Shadow keeper, p.3
Shadow Keeper, page 3
He always said he'd never go back there. However, he also said he wouldn't use the H-word on me.
Rhydian chooses silence as per usual.
"So much for revealing everything," I mutter.
"I will. Just not with an audience."
Always some kind of stipulation with the Tylwyth Teg that adds delay upon delay to their promises.
The Cyhyraeth took advantage of me because, instead of opening his trap to explain to me what I was up against, I was left in the dark. Perhaps, as he claimed, he really had never met one of those hag-like spirit beings before and wouldn't know what it might do. But there was plenty of other context he could've given me about the Tylwyth Teg to steer me in the right direction before I walked into a trap.
I could have been more informed to make the right decision in the few times I’ve had a choice.
"I can't back out of—whatever it is you want me for," I point out, backtracking to what he said before.
"Yes, you can. I've told you time and again: You can use a loophole. That's exactly why I haven't told you what it is yet. You can help me cross the street, and I'll leave you in peace."
I eye him. That's three times in minutes he's said the word he has never spoken in my presence before the Cyhyraeth showed up. Can I trust that he'll let me walk?
"I have to go," I say when the magic in my system reminds me I have other obligations before Rhydian. It's a testing of the waters. "Will you let me?"
"The grapes?" He nods. "If you wish."
We'll see about that. "When do you need me to make my 'choice'?" I use air quotes to indicate my sarcasm.
When his lips pinch, the ghost of something that could be fear haunts his expression. "The sooner, the better."
I've never seen him afraid before. I open my mouth to tell him, "No," on the spot, and he holds a hand up.
"Meet me at your place after you're done at the winery. I'll clean up. Then we'll talk."
I rip the handlebars out of his grasp, pulling back. "The Dragon's Lair," I barter, needing to have an escape. Despite being his bar, I consider that neutral ground—as neutral as it gets without sitting somewhere public.
Before Rhydian can say anything else, I take off around him, fleeing the entire situation.
I wish I'd also left behind the turmoil of emotions. They belong dumped on Rhydian, who should bear the brunt since they're his fault. They offer poor company during the hour-long trip out to Twisted Vines. My mind races just as fast as my pedaling feet all the way to the bus stop where I load the bike onto a city bus.
Only a fool would bike in Texas heat in August all the way from downtown Austin to Dripping Springs. And I am no fool—though apparently, I am because I'm now beholden to a fucking Draig.
The looming burden weighs me into the gum-crusted seat at the back where the revving engine drowns out fellow riders' chatter and music. Every bump my forehead makes against the window does nothing to drive out the swirling thoughts, matching the throb of the oncoming headache.
It's the unknown that adds tension to my shoulders. I never know what Rhydian is thinking. And I know nothing of others of our kind if that's who beat him up. And that fear... Was it for himself? For Rhiannon?
For me?
Hell, if he comes back home as damaged as that, battered and bruised, I may not even come back from wherever he's taking me.
My jaw clenches as I think about Jaz and Daz being left behind on their own. And with Carmen currently having succumbed to depression, Cory will be left to watch them alone. Jaxton told me Cory hadn't been at any of his band's recent gigs. Normally, I'd be grateful that the high schooler wasn't moonlighting at frat parties. I know better. It means he isn't able to sneak out of the house, stuck parenting his preschool sisters, which also means he's not earning any money for their family—or himself in his final summer before college.
I needed to ask him about that too. He had been planning to attend classes at the local vocational school around his fast-food job. I hope he isn't rethinking his dreams with his family leaning on him as well as his hobbies. Maybe if I ask Lucy to talk to him about the benefits of getting an education...
The thought of Lucy drags me right back to Rhiannon. Is she still alive? Can I really do something to bring her home?
Damn Rhydian. He does know me.
Now that I think about it, though, he never said the word "alive" when he said I may be able to bring her home. That Ellyll has taught me to pay close attention to language since she planned to bounty hunt me dead or alive.
