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Should have known she’d come looking for me. As the second oldest, she acts like an adult when she’s barely fourteen. Half the time she’s arguing with me; the other half she’s trying to be like me. Not two days ago I caught her shooting my bow into moldy hay bales.
Only instead of wild game, her target was black paint made into a long face with sharp, pointy ears.
Give her a couple years and she’ll be a fine shot, better than me. Not that I’d ever tell her as much.
After a few moments of staring at the Shimmer, she begins to draw close, ignoring every single warning and rule I’ve ever told her about the Everwilde.
“Don’t hurt her,” I blurt, looking from her to him. “She has nothing to do with this. She’s just a—a kid.”
The Fae says nothing as he watches her. She’s all gangly limbs and freckles as she peers into the Shimmer, her face covered in dirt and oil. Her thin lips are pursed, her brown eyes bright with the anger of someone just old enough to understand her world isn’t fair.
I watch her too, willing her away with my thoughts. Internally screaming all the ways I’ll punish her if she enters.
“Doesn’t your kind follow any rules?” he demands. “Stay away from our land. Why is that so hard for you mortals to obey?”
All the things I want to scream burn on the tip of my tongue. Because it used to be our land. Because we’re starving. Because we’re pissed. Because people we knew and loved died here.
But for once in my life, I manage to hold back my smart tongue, instead pointing out, “She hasn’t entered.”
Yet, but she will. She’s Jane.
A cloud of panic falls over me. When she’s barely two feet from the wall, she points the flashlight into the Shimmer and squints her eyes, trying to see through the veil. If she spots me, she’ll surely pass through. “Do it,” I blurt, my words tumbling out faster than I can think. “Kill me before she crosses over. I’ll kneel for you . . . if that’s your thing. Whatever floats your murdery boat. Just don’t hurt her.”
His head tilts so that now it’s me he’s watching. Studying me. The intensity of his gaze like a razor-edged blade dragging across my skin, splitting me open for all to see. Something in his demeanor shifts, and I can’t help but feel I’ve surprised him somehow.
“You would die to protect her?” His voice is the soft tumble of snowflakes drifting in the wind.
“Yes.” There’s no hesitation in my voice because it’s true. “I would die to protect all of them.”
Quiet descends. I can hear Jane yelling louder, the idiot. Screaming at the top of her lungs like a banshee. She must have tracked me here.
Must somehow know I’m in trouble . . .
He lifts a hand and frost begins to grow over the Shimmer. I watch the frost crackle and pop across the wall, spider-webbing until the wall is no longer transparent.
When I’m convinced she won’t be able to come through, I turn to face my tormentor turned executioner.
His gaze slides to the neverapples strewn over the snowy ground. “The stolen fruit was for your family?”
Perhaps I’m wrong, but his voice has lost some of its iciness.
I nod and drag a hand over my eyes, unshed tears pricking my throat. I have an embarrassing habit of crying when angry. “Sort of. I mean, yes. Not by blood, but that doesn’t matter. There are—there are four kids, plus me.”
Not sure why I add that last detail. If one starving human fails to sway his dark heart, four will hardly make a difference.
Without a word, he buries his steel back into the silver scabbard at his waist. At the sound, my blood rushes back into my toes and I release a ragged breath.
“What is your name, mortal girl?” This time his dark tone leaves no room for denying his request.
I clear my throat. “Summer. Summer . . . Solstice.”
In East Texas, my name gets a lot of attention, along with musings about hippy parents and too many drugs. Not everyone names their kids for the day of the year they were born.
But apparently such names aren’t odd to my tormentor, because he hardly blinks. He does, however, stare at me for what seems like minutes, seemingly torn on how to proceed.
“And your name?” I ask carefully. For the Fae, names have power, and just asking implies an intimacy we don’t have. Actually, I’m not sure why I asked, except to keep this conversation going as long as possible.
Pretty sure I read somewhere that if I’m ever taken by a murderer, talking to them helps humanize me.
