From Storm and Shadow

One

There’s nothing there, the girl says to the guy as they squint across the street at the nondescript door tucked into the shadows between two empty storefronts. Beside them, I step silently from a hole in the air, leaving the faerie paths behind. My body casts no shadow across the moonlit sidewalk. With glamour magic concealing me, I’m as invisible as the building these two humans are trying so hard to see. Well, the guy is trying hard, staring with such force he’s in danger of hurting himself. The girl continues to regard the door with arms folded over her chest.

"There is something there, he insists. Gav swore to me he’s been inside. He said it’s completely mind-blowing. Literally out of this world."

The nighttime sounds of the city reach our ears: the squeal of breaks, an occasional siren wail, a dog barking somewhere nearby. Exhaust fumes fill the air, and a neon sign on the building behind us flickers and buzzes. It’s tough to imagine there’s anything ‘out of this world’ here in this unremarkable street.

Right. Sure, the girl says as I step off the sidewalk and onto the street. A ‘magical’ club owned by a ‘magical’ dude with actual ‘magical’ powers? I can almost hear the air quotes hanging from her words. We both know Gav is full of—

"Babe, come on. He said you have to believe when you look at the door. You have to like … have faith that it’s there."

That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.

I almost snort-laugh as I cross the street. I highly doubt those two will be making it inside Riven’s club tonight. The glamour is a powerful one, hiding this place from both humans and those with magical blood. The average passerby would never know it’s here. Humans have to be invited by Riven or come along in the company of someone who already knows of this place and has seen it. And those from the fae realm need to know precisely where the club is and come close enough to pass through the glamour.

I reach the sidewalk on the far side of the street and approach the door. Dull brown, plain, uninteresting. Possibly even a little creepy. But the moment my high-top sneakers touch the single doorstep, the glamour ripples and melts away. The polished marble steps appear first, then the impressive pair of arched doors, glass with gold doorknobs and gold filigree patterns curling around the edges. The entire entrance expands, the sparkling quartz walls seeming to push aside the surrounding buildings. And while the exterior now appears large, I know it’s nothing compared to the size of the building hidden within. I lift my eyes to the large gold letters above the door: The Gilded Canary.

I climb the steps and reach for one of the gold doorknobs. The ring containing my employee access charm—a slim silver band with tiny flourishes etched into it—goes warm for a second. Then the door opens, releasing cool, perfumed air and the faint thump-thump of music. I step inside, leaving behind the pair of arguing humans, the guy still trying to convince the girl that the simple door they’re staring at is a secret entrance to another world. That isn’t entirely true. The Gilded Canary exists very much within the human realm, but it is dripping with magic. And to humans, that’s probably the same thing.

The two bouncers standing inside the glittering, gold-lit foyer nod to me as I pass, my sneakers squeaking slightly on the polished floor. Evening, Silver, one of them says.

Shouldn’t you be using the employee entrance? the other one asks, a small frown in place.

There’s a queue there, Niko, I tell him over my shoulder. And I’m late.

Riven won’t be happy to hear you’re waltzing in through the main entrance, Niko calls after me.

Riven won’t know unless you tell him, I call back.

Riven knows everything!

I smile and shake my head as I reach the curtain of water droplets separating the foyer from the rest of the club. I know Niko won’t say anything. The curtain sweeps itself aside and I step into the glittering, magical in-between world of Riven Xeryth’s creation. A seemingly endless maze of dance floors, bar areas, VIP balconies, private rooms, a casino, a small theater, an enchanted fighting ring, and even a concert hall.

The Rainbow Room is first, where aerial acrobats spin effortlessly through the air above the patrons, twirling ribbons behind them. Sprites flit between the performers, leaving trails of shimmering bubbles in the air. Waitrons adorned in silver jewelry and glittery makeup carry exotic, colorful drinks through the crowd, which is made up of faeries, humans, and halfling fae of all types—people with slender horns, bat wings, clawed feet, shimmering scaly skin. Inside The Gilded Canary, all invisibility glamours are stripped away. The impossible becomes possible. It’s a wonderland for humans. And it’s all entirely illegal.

I assumed, when I first discovered this place, that the Guild knew nothing of it. Surely the Council would go into spasms of fury if they learned of such a place. But then I met Riven, creator of The Gilded Canary, and all he did was laugh when I asked how he managed to keep this all hidden from the Guild. My dear … Silver, is it? He glanced at my silver-white hair, which I hadn’t covered when I had my interview with him. The Guild already knows.

