Sour breath crashes against her face like a tidal wave.
“Mine.”
The crackling whisper sends a jolt of fear through her body, far more insistent than the pain in her shoulders. She’s barely able to roll her eyes to look to where the voice is, but manages a glimpse of bone white skin covered by ancient, filthy bandages.
“All mine,” the husk of a voice continues. It sounds as if the owner hasn’t spoken in years.
Another hand moves up her bare arm, making its way to her elbow. The devil begins whispering terrible things into her mind—warning her of what could happen. The caress turns darker as the creature grabs onto her forearm and wraps those impossibly long fingers around her wrist. The grip tightens, squeezing until her eyes water from the pain. The soft skin on the inside of her wrist aches as fingernails dig into her flesh, deeper and deeper, almost gouging at the muscles beneath.
To round the entire hellish situation off, Rachel’s lungs scream for air.
The unseen force keeps her pinned against the wall, while one hand remains fixed over her face and the other squeezes her arm even harder. If she could scream, she would, but even a whimper is an impossible feat. How long will it take her to suffocate when she’s utterly defenseless? Not too long—a couple of minutes at most.
“Forever.”
Never in Rachel’s life has a single word sounded so ominous, so terrifyingly final.
A ball of sunshine erupts from underneath the bedcover, illuminating the gloom with golden rays. Ziggy flies with such speed that the force of the impact makes the Fae light shatter into a million pieces. The hands disappear, and she slides down to the floor, gasping for breath
As Ziggy puts himself back together, Mercia steps into her bedroom. With a flick of her hand, the creature becomes fully visible and hurdles across the room.
A tall, emaciated body with elongated limbs wrapped in bandages is pinned against the opposite wall. Shiny, oversized black eyes bulge from a gap between the bandages, staring at her from across the room. If Rachel didn’t know any better, she’d have thought the creature was an alien, not a Fae.
“What the hell are you supposed to be?” Mercia says, studying the figure.
A switchblade grin cuts across the Fae’s face, revealing tiny, pointed teeth. Shuddering, Rachel scrambles to her feet, under the monster’s unwavering gaze.
Mercia glances over her shoulder to Rachel. “You know this guy?”
“No.”
“Cool,” Mercia says, turning her attention back to the Fae.
“What is it?”
“Looks like a water spirit of the Fae variety,” Mercia says. “They’re usually harmless, but this one has been corrupted.”
Before Rachel can fully come to grips with what’s happening, the Fae spontaneously bursts into flames. A tiny, involuntary shriek escapes her as she watches in horror. Fire licks up the bandages, engulfing the frail being faster than she thought possible, turning it into ash. There isn’t any smoke filling her bedroom, no scream accompanying what should be agony. Rachel expects, at the very least, panic and writhing as the blaze consumes the creature, but there’s none. There’s just the unnerving grin and amused stare.
A sickening crunch fills the otherwise quiet bedroom. The creature’s neck twists by itself, stopping at an awkward angle, before the fire is extinguished by unseen forces. Bones snap and crack as the half-burned Fae folds in on itself, smaller and smaller.
“You didn’t have to kill it right away,” Rachel says. She stares at the unoccupied space where the midnight intruder had been.
“I didn’t. He just kinda went ...” Mercia turns around and gestures. “Poof.”
A bloodcurdling scream pierces the night.
Rachel comes to her senses.
“I wouldn’t go out there right this second if I were you,” Mercia says.
“My mom, though.” She frowns.
Mercia tilts her head. “Well, duh. Why else would there be phantom screaming coming from outside the house? Your mom’s fine.”
“I need to go,” Rachel says. She takes a step toward the bedroom door.
“Ever think that maybe this is the real bad guy trying to lure you out into the open by preying on your weaknesses?”
“Caring isn’t a weakness,” she snaps back, but halts her advancement.
Mercia’s eyes soften for a brief second, before cool calculation takes over. “Okay, listen up, Rach. Fae don’t simply kill humans for the sake of killing humans. It’s a sport. They toy with us for weeks, months, and in some situations—especially if it’s one sick mofo doing the torturing—they’ll draw the suffering out for years. Whatever’s out there has its sights set on you, and if you’re going to be predictable, you’re as good as dead.”
“But my mom is down there by herself. What if—?” Rachel gestures to the door.
“She’s in the walls. Trust me, she’s fine. I made sure to put her in a protective barrier,” Mercia says. “Just take a break.”
Rachel closes her eyes and shakes her head, defeat weighing her down. “We should, at least, find Orion.”
“No, you need rest.” Mercia makes elaborate movements with her hands as she whispers something under her breath. After the show, she simply says, “There. Your room is now guarded against the evil eye. Get into bed and sleep.”
“What about you?” Rachel drags herself back to her bed.
Mercia’s soft smile seems like a beacon of hope in an otherwise bleak existence. “I’m going to keep an eye on your mom and make sure Greg doesn’t come back to do whatever he’s set on doing to you.”
“We need to find out where this Golvath is, Mercia. The town is tearing itself apart and this guy is doing all of it.” Rachel squeezes her eyes shut. “What doesn’t belong, huh? What is new all of a sudden? There’s something out of place, I just know it.”
“Sleep now. Think later. You want to beat this thing? Well,
