Chapter 31

”Devoting one’s existence to faeology is inherently isolating. I am in a perpetual state of introspection, reflecting on the validity of my decisions, but the nuances of my research are apprehended by me alone.”

-Excerpt from the personal journal of Dr. Claude Foster, Director of Faeology at Mesmeric Labs

FANTASIA

By the time I make it to The Rising Star, I’m drenched with sweat and panting for air. Before entering, I catch my breath and take a look around to ensure Archer didn’t follow me. The streets aren’t that busy at this time of day, with the bars getting ready to close. Scanning the few passersby, I find a variety of different hues but see no sign of gold.

My blood runs cold.

Is Archer’s soul-shade still gold after that?

How would it be gold in the first place if he’s a reaper—fae?

Shuddering, I enter the bar. The bell over the door chimes, and Mellie’s head whips up. The smile melts from her face at the sight of me. Unlike the last time I burst in here a hot mess, she doesn’t run over to greet me.

“Tay,” she says cautiously.

“Hey, did you get my text?” My voice comes out too high and squeaky, but I’m trying my best to stay cool. The image of Archer consuming Reed’s soul sits at the forefront of my mind.

Reed is dead.

Archer is a reaper.

It doesn’t make sense.

“You hear me?” Mellie asks, tossing a bar towel onto her shoulder.

My head grows light, and I try to focus on Mellie’s familiar face and push away my panic. “I’m sorry—what?”

My legs move, taking me toward her. It’s like I’m not in control of my body. It’s moving on its own.

“I said I replied.” She places both palms on the bar and leans forward. Some of the patrons lingering at the bar until last call turn toward me in their stools, and several people chatter in a booth to my left, but I pay them no attention. Fumbling with my phone, I unlock it to see her text staring back at me.

Mellie: I don’t hear from u in days and this is what u say

Mellie: Yeah. I have ur bear…

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I try to force a smile. “Oh, no I didn’t see it. I was already on my way here.”

She squints. “You okay?”

Luckily, someone at the bar asks for a refill, so she moves to grab his glass before I can respond.

“It’s upstairs,” she calls to me. “You can head up and grab it.”

Relief softens my tense muscles. “Thanks, Mellie.”

“Make yourself at home. Axel’s with his dad.”

Instead of lingering, I head straight for the stairway leading to Mellie’s apartment. I close the door at the bottom, and make my way up the stairs.

The overpowering stench of spoiled milk slaps me in the face. High ceilings make the studio appear bigger than it actually is, but it holds onto warm air even more than downstairs does. Three windows overlook the bar’s roof and Pub Path down below. They’re open, letting in the sticky late-night air. There’s a daybed with a coffee table beside it. A glass of what looks like curdled milk sits there.

Gagging, I pick up the glass and walk it to the kitchenette, where I dump the disgusting mess out in the sink. I rinse the glass and leave it there.

With a sigh, I turn to survey the space. Clothing is strewn about, along with toys and various empty food containers.

I hadn’t realized that Mellie’s place had fallen into such a state of disarray. My heart pangs with sorrow and guilt as I realize I likely had something to do with this. Without me to help at the bar, she’s probably having to work more, so she has less time to care for herself and Axel.

Spotting my bear on the floor beside the daybed, I stoop to pick it up.

“Finally.” I clutch it to my chest. “I miss you, Dad.”

Just a couple of weeks ago, everything seemed so much clearer. My life was lackluster, yeah, but it was my life. Oh, how everything has changed. A tear slides down my cheek, and I quickly wipe it away.

Squeezing the bear tighter, I realize Mellie was right. The old thing sure could use a good stuffing. He’s lumpy as heck.

“Wait,” I murmur.

Flipping the bear over and inspecting it, I search for an opening, any type of hidden pocket. I’ve had the ratty thing for years and never noticed anything amiss, but there has to be something I overlooked. My gut tells me to look harder.

When I don’t find anything, I take a risk and give the fabric a tug at its seams. If I’m wrong, worst case scenario I lose my old bear. If I’m right…

The seam gives with a loud rip. Pieces of fluff fall out. I reach in, plucking out more of the white material, and my fingers scrape against something rough.

“No fucking way,” I say breathlessly, tugging out the item.

It’s a paper folded into a square no bigger than my palm. Rushing to unfold it, I try to steady my shaking heads, careful not to rip the paper.

Fantastic Fantasia,

I hope you find this letter before it’s too late. It’s glamoured to be read by your eyes only. It’s not the only thing glamoured. There’s much to say but not many words. The city isn’t what it seems; protection is a synonym for prison, and not all is artificial. Blood is thicker than water, but blood can wash away dust.

I’ve made mistakes and sold my soul to the monsters. I only wanted to afford a better life for us. I had no idea what was in store.

Please forgive me, my girl.

I will love you always.