I bang my head on the window, and a woman in front of me gives me a sharp look. I shrink down, hoping she doesn't notice my inhuman features.
It's been quiet here with the Dee siblings gone, Elle flitting on the periphery in silence, and the Cyhyraeth dead. I should have known better than to think my life could stay peaceful.
"Don't do it."
I sit up and inhale so hard that I choke on my spit. The woman glares over her shoulder. I search my bandana out and slap it over my mouth as I cough. It's moist with coffee.
Trying to get my breath back, I swing wide eyes on the Ellyll. I gape at Elle's profile—her non-bat, elf profile.
She sits calmly in the seat next to me as if she isn't completely out of place, her oak-colored leather bodysuit, which hugs her curves and muscles, at odds with the blue razzle-dazzle design of the fabric seat. Milky eyes stare ahead, unblinking. Pointed ears—much more noticeable than mine—protrude from long, straight silver hair that sparkles in the sunlight coming through the window.
When I can speak again, I croak out nonsense.
"They see what they want to see," she reassures me, her alto, slightly raspy voice drawing the attention of the woman.
I hold my breath, but our seat neighbor seems to like whatever she sees over her other shoulder, giving an encouraging smile and settling back into her book without concern.
I tip closer to Elle, careful not to touch the pale skin of her arm, trying to peer at her from the same angle. She smiles, hearing what I'm doing, displaying sharp rows of teeth. Clearly, I am not privy to the glamour our human riders are being shown.
Lucky me.
I lean away, putting the window at my back and the hunter fully in my sights. I twist the bandana in my hands while I eye her fingerless-gloved hands clasped idly in her lap.
"I am not here to harm you."
Do I trust anyone anymore? It's not like I can see the plant toxins on her palms, capable of burning through layers of skin.
"What are you here for? Why are you deciding to speak to me finally? Instead of following me around like a creep. You know bats are nocturnal, right? And usually, they don't trail after humans like puppies. People are going to notice."
I'm lying. She's great at being unnoticed—too good, ratcheting up my nerves with her stalker ways.
She doesn't respond or so much as shift. I squint, trying to tell if she's breathing before realizing I'm staring at her on-display cleavage. She is well endowed. I puff up my nonexistent chest, sitting straighter.
"Don't do it," she says, and I remember that's what she first said when she materialized next to me.
"Do what?"
"Don't go with him."
"Why?" She doesn't care about my welfare. "Because you need me for your own purposes?"
"Yes."
"Oh." I wasn't expecting that candid response.
"I already told you. Peace is priority."
I roll my eyes. "Because I'm so good at maintaining peace here. Are you forgetting that the Cyhyraeth came here looking for me? Hardly the work of a peacekeeper."
"Gwrach-y-Rhibyn."
"What?"
"Her name. Wraith of the Mist. You got your revenge."
"Uh, actually, you killed the Cyhyraeth. Not me."
She nods, unfurling a bloodthirsty, satisfied grin as if reliving that moment.
I press further away from her. The seat creaks, and her head snaps my way. I freeze like a rabbit.
"You can't help him."
"He seems to think so. Besides, I don't really have a choice. I'm a Bwbach. Helping is what we do. So, thank you so much for the advice, but you wouldn't understand."
"Others will always take advantage of your weaknesses, most commonly those closest to you."
I snort to cover the sudden butterflies in my stomach and strangle the bandana. "Well aware."
She's quiet for a moment.
"Is that it? That's what you broke your silence for?" I sigh. "Well, I appreciate the concern, but my hands are tied here. Of course, if you want to fight over me, I won't object."
I size her up discreetly. She terrifies me, and I recall seeing her morph into a dragon shape once. She could take on Rhydian. There were a few moments back at Bouldin Creek when she fought over me against that old hag.
"I take it back," I say. "I'd rather not have any more Tylwyth Teg fighting over me. I'm all for that peace and quiet you want me to sustain. It's just hard to do when you're following me around and Rhydian's demanding I go with him wherever."
"The dragons' lair."
I shake my head. "No, I mean after that."
