Fairy Keeper (10 page)

People had always used fairy nectar to escape life a little bit. Taken straight from the hatch, people could get some interesting dreams and become sleepy, maybe. Not keepers―they seemed to be mostly immune to natural nectar―but most people. Looser, more free with their words, perhaps. But about ten years ago, Jack figured out how to boil down its essence and mix it with chemicals until a single drop taken on the tongue was enough to cause hallucinations, nightmares, or dreams in anyone. Some users became completely relaxed; others felt blissful and invincible until the dose wore off. People loved it. They always wanted more, a fast way to escape their dreary lives. Once Jack had a reliable source of nectar through Sierra, he ramped up his production and began spreading his reach. This bar was a Flight den, an unofficial safe place for those who wanted to spend their hours dreaming and sleeping in a back room somewhere.

Nell glanced around in a way that made Sierra raise her eyebrows. Then Nell exchanged a simple brown-wrapped package for some coins. Sierra threw down her bag, disgusted.

“That’s it. Jack’s made me run Flight after all.” She pushed past Corbin and snapped at Nell, “How much more Flight’s in that pack?”

Corbin figured out what was going on and leaned his head down to Sierra to whisper, “Can we get arrested? We didn’t do anything.”

His gaze shifted from Sierra to the barkeep.

She shook her head. “It’s illegal, but since most village elders enjoy it, too, everyone pretends they don’t see a thing when Jack and his crew are in town.”

What she didn’t say out loud was that frequent use left most people really compliant. For village elders, a nicely numb, complacent village meant little trouble for them. They had many reasons to turn a blind eye.

Sierra got in Nell’s face. “We can’t stay here. You didn’t tell me this was a den.”

Nell leaned down a little to meet her nose to nose. The white flecks in Nell’s pale blue eyes made them look like winter. “This is business, Sierra. You can hate your father’s life all you want, but I’m working a job here and you
will
not mess it up
.”

With each word, Nell jabbed her in the shoulder. Sierra clenched her fists until crescent marks cut into her palm.

She traced the bruise along her jaw. “Is this your idea of a good boss, then?”

Nell retorted with a harsh voice too low for anyone else in the tavern to hear, “You have no idea what you’re talking about. You didn’t lose your father when you were a kid.”

How could she say that?

“Really? My mother died when Phoebe was born,” Sierra spit out, inching closer to the bigger girl. “And my father is worse than useless: he’s dangerous.”

Corbin slid between the girls. “Ladies, stop. We need to eat and calm down.”

He put a hand on each of their shoulders. Sierra took a step back, out of reach. Nell appeared frozen to the ground.

Sierra stalked to a seat as close to the door as possible. The fumes from the elixir were fainter this far away from whatever room they were using, but she could smell it, grossly sweet like peaches gone rotten. Nell ordered for them and plopped down on the oak bench across from Sierra, wordless. Nell stared over Sierra’s head like she didn’t exist. Fine. She was glad Nell wasn’t right beside her.

The waitress, tired already with hair half-falling out of its bun, brought the food to the table with such rapidity it was clear they knew who Sierra and Nell were. The waitress’s eyes traced along the bruise on Sierra’s face but then jerked her gaze away. Sierra guessed she looked about right for the daughter of a dark alchemist who sold not only Flight, but all manner of poisons.

Sierra resisted working for Jack, but outside Port Ostara, not everyone knew that. But what everyone this close to home did know was twofold: Jack Quinn was her father and she stood to inherit his business one day. They didn’t believe she wouldn’t take over his alchemy business. In the ports, master alchemists held lives in their hands, and who’d turn down that kind of power? They couldn’t comprehend what it did to keepers to abuse their fairies; people didn’t grasp the sort of connection they shared. Corbin shared that same bond with his queen, so he understood. But no one else except Phoebe could figure out why she refused her father’s ambitions so staunchly.

The waitress’s fear stung. Sierra wanted to scream. Too upset to eat, she stomped outside, fuming at having her father’s choices thrown in her face yet again. She’d leave them both. She’d run away and shake Nell off her heels. Losing Corbin would be awful, but maybe Sierra could still find the old fairy keeper on her own.

She wasn’t fast enough. Footsteps pounded behind her and she whirled, ready to fight Nell if she had to, but her hands went slack when she saw Corbin standing there, chest heaving from his short sprint.

“Don’t go,” he begged, hands wide, beseeching. “I know you; I know what you’re thinking. But we need you.
I
need you to help me find my queen! I don’t want to do it alone.”

In all her anger, Sierra had sort of forgotten that part. She felt bad for not thinking of her sweet friend. She didn’t want to betray him. But…

“How can you stand it?” she asked. “You know what my family is, and now it’s following us. Your family is a bunch of healers, by all the stars. Now we’re helping out Jack in spite of ourselves.”

Corbin said with uncharacteristic practicality, “They’d get it anyway, Sierra. You know that better than most, I guess. No one will stop an addict. I’ve seen some of the same people coming to my parents over and over for healings, people who can’t stop using elixirs or ale until they’re sick. You can’t help what your father did to you. But this is bigger than that, bigger than them. Without our fairies, who knows what will happen to our towns? We need their magic. And I love my queen. Please? For me?”

