Shadow keeper, p.1
Shadow Keeper, page 1
Shadow Keeper
BRANWYN BLOOD: THE EXILED FAE OF TEXAS
L.B. CARTER
© 2024 L.B. Carter
All rights reserved.
Edited by Dawn Yacovetta.
Cover by Jessica Allain.
Interior art by: Jasper Hostler (chapter headers), Kalynne (Rhiannon character art), @_artjake_ (cave dragon scene illustration); @Damian.in.the.den (Gwynn and Coblyn character art), Jessica Allain (vineyard cover art), and J. L. Wilson (Branwyn render).
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the express written permission of the authors, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Contents
Note to the Reader
Character Illustrations and Scene Art
Glossary and Pronunciation Guide
Chapter 1
Help Shock
Chapter 2
Help Somehow
Chapter 3
Help Accept
Chapter 4
Help Crush
Chapter 5
Help Rehydrate
Chapter 6
Help Taste
Chapter 7
Help Scout
Chapter 8
Help Stake
Chapter 9
Help Squeeze
Chapter 10
Help Feed
Chapter 11
Help Reunite
Chapter 12
Help Translate
Chapter 13
Help Out
Chapter 14
Help Pay
Chapter 15
Help Settle
Chapter 16
Help Deceive
Chapter 17
Help Sacrifice
Chapter 18
Help Backstab
Chapter 19
Help Abandon
Chapter 20
Help Fake
Chapter 21
Help Cross Over
Chapter 22
Help Hide
Chapter 23
Help Each Other
The End
Acknowledgments
What’s Next for the Exiled Tylwyth Teg? (Bonus Content)
Books by L.B. Carter
About the Author
About the Book
From Underhill to Hill Country...
exiled fae hoard for protection.
Bound to serve. Left in the dark.
With dragons threatening to restart war,
what can an ignorant brownie do to retain peace?
I thought I could relax once I figured out the loophole in my debilitating genetic condition to serve anyone who asks for help: delegation. Just call me middle management of human needs.
But when Tylwyth Teg start calling in favors, there’s no skirting fae bargains. And it turns out there are a lot more of us hidden in Texas than I knew.
As additional motivation, if I can maintain peace in this realm, the elf following me like a shadow won’t drag me to Underhill.
After the dragons bring an ancient revolt back into the light, that may not matter. Some burning secrets may be better left in the dark.
Shadow Keeper is the second full-length novel of the Branwyn Blood: The Exiled Fae of Texas series by award-winning, internationally bestselling author L.B. Carter, which intertwines Welsh/Celtic lore, supernatural crime mystery, and mercenary action in a noir urban fantasy with antiheroes, gray villains, and diverse characters.
Note to the Reader
The Branwyn Blood: The Exiled Fae of Texas series intertwines dark Welsh/Celtic lore, supernatural crime mystery, and mercenary action in a tense noir urban fantasy with antiheroes, gray villains, strong women, and diverse characters that reflect real people.
Please note this series contains some language, disturbing scenes, and themes of abuse/kidnapping in this series that may be triggering for some readers.
Learn more about Branwyn’s origins in Night Stalker, the Branwyn Blood prequel, exclusive to newsletter subscribers: LBCarter.com. But you do not have to have read the novella to read and enjoy this book. It is recommended you read Body Snatcher before beginning this book.
Check out the mood board on Pinterest. And the character art on my blog and the series page.
And please don’t forget to tell me what you think about this new series with a review: books2read.com/branwyn2.
Happy reading and stay curious!
~L.B. xx
Character Illustrations and Scene Art
Character illustrations and scene art by Jessica Allain (cover), @Jasper_Hostler (chapter headers), @Damian.in.the.den (Y Ddraig Wen and a Coblyn), @Kalynn_art (Rhiannon), @_ArtJake_ (Brownie versus Dragon), and J. L. Wilson (Branwyn) found at: LBCarter.com/Fae.
Glossary and Pronunciation Guide
Branwyn Blood [Bran-win] [Bl-uh-d] = Overworked Bwbach and reluctant protagonist
Bwbach [boo-ba-kh], Bwbachod [boo-ba-kh-oth] = Brownie/household fae, brownies
Coblyn, [cgob-lin-i], Coblynau [cgob-lin-i] = Fae of the mines/gnomes
Cyhyraeth [keh-her-eye-th] = A kind of Gwyllion; a female mountain fae/banshee/spirit who mourns near reivers
Draig, Y Ddraig [dth-ray-g], Dreigiau [dth-rayg-aiy] = Dragon/The Dragon, dragons
Ellyll [thl-yth], Ellyllon [Ethl-ythl-on] = Elf, elves
Gwrach-y-Rhibyn [gr-ah-ih-rha-bin] = Hag of the Mist
Gwragedd Annwyn [gr-ah-geth an-win] = Lady fae of lakes and streams/water dwellers
Gwyllion [gw-ih-th-yon] = Mountain fae/hags
Pwca [poo-kah], Pwcaod [pook-kah-od] = Will-o-the-wisp/goblin/puca
Rhydian Dee [rid-ee-uhn d-ee] = Older brother to Rhiannon, owner/bartender at The Dragon’s Lair, and a Draig
Rhiannon Dee [r-ee-ah-n-uhn d-ee] = Younger sister to Rhydian, a Draig
Tylwyth Teg [terl-weth tayg] = Fair folk or fae
Chapter
One
HELP SHOCK
Why can't anyone ever request that I help them not waste their lifetime supply of chocolate or practice their massage techniques? It's always clean this, fix that, do it all. Give up your time, energy, and stuff for others, why don't you? Forget any pleases or thank-yous. The tasks may seem mundane; don't make the mistake of thinking the stakes will be low.