She faces me, and I freeze again. Even though I know she can't see me properly, I don't like being at the center of her attention. "In Wales. Where the other Dreigiau reside."
Oh. Ohhh. "The dragons's lair," I repeat, emphasizing the possessive now that I realize what she means. "Oh!" The blood rushes out of my face, and my fingers pull the bandana taught. "They took Rhiannon? Why?"
She turns back toward the front as the bus hits a pothole and curls around a sharp bend in the road.
"Wait." My eyelids drift closed as realization hits. "He wants to take me into a literal den of dragons?" I snap my eyes open and look at her. "That's why you don't want me to go. I'll die. You need me alive, and if I go with Rhydian, I'll end up a charred pile of bones in some cave in Wales."
"No." She shrugs.
I blink at her. "You think I won't die?"
Her chin swivels barely toward me. "I don't need you alive," she corrects.
Chapter
Four
HELP CRUSH
Ilet my head fall back against the sun-warmed window. It heats my scalp where my hair parts into braids. "You probably should have taken me while he was out of town. You could have enslaved me to you first if you'd taken your human form and said just one word. Then I'd have walked willingly into my grave. Easy. Job done. And you could have gotten Elis off your back and gone back to your home. Why didn't you?"
There's no response. I tip my head down and peek open my eyes to check if she's still there. Her ability to hide in plain sight is unnerving.
"I would prefer ... not to return."
I nearly fall off my chair. "What? Why not? You like it here?"
"No. Here, it is too manufactured, too much of nature destroyed." She hisses, nose scrunching in distaste. "We do not raze the soaring trees to erect towers of metal nor replace the grass with human-made concrete to smother the ground. In Underhill, nature's heart beats strong, the rhythms of the wilderness dance, the creatures sing." A wistfulness softens her voice.
"So... why stay?"
I don't think she's going to answer me after several minutes tick by. The sun grows uncomfortable on the back of my neck. I decide the conversation is over and shift to get more in direct line with the chugging air conditioning unit while I mull over her warning.
An entire den of Dreigiau would explain Rhydian's bruises. How could a Bwbach fare better up against that? Maybe he wants me to go with my usual fighting trick and use my small stature to slip right under their legs. If he's looking for me to sneak in and out with Rhiannon, maybe I should ask Elle for some tips on prowling around undetected.
"I do not belong."
I startle at Elle's voice and because I didn't expect her to explain herself. I'm getting more from her than Rhydian.
"I am ... different," she explains slowly. "Elis, he does not have these." She indicates her back. I hadn't even noticed her black bat-like wings folded in behind her. "Like the rest of the Ellyllon."
A memory comes to me—a glimpse from the dark cave as I was escaping Elis's trick with Jaz, who he'd kidnapped and stowed away to lure me in. He'd had wings, too. They'd been gossamer, translucent, like a dragonfly's.
I open my mouth and close it. Asking feels rude. I bite my lip, hoping she'll elaborate.
"You heard Elis. I am a half-breed. Like you."
Did I? If so, I don't remember it. A lot happened whenever he was around. "Half human?" She's like me?
"No." A frown tips her lush lips down. "My mother laid with a Pwca."
"You sound like you don't approve of your mother's choices. You hate the Pwca?" I haven't met any Pwca... that I know of. Well, right now, I suppose, if Elle is actually only half-Ellyll and half-Pwca. I'm not even sure what a Pwca is.
She turns a face contorted with anger toward me, and I cow back involuntarily. "The Pwca accept me," she snaps.
"Got it. Got it. But you don't want to go back to them?"
"I can't," she whispers, pain creasing her features in the other direction. "Not anymore."
I sense a can of worms there, so I don't push. "And the Ellyllon?"
"They do not welcome me."
"Even your family?"
Her glower could kill—maybe has. "Most importantly my family."
"Oh." I don't know what to say to that. I've never been asked to help anyone work through their issues. And I have so many that they could write a psychology book on me. I'd make a terrible therapist. "So you want to stay here. And you want me to stay here."
