Desert Tales (4 page)

C
HAPTER
4

Inside the town of Silver Ridge, everything was faded. In the desert around the town, the colors were the beautiful hues of cactus and desert wildflowers, vibrant skies and impossibly rendered clouds, shimmers of serpents and flutters of birds. Silver Ridge, however, had a weathered tone. Sand and heat consumed everything here, but even so, the town had a beauty all its own. The buildings were a strange mix, as if architecture from various times and places had been thrown together in a weird hodgepodge.

Rika remembered when Silver Ridge was only a speck of a possibility, when adventurous miners came here in search of fortunes, when their families put down roots, and when the mishmash of people became a town. The peculiarity of knowing the town's history so well comforted her as she walked. She'd watched this small outpost of humanity grow in the great expanse of nature; she'd walked among them and drawn portraits of their faces as they came, aged, and died. She felt protective of the mortals who lived there now, but several in particular evoked a fiercer sense of concern.

She stopped midway into town, not wanting to get too close to the railroad tracks that stretched like a line of beautiful poison on the earth. Steel, because it was created from iron, was poisonous to faery. Humans—without knowing why they gravitated toward the steel—often lingered here at the edge of the tracks. A few decades ago, they'd created a park of sorts, filled with metal sculptures and benches, but even before that, mortals had clustered here since the tracks had been installed.

On the edge of the rail yard were faeries who had been stopped by the metal as if it were a wall they could not climb. They watched the mortals: Jayce, Del, and Kayley. Del no longer wore his bandana, and Rika noticed that his blue mohawk now had white tips. It suited him, his vibrant hair against his suntanned skin, but it struck her as being so different from Jayce. Del's mohawk with its ever-changing color was much like his carefully chosen clothes: proof that he put time into looking like he didn't worry over his appearance. By contrast, Jayce truly didn't pay much attention to the way he looked. He had a splash of color in his dark dreads, but that had been a whim. Rika knew; she'd watched. Everything about Jayce was as real with or without an audience; she admired that about him.

Rika passed the faeries, putting herself between them and the mortals. She could go closer to the dangerous metal than the other faeries could because she'd been mortal first, but she still couldn't walk all the way up to it. Being even this close to the steel made her queasy and weak. Fortunately, the nearby faeries couldn't approach it either, but sooner or later, Jayce would have to leave the protection of the railroad tracks and thus become vulnerable.

Although she wasn't convinced that they would actually harm him, she couldn't risk it. She made a noise, not quite a word but the start of one, before she realized what she'd done. Much like seeing him fall and reacting without thought, she'd done the same thing now. The result was the same as well: she'd begun talking to Jayce when he could see her. By her choice, she'd broken her own rules on keeping him at a safe distance.

Before she could think of how foolish it was, Jayce turned his head and saw her. “It's you. . . .” He smiled and took a hesitant step toward her. “Where did you come from?”

Rika didn't move. She opened her mouth to speak, to find some answer that was true. She settled on, “Out there.”

She made a vague gesture northeast, toward the desert, or more accurately, much farther away, across an ocean to a land where it grew cold, where there were seasons and so much greenery that her heart ached a little to think of it.
Home.
She couldn't stand being there now, not after so long with winter's pall on her, but she still remembered the beauty.

Jayce left Del and Kayley, moving farther from the safety of the railroad tracks. “You look like you're not feeling well.”

When she didn't answer, his arm went around her. He led her toward a wooden bench.
Farther still from the tracks.
Palm trees, looking battered and still proud despite it, cast narrow shadows.

“I knew we should've had you checked out. I couldn't figure out how you vanished, where you were hiding. I looked in the caves where we were. I—” He stopped himself nervously before continuing, “I almost thought you were a dream, but Del saw you too.”

She stared at Jayce. Bruises shadowed his cheek. His ripped shirt had been replaced, but this one looked tattered too. A steel chain-link bracelet hung on his left wrist. Fortunately, since he held her with his right arm, the steel wasn't likely to brush against her and injure her.

“Are you real, Rika?” he asked quietly.

“I'm real,” she assured him. That part she could say with certainty.