In fact, my next decision could mean life or death.
Sweat rolls under my bangs and threatens to blur my vision. I swipe a bandana across my forehead and jam it back into one of my many pockets. My hand shakes as I stretch onto my tiptoes, inching my screwdriver toward the mess of colored cables peeking out from the ceiling.
Whoever originally wired this place clearly wasn't certified as a professional electrician. Of course, I haven't been either. I don't even have an ID, being an illegal immigrant, but I know better than to use the same color to identify two wires that serve fatally different purposes. There's a reason to distinguish between wires that carry current and those sitting dormant for grounding purposes, and that can be simplified to: to avoid killing people.
People like me.
If I screw in the wrong wire, I could give myself a shock—and burn down the church around me right as I’m starting to fit in among the congregation.
One of these is supposed to be black. But which one? I feel like I'm trying to diffuse a bomb before the countdown hits zero.
In this case, the countdown is the compulsion nudging me toward the next job on my to-do list. If I resist too long, the magic will simply seize control of my muscles and walk me out like a puppet while simultaneously refusing to let me leave this job unfinished. What's more fun than a split personality? One with bodily control.
Now that I think about it, that sounds worse than electrocution.
"All set up there?" Reverend Shaylene yells.
I jump and teeter, grabbing the ladder to avoid falling off. "Jesus." My attention shifts to the wooden figure nailed to a cross on the wall beside me. "Sorry. I'm new to this whole religion thing."
So new that this is only my third time setting foot in this church, and given my current state, the count remains at one visit that didn't involve me being under duress.
"I will be," I grumble, "if everyone can leave me alone for a few minutes."
Exhale your tension, B would say and, in fact, has said at every yoga class I've woken up early to attend in the last two weeks, mostly to keep an eye on my landlady.
I breathe out over a count of eight and try to rein in the rising aggressiveness while resisting the temptation to turn off the replacement hearing aid Rhydian gifted me from his expensive stockpile.
Rhydian.
Rhydian would tell me to use the loophole to call an electrician to fulfill my assignment of "helping to wire the reconstructed office." But this is one request that I do have to do myself. Also a Tylwyth Teg himself, he'd understand the power of owing a favor.
Besides, he's not here and hasn't been for weeks; he's not even in Austin. Shocking the entire population to the point that the media had even reported on it, The Dragon's Lair is actually closed. Even old regulars who lived here long before me can't point to a time that bar was closed for more than a few hours.
I don't miss him, I assert to myself. I can do my work without oversight—better ev en. That damn territorial Draig thinks he has to be my protector. Well, I've been doing just fine without him.
I told him about as much before he left. In response to my brutal rejection, Rhy went and saved my butt, risking his life, and nearly got a wrench to the head for his trouble—and then, after all that, or maybe before, he warded my house to keep me safe.
I reject a twinge of guilt. He knows how much I hate being under anyone's thumb. It's yet another overstep. He only did that because the mighty, powerful Draig doesn't believe a tiny, easily influenced Bwbach capable of taking care of herself.
And I'm not going to screw up now and prove him right.
I let out my breath and refocus. So, the red wire? Or green?
Good thing I'm not color blind. The blind Ellyll following me around would be in a real pickle here, ignoring the fact that she's resolutely sustained the figure of an uncommunicative bat since the night Rhydian left.
I wonder if the effort is intended to pluck at my anxiety. She could whisk me away to Underhill at any time per our deal. So, it seems fitting to have an ominous black shadow flitting along behind me and stalking the eaves of my roof outside my warded windows. Somehow, she keeps me in her sights, right on my tail, despite her poor vision.
I resist the urge to peer into the dark corners of this room. Elle, as she said I could call her, could have slipped in without me noticing even with my high-end hearing aid in pristine condition for once. She's pretty quiet. Probably because her kind, Ellyllon, are experts in stealing humans—children, to be exact, to which I bear some resemblance thanks to my genetics.
There's some motivation to work faster to install the new overhead light.
The HVAC kicks on with grumbling reluctance to fight another battle in its war against the late-summer heat, rattling the silver duct passing through the ceiling behind the wires. A sudden gust of frigid air expels from the vent in the next panel over, nudging me and adding precariousness to my balancing act.
