Song of the Fae

Chapter 1: Freedom Roshène paused at the bottom of the stairs, flicked a long black curl over her shoulder, and stared in confusion at the bewildering vision, glittering in the sunlight on the other side of the open front door. A short pale stone pathway edged with a meticulous border of blooming red roses led to a low white gate. The front garden consisted of a rectangle of lush emerald grass and a dense trimmed high thorn-rich hedge. The barest turn of her head showed every door leading off the empty hallway was shut. She heard voices murmuring in the kitchen, most likely Rebecca and Rachel. Earlier that morning after breakfast, Zelo informed her that Synkkä had requested her services and she was to be ready by ten o’clock. She had bowed in acknowledgment, hiding the revulsion that rose at the black wizard’s name. When she entered the room where the pale hook-nosed man waited, his hooded eyes gleamed as he took in her appearance: her slender curves displayed in the clinging short red dress, her long curling black hair falling forward over one shoulder, her full lips a red s***h against her pale complexion and those violet eyes that regarded him without revealing a hint of her emotions. “Good girl, Roshène. So pretty, so powerless.” Afterward, when she was so drained she could hardly walk, he’d sent her for refreshments. She swayed with dizziness, her hand clutching the banister, her foot touching the floor, unable to remember much of what happened with Synkkä. This was normal and the result of the compulsions Zelo laid on her to ensure her compliance. Her blood was the most potent of all his girls, he repeated often. A picture rose before her of the dark sorcerer slicing her skin numerous times with a thin black blade, runes flickering as the cuts bled, his hands in her blood as he used her pain to boost his power, and his amused expression as the wounds healed in front of him. She hesitated and the scene outside shivered as if someone had shaken a painting. Was this a fluke or a joke? The door was never open and unattended. Was Lady Fortune carelessly tossing this chance in her path merely to see how far she’d get? The hope of escape warred with the anxiety of being caught. Her heart juddered. Zelo would doubtless enjoy carrying out his threat to maim her as he’d done with sweet Jayna, breaking her spine so she’d never walk again as an example to the rest of them. She pulled on the last reserves of her magic. Four seconds later, she was over the gate, tearing down the street, legs pumping, her heart double beating, sucking in great gasps of air and forcing oxygen into her lungs. She ran to the end of the road and careened around the corner to find the sidewalk bustling with people. She stumbled, her jaw hanging open in shock, disorientated at the sight of so many people, her brain wanting to stop, look and absorb it all. How long since she’d walked among people like this? She had, before Zelo, when her mother had been alive. Thank goodness she’d thought to wear the silver slippers, stashed under the bed, to fetch Synkkä’s meal and not the six-inch-heels she wore when she greeted him, or her bare feet would likely be bleeding—making it easy for Zelo to track her. “Aren’t you getting on?” Roshène turned, unable to understand the young man’s question until she realized she was at a bus stop and a bus had pulled up. She nodded and merged with the line of people waiting to board. She recognized the familiarity of queuing and moved forward, but a thought struck and she panicked. You were supposed to pay, and she had no money. But staying on the bus would take her farther away more quickly. Chance, luck or destiny, whatever you called it, had not only offered her a way out of a nightmare but was also providing transport. Catching the driver’s eye, she leaned forward and cast a quick glamour. This was one of the few magical techniques Zelo had taught them for using on clients when he needed information. She laced her voice with power and whispered, “I’ve paid already.” The driver, his expression glazed, nodded. She slipped into the nearest vacant seat and, as they moved off, she glanced sideways and saw a group of huddled figures halfway along the street where the house stood. She slid further down, the plastic seat making a squeaking noise, and made herself as small as possible. Minutes later the bus was rumbling on its way, and she’d left her prison behind. She sucked in a slow deep breath. Somehow she had escaped the living hell she’d found herself in after her mother died. Zelo would be in a killing rage, and whoever had made the mistake would suffer his wrath. He’d send out searchers, hire professional hunters, but she didn’t care. She dug her fingernails into her palms and swore that she would rather die than return. If she had to, she would spend the rest of her life on the run, sleeping in alleys, doorways, fields, ditches, wherever she could, but she’d do it as a free person. As far as she figured out, her mother died seven years ago. Some memories had remained, and these she repeated to herself each morning: her father had abandoned them both before she was born. After her