Beauty (A Faery Story 3)

The phooka’s hand tightened and his form wavered. “Don’t forget it, Your Highness. Don’t forget what we do to those who cross us. I’m the boogey man. I know what your fear is.” He turned those burning eyes to Lach. “And his radiates off him.”

The phooka changed, his hand releasing Shim’s. His form shimmered and reassembled itself. Shim shuddered and crawled back at what he saw sitting in front of him.

“Ain’t this what you both fear deep down?” The phooka’s voice spoke, but it was through Shim’s own lips.

Shim sat in front of himself, his smile wide and calm, but the rest of him was on fire, the flames flaring out and crackling, little tendrils of heat and agony pointing like accusatory fingers.

“Look at me. I’m brighter than the sun and a whole lot more deadly. I can’t control meself. I’ll burn down everyone I love.” The phooka changed, taking on Lach’s likeness, but this was a different Lach than the brother Shim knew. This Lach was sunken, all the light in his face gone as though someone had snuffed his candle out and what was left behind was a ruined, useless wick. Death hung on this Lach, a cloak he’d donned and wrapped around his soul. Maggots crawled on his arms, and a black-eyed rat poked its head from under his collar. “Lord of the Dead. Who could love you? Who wants a cold embrace when they could have a hot one? Is there an inch of you that truly lives, Death Lord?”

And then the phooka was a slight, wild-haired man again, his eyes narrowed. “Yes, I know what scares you both. Don’t you forget it when the going gets tough and someone like me is easy to leave behind. Know that you can never really leave me. I would be with you for always and always, a little nightmare under your bed.”

The phooka smiled as though they had been having a pleasant conversation. He tipped his head. “Meet me in an hour out back, and be ready to fly.”

The phooka disappeared, and they heard the rush of air and then a whinny signaling he was again a horse. There was the sound of hooves on the floor and then all was silent.

Lach got up and stared down at the floor of the barn. “I’m thinking once that fucker’s dead, he’s mine. How would you like that, phooka? How would you like dangling on my strings, dancing when I tell you to dance?”

Shim sighed. He was still shaken, but the truth was it was no surprise to him. “Leave him be, Lach. He didn’t tell us anything we didn’t already know. You’re afraid of what I’ll do, and I’m scared of losing you to the darkness.”

Lach scrubbed a han

d through his hair as he paced. “Why do you always come off sounding better than me? Though I still think I have the better idea. It can be hard on the road. Horses make good jerky. He’ll have a damn hard time sneaking under my bed when the bastard’s in my belly.”

There was a long whinny, but Shim would have sworn that horse was laughing. Lach sat down on the cot, his anger dissipating. “He has a point.”

“His kind always does.” It was sort of the point of the phooka and other tricksters like him. They knew how to go for the throat.

“Why would she ever want me? I make dead things crawl. I’m utterly useless unless you want to pet your dead dog one last time.” Lach sighed. “Maybe that’s why our connection isn’t as strong. Do you think she can feel how cold I am?”

Shim thought about planting a fist in the phooka’s muzzle, but they really did need him. “You aren’t cold, Lach.” He started to say something else, but then he felt it. Panic. Disorientation. Pain in his head like someone was taking a hammer to him.

Bronwyn was awake.

“I can feel her,” Lach whispered, his hand going to the back of his head. “I’m going to kill those guards. Can you talk to her?”

“Only when we’re sleeping and you know how it is then.” His heart was nearly stopped in his chest. Bronwyn was struggling. He could feel her panic and her intent. She was going to try to escape. In that one moment, she didn’t care that she would likely be killed. She simply wanted it to be over.

Lach took a deep breath. “We have to focus. We have to get her to calm down.”

Shim’s hands were shaking. “I’m open to suggestions, brother. She transmits well, but she never listens.”

“Make her.”

Shim could feel Lach’s will pressing on him. It was a palpable thing.

“What are you doing?” Shim asked.

“I’m opening myself up. I’m done letting this thing control me. We need power to connect us to her. Well, I know where my power comes from, and there’s a trail of dead between us and her. I can feel it, Shim. I can use it to push my way into her head.”

Shim took a deep breath and understood what Lach was doing. The phooka had shown them what they didn’t want to face. They feared each other. They feared themselves. But what if they didn’t have to? What if they could figure out a way to control it, to use their natural elements to fuel their power and not the other way around?

Shim closed his eyes, trying to push Bron’s panic aside. He felt the fire in the Harper’s hearth. The power rushed along his skin. That fire led to another, a stronger fire, a bonfire somewhere along the road. It was all connected, a line of flame and heat that bounced to another. Each one he grabbed hold of flared, possibly sending the Fae who sat around it reeling back a bit, but Shim kept control. The fire didn’t bloom out, burning anyone. He could do this.

Lead me to her.

He breathed deeply, the smell of flames and smoldering embers filling his every sense. This was his home, given to him the day he’d bonded with his mate, connecting him to the other half of his soul.

“So many dead,” his brother whispered.