Traitor Read online

  Stepping into the tiny shower, it was impossible not to see how drastically life had changed since this time last year.

  This spring had been amazing, despite the many near death experiences and constant threat of being kidnapped. I had grown close to my grandmother who turned out to be a Glaistig, an immortal faerie who was once a human. I became best friends with Mary and Roslin. Even more amazing than the other two, I fell in love with my boyfriend, Liam. That wasn’t even mentioning the fact that I learned hand to hand combat from the Glaistig’s personal assassin, my grandmother, and began learning how to wield magic from Roslin, one of the other committee members. Being one-of-a-kind certainly had its perks.

  The downside to the spring, however, was that my brother, Chris, was still missing along with Memaw’s daughter, MaKenna, and Tess’s son, Aiden. After nearly being killed three times from minor missions into Neamar, Ankou had grown wise to our plans. Not to mention the fact that I had to turn down the leader of the faeries in Adaire when she offered immortality, and one could say this year had been a bit busy so far.

  Liam would die if I accepted immortality. He had sworn himself to be my Protector and so his life was tied to mine. Upon becoming immortal, in a sense I would die. That effectively ended his purpose here on earth. I could not - would not - be responsible for killing him. Instead of flat out turning Rebecca down though, I hedged and asked for time. Rebecca obliged, but begrudgingly. She gave me six months to make a decision. That meant there were four months left before I was forced to make an impossible decision. For some reason, I had a nagging suspicion that six months would not be long enough to decide. We needed more time to figure out how to save Liam from his decision.

  Hot water cascaded down my back in rivulets as I leaned against the shower and breathed in deeply. The warm mist tickled my nose. The high showerhead made it feel like I was standing in a warm summer rain. It was nice; it was normal.

  I hadn’t realized how long I had been in the shower, reliving things from the past six months, until my teeth began to chatter. Fingers pruned, the hot shower was now cold from being in there so long. I turned the water off, grabbed the towel draped over the rack right outside the sliding shower door, and wrapped myself tight. It was impossible not to shiver as I stepped onto the now slick tile floor.

  A muffled voice crept through the small window above the toilet. “You know, it would be a lot more fun being a peeping Tom if I could see through this foggy window.”

  I jumped from the shock of hearing Liam’s voice on the other side of the fogged glass, causing my feet to slide out from under me. I grabbed the sink and the rack on either side of me to keep from going down, my towel slipping a bit in the process. Thankfully, I managed to gain enough control of myself to keep the towel from revealing any taboo body parts in time.

  Hiking my towel back into place, I used my elbow to clear out a small circle of the window. The water beaded up and made zigzags as the droplets made their way toward the sill, gravity having its way with them. Liam smiled through the clearing, his eyes crinkling in the process. “Hi there,” he said simply.

  “You know your mom would kill you if she knew you were spying on me.”

  “She probably would,” he said casually, pulling the side of his lips into a coy smile. “But you won’t tell her, because you don’t want me to die, do you?” He pretended to pout.

  If only he knew what it had cost me to keep him alive already. I forced my smile to look genuine, but inside I felt a little more of my heart break because of the situation we were in. My voice was even, maybe even a little playful if I was convincing enough. It impressed me. “No, I don’t want you to die, Liam. That’s the point of me trying to stay out of as much trouble as possible.”

  I pushed the window open a bit to trace the outline of a puckering, pink scar that was emerging above his left eye, identical to mine. He had taken off his butterfly stitches the moment Tess left him alone. Stubborn tough guy. Every injury I sustained no matter how great or how small, was inflicted upon him in real time. His punishment for not keeping me safe, Memaw explained to me when I asked her why. It was part of swearing to be a Protector.

  I pushed his cheek gently and laughed. “Now will you go and find Desmond and the rest of the guys before they get themselves into something in town that will land them in jail? I need to get dressed!”