mother’s death, her stepfather, Jack or John or Joe, something that began with a J, had instructed her to pack a bag. She’d been fifteen or sixteen, in shock and grieving from her mother’s sudden death, and with no other relatives, she had no choice but to go with him. He’d sold her to Zelo, walked out and she never saw him again. What followed had been an unending nightmare. In his determination to break her, Zelo had done as he did with all the ill-fated innocents who fell into his clutches: he physically brutalized her, used spells and compulsions to erase her memory and bind her will, keeping her ignorant and at his mercy. She’d done what they all did to survive but, too young and inexperienced to fight him for long, her futile rebellion ended and she surrendered to his domination, doing whatever he desired. But she’d never been able to fool Zelo, and he’d always known she possessed a core of defiance, though she hid it well. She blew out a soft breath and stared out of the window. She had escaped! Never again would she be anyone’s slave. Her gaze snagged on a stretch of green flashing past and she frowned. The memory came clear and fresh and whole, not like the tatters that tormented her when fragments of her past resurfaced. Her mother had often taken her to green places, but not city parks. An image of rolling hills, purple in the distance, and woods alive with creatures big and small. Her mother would point out the trees and plants, birds and insects, teaching her how to sense the magic, the song present in the earth and in all living beings. She strove to pull the details to life but a sharp pain as if her skull was about to crack open, sent the memory packing. She had forgotten much, but the constant repetition of certain activities, including the ritual spell, accompanied by a skin-stinging agony and sense of helplessness, had, over the years, worn an ever-deepening groove in her mind. “You look pale. Are you all right?” The old lady beside her asked, concern creasing her careworn face. “It’s a headache. It’s passing. I’m fine, thank you.” She wanted to ask the name of the city and where the bus was headed but instead studied her hands and counted one, two, three, four, up to a hundred, repeating the numbers and kept going until she completed the ritual three times. Calmer, she focused on her breathing. She was alive, no injuries, and a surge of joy filled her. She sat, stunned in fear-tinged amazement as buildings, businesses and houses blurred past. “The next stop’s mine,” the old lady said gathering her bags. Roshène didn’t move, but as the old lady went to get up, she understood. How stupid of her. How was the woman to get off if she didn’t move out of her way? Afterward, she scooted into the empty seat next to the window, slumped down, scanning the streets for clues of where she was, wondering how had she forgotten this world? But the truth was Zelo’s spells had, over time, shrouded most of her early life, and she had few memories and no idea where she and her mother had lived. She blinked in confusion as a shop window grabbed her attention. Sparkly turquoise material hung in elegant swaths, bordering the display. A periwinkle-blue sign sparkled and the golden dust motes covering the entire front of the shop danced an invitation, beckoning her. The instant the bus halted at the next stop, Roshène was off her seat and almost pushing an old man waiting to get on out of the way. “Sorry,” she muttered as she hurried back along the sidewalk. The shop was on the far side of the street, and she studied its reflection in the window of a second-hand furniture store, noting the dark purple flowers intertwined on a pale olive vine winding around the edge of the sign. Even in the reflection, the flowers shimmered, but as she watched, the glow diminished and the shop appeared rather rundown, its colors dull and faded. Had it called her? No, that wasn’t possible, was it? Still… Her neck prickled, and she sensed someone observing her. Zelo must be scrying, searching for her. She shivered. Her breath came fast and she wasn’t sure her legs would hold her up for long. He’d allowed her to observe him scrying a few times—displaying his power to frighten them was the least of his cruelties—but when he discovered her trying to do the same in the bathroom sink one morning, he’d beaten her so severely, she hadn’t walked for a week. She had never tried again, and it was a month before she dared raise her eyes from the floor. She moved, stepping off the sidewalk and jumping back, almost startled out of her skin as a deafening car horn blasted her eardrums. A little ditty popped into her mind: look left, look right, look left again. Or was it look right, look left, look right again? Either way, she stayed on the sidewalk, trembling as she waited until the traffic lessened before dashing across. Close up, the window display of artfully arranged candles and crystals of all shapes, sizes and colors mesmerized her and, as the sun hit the glass, she became lost in the beauty of a sparkling amethyst quartz. A wind chime rang, its metal rod tinkling, and a soft inviting voice broke her reverie. “I’m shutting for