Shattered: An Urban Romantic Fantasy Page 4

  That I was strangely okay with.

  I had completely lost my mind.

  Or else my dreams were trying to tell me something.

  I was still on the dream thing. It was the best way to cope.

  Maybe I was just a horny teen, that, or my brain had combined the influence from the last fantasy show I’d binge-watched and morphed my dreams into one nutty mash-up.

  I rolled over, wishing for more sleep.

  Ouch. Ugh. My body ached everywhere.

  From crashing into Cystenian in the sky? I still wore my dirty boy shorts and cami. I pushed my covers off and sat up, but not without more moans and groans.

  My arms were scratched and streaked with blood from my midnight run. My feet were tinged with dirt. The arch of my right foot had what could have been a deep cut, but it was scabbed over.

  That was fast.

  I put my foot on the floor. Hardly any pain. At least that’s in my favor. I tried stretching the kinks out of my body as I shuffled down the hall to the bathroom. The harsh glare from the LED lights blinked on. I hated those things.

  As I sat on the toilet, I stared, unbelievingly, at my underwear. Aw crap. Blood and other body fluids. I was no forensic scientist, but something told me this was not all mine. Wiping revealed the same bloody and creamy tinge on the toilet paper.

  I cringed. I guess it’s time to face reality.

  Yes, I’d had a sexual encounter with an otherworldly being in some other realm.

  I was put under a spell by fae.

  It was too late to wish it’d never happened.

  So I jumped into the shower; what else could I do? I wasn’t a morning shower person, but I had to wash the ick off.

  A double knock on the door. “Are you all right?” Mom asked.

  I didn’t know what to say, so I pretended the running water was drowning her out. If I opened my mouth, tears would fall.

  “I’ll wait until you get out,” Mom yelled through the door.

  I was pretty much done. I wrapped a towel around my body and ignored my dripping hair. I thrust the bathroom door open before she walked away. “Mom.” My voice was weak as I held up my soiled panties so she could see the blood.

  “You got your period early. That’s not unusual.” She probably thought it was odd that I was shoving my dirty panties into her face, but I wanted her to look again.

  “No.” My voice cracked. I couldn’t control my tears. “I don’t know what happened.” That was a lie. Of course I knew, but I wasn’t going to tell Mom. She’d think I was on drugs. “There was this guy…” I was uncertain how to describe the experience. My encounter wasn’t exactly consensual, and yet it was. I didn’t know. I had wanted it, to some extent.

  But I couldn’t have stopped the seduction because of the magic.

  Her eyes widened as she saw my tears. “Oh, honey.” She pulled me into her arms. “How… when?” She smoothed my hair.

  Cystenian had stroked my hair.

  The dam broke, and I cried harder, my body convulsing against her shoulder.

  “Are you saying what I think you are?” She pulled away and looked at me. “Did this happen in the woods? Is that why you have these scratches?” Her questions continued to tumble out. “Was it someone you know? Did you call a boy from school…? Were you assaulted… sexually?”

  My mother. My protector. She would play her role, the one I could count on.

  I managed a nod, to which question, I wasn’t sure.

  She pulled her cell phone out of her front pocket. Oh sugar, she was calling the police. 911.

  “Mom, this is not an emergency. You need to call the regular number.”

  “If a strange man was in the woods, I want it investigated. You could have been killed.” Her brow wrinkled. “You washed away the evidence.”

  Not all the evidence. I held up my panties, my white cotton, virginal panties. I would go out and buy scarlet, and print the word emrys on the backside.

  My mother, Jessica—as I referred to her on occasion when she was being unfair and I was playing the part of a spoiled daughter—snatched the underwear out of my hands and took it to the kitchen. I watched her seal it in a baggie, as if she were a crime scene investigator. She heeded my advice and looked up the number for the police on her phone.

  I listened, halfheartedly, as she told them that an intruder had sexually assaulted her daughter.