“Are you sure? You seemed almost like a dream earlier, vanishing when I looked away.” He was flirting, but there was an undercurrent of something else there. He might not consciously know that she wasn't human, but an instinctive wariness in him tangled with a desperate hopefulness she'd seen when he drew his more fanciful images. Jayce caught her gaze as he said, “A beautiful girl shows up, saves me, and vanishes into the desert. . . . It's either a dream or magic.”

Rika couldn't speak.
He thinks I'm beautiful.
She should be thinking about the fact that he was implying that she'd vanished, but it was his compliment that made her stare back at him in wonder.

“You did save me, you know. I'm not broken anywhere. Just bruises,” he said in a voice so low that it felt like it was only the two of them in the world.

They were not alone though: not only were there faeries, but Del and Kayley also stood nearby. Del was watching them. Rika could see the couple in her peripheral vision. Kayley spoke to him, but his attention was fixed on Jayce. Despite the twinge she felt at their protective gazes, she was grateful that Jayce had such good friends.

Jayce turned to look over his shoulder, noticing that Rika was looking past him. “They're okay.” He looked back at her and smiled. “Are you always this shy?”

Without having quite meant to, Rika nodded. She wasn't used to talking to people. Months would pass when her only conversations were with Sionnach or with Jayce—who until today didn't hear her because of faery glamour. When she had been the Winter Girl, she hadn't exactly been beset by social invitations either. She spoke to whichever mortal girl Keenan tried to seduce, to Keenan, and to his advisors and court members. None of them had been faeries she could call friends: they all wanted Keenan to succeed; her job was to thwart him. Those were the terms of the curse that had ensnared her when he'd picked her for the test. If she'd been his missing queen, she would've freed him, been beside him for eternity. If she had refused the test, she'd have been his subject—one of the flighty Summer Girls who frolicked and danced. When she took the test and failed, she'd been cursed to carry winter
and
sworn to attempt to convince the next girl to refuse him. Even though she'd risked everything for Keenan—and lost—she'd been cursed to have to work against him as he tried to find the missing Summer Queen. Her situation hadn't exactly made her popular.

She forced herself to look only at Jayce. After an awkward silent moment, several heartbeats too long, Rika blurted, “I've watched you climb before.”

What a stupid thing to say!

Jayce smiled though. “I wish I'd seen you then . . . maybe you wouldn't have run away earlier.”

Tentatively, she said, “I don't need to run right now.”

Despite how awkwardly she'd handled everything, he still seemed interested. “So do you want to walk”—he gestured at the benches—“or sit? We're probably both too sore to walk
too
far.”

Faeries clustered closer, surrounding the bench. They didn't speak, chortle, or react. They just pressed too near, their bodies brushing against hers and his, making Rika tense. She should tuck him into some safe steel-walled house.
But I want to talk to him.
She shouldn't do it, but still she said, “Stay. I want to just stay here with you.”

“Later,” Jayce called to Del and Kayley. Then he put a hand on the small of her back. “There's a quiet spot out this way.”

At the feel of his hand against her—even though there was a shirt between her skin and his hand—she hesitated, and then, shakily, let him guide her to a bench. Lingering with him felt more dangerous than anything she'd done since becoming a faery. There had only ever been one other boy she'd trusted, and he'd stolen
everything
from her. The fear and the memories of that mistake rushed back so intensely that she felt paralyzed and stopped mid-step.

“You said you didn't need to run; remember?” Jayce said. She nodded and took another tentative step.

Behind them, faeries whispered. A number of them vanished in different directions, and she was silently grateful that they weren't going to challenge her here. Maybe Sionnach was wrong about the threat; maybe the faeries had better things to do. She didn't know, and just then, she didn't care.

All that mattered was that she was with Jayce. They walked toward a bench, and she realized that he still had his hand on her back. He was touching her, and they were alone together.