Startled, I said, But … they haven’t tried to shut you down?

"Oh, I’m sure they wish they could. But we have a mutually beneficial arrangement. As I’m sure you can imagine, my club is a breeding ground of illegal activity. Plenty of my employees are in a position to overhear … interesting things. As long as I continue to supply the Guild with information—in a way that can’t be traced back to me—they leave us be. So. He regarded me with piercing dark eyes. If you’re thinking of running off to a Guild to share your thrilling discovery of The Gilded Canary in the hopes of gaining some sort of reward, I’m afraid that will end badly for only one person. You."

Standing there in his office, I’d almost choked on that idea. For one thing, it would break my rule of never returning to the fae world. While I use the faerie paths to travel quickly from one point to another within the human realm, I haven’t crossed the veil back into my own world in a long time. And for another, it would be suicide to walk into a Guild. I can assure you, I said to Riven, I don’t plan to go anywhere near a Guild—or any guardian—for as long as I live.

"Good. Now, Silver— he said my name in a way that suggested he thought I’d made it up —why don’t you show me what you can do?"

As it turned out, he was pleased with my demonstration. I’ve been working here two or three nights a week ever since.

I slip between the dancing, spinning bodies in the Rainbow Room as quickly as I can and make for the mirrored passageway that connects this dance area to the next one: the Gold Floor. Inside the passage, I glance sideways to double-check the glamour enchantment for my hair. Shoulder length, dead straight, ink black. A satisfied smile touches my lips as I continue walking. More powerful than the type of glamour I could cast with my own magic, this particular spell works on fae as well as humans. My own hair—white blond streaked with literal silver—is far too noticeable, even in a place like this where almost every second person is a dazzling splash of color. Brunette and tangerine, blond and aquamarine, black and violet. Faeries are hard to miss with their two-toned hair and vibrant eyes, and I prefer to draw as little attention as possible.

The Gold Floor has a more sophisticated feel than the Rainbow Room, with metallic finishes and sparkling diamond-like embellishments, not least of which is the enormous chandelier of cut-glass crystals. Icicle-shaped drops hang from the lower part of the arrangement, the largest icicle at the center seeming to glitter with more than just refracted light. The music in here is slow, seductive, a liquid beat pulsing through my body.

I head straight for the sleek, metallic bar curving along one side of the room, aware—as I told Niko—that I’m running late, but also conscious of the fact that I need to collect something from Mel before her shift ends. I reach the bar and lean casually on it, pretending I have all the time in the world. Hey, Mel, I call out to the woman with black hair and scaled skin.

Silver! Hey, babe. She leans across the bar, clasping my left hand as she loops her other arm around me. Something small and hard presses against my palm as we half-hug across the bar. For Goldilocks, she whispers in my ear before pulling back. My hand closes around the small object. It feels like a ring. What secrets or magic it may contain, I have no idea. My only job is to pass it on to Goldilocks, who will make sure whatever crime this ring-shaped item is related to doesn’t happen. You’re on tonight? Mel asks with an easy grin, as if the exchange never happened.

Yeah, in a few minutes. I slide the small object deep into one of my pockets.

Better hurry, she says with an arched brow. Klyde will be getting his panties in a twist.

I laugh as I turn away. His panties can twist themselves all the way up his— My words die at the back of my throat as my gaze lands on the guy just a few feet away from me. He’s reaching for a glass from a passing tray, and his sleeve has pulled up an inch or two to reveal something on the inside of his wrist: dark, swirling patterns.

My heart slams against my ribs, and I’m instantly lightheaded from the flood of adrenaline. The man lifts the glass to his lips, his gaze sliding toward me, but I’m already turning away. I face the bar and lift my right foot onto the nearest stool, pretending to casually redo my laces while I try to remember how to breathe.

Everything okay? Mel asks.

Yeah, I manage to say, my eyes darting across my forearms as I mentally catalog the numerous charms hidden there. A thick leather cuff with an oval-shaped moonstone pressed into it encircles my left wrist. On my right is a multilayer wrap bracelet of leather braids, knots, stones of various colors, a few freshwater pearls, and a small silver bird with the number three engraved on its side. Each stone and pearl contains some form of magic. The majority are for emergency use only. This isn’t an emergency, I remind myself as I attempt to stay calm. Not yet.