  I couldn’t do anything else just now, nor did I know what to do, so I walked to the cupboard, pulled out a box of cereal, and rummaged for the milk in the fridge. I ate, standing at the kitchen sink, in my towel, looking out the window into the backyard.

  We were at least the length of a football field from the cliff in our newly built home on the bluffs. The small “development” had been started several years prior, and my mother, with the money from her divorce, up and bought this house. A world away from civilization. Okay, fifteen minutes at most. It wasn’t too bad. We had neighbors a quarter mile down the road.

  Mom didn’t care that we were a short drive from town. She loved the solitude.

  We’d only been here for a few years, and now I was ready to schlep off to college.

  I found myself wondering about the flying. I seriously had my priorities messed up. I shrugged. So my virtue had been taken.

  But I could fly. I grinned.

  I set my bowl in the sink and looked at my hands. They weren’t glowing as they’d been last night. I focused on the palms.

  Light, dang you. Light!

  Maybe I had to say a catchy phrase as movie characters did. Some of them were pretty hot. Atomic even. I’m sure I wasn’t anywhere near the temperature of the sun or I would have melted, but I was still sure I was pretty hot.

  I touched myself and made a sizzle sound.

  Mom hung up the phone. “What’re you doing?”

  “Huh?”

  “Never mind. Get dressed.” She shook her head. “They’re going to send someone up here. Don’t know how long it will take. Bring me the rest of your soiled clothes. Try to remember exactly what happened. I won’t make you recount it; heaven knows you’ll have to do that when they get here. Once will be enough.”

  I blushed. I never wanted to recount it—except in my dreams.

  SIX

  They came. Two deputies in brown took my statement. They didn’t ask for too many details. I sat on Mom’s old cream-colored designer couch that she’d lucked out and found at a yard sale. Yes, everything was cream.

  The deputies perched on the edge of respective armchairs, on account of their bulky belts. They asked me if I wanted to press charges. I stifled a smirk. Good luck finding him. I’d like to see them try. I gave a false description, hoping it didn’t resemble anyone I knew.

  I adamantly refused going to the hospital. I wasn’t even sure why we’d called the deputies. Perhaps just to ease Mom’s mind.

  Mom stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, squeezing her fists. “The man was in our woods, on our property. Can’t you send dogs to sniff out his trail? It makes me feel unsafe. It’s just my daughter and me.”

  “We can walk through your woods, but in this case, we wouldn’t call canine.” This deputy had a five o’clock shadow, even though, holy cow, it was 11:00 a.m. I had a feeling he added the “walk through” part to placate my mother.

  We went into the woods but didn’t know where to start. I didn’t know where I’d been. The walk through was pointless. I couldn’t fabricate a scene with scuffle marks. I acted as if it had been too dark last night for us to find anything.

  We hiked clear to the cliff.

  One deputy whistled. “Whew, ma’am. It’s a miracle your daughter didn’t fall off the edge.” He pushed at some loose stones with his foot. “Dumbest idea to build houses up here. Beautiful though.”

  I gazed over the yonder. With the harsh wind whipping my thin hair into my face and loose shards making the precipice a waiting disaster, my heart pounded. I felt wild inside, as I usually did
when looking over my cliff—wilder than my shy, outside composure ever revealed.

  I secretly thanked Mom for moving to the dangerous nowhere.

  Mom wouldn’t let me stay in the woods on the sun-scorched ledge. I wanted to look for any landmark for where I’d jumped, but she grabbed my arm and pulled me away.

  I followed her back to the house.

  And that was the end of that.

  SEVEN

  A little over a month later, the “event” was almost forgotten. I was ready to head to school for the fall and stay in a dorm at a local state college. An hour from home, but too far—my mother insisted—for me to drive every day.

  I packed up my bedroom, not wanting to leave a single thing for Mom to rummage through. Among the items I took to the crawl space in the attic were journals, cross-country ribbons, and my old letterman jacket. Typical things a girl might have.

  Why was I packing up my room when I was coming home on weekends?

