Page 63 of The Brightest Fell

Well, I had it now. Lucky, lucky me.

August was struggling to break free of her father. I was sure she would have succeeded, if he hadn’t been pinning her arms behind her back so that she lacked the leverage to get away.

“August,” he snapped. “August, stop.”

She froze, twisting in an effort to see his face. “How do you know my name?” she demanded. “I didn’t tell you my name.”

Simon couldn’t have looked more stunned if she had suddenly turned him mortal. The color drained from his cheeks, leaving his freckles standing out like brands against his skin. “What . . . what did you say?” he stammered. “How do you not know me?”

“I’ve never met you before,” she snapped. “Let me go.”

The doorknob turned.

I whipped around, staring at the top of the stairs in suddenly unified dismay. We were going to be found. We were going to be found, and there was no way I could explain what we were doing down here. August wasn’t wearing a human disguise. I didn’t know whether I needed one or not, and it didn’t really matter either way, because I was too weak and too off-balance to disguise myself. I couldn’t do anything but stand where I was and wait for everything to go to hell.

The smell of smoke and mulled cider was so thin as to be almost imperceptible, but I felt the weight of Simon’s spell settle on me like a shroud. The door opened. Alan appeared, frowning down the stairs. He was a tall, thin, human man, dressed all in black, his hair pulled into a ponytail that left his slightly over-large ears prominently displayed. Most of the time when I’d seen him, he’d looked dour, even disapproving. Right now, he just looked confused.

“Damn raccoons,” he said finally, and turned off the light, casting the basement into absolute blackness.

I had thought the dark was deep before, when I’d been looking at it with the eyes of a more nocturnal creature. Now my eyes were as close to human as the rest of me, and the blackness was absolute. I fumbled in my pocket until I found my cellphone, holding it up to illuminate the area.

Simon was wobbling, even paler than before, like a man on the verge of collapse. His grip on August had slackened. She was free, looking wildly around, like she had lost something. She flinched when I held the light in her direction, raising a hand to shield her eyes.

“Papa?” she said, in a shaky voice. “I smell your magic—where are you?”

Simon didn’t say anything. He just kept wobbling. My stomach sank.

When Sylvester bound his brother, he ordered him to raise no hand and cast no spell against me. The illusion Simon had slammed down over the three of us was thick as molasses, and while it had been intended to save me from discovery, it could also be interpreted, in some lights, as an attack.

“Oh, oak and ash,” I hissed, rushing to his side. August was still looking around, lost. I glared at her. “Help him.”

“What? Who—who are you people? Where’s my papa?” The look August gave me was full of confusion and despair.

My heart sank. Home isn’t always a place. Sometimes it’s a concept, an idea: an ideal. When August had gone to the Luidaeg looking for a candle, the Luidaeg had asked for her way home in payment. Without finding Oberon, she couldn’t find her way. And for August, Simon was part of home.

“We don’t have time right now,” I said. “He’s not well. Help me with him.”

Her eyes narrowed, confusion fading. “Why should I help you? You were going to leave me in Annwn. You’re my enemy. How do you even exist? My mother would never lower herself to touch a human.”

“Great, good, this is a fantastic way to start a family reunion, August, but I’m telling you, this man needs help.” I glared at her, daring her to challenge me. “You sold your way home to the Luidaeg for a candle.”

“How do you—”

“I pledged myself into her service for a year in order to get another candle, all so I could go and bring you home. I don’t know what we are to each other, but I’m not your enemy, and this man needs help.”

August wavered. I could see it in her eyes. I decided to push my luck.

“August, this is your father.”

She looked at Simon again, still with no signs of recognition, and then back to me. “Liar,” she spat. Shoving Simon toward me, she turned and ran off into the darkness of the basement, quickly vanishing from my cellphone’s limited sphere of light.

Simon was a statue masquerading as a man. I staggered under the weight of him, faced with an impossible decision: drop the man who had saved me and run after the sister who had already ripped most of the fae blood from my veins, or stay here with Simon, letting August and the chance of saving Tybalt slip away.

My own body answered the question for me. My knees buckled and I fell, hitting the concrete floor with a jolt I felt all the way up into my hips. Simon fell with me, a dead weight holding me down.

“Oh, root and branch and fuck and shit and Oberon’s ass,” I hissed, struggling not to drop him. He didn’t heal as fast as I did. I didn’t heal as fast as I did. The pain in my knees was bright, intense, and not fading, even though it had been several seconds since I fell. Was it possible to get addicted to the idea of indestructibility? Because if it was, there was no question of whether I was a junkie. I was supposed to be unbreakable. That was the way the world worked.

“Simon, can you hear me?” He was staring at the ceiling, mouth shut. Sylvester’s geas had said if Simon raised a hand or cast a spell against me, his mouth would be sealed and his hands would be silenced. Well, this looked a lot like that.