I straighten, still facing the bar, and pat both jacket pockets. Cell phone in one, amber in the other. I withdraw the amber. From a distance, it could be mistaken for a phone—slim, glossy, rectangular, serves the same purpose—but anyone close enough would see that its translucent surface remains blank instead of lighting up to reveal numbers, apps, and photos.

I slip my stylus out of the same pocket and write across the amber’s surface. I’m not supposed to contact Riven directly, so I write a message to his assistant Lily instead. Urgent! Just spotted a guardian on the Gold Floor. Brunette and red. Magic flows out of my fingers and through the stylus, making the words glow as they appear on the amber. They remain visible for a few moments, then vanish. My intention, plus the magic bleeding through the stylus, are enough to send the message to the right person.

I continue walking, amber clutched in my hand, and Lily’s reply comes moments later. I scan her neat, almost childlike script. Relax. He’s Riven’s new contact at the Guild. They have a meeting tonight.

My pulse slows. My hands stop sweating. I grip the stylus with a little less force as I swipe her message away and write another one. When you see him, tell him to hide his markings better. Unless he’s hoping to get himself killed. Then I slide the amber and stylus back into my pocket and increase my pace. I’m definitely late now.

I leave the Gold Floor behind and head through the arched passageway that leads to the private rooms. One of the doors opens as I pass it, and I catch a glimpse of thousands of tiny purple birds fluttering toward the ceiling, which is enchanted to look like a galaxy of stars. Delighted laughter reaches my ears, and then it’s gone, swallowed up by the frenetic drum beat emanating from the room next to it. I hurry past all of them, aiming for the employees-only door at the end of the passage. With a nod to the centaur who stands guard beside it, I open the door—the employee access ring warms briefly on my finger—and slip through.

The backstage area, accessible from numerous points throughout the club, is a tangle of dressing rooms, bathrooms, offices, and training areas for fighters and other performance artists to practice in. I navigate the passageways with ease and speed, ducking quickly into the room I share with five other fighters. Couch, dressing table, mirror, lockers. We don’t need much else.

My phone buzzes as I reach my locker. A message from Teddy. Got takeout! Come over when you’re done. Teddy thinks my evening shifts take place inside a university library. He’d probably faint if he knew the truth.

Thanks! I type quickly before shoving the phone back into my pocket. Then I remind myself to hurry up. Jacket off, necklace on, mask secured, locker shut. And then I’m off, the other performers in the backstage corridors passing in a colorful blur. I hurry into Competitor Lounge A, the muffled roar of cheers and applause reaching my ears. Two other fighters—scheduled to go on after me, if I remember the line-up correctly—are already there.

Silver! The furious hiss comes from the other side of the room beside an open doorway filled with white mist so thick it’s impossible to see through it. Klyde stands there, hands on his hips and his ever-present amber tablet floating in the air beside him. His hair, a shock of crimson and blond, is even more unruly than usual. He glares at me, and since he’s a faerie and his eyes match his hair, I’m glaring back at a fiery gaze so intense it’s almost burning. You’re late, he snaps, marching over and tugging me toward the mist swirling in the doorway.

I’m perfectly on time.

The last two fights ended earlier than expected. This is why you’re supposed to be here at least—

Has my fight started yet?

No, but Hemlock’s about to announce you—

Then I’m not late. I take a step toward the mist, but he grips my upper arm and pulls me back against his chest. Be careful, Silver, he breathes into my ear. You’re not so good that Riven won’t get rid of you if I tell him you’re not taking his rules seriously. I’ve been here far longer than you have.

I resist the urge to shove an elbow into Klyde’s gut and instead shrug him off. I wish I could tell him that I am that good, that I could be crowned Champion every night if I actually tried. But he would laugh in my face since he’s never seen a shred of evidence to back this up. So all I say is, Get off me. Flaming Peacock and I have a fight to get to.

Sadly, Klyde says, a sneer in his voice, "the lovely Peacock didn’t show up tonight. But we do have someone new. Someone desperate for a fight. So instead of starting this mysterious someone at the bottom, I mixed things up a bit. Decided to give you a little fun."

I twist to look over my shoulder. And does Riven know you’re changing things up behind his back? Throwing unvetted fighters into the—

Riven trusts me to put together the type of show that will keep patrons salivating for more.

Well, I assume she’s good then. I’d hate to get bored out there and disappoint the audience.

His sneer lifts a little higher. "Oh, trust me. He is very good."