If I wasn’t wholly certain this is my father’s handwriting, I wouldn’t believe this was from him. The syntax is different from that of his journals. And what he wrote makes little sense—

“It’s not the only thing glamoured.” He was glamoured. I knew it!

My hands shake as I read it over and over, working to decipher what it means. He’s speaking in code, giving me a roundabout message in the only way he could.

A loud screech from the street pulls me out of my thoughts. My head whips toward the nearest window. I run to it, peering down below. Even at this hour, Pub Path is well-lit by street lamps and various signs. A handful of Scouts emerge from their armored truck, charging toward the bar. People flee, yelling dramatically as they go, but the Scouts make no move to chase them. Instead they pause in front of the bar. Then they talk amongst themselves in low voices for a moment before readying their weapons.

I duck down out of sight, my heart jackhammering in my chest. Tucking my dad’s note in my bra for safekeeping, I scurry toward the stairwell.

I have no idea what’s going on, but it looks like they’re about to raid The Rising Star.

When I’m halfway down the wooden stairs, the door at the bottom is flung open. I freeze, but luckily it’s only Mellie.

“Mel, the Scouts are here,” I whisper.

She sniffles, wiping her nose on the back of her hand. The way she doesn’t meet my eyes causes the hair on the back of my neck to prickle.

“Mellie?” I whisper.

“Axel is sick… We—we really need the money, TayTay.” Her voice cracks. “It’s nothing personal.”

She tosses a crumpled-up wad of paper toward me. It lands on the stair below me. I stoop down to snatch it up, smoothing out the page.

A sketch of my face stares back at me, the word WANTED written in big letters above my head.

When the disbelief fades, realization hits me like a sledgehammer.

Mellie called the Scouts.

She turned me in for silvers.

“Nothing personal?” I whisper.

“If you had a kid, you’d get it.”

I nearly double over from the shock.

“Mellie… I would’ve helped you.” I would’ve given her my own paycheck or asked Archer for money. Something. Anything.

When she finally meets my gaze, her eyes are brimming with anger. “You left work with no word. You’ve been unreliable…secretive. In your own world.” Mellie sniffles again, her face scrunched, as if she’s fighting an inner battle.

A sharp, shooting pain pierces my heart. “Mel…”

“It’s fine. Even if you didn’t have your own shit going on, I need more help than you can afford. I’m sorry. Really.”

All I can do is shake my head. I don’t bother telling her about the job I have with Archer—the money I’m making working for him. She’d just turn him in, too.

She steps up toward me, reaching for my hands, but I pull away.

“You broke my heart, Mellie.” My voice is strained.

Nodding, she glances over her shoulder. “You broke mine, too, by shutting me out. So I guess we’re even?”

With that, she exits the stairwell and closes the door. The latch clicks—she’s locking it behind her. Not that it matters. I’m not about to run down there straight into the Scouts’ open arms.

The bell chimes as the front door crashes open, and I know it’s too late.

They’re here for me.

It’s over.

Out the window, a deep voice says in my mind. It’s the one I thought I heard before. Decidedly not my own voice.

Don’t be stubborn, Tasia. Go out the window!

“What the hell?” I say. I glance at the window, goose bumps covering my arms. “Who the hell’s there?”

You have about twenty seconds. Go now!

My feet move before my brain can fully process what’s happening. I dart to the open window, push out the screen, and poke my head out. Down below, a lone Scout stands facing the building. He hugs his firearm to his chest, keeping his hand on the grip as if ready for action.

“Fuck,” I mutter. “He’ll see me.”

Seven seconds. Move!

The floor vibrates as the Scouts pound up the stairs behind me. I don’t have time to dawdle. I slip out onto the roof just as Scathe lunges into sight down below and sinks his elongated canines into the Scout’s leg.

The man’s mouth opens in a scream, but only silence escapes. He crumples to the ground, immediately rendered unconscious.

Belgian Shepherd my ass. That is definitely not a normal dog.

Follow the roof around the corner. Then jump.

I scurry across the shingles, heeding the mysterious voice in my head. Sirius save me, I’m losing it. After all the trauma I’ve endured in this life, I’ve finally gone and lost my damn mind.

Behind me, inside Mellie’s apartment, the Scouts are yelling at one another.

Without glancing back, I round the corner of the roof, heading toward the alley. It’s much narrower and steeper on this side. I don’t see any way off that doesn’t require—

Jump, Tasia!the voice yells.

Down below rests a haphazard mountain of black trash bags. I almost slip and fall off just from peering over the edge.

Fuck that!I think.

Jump, you stubborn tit!

The voice in my head just called me a tit. It’s enough to unsettle me.

Taking a big breath, I oblige, launching myself off the roof. A shot rings out into the night as I soar through the air.

The bags soften my landing, releasing a thick whoosh of raunchy air. I gag.

“Run!” a shrill voice says—this one I hear aloud.

I turn to catch sight of Stace rounding the corner, with Alisha on her ass.