  Because my encounter had changed me. I wasn’t that high school girl anymore. When I’d return for my first weekend home, I’d bring college memories.

  I reached for my phone. I poked the app for my calendar. Two days. I’d leave in two days. I slid my finger down the screen, scrolling the calendar back through summer. There was the week of the beach trip. I spent the weekend at my aunt’s house after that. It was brutal. I suffered with horrifying cramps the entire time, too embarrassed to explain why I felt like crap. I counted the days since then—all the way to that fateful night when I’d flung myself over the cliff. Five weeks ago on a lovely Tuesday.

  I sighed.

  I hadn’t forgotten my angel. Cystenian’s face was burned into my memory and every glorious second of that night. From the exhilaration of jumping off the cliff to the eruption of my wings to the journey into another world.

  My adventure didn’t seem that terrifying or unusual now. How could I say that? I acknowledged everything that had happened with absolute clarity.

  That’s because it felt like a half-forgotten dream.

  But someday I wanted to hunt down those blasted fae.

  I kind of didn’t know whether to bless them or curse them. Then I remembered the pain and torment in Cystenian, in his face.

  He hadn’t wanted to take my virtue.

  I decided—I’d kill those fae if given the chance.

  But I had no idea what they looked like. Were they tiny like pixies? Or human-sized?

  Their pint-sized laughter haunted me, giving me the impression that they were small enough to creep into my house unnoticed.

  I shivered.

  So unnerving.

  Still browsing my calendar, I stopped my finger on today.

  Five weeks since Cystenian?

  I counted. Six-and-a-half weeks since my dreadful cramps.

  I was late. Over two weeks late. My cycle should have come.

  I groaned. This can’t be happening. I rubbed my brow. Mom had thought that my period had come early when I’d shown her my dirty underwear. I almost wished it had.

  I’d have to tell her. What choice did I have?

  Great way to start the school year.

  This would kill her. I should head out to the garage, grab a shovel, and start digging her grave.

  Or my grave.

  I’d wait to tell her until after I left for school. I was, after all, just late. Being late didn’t mean a thing. Who cared if I was spelled by fae? Surely they weren’t trying to make me pregnant.

  What if that had been their ultimate objective?

  Those sick bastards.

  But why? That line of thinking was so ridiculous.

  I walked to the kitchen and popped open the laptop to do an internet search. Pregnancy. More specifically, signs of being pregnant. The most definite response, right after missed period, was breast changes.

  I gently prodded them. I’d put a bra on this morning because they felt full—heavier. They were tender. Hmmm, but almost like right before my period started. Sore breasts were not a definitive test.

  I’d just have to drive to town and buy a test.

  Thankfully, Mom was pulling a twelve-hour shift at the hospital. What a coincidence. She was a labor and delivery nurse. She could have told me exactly what signs to look for had she been here.

  I grabbed my purse and drove down the winding road, priding myself on how levelheaded I was. If tears had to come, they’d come later, after I read the verdict. I stopped at the closest pharmacy and prayed no one I recognized was in the store.

  I can’t believe I’m doing this.

  I milled around the aisles. Pregnancy tests were right next to the condoms. Of course. I guessed they didn’t carry those in the realm of Emira. Was that place even real? I’d only seen a meadow in the woods. I could have been anywhere.

  Maybe I had been drugged, had dreamed the whole event, and had been sexually assaulted.

  Gross. That was one sure way to give myself the heebie-jeebies.

  Would I be okay if I was carrying Cystenian’s child?

  I had no idea.

  Would I ever see him again?

  There were too many questions. Best find out if I was pregnant first.

  I waited until a feeble old lady finished picking up her prescription and then whipped by the shelf as casually as I could and grabbed the box that was in the middle price range. I didn’t want to grapple with the verdict of the cheapest one, but it wasn’t worth the price of the expensive one. The real reason people took these things was they were too anxious to wait. If I wasn’t pregnant, my period would eventually come regardless.