No way does she mean that she enjoys being with me. I don't need to be B to foresee no matching-outfit, coffee-in-hand shopping trips together.
"I will stay here for now. You need to stay so my people do not also come."
"Your people will come if I'm not here?" The bandana pings out of one hand, whipping against the back of the seat in front. "Sorry," I tell the woman before she can glare. I put the bandana away.
"They will come if there is no peace. There is a treaty between them and those exiled here."
"Right, right. You told me about that." I blow out a breath. "I still don't know how I'm supposed to keep the peace."
Elle rotates her head, glinting shark teeth at me. "That is your concern."
The bus stops, and the lady gets off. I stick out my tongue at her back. I wish Elle would move to that seat instead of sitting so close next to me. I could—
Elle's gone.
"What the hell?" I stare around the bus. Nothing. She must have slipped out while the door was open.
"Great." My head falls back. I really do have two Tylwyth Teg fighting over me, both demanding the impossible—or else.
Stomping grapes turns out to be just the task I need. Coveralls rolled up to my knees, I mash bare feet into the stained barrel, marching around the perimeter of the drum. Grapes squish between my toes and slide under my heels. I pulverize them with my emotions.
Elle is right. I should say no.
Of all people, Rhydian using the H word burns my heart as if I consumed a gallon of Anita and Miguel’s hot sauce and no amount of antacids will let me forget it.
He's the one who's been trying to get me to say, "No," more often because he knows how much damage the H word has done.
He was there. He saw the destruction it can lead to. And that was long before I nearly bashed his head with a wrench. I remember the look on his face when he found me: pity, horror, annoyance, rage. Not at me—mostly. Mostly at Ramos. And the other man... What was his name? Something stupid. Tiger? Cheetah?
"To you, Puma." Ramos takes the shot, and I do the same, no longer wincing or even feeling the burn as the tequila slides down my throat.
It doesn't want to stay there, though, and I swallow again, trying to shove it into submission in my stomach.
Ramos takes the glass from me and hands the empties back to whoever brought them. He leans back in the booth, completely at ease. I used to find that attractive and contagious. To him, there are no "problems" — only adventures.
And we've gone on so many together.
But this one seems to have derailed.
Contradicting Ramone’s posture, my shoulders creep up toward my ears and sweat prickled the back of my neck. My vision swims. I don't know when I started worrying.
Maybe when we walked into the bar and were immediately led upstairs without even giving the hostess our names.
Maybe when a man with face tattoos walked in, flanked by two of the bulkiest men I'd ever seen, both packing clear bulges in their pants—at the back of their belt.
Maybe when I swallowed my fourth shot, at Ramos's encouragement, with an entire gin and tonic between each.
Maybe when the conversation shifted to human trafficking.
"Careful, love." Ramos rescues the cocktail I didn't realize was tipping in my lap.
He needn't have bothered; it appears to be empty save some ice. Nausea pushes the tequila back up my throat.
He takes it from me as if I were a toddler and sets it on the coffee table. He returns his hand, a hot, heavy weight on my thigh, pinning me to the leather couch. I blink at its size, covering all the exposed skin between my mini-dress—his favorite of my outfits—and my knee.
Ramos returns his attention to the conversation, and I try to catch up. Until tonight, I thought my boyfriend ran a freight trucking business. But I definitely heard something about "getting them past the border."
"I'm just saying that, in light of the ... change in cargo, the compensation needs to be reconsidered." He shrugs, smiling softly. "Higher risk, higher reward, wouldn't you say?"
Puma leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. Tattoos on his knuckles snag my attention. I tilt my head trying to read the letters. They continued to twist, as if swirling down a drain. I sway and blinked a few times, trying to get them to recenter and stay still.
"I would say, 'No reward if no risk.'"
K - I - S - S on one hand.
Ramos taps a finger on my thigh. My heart picks up its pace to match the quick repetition. "There won't be any reward if we're caught. I told you I'm being watched. And what you're asking for is a lot more than a few extra pallets."