Sierra hung her head. She wanted to run far, far away, but she couldn’t leave, not like this. Working with Nell and helping Jack make money from his evil elixir burned like acid, but Phoebe was waiting. They had no time to lose. Pride had to be eaten, even if it was like chewing shoe leather. Phoebe was worth it.

“I’m only going back in because I’m starving.” Her tone was petulant. She was hungry, it was true, but Corbin would know that wasn’t why she was going back in the tavern, back to a world she hated.

“Thanks, Sierra,” he said softly, tugging her braid again.

She shook her head, giving a sigh, and they walked back into the hotbed of beer, ale, and Flight.

The fish was fried golden and so hot it burned Sierra’s fingertips. Salty potato fries tingled on her tongue and fresh water helped wash away the morning’s hike. They wiped grease from their chins and left without paying. Nell wouldn’t let them. Said it would set a bad precedent for Jack. But Sierra imagined whatever Nell handed over was worth more to the tavern than three plates of fried fish. Tavern owners often marked up the price and pocketed a little of their own. Sierra tried not to let it bother her. There was nothing she could do, and she had a hard enough job already.

She tightened her straps on her pack and said, “Let’s make up some time.”

Moving brought relief. Every step was one closer to freeing Phoebe.

A storm was coming; Sierra could smell it as they left the fishing village. The green scent of rain rode on the wind that picked up until Nell’s braid lifted from her shoulders as it gusted. Ever the professional, she unstrung her walnut bow as they walked, tucking the string safely in her bag. A wet bowstring was a useless bowstring. Corbin’s old keeper lived a short distance beyond the next port, about a two hour hike along the rocky shoreline. Sierra stared at the clouds rolling in, their bottoms bulging black. She sighed, suspecting she’d be saying goodbye to dry clothes soon. The best they could do was hope they were near some shelter when the clouds burst.

aturally, shelter was too far for Sierra, Nell and Corbin to reach before the rain came down. It sprinkled at first before they could reach even the outskirts of Port Beltane, the drops lightly dotting the ground. Here, the lane was solid, packed red earth. The rain made the road look like it was bleeding. At least it rarely sleeted this close to the coast, even in winter.

The three of them pressed forward, Sierra’s mind turning to Phoebe and what she might be experiencing at home. Soon, the drizzle became a heavy downpour, the kind that made you squint to see more than a few feet ahead. Water soaked through their clothing and left their skin chilled and wet. Sierra’s wonderful fur boots squished as she walked along the dirt path that became slippery and slick as wet glass. Remaining upright took intense concentration.

Nell scouted ahead, looking for any place to get them out of the downpour. Stopping for anything made Sierra want to gnaw through her leather pack straps, but she was at the mercy of the weather now. She gritted her teeth to keep them from chattering.

Corbin slipped and slid along the melted path, laughing at the absurdity of the situation. Even in this horrible moment, he could find something to laugh at. Finally, Sierra saw an outline against the rain, waving them forward. She double-timed it to where Nell stood, pointing to a little overhang near where the cliffs began by the shoreline. Waves crashed against the rocks below, and Sierra felt uncomfortable being so close to the cliff’s edge. Still, there was nothing else. The trees were so naked even their limbs didn’t do a thing to block the pellets of rain that had picked up speed and now stung as they hit.

Thunder crashed around them and solved any question about trying to find a different hiding spot. Into the cave they went. It wasn’t even really a cave. It was more like an outsized overhang, but Sierra decided to think of the space as a tiny cave, as it seemed safer that way.

The trio packed in the way fisherman packed their fish in barrels. Corbin was in the middle―Sierra wasn’t sure if that was intentional. If it was, she wondered if he was wisely keeping her and Nell separated, or if he wanted to be next to Nell. Sierra had to face a little away from them, standing somewhat sideways; otherwise, the run-off from the top of the opening would pour down her sleeve. The sheet of rain was five inches in front of her face, even with them backed all the way in. Still, crowding into this tiny spot beat walking on muddy roads in such a deluge. The steam of their breath hung in the chilly air, little puffs floating past the cave for a moment before the wind and rain slashed them apart.

Lightning flashed nearby, and a boom of thunder made the ground shiver. Sierra froze. It felt like a quake. A quake under a tiny shelf of dirt and grass, near the edge of a sea cliff. Tension rose in her as fast as the wind blew. Corbin’s hand dangled close to her, a beacon. She reached out and grabbed it. He knew her fears, knew how long the loss of that family in the quake had haunted her. They had spoken of it many times afterward.

“It’s only the thunder, Sierra,” he said.

Sierra wasn’t so sure. There’d been so many quakes lately. She kept her body poised, ready to dive out of the cave, but as the thunder continued to crash, the ground trembled only slightly. No jarring cracks, no sudden drops, no roar as loud as a dragon suddenly descending from the sky and breathing fire.