The breeze chills the inverted triangle of stomach exposed by the opening in my front-button navy coveralls and the children’s-sized, unisex, white t-shirt that has ridden up with my reach. I quell a shiver.
Even after thirteen years in Texas, I’ve yet to acclimate to the temperature difference between inside and outside.
“Want me to flip the breaker back on yet?” Shaylene shouts.
“No!" I roll my shoulders and check my irritation. She deserves my respect. “Give me another minute.”
I raise my tool again, ending up just shy of slotting the Phillips head into the notches without stripping the screw.
With no hesitation at all, I move a steel toe onto the top step of the ladder by feel, despite the fact that I've yelled at B for doing just that. I use one hand to brace against the nearest ceiling tile and extend the other.
The screwdriver teases the loop of wire and—
The ladder wobbles. I yelp, teeter, and drop into a crouch. Glaring down at the freshly tiled office floor, I swallow a growl, eyes widening.
"Rhy?"
"Sorry to surprise you, Bran Flakes," the Draig says with a wry smile to accompany the nickname he knows I hate. One hand drapes over a rung. "Can't very well approach your good ear when you're tucked into a corner like that."
Now that he's close, I pick up the squeak of his wheelchair as it circles the base of the ladder. I keep him in my sights, still gripping the lip of the step. Shadowed by an overgrown beard and mustache and lack of installed lighting, I can't be sure, but in that glimpse, I thought I saw the purple dusting of a black eye on his Welsh skin.
When he reaches out to brace the ladder with both leather-gloved hands, I'm forced to wrap my fingers tighter around the platform under my feet that clearly states, DO NOT STAND. The plastic digs into my finger joints as I minimize the sway.
"I'm more likely to smash my brains out if you do that," I comment then press my lips together.
I don't ask where he's been, what happened, if he found Rhiannon, if she's okay, why he's back, why he's here in Austin and in this office.
For one, I know the answer to that last question; he's built up a wide-reaching network of connections around the city who keep an eye on me for him and report back. It could be one of the construction workers, also volunteers from the congregation, or Shaylene herself. He hasn't been around since I've started joining her weekly sermons though.
Or has he? How long has he been back? Am I his first stop?
I don't care. It doesn't matter.
"I'm helping," Rhydian insists in a clear, upbeat tone, rerouting the words I usually throw at him.
My lips purse, and I decide to ignore him for the time being or maybe ever. I actually am helping. And I have other tasks on my to-do list. I need to wrap this up.
Carefully rising from my crouch, I keep my weight on the balls of my feet, trusting the traction of the soles on my custom work boots to grip the surface.
“In a hurry? Let me guess. Someone else to help?"
My arms opening wide for balance, I decide I should try to attend some of B's balance-focused yoga classes. The meditations I'd joined so far weren't all that different from watching from the window of my shed-turned-tiny-home in her backyard through the steam of a microwaved mug of instant coffee. On second thought, losing coffee time sounds like a bad trade.
"Annual grape harvest, right? You gonna bicycle all the way out to Twisted Vines?" he growls.
I don’t reply because figuring out transportation is a problem for an-hour-from-now Branwyn. I need to focus on the task at hand.
Also, it's none of his business.
Once returned to my full, 4-foot-10-inch height, I tip my head back to peer up at the wires, matching braids slipping behind my shoulders.
Green, I decide. Not the one that makes me think of blood.
Pressing onto my toes, tensing my calves, I stretch my petite frame to jam the screwdriver into the screw head.
A shock blasts through my system.
The voltage isn't high enough to hurt, but it does send a startling jolt through my nerves. I squeak as I squat too late.
The screwdriver falls away. My callused fingers snatch onto the metal lip between ceiling tiles as the ladder falls, leaving my feet dangling. My heart hammers. With nails cut short to avoid getting ripped off during maintenance tasks, I have nothing to dig in for purchase. The vaulted ceilings suddenly seem like a death trap instead of a beautiful feature of the parish architecture.
"Rhydian?" I can't hear him.
It’s been a long morning after a long night, and my strength is flagging. It may not be a long drop, but if I land wrong, it could lead to a broken or sprained ankle, especially with the pile of two-by-fours. And with my unavoidable to-do list, much of which involves physical labor, that kind of injury would be debilitating.
A Bwbach doesn’t get days off from helping those in need.
"Rhy?"
Did he leave? Well, I'm a strong, independent, capable individual. I don't need help.
I flex my biceps in an alternating rhythm, building up momentum.
Screw it.
On the upswing, I inhale and relax my curled fingers. My eyes close as I fall, my stomach lagging and clogging my throat, preventing a scream.
Chapter
Two
HELP SOMEHOW
"Oomph!"
Air billows out of both Rhydian's and my lungs as I thump into his outstretched arms, a flailing arm smacking his nose. My rear slams hard into his lap. I watch pain flash in his hooded eyes—well, one eye. I think a braid caught him in the face based on the squint of the other one. Or else that really is a black eye. I wouldn't be surprised if a tool in my belt hadn't jabbed his midsection, too.