  I had to know. I was leaving in two days. I couldn’t just wait and see.

  EIGHT

  I sat in the bathroom, on the toilet lid, staring.

  Staring at the pee stick hovering on the sink’s edge.

  Two lines. Two pink lines.

  I blinked. Slowly.

  I looked at the instructions. The lines wouldn’t change. That was it. I had peed on a stick and three minutes later I was a hung woman.

  Mechanically, I picked up the test box and its damning evidence and took it to the trash outside.

  I kept walking. Right out to my cliff. Right down my well-worn trail. It was familiar. Comforting. Well, it should have been.

  If I weren’t having the child of my alien lover.

  Yes, alien. Cystenian was from a completely separate planet, he’d said.

  Somehow I kept my breaths steady as I hiked. Somehow I kept myself at a walk.

  You will hold yourself together.

  I hadn’t been out to the cliff ledge since that day with my mother and the deputies. I held my arms out as I stood on its edge.

  I wasn’t committing suicide. My jumping was not committing suicide—

  Because I was going to fly.

  What if I’d only flown because the fae had spelled me?

  I hesitated, with my arms wide. Pieces of slate toppled off the edge as I shifted my feet. Looking down, down, far below, my eyes found the faint trail of the stream.

  I dropped my arms. My shoulders slumped. Damn the hell out of everything! That “flight” was how this all started.

  Screw everything. Screw those wretched fae!

  I would fly.

  “Okay, hawk wings. Don’t let me die.”

  I stepped out into nothing.

  Just stepped out. Calmly.

  Stupidly.

  Regrettably.

  That’s strange. I don’t have that same cartoon feeling of running in the air.

  My legs were straight. Rigid.

  I dropped like a rock.

  “No, no, no! Light! Catch fire! Burst into flames!” No, not those phrases. They weren’t how I grew wings last time.

  I stretched out my arms. I’m a hawk diving for a mouse. A hawk soaring. I shut my eyes, heedless of the encroaching ground. Push out, fire. Push!

  My arms tingled.

  “Ignite!”

  I peeked. The stream was too close.
>
  I’m going to die! The hawk wings were part of the fae spell, weren’t they? Well, good job. You achieved what you wanted—my stupidity.

  But why would they go through all that trouble of spelling me and getting me pregnant just to watch me die now?

  “Where are you?”

  I only hoped some of those creatures were near me, keeping tabs on me, and would save me.

  I felt hot, suddenly, and without warning. Very hot, like strip-my-clothes-off hot. Was I reaching atomic?

  Then it happened. Fire flared past my arms and streaked behind me. I screeched with glee, but the stream bed that was clear enough to see left me with no time to celebrate.

  I flapped, desperately, clipping low shrubs along the bank. Clipping them? More like singeing them, because my arms didn’t touch them. My fire wings spread much wider than what I could reach.

  I skimmed along, pulling, and begging to gain altitude. I dipped dangerously close to the water and worried that my wings would blink out if they became wet.

  Finally, and perspiring like a shirtless bricklayer in the sun, I achieved the impossible, once again.

  I was flying!

  This was definitely real.

  I practiced my technique. Cystenian had felt so sure when he’d been flying. He said it was second nature. After rising, I dropped low and glided over the stream as he had.

  I should stay below the tree line so people can’t see me.

  I didn’t think about my destination, but it was clear where I was headed. Were the fae leading me to the boulder? I bypassed the place where Cystenian and I had landed and flew right to the bank by the rock.

  As I settled awkwardly on my feet, my wings winked out. I nearly fell to my knees. Though leery that the trickster fae might be lurking, I had to try the portal.

  I had to get through and find Cystenian.

  The glen was cool. Summer heat couldn’t penetrate in the shadows of the trees. I stepped up to the boulder. My hand shook. This might be it. The final evidence that Emira existed, that the night had been real.

  My palm spread flat over solid rock.

  I rubbed my hand over the rough surface.

  Closed, clearly. “No. No. NO!”