Chapter Seventeen
“Call it off,” Miranda said. “Mrs. Ford, please call this off. You don’t know what you’re doing.”
Mrs. Ford gave Miranda a condescending smile. “I’ve negotiated plenty of deals…whoever you are.”
“Not with fairies.” Miranda took a step forward, but the ground shifted beneath her feet. Vines and roots erupted from the grass, wrapping around her legs and torso.
She lifted her hands to her neck just in time to keep the vines from getting a chokehold. Her arms were trapped against her body. The plants tightened, strangling her with her own hands.
“Miranda!” Darren grabbed at the tendrils, trying to work his fingers between them and her flesh without hurting her. The panic in his eyes tore at her heart.
If he wasn’t careful, he would change. She didn’t know what would happen to any of them if he lost control.
“Well,” Forester said. “Now that we’ve addressed that distraction, let’s get on with it.”
He lifted his arms, glowing green light emanating from his hands. The light dropped to the ground, rolling toward Mrs. Ford like a fog as Forester kept feeding it power. When the light reached her, it crawled up her body, like the plants had done to Miranda.
It seemed gentle at first, until it reached her face. The light engulfed her, striking at her eyes, nose, and mouth like snakes. Miranda heard a half-gasp, half-choking sound as it did.
“What the fuck are you doing to her?” Mr. Morrison took a step toward Forester, but the ground burst open under his feet, vines and roots wrapping around his arms and neck, pulling him to his knees.
“No interruptions, please,” Forester said. “But I do want you to watch.”
Forester’s smile made Miranda’s stomach lurch. The green light rolled toward Scott, engulfing him. Darren was so focused on Miranda, he didn’t see. She tried to warn him, but the vines pulled tighter, cutting off her air.
He finally managed to get his hands between the plants and her neck, pushing her own hands out of the way. As soon as he did, he tore them apart.
Miranda sucked in air, trying to speak. The fog had almost reached Scott’s face. He hadn’t moved the entire time, as if he was in a trance.
“Scott…” she said.
Darren was busy ripping the roots from the rest of her body. He turned toward his friend just as the fog engulfed Scott’s head. The light flashed, blinding her briefly.
Forester’s right hand looked more like a claw as he curled his fingers, pulling on the energy around Scott. Darren looked back at Miranda, his face stricken.
“Go,” she managed.
He ran toward Scott, but had only made it three steps before Forester lifted his free arm, holding his hand flat in the air, palm facing Darren.
A thick root reached through the ground and caught his ankle, tripping him. Dozens more tore from the earth, wrapping around his arms, legs, and neck, holding him prone.
“Darren!” Her heart pounded in her chest. Her legs were still tangled in the animated plants.
She clawed at the roots, but couldn’t break them. She looked back to Scott, blinking away the tears that sprang to her eyes as she heard Darren’s anguished cry.
Scott’s flesh had folded in on itself. His eyes were sunken and his mouth hung open. His hair was white, his frame too large for his emaciated body.
Darren’s cry ended abruptly as he started to cough and hack. At first Miranda was afraid the vines had started choking him as well. Then she saw that his skin had turned a dark gray.
Black fur sprouted everywhere she could see. His face distorted, his nose and mouth distending as they transformed into a muzzle. His teeth grew long and jagged, and his ears lengthened to tapered points that ended well above his head.
The light around Scott faded. His body fell to the ground.
Darren seemed to go berserk. He clawed at the roots still holding him to the ground, but more just sprang up to take their place. Miranda felt the ones around her ankles release her. The ground beneath her rippled as they joined the others holding Darren in place.
He pressed himself against the wooden cage, but couldn’t break free. The roots pulled him closer and closer to the ground until he was lying absolutely flat on the earth, panting.
“That. Was. Impressive.” Forester bit out each word, the strain of keeping Darren in place evident on his features and the way the arm extended toward Darren shook.
The last of the green light that surrounded Mrs. Ford flashed brightly again for a moment, then it faded as well.
Her features were transformed. Wrinkles gone, gray hairs vanished.
“It worked,” she said. “I can feel it. It worked.”
The roots around Mr. Morrison sank into the ground, retreating like snakes into their dens.
Mrs. Ford looked down at him and her smile intensified. “Blake, it worked!”
His face was a mask of shock and despair. He stayed on his knees.
“Edith…” he said.
“What is it?” She glanced around and saw Scott’s body.
