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One
WILLOW
Ishouldn’t be doing this.
I’m hanging upside down from a rope around my waist, peering through the third-story window of the Order of the Well’s chief mana stone maker. It’s broad daylight. Anyone can see me if they walk into the yard, but the inhabitants are nocturnal and should be fast asleep. As long as my lookout remains alert, I should be fine.
Relax, Willow. Relax.
I puff a lock of long hair from obscuring my vision and check for movement inside. I see a workbench covered with various gemstones, jars of glowing manabeeze, and tools of the trade. Piles of maps battle for supremacy with books on a desk. Grinding offcuts litter the floor. Damn,my AuntPeaches is messy. Hopefully, that means she won’t notice a few valuable items missing.
Leaves rustle behind me, and my pulse quickens. Only an amateur would turn to check. Instead, I study the window’s reflection to avoid rousing suspicion that I’ve noticed an interloper. But my only companions are shrubs, flowers, and a glimpse of the poisonous forest canopy over the yard’s boundary wall. No one sane would dare sneak in here when Haze, Peaches’mate, is a seven-foot vampire Guardian with a shadow that kills as much as he does.
Shuffling on the roof draws my gaze as miniature antlers loom over the gutter’s edge. One tine is broken. A floppy-eared rabbit’s head is next, followed by chicken wings ruffling with nervous anticipation. Tinger huffs and bares tiny fangs.
“Okay, I get it,” I grumble to my lookout. “You’re so impatient in your old age.”
He gives me a familiar warning look I read as,Don’t fuck with me, female, or maybe I’ll finally shift into a monster and steal you as my bride.
Except he’s been robbed of magic, like me—so no shifting for us. Since no fae wants to be reminded they’re mortal, I salute him, place my palms on the window, and close my eyes to listen with my sixth sense. I might not have magic now, but I once did. Protection wards would feel like ants crawling over my skin. I only sense a sweet, daisy-scented breeze, so I take my dagger from my boot and use it to jimmy open the window.
No security whatsoever. It’s almost like they’re asking to be robbed.
The smell of stone masonry wafts out, along with perfume and chemicals I’m unfamiliar with. My nose tingles, and I hold back a sneeze. Well-dammit. Being stuck with wolf biology without the perks of shifting sucks.
When my control returns, I maneuver inside like a gymnast, twisting until my feet land on the wooden floorboards. Still crouched, I stretch my awareness for sounds or changes in the atmosphere.
Haze’s shadow can act independently, so I’m worse than toast if he’s left it to guard these valuable stones. Vampires are also obsessively territorial when protecting their roost, and Jasmine, their halfling teenage daughter, is showing signs of a sanguineous diet like her dad.
I poke my head through the window and signal the all-clear to Tinger. He descends in a loud gust of flapping wings and knocks an antler against the sill as he enters. I slap my palm to my face and check for signals we’ve been made. Nothing. Thank fuck.
“You’re lucky you’re cute,” I whisper through gritted teeth, then untie myself from the rope but leave it dangling outside the window for our escape.
Together, we hunt through the treasure trove of mana stones. I’m not exactly sure what types I want, but they’re the only source of magic a mortal can use. Spending half my life locked away with exiled humanity in Crystal City has taught me there’s always another way. Admittedly, it’s not always the right way, but beggars can’t be choosers.
Corked jars filled with glowing, swimming manabeeze sit on a table by the wall. The balls of energy erupt from fae bodies and hold memories of the host. We’re not supposed to kill to harvest these, but if the fae creature dies for survival reasons, and a prayer of thanks to the Well is offered, repurposing manabeeze to enhance life is permitted. Especially since the fallout two thousand years ago, the Well refuses to flow where metal and plastic are used. Manabeeze and specific elven runes help revive old-world advancements like plumbing, heating, and strengthening.
They also act as a substitute for innate magic.
I slot a full jar into my leather satchel and scour the remaining collection. Each type of mana stone has a different purpose. Proximity stones will alert me of danger nearby. Low-dose heat stones won’t do much apart from warming my bed or womb when it cramps before my wolfish heat. However, portal stones are expensive in the market in Cornucopia. It’s the only place outside the Order campus I visit. My next trip will mark my fourth solo trip. Not bad, considering my mother only gave methe go-ahead to join supply runs six months ago. Before that, the idea of venturing into crowded public places alone gave me the shakes. Being locked up in a tower for a decade will do that to a person.
My satchel is almost full when I walk past a row of small bowls labeled with old-world names.
Exhaling, I trace the labels. Why do they seem so familiar? One is inscribed as an Australian Opal. The other is called Irish Jade. I was given the green one shortly after being taken from Elphyne. I hated sleeping alone—shifters like company. Humans in Crystal City didn’t get it. So I cried every night until someone sat with me. Once the woman I eventually grew to love and call Aunty Rory tucked me in.
“Here,” she says, handing me a small green stone with a groove worn into it. “The Tinker left this behind when she betrayed us and joined your parents. She said rubbing it made her feel less worried or something.”
My tiny, trembling hand encloses around the cool stone. “You’re giving me a present?”
“It’s nothing.”
Blinking away the memory, I pick up the jade. It’s warm to the touch, so must be primed with mana and ready to activate. Drop a few manabeeze onto the surface, and a portal will open to the location the rock was mined from. I sift through the mess on Peaches’s desk until I find an old-world map. I tap the land called Ireland. It’s next to England, where the Tinker originated.
This is definitely the same stone Rory gave me. How it arrived here in Elphyne, though, is a mystery. Maybe I brought it into the battle where I lost my magic.
Nero, humanity’s president, intended to harvest manabeeze floating up from soldier’s corpses via airships. He thought he could force me to raise an army of the dead and reclaim Elphyne for the human minority. But the land only flourished after thefallout because magic flows here without metal and plastic—one of the vital rules the Order of the Well upholds.
Nero picked the wrong battle to start his harvesting campaign. I had intended to escape and find my family, but an unexpected urge came over me that I’m still trying to make sense of. Nothing else mattered except for me killing the Unseelie Queen. I was possessed. The berserker instinct had been engraved into my soul. I ended up raising an undead army anyway. People died. My inner well dried out. And six creepy fae boogeymen tried to claim me as their queen.