If Klyde is hoping to scare me, he’s going to be disappointed. I don’t care who I’m paired up with. In the end, I always choose to lose. Showing the patrons of The Gilded Canary what I’m truly capable of has never been an option.

With a sigh and a shake of my head, I turn from Klyde and face the doorway. Wrapping my hand around the chunky stone hanging from my necklace, I squeeze hard and whisper a few words. The enchantment the costume department created for me bursts into life with a prickle that runs all the way down my spine. Then I step right up to the eddying mist that separates me from the enchanted arena, breathe out a slow, steadying breath, and picture myself as the person my opponent will see when I appear on the other side: The Black Bateleur.

My clothing is simple enough—a black tank and stretchy black pants—but my mask, perfectly contoured to the upper half of my face, is covered in silky black feathers that gleam with a blueish purple sheen wherever the light catches them. The black feathers that sprout in wing formation from the enchantment running down my back shimmer with the same glossy purple blue.

This bird-of-prey persona has been my identity for the past couple of months. Before that, I was the Ruby Scorpion. Before that, the Diamond Knife. And before that … well, my identities begin to blur together after a while. I’ve played many parts in Riven’s fighting ring. The moment I begin to gain some measure of popularity, I put that persona to rest and come up with a new one. Riven isn’t a huge fan of this strategy, but I made it clear that it was the only way I could continue to work here safely. And despite Klyde’s threat that he could easily get rid of me, I’ve always had the feeling Riven wants to keep me around.

On the other side of the mist, Hemlock’s magically magnified voice shouts my name, bringing me back to the present. With a final breath, I step through the swirling whiteness and into the fighting ring.

The setting is different every night, and until this moment, I have no idea what to expect. Salty air fills my nostrils. Sea spray wets my skin. My gaze darts about and I take in a strip of beach battered on either side by a choppy sea. Though it isn’t raining, bruise-dark clouds fill the sky and lightning flickers overhead. I can’t see the spectators seated around the outside of the magical arena, but the distant roar of their voices reaches through the dome of magic, mingling with the crash of waves against the shore on either side.

Then my eyes settle on my opponent on the far side of the sandy strip. Tall, broad shoulders, muscular build. A simple black mask covers the whole of his face. No scales, feathers, glitter, or fangs. No animal or fae design. He’s made no effort with his clothing either. Riven will not be impressed when he learns of this.

I tilt my head, watching, waiting to see what move he’ll make first. He remains frozen for a heartbeat. Then another. And then he begins stalking toward me. I’ll bet he’s smirking beneath that dull mask of his. Probably thinks this will be the easiest win of his life. I almost smile. The bodybuilder types are always the slowest.

He heads straight for me, hands steady at his sides. No sparks, no elaborate magical displays, no impressive acrobatic stunts. Just a simple, no-nonsense stride. I cock my hips to one side, feigning boredom as I gather magic above my palms. I’m half-convinced that his plan is to simply walk straight into me, but then he comes to a halt a few feet away. He doesn’t move.

Well, I say, lips curving up in what I hope the audience interprets as a sultry smile. What are you waiting for? Come and get me.

He steps forward. Are you—

I sweep both hands through the air, my magic scooping up sand and hurling it in two arcs toward him. His shield magic is up in an instant, faster than I would have thought possible. The sand blasts against it and rains down onto the beach. Then the rippling layer of magic is gone, and he’s lunging forward, hands up, magic crackling—

I leap aside and dodge around him. Cartwheel, back flip, perfect landing. My head snaps up, gaze landing on him and lips curving into another smile as I straighten. All completely unnecessary, but unlike Mr. Boring over there, I’m here to earn my keep by giving the people a good show.

A lightning bolt streaks overhead, blinding me for a second, and when it’s gone I see my opponent’s fingers curled toward the water on my right. A wave rises up with alarming speed, and I barely have time to duck down and tug a layer of magic over myself like a blanket before the wave crashes right over me.

I straighten again, and suddenly he’s a lot closer. I lash out with magic, transforming the sparks into tiny, sharpened twigs before they reach him. He knocks them aside with one arm and a powerful gust of wind. His other arm is already up, sending blue-green flames my way. They’re swallowed up within seconds by another arc of sand.

And then the fight really begins. No weapons are allowed in here, but there are almost zero restrictions on magic. And that, of course, is more fun than any weapon. A rain of razor-sharp stones, a vortex of snow, a spray of glowing-hot lava. I’m limited only by my imagination, the speed of my thoughts, and the amount of magic I have—and I’m nowhere near running out of that just yet.

