a lot less stressful if he got mellow, but he’d stopped smoking awhile ago. He’d made a point to get rid of his bong and every rolling paper in the train; he wasn’t going to go back.
Flying is out.
That left a bus trip, a train, or a car. None of those options seemed immediately appealing. Seth shook his head. Even from a distance, his parents rarely made anything easy.
He caught sight of the clock and realized that he was already running late.
Late and bearing bad news.
“Fabulous,” he muttered to himself as he went down the short hallway to the bathroom to grab a shower.
Thirty minutes later, Seth snatched the crumpled letter, shoved it into his jeans pocket, and headed across Huntsdale toward the first of two places he’d need to go before he could leave town. As he walked, he realized that he wasn’t sure which of the stops would be more stressful. For someone who’d spent the past few years learning to keep his impulses in check, he’d certainly not given his loyalty to faeries who shared that trait. The Summer Queen was volatile, more so now that she was carrying the full of Summer inside of her. It had only been a week since Aislinn had become the sole monarch of the Summer Court and only a couple of weeks since Winter, Dark, and Summer had worked together to defeat Bananach, but already, Aislinn seemed to be more truly fit to her sole regency than he expected. She was still trying to get a grip on having her court’s full strength, but their relationship was everything he’d hoped it could be.
Perfect.
The other faery I need to see… Seth shook his head. That was far less resolved. The Dark King was steadfastly avoiding him.
One mercurial regent at a time.
Seth walked up the stairs to the Summer Queen’s loft. Just inside the door, he stopped for a moment, watching her as she laughed with her advisors. Aislinn’s every movement seemed to send little bits of sunlight into the air around her. Looking at her when she was happy made Seth think of photographs of the solar system: she was the sun, and the rest of her court thrived now because she was so vibrant. Looking at her made him want to do anything in his power to make that sunlight turn to him, but he understood the difference between love and enthrallment. Being her subject would’ve destroyed us. Being equals made relationships possible.
Of course, that didn’t mean that he was immune to her. As she laughed at something one of the faeries near her said, the sunlight flared in the room, rippling out with her mood, and Seth drew in a sharp breath.
She turned.
In the space of that one breath, Aislinn was across the room and in his arms. Instead of speaking, she greeted him with a kiss that would’ve injured him if he weren’t fey. Sunlight flared around them, rolled over his skin in a wash of pleasure, and made him grateful that he wasn’t shy in public. Aislinn wasn’t an exhibitionist, but hers was a court based on pleasure. Any sense of restraint she’d once had was discarded.
As was my shirt, he realized as he felt her hands slide over his bare chest.
“Whoa,” Seth whispered as he pulled back.
“Sorry.” She smiled a little sheepishly. “I’m still trying to get used to the full Summer, and it’s spring and—”
He kissed her and then stepped away, keeping one arm around her. “I get it.” He reached down and grabbed his singed and steaming shirt from the floor. The benefits of wearing black T-shirts. He pulled his shirt back on. “Can we talk for a minute?”
Aislinn’s panic made the heat in the room flare uncomfortably. Faeries around her stopped dancing; couples paused in their kissing; and even the rustling of the almost rain forest–thick plants stilled. Her mood made her faeries react; she was their center. It was like that with all regents.
Hurriedly, Seth said, “Everything is fine with us. I just wanted to talk to you without everyone around.”
“Oh,” she breathed. Her smile returned, and at her joy, the activities throughout the loft, and presumably throughout the whole Summer Court, resumed.
The Summer Queen took his hand and led him through the increasingly plant-filled loft and past a stream—when did that appear?—that now trickled down a hallway. It seemed as if the division between the outside and inside had vanished in the past week.
He looked at the stream in wonder and then at her with the same swell of awe. Sometimes, it seemed hard to remember what life before Aislinn had been like. He’d fallen in love with her months before she even realized he had stopped hooking up with girls. Instead of going on to art school, he’d stayed here—and ended up going to Faerie and being remade. They were all choices he was sure were right, and not quite a week ago, exactly how right had become clear.
Now I just need my mortal life in order.
He wasn’t truly a mortal anymore. When he was in Faerie, he became mortal, but in the mortal world he was fey. Since his trip to Faerie, he’d spent less and less time around the mortals in his life. He could slip in and out of a glamour with the same ease as breathing, so his new state hadn’t meant giving up the Crow’s Nest, but on the other hand, he only went to the bar with faeries, so he hadn’t been tasked with trying to have a whole lot of normal conversations, either.
Seeing his parents meant facing thin
gs he wasn’t sure he was ready to face.
Just inside Aislinn’s room, Seth stopped and looked up. The bed was gone. In its place was a flowering vine that wrapped around what looked look a vat of flower petals atop a tree. “Ash?”
She bit her lip and blushed.
“I was dreaming, and when I woke”—she shrugged—“it was like this. I can’t quite figure out how to get rid of all of the petals.”
“Where’s your bed? Your mattress?”
“That is my bed. It was wood, and I guess I sort of made it start growing. My mattress”—Aislinn floated upward, seemingly mindless of the fact that she now treated the air the same as most faeries treated the ground—“is right here. It just has petals all over it.” She sent a small breeze toward the bed, and as flower petals rained around him, she patted the mattress. “See?”
“I do.” He smiled. This was the world he lived in, had fought for, and wanted to stay in. There were things he still needed to sort out—chiefly the whole balancing the Dark King and being the faery willing to stand for the rights of any solitary faery thing. Those he would need to figure out, but he’d already been thinking about them. His mortal life, on the other hand, he’d pretty much set aside. He’d like to continue doing that, to ignore the letter that he’d shoved into his pocket, but he couldn’t.
“I need to go away for a few days, Ash. Not”—he held up a hand as she opened her mouth to interrupt—“to see my mother … not Sorcha. My human parents sent a letter. They’re in trouble and need me to come to help.”
Aislinn frowned. “How? Where?”
“I have lat and long coordinates. They’re at a campsite in the mountains … which means I need to get to California, hike out to where they are, and… I don’t know. They said it was urgent that I come, and the letter was written at least two weeks ago. I need to go now.” Seth couldn’t entirely keep the bitterness out of his voice, but he tried.
Unlike Aislinn, he had no real desire to stay a part of the mortal world. The one big exception was his parents. They were flaky sometimes, but they were his. Since they’d left two years ago, they’d kept in touch with sporadic calls and letters, and on one unexpected Tuesday, a visit. They’d called it a “mission” when they left, but whatever church or cult they’d been with had been another passing interest for his mother. Instead of coming back to Huntsdale, they’d followed one random impulse after another, and Seth wasn’t sure if he envied them or admired them.