  Liam smiled again, his eyes disappearing once more. I loved his smile. In spite of attempting to be stern with him, I grinned. It was impossible to not smile in his presence, no matter how worried I was. He made me feel like there wasn’t a care in the world, even when we both knew otherwise. That was what made me feel that I could take another step ahead and push on when there was no desire in me to push any more.

  He pushed his head through the window to kiss my forehead. “I’ll be back as soon as possible. They went to the pub for darts and pool. Make sure Mum has something for us to eat when we get back. They’ll be starving. They’ve only got rubbish at the pub.”

  “The Changelings in the pantry are probably hungry too,” I said with a groan.

  Those things were awful. I hated knowing there was one inside of me, no matter how much I had beaten it into submission and locked it away. For some reason, I always worried that if I let my guard down too much and forgot about it for a moment, the Changeling could reemerge. It made my skin prickle and gave me goose bumps just thinking about it.

  Liam grimaced. “We should just burn them and be done with it.” He looked at the tiny hairs on my arms that stood on end and nodded toward them. “You should put some clothes on, even though it’s against my better judgment to say that.”

  His smile was devilish and made me laugh, but a moment later it vanished as though a veil masked his usually happy face. I knew his train of thought without him even having to say anything. He’d trodden down a darker path, one that had nothing to do with me or us or anything happy in general. Our hands intertwined and I squeezed his emphatically. “We’ll get Aiden back,” I promised, knowing exactly why his eyes had filled with the tears they now held at bay. “We’ll find out where they’re holding him.”

  He took a deep breath and steadied himself as though he were preparing for the worst. Liam put on a smile once more. It didn’t reach his eyes this time. It seemed as though any time he began to enjoy himself – to be happy – he remembered Aiden and forced himself to be unhappy. It wasn’t fair to him or Aiden. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed back the tears and focused on me once more. “I’ll see you soon. I love you, Ash.”

  “Love you too,” I said, and with that, he was off.

  I dressed quickly. My favorite old blue jeans, an old grey t-shirt that threatened to be see-through from overuse and a white long-sleeved shirt to put on underneath all sat at the ready on the sink. I wiggled into them as they fought against my still wet skin, towel dried my hair until it wasn’t sopping wet, and let it go. I wasn’t the most stylish person around, but I did manage to blend in with the locals for the most part. Since we weren’t going into town anytime soon, I decided to go with my favorite eye color for the morning: purple. Closing my eyes, I focused on lavender – the way it smelled, the way it felt to hold the flower in my hand, and of course the beautiful pale shade of purple. A moment later I looked into the mirror to find my irises to be the most accurate shade of lavender so far. Proud of myself, I headed out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. Scents of fresh bread and cheese wafted down the hallway along with the sounds of pots and pans clanging against one another in a cacophony of sound.

  “What’s for breakfast?” I asked, yawning and stretching as I pushed open the saloon-like doors that led into the cozy little kitchen. Silver pots lined the wall over Tess’s stovetop where she currently stood, stirring what looked to be steel cut oats. A little fleck dropped off her spoon when she lifted it toward me and sizzled on the hot surface, driving Tess’s attention back to her task at hand. She spoke over her shoulder as she cleaned up the mess before it burnt to the top of her stove permanently.

  “Absolutely nothing at the moment. These Changelings are eating us out of house and home worse than you and I could ever manage on our own!” Tess lamented.

  If they were eating more than us, that was really something. Thankful I wasn’t full Changeling, I walked toward the two mottled little faeries. They were sitting at the simple wooden table with their wrinkled and arthritic looking hands tied behind their chairs, resembling a cross between human, elf and weirdly enough, what seemed like chimpanzee. Elves and humans were quite similar, save for the pointed ears and what not, but the Changelings’ facial structure was distinctly chimp. It was a strange mixture, especially with the papery, yellowing skin. One of them rocked back and forth in its chair, making the slightly uneven feet of the chair clunk against the floor with each movement.

  If I didn’t know what they were capable of, I might feel sorry for them, tied up like they were. However, these two had tried to tear me limb from limb as I escaped through the last crack. Incredibly strong and deceitfully fast, the nasty little faeries looked up at me with spiteful, coal-black eyes. Their clawed hands scrabbled behind them as they tried to free themselves from the rope that was laced with iron to keep them captive.