“No. Oh God, no!” She dropped to the ground, picking up Scott’s body like it was a rag doll and cradling it against her chest. Her face was streaked with tears when she turned to Forester and shrieked, “What did you do?”
“Fifty years,” he said. “Our deal was for fifty years. You never bothered to ask where I would get them.”
“What?” she gasped.
Forester laughed. “Did you think I could just pull all that time and vitality out of thin air? I told you very clearly that we needed a blood-relative. You offered Scott.”
“That was to get the coins,” she said. “You told me you could only control someone if they were related to me.”
“And that they would be part of our arrangement.” Forester made a tsking noise. “Really, such a savvy businesswoman as yourself should be much more careful in the wording of your contracts.”
Mrs. Ford let out a sob. “I never would have agreed… I did this for him.”
Mr. Morrison put his hands on her shoulders, helping her to stay upright. Miranda swayed on her feet, the grief and pain of the moment overwhelming her.
She had never felt so powerless. Scott was gone. Darren had almost completely changed. The form he was in now was only slightly more human than what she’d seen in her visions. She didn’t know if he’d be able to pull himself back after this.
She didn’t know how to help him.
“Please, take them,” Mrs. Ford said. “Give the years back to Scott. I don’t want them.”
“Are you sure?” Forester said.
“Edith—” Mr. Morrison hugged her waist more tightly.
She ignored his warning. She clutched her son’s body, and said, “I’m sure. Give them back. I just want him back.”
Miranda felt a faint stirring of hope. Her dad had never told her stories about fairies bringing back the dead, but she’d read a few tales in books.
Bringing back the dead…
She remembered the vision of Scott as a walking corpse and her heart seemed to stutter.
This is where it starts. Something about this moment.
She had to stop Forester from bringing Darren’s best friend back from the dead. As if she hadn’t already put Darren through enough…
“What about the coins?” Forester said.
“Keep them,” Mrs. Ford said. “I don’t give a damn about them.”
“Such a loving gesture.” Forester smiled. “Don’t worry. I’ll reunite you with your son.”
Reunite?
“Mrs. Ford, wait!” Miranda’s warning was too late.
This time, instead of a slow fog, the green light shot out from Forester’s hand. He pulled at Mrs. Ford’s energy, fingers clawed, face illuminated with the macabre light as he laughed. Within seconds, Mrs. Ford once more looked as Miranda had first seen her.
Except for the wide, staring eyes.
Her body slumped into Mr. Morrison’s arms.
“Edith… No.” He reached over and touched his fingers against Scott’s neck. “You bastard. You said you’d bring him back.”
“I said I’d restore the years to him,” Forester said. “Look. He’s just as he was when I started.”
Miranda’s stomach twisted. Scott’s youthful appearance was restored. But not his life.
Part of her was relieved until she suddenly thought, ‘It’s just been set in motion.’
“He’s dead,” Mr. Morrison yelled. “You killed them both!”
Forester shrugged. “Some humans just can’t take losing that many years all at once. Now, if you want to make a deal—”
“No.” Miranda was surprised at how calm her voice sounded. “No more deals. Mr. Morrison, you’ve seen what comes of them.”
He looked completely broken. He stared at Miranda with blank eyes, then turned back to Mrs. Ford, rocking her body as he held her.
Forester cocked his head to the side as he looked at Miranda. “Curious. You seem a bit more…interesting than these other humans. Have you been with this werewolf during his entire night of transition?”
“That’s none of your business,” she said.
A slow smile creased his face. “You have. I’ve never heard of a human and a werewolf pairing before. Well, not where the human survived. How did you manage?”
“I’m resourceful.” Miranda tightened her grip on her purse strap as she walked closer to Forester—which brought her closer to Darren. She had to have something she could use as a weapon. Some spare salt packets. Iron.
Wait…
She had the iron box that Jack had given them. But how could she get close enough to use it? If she threw it at Forester, he would blink away. If she tried to bludgeon him with it… That wouldn’t go well.
Her best chance—the best chance for all of them—was if she could get Darren free.
He didn’t even seem to be trying to escape anymore. He was lying still on the ground, almost completely covered in roots and vines.
She had reached Darren while speaking, and knelt at his side. He glanced over at her with the same gray eyes, sparkling lights shining in their depths. His pupils were hugely dilated.
She dared to reach out and touch the back of his head, gripping his…fur. He closed his eyes briefly. When he looked at her again, he seemed calmer.
“How did you survive, human?” Forester said.
In a quiet voice, she said, “I can see the future.”