C
HAPTER
5

Sionnach amused himself by flitting in and out of visibility around one of the somewhat nearby towns: starting a quarrel between strangers, kissing a mortal girl and fleeing while her eyes were still closed.
I'd rather be keeping an eye on Rika.
She was his priority, a project of sorts, but not every detail of his plan was something he could handle himself. It hadn't been easy, but he'd lured the skittish faery out of her cave. The next step was up to her; he just hoped she didn't screw it up.
Or find out what I'm doing.

Dealing with Rika was one of the difficulties of being Alpha . . . or maybe it was a difficulty of being a fox faery . . . or maybe of trying to balance his personal goals and his duties to the desert fey. Sionnach wasn't sure what the
cause
of the challenge was, but it didn't really matter. The course was clear. Rika needed a nudge. She'd holed up in her cave licking her wounds for years—and he'd allowed it. He'd even supported it. Things had changed though. The Summer King, a faery Sionnach loathed, had finally discovered his missing queen. For centuries, he'd wooed mortals looking for her. As a result of his affections, those mortal girls had all been cursed to become faeries. Two of those formerly mortal girls ruled faery courts now. The Winter Queen and Summer Queen were originally mortals. Worse yet, they were both mortals who'd cared enough for Keenan to risk everything. Word had already traveled to the desert about the growing hostilities between the two queens. The final pieces of a multi-court war were coming to bear: the High Queen had taken an interest in a mortal the Summer Queen loved, and the Dark King had bound himself to yet another mortal girl. As rulers, they'd all failed to think of the good of their courts, putting desire ahead of duty. It was precisely what Sionnach was trying to avoid. He
felt
desire aplenty, but he wasn't going to risk the safety of the desert fey for his own selfishness. He had to protect them. It was what being Alpha meant, and right now, he was risking everything he wanted in order to do just that. Trouble in the courts was growing, and only a fool would believe that conflict between regents wouldn't spill over to the rest of their world. Sionnach wasn't a fool . . . at least he hoped he wasn't.

“Sionnach?”

He turned and was relieved to see one of his fey spies.

The faery who'd come to deliver the report stood like a corpse, emaciated to the point that his eyes seemed vast in the narrowness of his face.

“Well?” Sionnach's whole body nearly twitched in expectation. “Is she with him?”

“She is.”

“And?” Sionnach felt the curl of excitement, of
possibilities
, in his stomach. He'd planned and schemed for years in preparation for this moment. Rika was like a hidden arsenal that he'd hoped not to use, but hope was different than reality. He'd still planned for the possibility. When he'd seen the way she watched the mortal boy, he knew the time was near. The mortal could be useful, and then
Rika
would be useful.

But then the Summer King had arrived, setting things into motion a bit sooner than Sionnach had planned, causing troubles as court faeries often did. Sionnach's tail twitched at the thought of the disruption. He'd adjusted, but it made for a more harried plan than he'd have liked. It was messier than it should be. Despite everything, he was finally near to seeing progress. Rika saw the lure and was tempted.

“And what happened?” he prompted his spy.

“She's with the mortal.”

“Annnd?” Sionnach drew the word out while his hands flitted in the air as if he could gesture his way into bending reality to his will. Sadly, he couldn't.

The faery who'd carried the report to him was bright enough to know that there was an answer Sionnach sought
and
that he hadn't delivered that answer. Still he tried. “They sit on a bench, and they sort of speak to each other.”

“Bo-ring. She's been watching him for months, and she's still—” Sionnach cut his own word off with a sigh. He despaired of her sometimes. After all his patience, Rika continued to thwart his plans. He needed her to come out of hiding. He'd set the bait out, all but delivered the boy to her, and still she resisted.

Mortals passed by as he pondered what to do next. There
was
an answer, and he'd find it. He was as clever as the fox that he resembled, and perhaps also as unscrupulous.
Not quite.
If he were, he'd have been even
less
honest with Rika. As it was, he skirted the border of lies in encouraging her interest in the boy.