  Changelings were susceptible to many things, although most people only knew of burning and eggs. Iron was one that all faeries avoided because of its detrimental effect on them. Humans knew nothing about it, and the Fae community strived to keep it that way. Iron in its purest form would kill a faerie of any kind immediately, turning them into nothing more than a puff of dust. Iron in this miniscule amount would only render the Changelings incapable of using their abilities to disappear back to Neamar, where they belonged.

  “Your cooking is awful, Bridger,” the o
ne on the right said.

  “Bob, I don’t care at all what you think of my cooking. If you’d prefer, I’ll leave you to starve right there,” Tess said, not looking up from cutting the bread that she pulled out of the oven a moment ago. “Once you’ve outgrown your usefulness, I daresay Desmond and the rest would love to use you as practice dummies for their new toys they’ve created.”

  I shuddered slightly at the ill-disguised threat, but my curiosity got the better of me. “Bob?” I asked Tess.

  She waved her spoon lazily. “Oh, we decided they needed names, and as they’re not telling us anything, we had to make some for them. They got the maddest at Bob and Fred, so that’s what stuck.”

  Although I hated Changelings with a passion not much less than Tess’s, I still felt terrible for the way we were treating them. Part of me wondered if we dealt with them differently if they might be more helpful in our search for the children. It was obvious that the current road we were taking was rendering no results at all.

  My muscles burned and ached as I sat down across the table from the Changelings. Their pitch-black eyes burned holes into me as we took each other in. Their skin yellowy and parchment-like, both of them looked as though they could be made out of papyrus, and also like they could crumble to nothing at any time. Changelings lived lifetimes – thousands of years, sometimes – so they very well could dissipate into nothing as far as I knew. They also both had brilliant white, downy hair on their heads that sprouted all over their mostly bald heads like the fur that grew on potatoes after being out for too long. Both of them had deformities: Bob had an arm that was curled up and stunted while Fred had a hunched back.

  Memaw had explained that deformities were common in Changelings, as they were once faerie children. Upon seeing the deformities after giving birth, their faerie mothers cast them out, which is how they became Changelings. It was cruel and heartless, the way the faeries worshipped perfection on all levels. I was alone in this opinion, though, so I didn’t voice it. Too many people around me had lost loved ones to the Changelings to give them any ability to sympathize with how the Changeling had gotten to the point of kidnapping a child in the first place.

  “Bob, can I get you something else to eat?” I said, trying to be kind to the faerie as best as possible, considering the situation.

  His puckered, wizened face studied me suspiciously and he opened his mouth to speak.

  A wad of spit connected with my left cheek and splattered across my face before he could utter a word.

  Fred cackled with delight until Liam lifted him off the floor, chair and all. Liam pounded him against the wall by his neck. The guys had arrived home silently and witnessed the act.

  “I believe you owe my girlfriend an apology, you disgusting creature,” he said in his velvet Irish accent. He was most dangerous when he was calm, which he was exuding right now. There was nothing scarier than crazy calm, and sometimes Liam nailed that to a “T.”

  Instead of apologizing, Fred sucked a snot-filled wad of spit into his mouth with blazing speed and spit it into Liam’s face. “I don’t owe you anything, human, or your little freak of a Bridging girlfriend.”

  A growl rumbled from Liam’s throat that sounded animalistic. Liam stuck his hand into his pocket and pulled out an iron worm blade. The silver serrated edge wriggled and reached out for something to shred as Liam held it close to Bob’s throat. Instantly everyone in the room recoiled. The air was tension-riddled and it felt as though we had all taken a collective breath and held it tight, waiting to see what happened next.

  “Liam Michael Walsh, where did you get that?” Tess said, clutching her heart with one hand and holding herself steady by leaning against the old kitchen counters with the other. The wooden counters groaned in protest under her weight as she pushed off and started to go toward Liam, but then seemed to think better of it. Instead she stood in what looked like fear, rocking on her heels just in case a brawl broke out in her kitchen that needed to be stopped.