“An oracle.” Forester angled his head to the side. He seemed to be talking mostly to himself as he continued. “An oracle would be an even better gift than the coins or even that fairy fighter.”
Miranda took advantage of his introspection by setting her purse on the ground behind Darren—out of the elf’s sight—and unzipping it.
“Tribute won’t be coming up for another decade in mortal years.” Forester smiled at her, revealing all those perfect teeth. Then he licked them. “What will we do with our time?”
“I guess I forgot to mention that I’m not available,” Miranda said.
She reached into her bag without looking away from Forester, fingers feeling around for the box. It didn’t take long to find. Her hand shook as she lifted it out, keeping her arm close to her body and trying to be discreet.
“Let me be clear as well,” Forester said. “You belong to me now. My realm. My rules.”
She felt Darren’s muscles coiling beneath her, saw his claws dig into the earth for purchase. A low growl rumbled from his chest.
She wasn’t entirely sure if it was directed at Forester or her. She hoped he’d forgiven her—and not just because he could easily kill her the moment he was freed.
“Take it up with my boyfriend.” Tightening her grip on the iron box, she shoved it against the largest root holding Darren to the ground.
It worked better than she’d hoped. The root blackened and shriveled, the darkness spreading quickly along its length and even to the other roots touching it. They seemed to be turning to ash.
She let go of Darren just as he launched himself forward, clearing the space between him and Forester in one lightning-quick bound.
Forester stumbled back, but vanished right as Darren’s jaws clacked shut where his face had been. Miranda held up the box, wondering where Forester would appear next, scanning the clearing.
Darren had locked onto Mr. Morrison.
“Darren, wait.” She had taken two steps toward them when someone grabbed her by the front of her neck.
Forester pulled her against his chest hard enough to nearly knock the wind from her. He grabbed her wrist before she could smash him in the face with the iron box. His hand tightened on her neck, almost cutting off her air.
“None of that,” he said.
She didn’t know what to do. His Rath made him stronger…but it also had a weakness.
She let the iron box fall.
As soon as it hit the ground, the grass beneath it wilted. The air seemed to lose its luster, even as sunlight began to pierce its way into the clearing.
The plants a bit farther away returned to their normal green, which looked dull in comparison. The effect spread, destroying the magic that was making the park intersect with Faerie.
Forester tightened his grip on her neck. “What have you done?”
She couldn’t have answered if she tried, pain lancing through her neck from where he squeezed it shut.
She looked over at Darren and saw that he had shifted his focus to them, his lips curled up in a snarl. His fangs were massive and sharp, especially in comparison with the rest of his face. He was much more than halfway through the transformation.
His skin had grayed completely and fur covered most of what she could see of him. His features were still a mix of human and wolf.
In her visions, he’d had the head of a wolf, but his body remained mostly human shaped. He’d be bigger and covered in fur, his hands would have longer claws, and his feet and legs would be wolf-like as well.
She hoped she would live long enough to see it.
He started toward them slowly, clawed hands flexed at his sides. Forester increased the pressure, tilting her head to the side. She tried not to show how much it hurt.
“One more step and I’ll snap her neck,” Forester said.
Darren froze, another deep growl echoing among the trees. Time seemed frozen as the two fey men glared at each other.
Two fey men. One forgotten human.
A human with a gun.
She saw Mr. Morrison draw his weapon and tilted her head to the side, trying to get her face as far from Forester’s as possible. It was the only clear shot he would have, unless he was planning on trying to shoot Forester through her.
Pop.
Something hot and wet sprayed her neck. The sound was so loud it made her ears ring. Forester’s grip loosened enough for her to pull away. Coughing and gasping for breath, she threw herself to the ground, turning to keep Forester in her sights.
Pop, pop.
The second bullet hit the elf in his shoulder. The third in the center of his chest. Blood trickled down from the first hole—in the middle of his forehead. Green blood.
Forester smiled, then started to laugh. “Not enough iron in those bullets.”
Pop.
The fourth bullet hit him in the throat.
He coughed, more green leaking from the corners of his mouth. His brow actually furrowed as he lifted his hand to touch the bullet wound.
“Iron, massive tissue damage…” Miranda rasped. “We humans aren’t picky. And I’m pretty sure Darren ripping your head off will shut you up permanently.”
Forester glared down at her, then vanished. She doubted he’d be back anytime soon.
Miranda rolled onto her hands and knees, then pushed herself up on shaky legs. The immediate threat Forester had presented was gone, but that didn’t mean they were out of danger. A rumbling growl punctuated her thought.