“We could only hold them off for so long!” Stace yells. “The dog helped, but they shot at him and he ran off!”

Scathe.

Alarm rings through me. “Shot? Is he okay?”

“Dunno!”

We bolt down the alley. It doesn’t take long to realize our mistake.

“Dead end!” I yell as we draw closer to the brick wall ahead of us. Light seeps out from a window above, threatening to reveal us to anyone who might peer into the alley.

Before I crash into the wall, I halt to a stop. Desperately, I pat the bricks, searching for some sort of magical invisible entrance. Of course I find nothing.

Despite the horrifying scene I witnessed at my apartment, I can’t help but wish Archer were here. He’d know how to help.

“We didn’t make it this far to get fucked so hard!” Stace yells, stomping her foot.

Her anger catches me off guard. “What are you even doing here?”

“I came to get a drink with Alisha when you kicked me out,” she says quickly, frantically. “Overheard the bartender call you in.”

I scan the alley, looking for an escape. The only way out is Pub Path—past the Scouts. We’re well and screwed.

Eyeing my roommates, I ask, “Why are you helping me?”

“Why the fuck not?” Alisha says. “Can we have this conversation later?”

I throw my hands up. “Gladly! If I have a later.”

It strikes me—they don’t know Reed is dead. They might turn me in if they knew. Hell, this could be a setup for all I know. Maybe they lured me out here on purpose, intending to turn me in.

“Idea,” Stace says. She reaches into Alisha’s jeans pocket. Alisha swats her hand, but Stace successfully pulls out what she was looking for.

A familiar-looking baggie.

It’s too dark to make out the contents, but my spine prickles. “Stace…what is that?”

“Something to help.”

“Is that dreamdust?” I ask, my voice wavering.

“How’dya know?” she asks, confused. “I thought you don’t touch drugs.”

I snatch it from Stace, desperate to keep it away from her. Enough people have fucked with this drug. I’m with Archer; it’s destroying our city.

“Where did you get it, Alisha?” I whisper.

Alisha sighs. “Reed brought it over earlier. Said it’s new. Got it for free. From his supplier. That’s what I was trying to tell you before—he’s my dealer. Not my booty call.”

“You’ve been on the dust?” I whisper, bile swirling in my stomach. Reed’s been dealing it?

“Nah, but he brought us a free sample, said it gives us power. Maybe it can help—”

A bright light washes over us, and suddenly, it’s as if I’m underwater. The voices and sounds around me fade to a low buzz. I barely register any of it.

A Scout stands before us with his weapon pointed in our direction.

Not again.

I clutch the baggie of dreamdust in my sweaty hand as my mind races to solve the puzzle. There must be a way out of this. There needs to be.

Scathe isn’t coming to save me this time. He could be out there on the street, injured for trying to protect me, and I need to find him. My gut tells me Archer isn’t coming either…

The Scout commands us to put our hands up. Slowly, Stace and Alisha lift their hands, panic painted on their faces. It takes me all of two seconds to realize they really aren’t here to turn me in. Archer must have glamoured them to have my back. If the Scouts win here, it’s not just me they’ll take in. It’s Stace and Alisha, too.

For the first time, people are counting on me.

The Scout steps closer. “Get on your knees!”

I think of the reward being offered for turning me in. How desperate they are to find me—plastering my photo on the UIS. This Scout won’t kill me. Whoever wants me wants me alive.

“Come get me, asshole,” I say, proud of how steady my voice is.

I can’t make out any of the Scout’s facial features behind the bright light bursting from his helmet, but I don’t need to. They don’t matter. In this moment, I see the person who shot and killed my parents.

Suddenly, I’m eight years old again, crying in the closet. Staring at a murderer through the wooden slats of the door.

Except I’m no longer eight years old.

I’m not weak and fragile. I’m not hiding from the violence.

I embrace it.

“Back up,” I tell Stace and Alisha. “Now!” Surprisingly, they both scamper backward. “This is for my dad, you fucker.” Before the Scout has time to react, I pinch the baggie open, jerking my arm toward his face and releasing the dust into the air. I blow as hard as I can, forcing the glittering powder toward him.

He staggers backward, but it’s too late. I was too close, and my aim was spot on.

He coughs, stowing his weapon to claw at his face in desperation.

“Run!” I yell at the girls. “Let’s get out of here!”

They bolt past me toward Pub Path. I kick the Scout in his balls, bringing him to his knees. He goes down with a thud.

I pivot to make my escape, but his hand constricts forcefully around my ankle, impeding my movement. It tightens, yanking me backward. I land with a thud and find myself on my back. The Scout holds me down, leaning in and locking lips with me.

As I fight him and try to scream, he blows air forcefully into my open mouth. Something chalky hits my tongue, and I gasp and cough when I realize what he’s done.

He wasn’t forcing a desperate kiss.

He was blowing the dust back into my mouth.