We’re close enough now to strike out with fists and feet as well, darting forward to punch, and then dodging back to throw more magic. Spiny leaves, twisted vines, silvery needles. No matter what I throw at him, he’s ready to hurl his own magic right back at me. He comes scarily close to hitting me with a flaming boulder, but I jump, and a burst of magic plus the enchantment woven into my wings carries me higher than a normal leap. The boulder soars beneath me and explodes into tiny pebbles. I land hard, forcing a pulse of magic from my palms so that the sand flies up around me. It’s all about the show, I think, just as I hear the muffled Ooooh! from the crowd.

And then we’re back at it, me and Mr. Not-So-Boring-After-All, dancing, dodging, lunging, kicking. He’s certainly making me work harder than anyone else I’ve faced in this enchanted fighting ring. On an ordinary night, I have to remind myself to slow down. To give my opponents a chance. But not with this guy. He’s good. Too good. As if he knows the space I plan to occupy before I even get there.

With a flare of irritation, I wonder if he’s been here before. If he’s watched me and taken notes. But that shouldn’t make him this good, should it? Even the people I’ve fought multiple times—the people who should know my moves better than anyone else—aren’t this fast. This guy wields offensive magic as if he’s been professionally trained. Almost as if he’s …

I take a split second to glance at his wrists, but his sleeves are too long for me to tell whether his skin bears the markings of a guardian. A guardian, in Riven’s fighting ring. What an absurd idea.

Light streaks toward me, and my moment of distraction leaves me with no time to deflect it with magic. My right arm is up instinctively, and the bolt of raw, unformed magic rebounds off my wrap bracelet. A surprised gasp comes from the crowd. Yeah, it’s more than just a few strips of leather, I think with a satisfied curve to my lips.

But then I feel something … different. The swish of hair against my shoulders is gone. One hand flies up, but I realize before it even reaches my head what must have happened: My opponent’s magic struck the pearl that contained the glamour for my hair. My sleek black bob is suddenly a messy tangle of silver and white atop my head.

Well. Crap. That hasn’t happened before.

My opponent pauses, apparently as surprised as the audience. Then he lunges forward, grabs my wrists, and tugs me closer. We’re suddenly face to face, close enough that I can see the precise color of his eyes: flecks of yellow gold in amber irises. The color is so startlingly familiar that for a moment I’m too stunned to fight back. And that’s the moment I find my legs swept out from beneath me.

I land hard on my back. He’s on top of me, clamping my wrists together with one hand and pinning my arms down against my chest while his other hand reaches swiftly for my mask. What the hell? There may be close to zero rules inside this fighting ring, but removing someone’s—

He rips the mask clear off my face. Then he goes utterly still. His words, a hoarse whisper when they finally come, chill my blood: I thought you were dead.

His grip loosens. My hand shoots up and I tear the mask from his face. My breath seizes. His dark hair is longer, the angles of his face sharper, but I recognize him in a heartbeat.

Ash.

Another heartbeat passes.

Then I roll us so that I’m the one on top. I shove away from him, rise swiftly, and run.

Two

My surroundings flash past me in a blur as I hurtle through the backstage passages of The Gilded Canary. I tug sharply at my necklace and feel it snap. The wing enchantment vanishes. I drop the broken necklace and skid around a corner. I’m vaguely aware of the shouts behind me, but I can’t tell if they’re from the people I’ve almost slammed into or from Ash.

Ash.

Ash!

My heart is in my throat as I duck behind a costume rack laden with dresses, each one shot through with threads of glowing color. I raise my right arm, turn my wrist, and run one finger across the pearls threaded onto the wrap bracelet until I find the largest one. Then I squeeze it hard between my thumb and forefinger. I saved up for months to be able to afford the powerful—and illegal—spell hidden inside this stone. But tonight is precisely the kind of desperate situation I was preparing for when I purchased it, so I don’t hesitate before whispering the two words that go along with the spell.

In an instant, I’m invisible. Still, I’m not about to take my time getting out of here. As is the case with most private buildings belonging to faeries, the paths can’t be accessed from within these walls. I need to get outside. Since I have to pass my dressing room anyway, I slam to a halt against the doorframe, lunge for my locker, and grab my jacket. I have a feeling I may need the numerous small weapons concealed within it. The jacket vanishes from sight the moment I touch it, and I tug it on as I race back into the twisting passageways.