Across the clearing, Darren had turned his attention to Mr. Morrison again.
Mr. Morrison didn’t look scared or sad anymore. He stared blankly at Mrs. Ford’s body lying next to Scott’s. His s dangled at his sides, as if his weapon was forgotten.
“Darren.” Miranda approached Darren slowly, unsure of how he’d respond. Was he still in control?
He growled. Not a good sign. But he took a step toward Mr. Morrison, not her. If Darren was going to kill them both, she wasn’t at the top of his list. She quickened her pace, putting herself between them.
“Please,” she said. “Take a moment to think about this.”
Lights glittered in his eyes. His lips were still curled back from the sharp teeth protruding from his mouth. He took another step closer, towering over her. Now she had his full attention.
She swallowed hard, wincing at the reminder of the bruised muscles in her throat.
“It’s okay.” Mr. Morrison’s voice was stretched thin and laced with pain. “I don’t care if he kills me.”
Darren growled.
“It isn’t okay.” Miranda dared to put her hands on Darren’s chest, felt the strange shape of the half-changed muscles as he breathed. The curl to his lips lessened.
“Darren, this isn’t you,” she said. “If you kill him, you’ll be letting go of part of yourself. Part I need you to hold onto.”
“For your visions?” Darren snarled.
She was amazed he managed to form words that she could pick out from among the rumbling growls. The hair on the nape of her neck pricked up at the menacing sound, the sense of his anger toward her. She pushed away her fear.
“Not just my visions.” She lifted her shaking hand to his cheek, so close to those sharp-looking teeth. “I don’t want to lose you. Any part of you. I need you. Not for my visions. For me. Please hold on.”
His face relaxed a bit more. He closed his eyes and stood straighter. The color began to leech back into his face and his fur retracted.
He was doing it. Pulling himself back again—for her.
A breath of relief rushed out of her as a sob. She threw her arms around his neck and held him close. He hugged her back, burying his face in her neck.
It felt like they stayed that way for a long time. Miranda pulled back from Darren reluctantly.
He was himself again. Steel gray eyes, soft lips surrounded by stubble instead of fur.
Part of her wanted to laugh, she was so relieved. Most of her wanted to cry.
Mr. Morrison was staring down at Mrs. Ford and her son—at their bodies lying on the ground. He looked like he was in shock.
She checked on Darren to see how he was handling things. He stared at Scott’s body for a few moments, then turned away. A muscle in his cheek twitched.
Miranda gripped Darren’s hand tightly. She didn’t dare let go. But she did reach out with her free hand and pluck Mr. Morrison’s future from his shoulder.
She didn’t bother trying to be discreet about it. Mr. Morrison was in his own world, his awareness flooded with grief. She was almost afraid of what his future would hold.
She looked anyway.
Crystal clear images ran through her mind. No fog or metaphors obscured anything. Compared to the futures she’d been reading, it was a cake walk. And the role he would play, how he would help support their fight… It was important.
She let out a sigh, then squeezed Darren’s hand.
“Mr. Morrison, I need you to listen to me very carefully,” Miranda said.
He shook his head. “I don’t care if you can read my future. Edith was my world. I don’t give a shit about anything else.”
“Maybe right now,” she said. “But that’s going to change.”
She had seen the near obsessive zeal in his eyes that would grow as time went on. And she was about to light the fuse.
“Giving up is easy,” she said. “Fighting back—protecting other people from suffering the same sort of loss—that’s hard. And that’s what you’re going to do.”
That caught his interest.
“How?” He looked up at her, glanced at Darren. “I shot that guy right between the eyes, and it didn’t slow him down. Four bullets, and he could just disappear from the battlefield, regroup, come back even stronger.”
“You have a part to play in what’s next,” she said. “An important part.”
Mr. Morrison shook his head.
“I hear sirens,” Darren said. “We have five minutes.”
“This is your first chance to fight back,” she said. “When the police arrive, tell them that Mrs. Ford and her son were blackmailed into aiding with the theft of the coins. They met the blackmailer here and things went south. She made you wait in the car for the meeting. By the time you got here, it was too late.”
Mr. Morrison’s gaze became a little more focused. “Then what?”
“Then you do what you have to do,” Miranda said. “Keep going, even when you want to quit. We’ll be in touch soon.”
She pulled on Darren’s hand, leading him away. She only hoped that Mr. Morrison would listen to her. And that the vision of his future would come true.