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He tucked his hands into his pockets and shivered against the wind sweeping through the streets between the lines of boxcars. Off-key songs spilled out of taverns, driving pinpricks of irritation into his soul. They were running for their lives while the rest of the world continued on like nothing was wrong.
Gravel crunched with Noel’s every step on his way past metal-sided storefronts. He jogged up the steps to a shop illuminated with a bluish, daylight hue. The door pushed open, and a woman looked up from the counter with bags under her eyes and a steaming mug in reach. “How can I help you?” she asked, the macharomancer mark on her arm peeking out from her sleeve as she moved to wipe down the iron dagger on the table.
Noel scanned the small boxes organized along the back wall, the labels barely legible with messy ink strokes. “Do you mind if I take a look at the pieces you have to melt down?”
She nodded and pulled down a bin, setting it in front him. “Have at it.”
He picked through the iron pieces, turning each one over in his hands until he came across an old-fashioned skeleton key. Noel held it up, getting the shopkeeper’s attention again. “How much?”
15
GREY
The smell of warm cinnamon roused Grey from sleep, along with the clink of a tray against the night table. He popped up and swiped at his eyes while Noel scooped a bowl up and offered it to him.
“Sleep better after the nightmare?” he asked as Grey relished the heat against his bare palms.
“Yes,” Grey whispered. “Thank you, by the way. I’m sorry I woke you.”
“Don’t be sorry.” The bed complained as Noel perched next to him with his own bowl of oatmeal. “I’d feel worse if I’d left you to deal with it alone.”
Grey began stirring in the cinnamon as he replayed Noel crawling into bed last night to comfort him. Every deliberate movement and careful touch made him shift to try to shake off the intrusive thoughts of safety mixed with that weird sensation in his core.
Don’t overthink it. Why would he like you like that?
The mere notion of Grey entertaining a relationship now, of all times, made his stomach churn. And with a macharomancer—a fellow member of the Wild Hunt. Grey shoveled a spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth, savoring the spice while they ate in silence. The final scrapes from the bottoms of the bowls pierced through it, and Noel sighed as he set his back on the tray, the spoon rattling against the edge.
“I got you something.”
Grey tensed, his heart beating wildly as Noel pulled something from his pocket—an old key strung through a braided leather cord. Confusion pressed in until Noel drew closer, and Grey gripped his bowl, unsure what he was doing before Noel lifted the makeshift pendant over his head. It skimmed the collar, falling over his hoodie, where he reached to feel the worn iron against his palm.
“Hopefully that’ll help with the nightmares.” He pried the empty dish from Grey’s hands and set it on the tray with his own. “But I was also thinking it’d help protect you if we have to go in the woods.”
Grey’s hand fell away, his ridiculous ideas tossed to the back of his mind again and locked up for his own safety. He grimaced, trying to keep his exhausted tone firm. “Trin said not to step foot in?—”
“I know, but we’re running out of options, Grey.” Noel’s pleading look needled at him. “If we head into the ruins, we have a chance to get something just as good, if not better than what we saw yesterday, or maybe gold to pay for one of those items. We have to try, or we’re as good as dead, right?”
You want to run from the Wild Hunt? Then I’ll be happy to give chase until you surrender, little finch.
Grey hugged himself, fighting back that knot in his throat. He wished Noel wasn’t right, but they couldn’t afford not to take risks. Not with whatever waited for them in the Otherworld.
Noel’s hand clung to Grey’s shoulder, tilting him to look him in the eye. “I know you’re afraid, but I won’t let anything happen to you, okay? If it turns too dangerous, we’ll run. Fair?”
His gaze drifted to the bedding still strewn about the floor, thoughts of his night locked up in Doctor Cavan’s spare room sending phantom chills running up and down his arms. He wrapped his fingers around the key hanging around his neck again, its quiet pulse of power anchoring him.
“Okay,” he breathed. “Fair.”
* * *
Grey craned his neck to take in the looming presence of the forest as Noel rolled to a stop on the outskirts. The motor purred in the face of danger while Grey tried to conjure up a disturbing image of what might be hunting him inside. His mind rattled off everything he knew that had claws until the list was disrupted by Noel’s, “You ready?”
“Y-yeah,” Grey answered, his arms tightening around Noel’s body, like he was bracing for impact.
A gentle pat from one of Noel’s hands against his own gave him the smallest dose of reassurance before the bike lurched into the unknown. The slow roll through the narrow trail made every shadow look like a creature in the corners of Grey’s vision. The stink of moss permeated the air, further feeding his anxiety with the suffocation of the fair folk’s influence.
When it all gave way to a stream, Grey relaxed some. That is, until Noel turned off the bike.
“What are you doing? Are we not going to look for a bridge somewhere?”