I just about throw myself through the door back into the main part of the club. I race across the Gold Floor and then the Rainbow Room, ignoring the startled cries of patrons as my invisible form shoves past them. Finally, I’m hurtling beneath the water droplet curtain and across the foyer toward the main doors. I ram into the right-hand one to shove it open, and one of the bouncers cries out behind me as I jump down the steps.

I run. My sneakers slam the sidewalk, I swing myself around the corner, and then finally I come to a gasping halt. I raise my hand—already holding my stylus—to the wall. The words I write are a shaky mess, but they’re enough for the doorway spell to work. Darkness spreads across the wall, revealing an entrance to the black nothingness of the faerie paths. I lurch forward, throwing a final glance over my shoulder. No one there. I try to feel relieved as the edges of the doorway melt together, sealing me inside the safety of the paths. But there is no relief. Only panic.

I picture my apartment. Warm yellow light permeates the darkness ahead of me. I hurry toward it, my next steps carrying me out of the paths and into my lamplit bedroom. I catch myself against the edge of the bed, my chest heaving as my heart continues to pound.

Ash. Ash. How did he find me? After more than two years, I thought I was safe. With my stylus still clutched in my hand, I touch the simple aquamarine stud in my left earlobe—one half of the charm that’s supposed to protect me from all tracking and summoning magic—and rush to the wardrobe. I reach into one of the shelves for the glass jar partially concealed behind a messy pile of half-folded T-shirts and sweaters. The jar should be filled with blue liquid. Whenever the level is within an inch of the bottom, I redo the spell and top up the jar’s contents. Always. Except—

Right now, there is not a single drop left.

CRAP!

Fear paralyzes me, and for a moment, all I can do is stare at the empty jar. How did I let this happen? How long has it been empty? How could I have become so … complacent? I’m supposed to check it every day. It’s supposed to be in my line of sight the moment I swing the door open every morning to find something to wear. The only reason I ever put anything away in this darn wardrobe is so that I’m forced to open it on a daily basis. And the jar had to hide in the wardrobe because I couldn’t very well leave it out in the open where one of my overly inquisitive friends might see it.

Okay.

I’m okay.

Breathe. Think. Plan.

I turn blindly away from the wardrobe, leaving the jar inside. I squeeze my eyes shut, but all I see is Ash’s face. His amber eyes, his angular jaw, his honey-streaked dark hair. My brain is already cataloging all the ways in which he’s changed. Taller. Broader. Stronger. And yet … he’s the same Ash. My heart squeezes painfully.

I force my eyes open, press my fingers to my temples, and pace to the window. The city lights are smudges of color on the other side of the dirty glass. This tiny apartment is nothing amazing, but it’s been home for over a year. The thought that I may no longer be safe here makes me sick.

Logically, Ash shouldn’t be able to follow me through the paths. Not without touching me. But if he tracked me to The Gilded Canary, he can track me here too. Perhaps he has already located this apartment. Perhaps the protective enchantments I cast when I moved in are the only thing keeping him out. I’ve always wondered whether they actually work. After all, what does a teenager with zero experience in that particular area of magic know? Most people would pay a professional for that sort of thing, if they can afford it. But perhaps I should have had more faith in my skills. Perhaps I did a good enough job to keep unwanted faerie visitors out.

Focus, Silver! Make a plan!

What should I do first? Grab my go-bag and run, or make more cloaking charm? If Ash can track me, then it doesn’t matter where I go. I won’t be safe until I can magically conceal myself. I drop my hands to my sides, my grip tightening on my stylus. Cloaking charm, I decide. I’ll trust that the protection I placed on this apartment will keep him out while I grab all the necessary elements and prepare a new batch. Then, when I leave here and go somewhere new, he won’t be able to—

Please don’t run.

I whip around, my heart jumping into my throat once more. And there he is, on the other side of my bed, so out of place in this room, in this world. I guess I was right to doubt those protective enchantments after all.