  Ignoring his mother’s question, Liam didn’t even bother to wipe off the green glob of spit that was now sliding down his nose. He instead brought the blade within an inch of the Changeling’s forehead right between its eyes. “Would you like to die, or do whatever it is that you Changelings do? All I require is a simple apology, one for Ashlyn and now one for me.”

  A maniacal grin overtook Fred’s purpling face. “I give you nothing, but I will take your offer of death. An t-áadh na nGael tu .”

  Before anyone could react, Fred thrust his head forward with a sudden jerk and connected with the worm blade Liam threatened him with. Liam jumped back and dropped the Changeling from shock as Fred writhed on the floor from the worm blade that now burrowed its way into his body.

  “Way to put the whole plan arseways, Liam!” Shouted Desmond as he bounded forward and tried to stop Fred’s flailing motion. The Changeling wailed in agony as we watched the blade scuttle under its skin, leaving what looked like crimson contrails in the blade’s wake. Desmond grabbed the chair and lifted the Changeling and the chair in the air and frantically tried to untie him. Fred lunged forward and bit Desmond’s arm, drawing blood. Desmond yelled and let go of the chair, clutching his forearm. “Bloody hell, the little wank bit me!”

  Fred flopped like a fish out of water still tied to the chair as he banged into the table and then the small hatch along the wall, causing it to crash to the floor. Plates and cups shattered as they connected with the grey stone floor and scattered across the room. A moment later he burst into dust, nothing but a pile of ashes remaining on the floor. The now still worm blade lay innocently among the ashes, broken plates scattered across the stone floor as well. One plate still bobbled back and forth as it came to a rest. It was the only sound in the room until it stopped its motion.

  “An t-áadh na nGael tu ,” Liam whispered while everyone else remained silent, repeating what Bob had said. The way it rolled easily off his tongue made me think it was Gaelic, and I turned out to be right when Liam spoke once more. His voice was tired and strained as he gazed at the mess that littered the kitchen floor. “If the luck of the Irish is that we end up with a bunch of stinking Changelings in our kitchen, then we’ve hit the fekkin’ jackpot.”

  THREE

  “WELL, THAT ONE turned out to be as useful as a cigarette lighter on a motorbike,” said Desmond after a moment of stunned silence. He pulled himself away from the swinging doors he leaned against, causing them to sway back into a closed position again. They clanked against one another and echoed slightly. Desmond inspected the mess with curiosity. “More food for us, though.” He walked over to where Tess was standing and reached around her to grab four pieces of the freshly cut bread. He threw one to each of the guys in the room and kept one for himself as though nothing had just transpired.

  Everyone had already begun to go back to what they were doing before the outburst happened. Tess went to the corner of the kitchen, grabbed her broom, and began to sweep the mess into a neat pile. I looked at Bob to see what the emotions on his face might betray as the remains of his companion were unceremoniously slid away into a black trash bag. “I’m so sorry,” I said, feeling the tears well up in my eyes.

  Bob looked at me, confused. One snowy white eyebrow rose as he appraised the tears spilling over onto my cheeks. After a moment of what looked like deliberation, he finally spoke. “Bridger, you’re different.”

  I could feel everyone’s stillness in the room, all eyes intent on our conversation. I looked at him, unasked questions lying heavy on my tongue. He cocked his head a little to the left like a bird would, and spoke again before anyone said a word. “You feel for us, though you are not one of us. Although we have taken family from you and your loved ones, you still worry about our feelings. You’re different.”

  I looked down, not wanting to betray my family and friends in the room by agreeing. No part of me wanted to alienate Bob after his extension of kind words by disagreeing with him, either. I tried to find a middle ground – a cool indifference – to display, but it was impossible. My eyes found his with too much interest, and he played on it. His shoulders squared and the smallest hint of a smile emerged.