lunch, but you’re welcome to come in and browse if you’d like.” Roshène faced the woman standing in the doorway, an encouraging smile on her friendly freckled face, paused and checked the street. Nobody in sight, no watcher, nothing but the loud hum of traffic passing by. She would be safer off the street. “Yes, I’d like that.” The pleasant-faced older woman, her salt and pepper hair tied in a loose bun, smiled as she held the door for Roshène to enter, turning the open sign to closed afterward. Roshène stopped inside, close by the entrance, catching the sound of a burbling stream and breathing in the most exquisite fragrance of sweet-scented flowers before they faded. “What is it that interests you?” Hearing none of the viper’s undertone always present in Zelo’s voice, Roshène examined the shop’s contents. Rails bursting with rainbow-colored clothes, and surfaces chock-a-block with objects: vases, clocks, jewelry, household items such as cutlery boxes, sets of dishware covered in delicate designs—and flicked a glance at the deep purple crystal. “Nothing in particular,” she answered, looking down. “Well, check out what we have. Everything on display is available. I’m Kudzia.” She held out a hand. Roshène ignored the hand being offered, unsure what the woman expected of her. “You’ll find more crystals on the left, over there.” Kudzia turned her outstretched hand into a wave toward a display case near the counter. Roshène nodded and moved in the direction Kudzia indicated, but the sight and aroma of the sandwich on the counter nearby made her aware of how hungry she was. An image rose: Jayna, Rachel, Rebecca and a few others whose names escaped her mind, sitting down to eat at the plain scarred wooden table in the kitchen, stuffing as much food into their bellies as possible before Zelo stopped them. He never let them eat their fill. Hunger gave their blood an edge, he said. She swayed, wanting to snatch the sandwich and cram it into her mouth. Instead, she leaned against the display case, mesmerized by the glinting crystals. Bending down, she listened, disbelieving her own ears—they were singing and as the volume rose, the music stole her breath with its beauty. She came to, lying on a couch and staring up into Kudzia’s worried face. She attempted to sit up but fell back. “Where am I? What happened?” “You’re in the rear of my shop, and I carried you here because having an unconscious person lying on my floor isn’t the best advertisement for my business.” She smiled. Roshène nodded, although even that slight movement sent jabbing spears through her head. She sat up slowly and examined her surroundings: a stove, pots, pans, refrigerator, table and chairs, lots of shelves with jars filled with provisions; she was in a kitchen. She considered the woman who’d invited her in. Hadn’t she been…older with gray in her hair? It shone a glossy rich walnut brown. Her face, previously lined with the onset of age, was smooth and her pupils, which Roshène had thought were dark gray, were a much lighter silver-gray. Although the woman earlier had been attractive, now she was beautiful. “I can see you’re wondering why my appearance is different, but you already know I’m Fae, don’t you, because you have Fae blood, too. Only those with Sidhe heritage can hear the crystals sing.” Roshène didn’t answer. Fae blood? The Fae were the most powerful of the supernatural races. She hadn’t known but she wouldn’t reveal that. No wonder Zelo had kept her spell-bound. She glanced at her hands and counted, one, two, her ritual interrupted as Kudzia continued talking. “Don’t worry. The glamour is for humans and those who wish us harm. Here.” She offered Roshène a cup of water. “Drink.” Roshène tightened her lips. You never accepted a gift from the Fae. Her brow furrowed as she struggled to remember who’d told her that. Kudzia’s gaze held her captive, but instead of the filthy scraping and pawing she experienced when Zelo tore down whatever barrier she endeavored to erect, this woman’s touch eased her. Roshène’s thirst was stronger than her suspicions, and she took the cup and, at first, sipped, then gulped the sweet tasting liquid, relaxing as her headache retreated. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me. You’ve been very kind, but I must go.” “Where are you going? Are you in trouble? Maybe I can call someone who can come and pick you up? What’s your name?” Roshène sensed the genuine concern in Kudzia’s voice and couldn’t tear her gaze away from her face. “I don’t remember. I had to run away. He… he hurts me.” Something broke inside and the tears ran down her face. “There, there.” Kudzia pulled Roshène to her chest and held her close, patting her shoulder and rocking her until the wracking sobs eased, then produced a box of tissues. “Roshène,” she said, blowing her nose and dabbing at her face. “My name’s Roshène.” A sharp rap on the back door and her body stiffened, her eyes wide with fright. No, he couldn’t have found her already. “Relax, it’s a friend come to help,” Kudzia reassured her. “It’s open, come in,” she called. Roshène turned and faced the newcomer, meeting the silver-eyed gaze of a tall full-blooded Fae.