Silver—

Magic rises instantly to my palms. I hurl a handful of sparks at him. He dodges easily, but that’s all the time I need. I’m across the room before my stained-glass lamp—the unintended target of my magic—hits the floor and shatters. I race through the tiny living room, dodging left past the armchair as I sense the crackle of magic behind me. Sparks shoot past and strike the couch, blasting a hole through one of the cushions and slamming the cheap piece of furniture against the wall. Ducking down behind the armchair, I raise one hand and hastily cast a shield of protective magic between Ash and me. He’s in my bedroom doorway now, his mouth opening to speak. Please just—

But I’m up again, dashing to the nearest wall, lifting my stylus to scribble a doorway spell. Some baser part of my brain screams at me to free every weapon from inside this jacket, drop my shield, and hurl them at him. I’m faster than he is. He’d be down within seconds. But it’s Ash, and I—

Hey, wait! Just wait! I’m not here to hurt you.

"You just fought me and then told me I’m supposed to be dead. I pause halfway through the doorway spell and look back at him through the shimmering, near-transparent layer of my shield. If all you wanted to do was talk, Ash, you could have knocked on my front door instead of surprising me inside a fighting ring."

I didn’t know where you lived! I found you there last night and tried to follow you, but you vanished as soon as the fight was over. And then you wouldn’t let me get a word in tonight before attacking me, and I just—we don’t have time—and I didn’t even know for sure that it was you! Silver, I— He cuts himself off, raking a hand through his hair. Something in his expression seems almost … desperate. I thought you were dead. All this time, I thought you were dead. That’s what we were all told.

I hesitate as his words dig their fingers into my brain. But even if what he says is true, it doesn’t change what he did that night.

Holy fae, he whispers. I can’t believe it’s really you standing in front of—

Wonderful, I interrupt. So people lied to you. And now that you’ve discovered the truth, you’re here to finish the job? Well good luck with that. I return my attention to the doorway spell. The glowing half-written words have disappeared. I start again.

What? No.

A doorway melts open across the wall. I take a step—

"No! Silver, just wait, please!"

Instead of disappearing into the dark opening, I hesitate. It’s stupid, I know. I should be running as fast as I did the day the Guild tried to kill me. I should be turning my back on Ash and never allowing him space inside my head again. But it’s him, it’s him, and there’s something inside me that simply … can’t.

No? I repeat. No? I whip back around to face him. "You, Asher Blackburn, my best friend in the whole world, tried to kill me! And now you show up out of the blue as my latest opponent at The Gilded Canary, and I’m supposed to believe you’re not here to try again?"

He goes silent, a look of horror crossing his face. I—what? he stutters. "Kill you? Are you insane? We were told that your parents had murdered two Guild councilors because those councilors discovered your parents were Unseelie spies. We were told that you were in on it too, that you’d helped them steal information. I was trying to catch you, not kill you. I figured there must have been a good explanation for—"

"Oh, you were just trying to catch me? That’s all? My right hand curls tightly around my stylus. Because you believed I was an Unseelie spy and should be locked up by the Guild? Wow. I feel so much better now."

Silver—

"I told you the truth that night, but you chose to believe them over me."

"No! I didn’t know what to believe. I was … confused. Bergenfell … she was so damn convincing. She said the three of you had been lying to us since the moment you stepped into Stormsdrift all those years ago. And I kept thinking that it couldn’t be true, there was just no way, because I knew you. But also … what if it was true? What if you’d been lying to me all along? Because it wasn’t just Bergenfell saying those things. I overheard multiple councilors that night. The people we’d always looked up to and respected and trusted. The people I had been trained to obey. The people you were trained to obey."

I release a short breath of utter disbelief. "How long did I live in Stormsdrift, Ash? Ten years? You honestly thought I’d been lying to you every single day for a decade?"

No! I thought … I thought …

You thought what? Do tell me, Ash, exactly what was going through your mind when I was running for my life and you were the one throwing magic at me.

Can we please just—

"Please nothing, I spit at him. Tell me what you really thought."

Fine. At worst, I thought your parents must have lied to you about what happened that night, and you believed what they were telling you—

Screw you.

—and at best, I figured there must be some huge misunderstanding between them and the Council, and that if we could all just—

"There was no misunderstanding! No truth potion questioning. No chance for justice. My parents were good people, excellent guardians, and they ended up discovering something the Council wanted to keep hidden. So that was the end of it. The Council decided to get rid of them as quickly as possible. And when they came after us—when they killed my mom and dad—you were on their side, not mine."

His expression is wretched now. "I made a mistake. I have been heartbreakingly aware of that every single day. If I hadn’t gone after you, you might have escaped. Instead, a bunch of councilors caught you and you ended up dead. Or so they had us believe. But