As he rolled the quandary around in his mind, a mortal caught his attention. She looked a bit like Rika: short hair and a tiny frame, fierce in her posture despite her diminutive size. Unlike Rika, the mortal girl was all wrapped up in jeans and a low-cut top designed to flaunt her body. Perhaps that was what he needed to clear his mind, a mortal who
looked
like Rika but wasn't likely to act like her. A flirtation would at least distract him. For all the talk of fey and mortals not mixing, there was something strangely appealing about time with mortals. Regent and solitary alike, faeries tended to be intrigued by mortals. Sionnach himself had dalliance after dalliance with them, none serious, all fleeting, but they fascinated him for long moments.

The girl paused as she noticed his attention. She smiled and then ducked her head.

Sionnach waited, watching as her gaze lifted to see if he watched her.
Yes. She'll do nicely.
He didn't look away from the new mortal as he instructed his spy, “Go threaten the boy. I'll be along momentarily.”

The faery who'd brought the message loped off across the street, and Sionnach went to meet his newest mortal fascination.

“Carissa,” she said by way of greeting. “And you are?”

“Shy.”

“Really?” She offered him a smile that transformed her face, making her look less like Rika, but still lovely. “You don't seem very shy.”

He ducked his head, feigning bashfulness for a moment, and was rewarded by her laughter. “It's a pet name for that very reason,” he admitted. “I'm woefully bold, I'm afraid.”

Carissa stepped closer. “Prove it.”

This
was why he appreciated mortal girls. He'd confessed that same thing to so many girls, fey and mortal alike, and he never knew what to expect of the mortals. Faeries were more predictable. In the world at large, he had only to look at their court to know how they'd respond, and here in the desert, he was their Alpha, so they wouldn't refuse his interest—which was precisely why he didn't woo any of them. There was no challenge if there was no risk of rejection, a stance some faeries didn't seem to understand.

The mortal girl was staring at him boldly, so he pulled her near, lowered his lips to hers, closed his eyes, and kissed her until she was unsteady on her feet. When she pulled back several moments later, her arms were twined around his neck, and her breathy words of approval were whispers against his skin. She was happy, and he wouldn't tell her that he pictured someone else when he closed his eyes. He'd only slipped and admitted
that
once.

For a moment, he stood with his eyes still closed and enjoyed the illusion, but he didn't have the luxury of spending his evening standing in the shadows kissing a stranger. He had plans to tend. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes and looked at Carissa. She really was quite pretty in her own right.

“I have to go,” he began.

She pulled a phone out of her jeans pocket. “Number?”

Sionnach shook his head and patted his empty pockets. “No phone.”

“Really?”

“Truly.”

Carissa looked at him like he'd just confessed to living a life lacking electricity, automobiles, and internet. He smiled. None of those were a part of his life, but they were easy to hide. The lack of a mobile phone stood out though.

She looked around the street. It was mostly empty. A few older mortals pushed a baby carriage nearby; a weathered man scowled at something he'd heard on his headphones. There were, however, some girls sipping their drinks and laughing. After a moment, she took his hand and tugged him toward them. Amused, he followed.

“Do any of you have a pen?” she said when they reached the girls.

Two of them stared at her silently, but a third girl searched in her purse. What she pulled out of the bag, though, was an eyeliner pencil. She held it out. “This is the best I've got.”

Carrisa—who still hadn't released his hand—took it, used her thumb and finger to slide the cap off and into her palm, and then caught Sionnach's gaze. “Pull up your sleeve.”

He obeyed.

“
This
”—she scrawled digits on his skin—“is my number.” She blew on the skin as if the makeup needed to dry. Then she started to write again. “And my name. Call me.”

Sionnach glanced at the numbers and back at her eyes. “I'll see you again,” he promised. He wasn't sure about the calling her part, but he would see her. He leaned in and kissed her again, gently this time, and then walked away still smiling. He didn't think mortals and faeries had anything but ultimate sorrow in their lives if they tried to spend eternity together—mortals died far too quickly and easily for that—but he wasn't looking for forever. He already had plans for his forever.

As he stepped into the shadows, he faded from visibility again and began to run back to Silver Ridge. If he could get the final pieces in place, the day would be a victory. He'd hoped to be away from the town today, to stay out of the way so his feelings didn't sway him from his plans, but that hadn't worked. Now, he had to go meddle in Rika's life and hope he didn't lose sight of the goal.