“I will accompany you,” Thomas said, his voice cold.
The bard’s stride was stiff with reproach as he accompanied Aran to the clearing of the Dark Court. Still, Aran would far prefer to have the bard angry at him than the Dark Queen. Thomas wanted him to renege on his deal, but no way did the bard have enough power to protect Aran from the queen.
The purple bonfire flared up as they passed, and the noise of the feasting revelers seemed louder than usual. Harsh and chiming laughter filled the air, underscored by the sound of a furious reel played on fiddle and drum.
The queen reclined upon her throne, her face lit with a terrible mirth.
“Well done, mortal,” she cried, beckoning to Aran with her sharp-nailed fingers. “You have saved my realm.”
“Your majesty.” Aran performed his court bow, complete with the cloak swirl at the end.
Half of him was proud, but the other half wondered if he’d made a mistake. Thomas’s reaction pointed to the second. Aran swallowed. He’d get his treasure and duck out of there. Whatever other issues were going on were the Dark Court’s to deal with.
“Come closer,” the queen said.
He took a step toward the throne.
“Closer,” she said again.
Heart racing, Aran walked the three steps to the foot of the throne. The Dark Queen reached one hand and gently ran her nails down his cheek. Her eyes were full of endless midnight.
“Such a pretty one,” she said. “A pity I have to let you go.”
“Yeah. You do have to let me go. And pay me.” Aran forced the words out, trying to keep himself from falling into the queen’s fathomless eyes.
She laughed, the sound like ice shattering on a frozen lake.
“Ladyslipper, bring his reward,” she said.
One of the pale faerie maidens left her place beside the throne. She carried a black velvet sack in her hands, and wordlessly offered it to Aran.
He took it, surprised at its weight. Anticipation firing his fingers, he wrenched open the mouth of the sack, and saw the glint of gold inside. Oh yeah. He was going to be set.
“Many thanks, my lady,” he said, bowing again to the queen. “It was a pleasure working for you.”
“The pleasure was entirely ours, mortal,” she said, her expression filled with secret amusement. “I presume you wish to return to your world now?”
“Wait.” Thomas stepped forward. “BlackWing must remain in the realm. What if something goes awry with the gateway?
The look the Dark Queen gave her bard made Aran shiver.
“Methinks there is more danger of that should the boy stay,” she said, her voice treacherously soft. “The gateway is precisely as it needs to be, and you will meddle no more, Bard Thomas.”
Thomas hung his head, weary defeat in the stoop of his shoulders.
“I’m ready to go home,” Aran said.
The bard glanced up at his words. “Safely home,” he said.
“Right.” Aran said. “I’d like to be safely returned to my world.”
The queen’s mouth twitched with displeasure, and he wondered what fate Thomas had just helped him avoid. He tried to catch the bard’s eye in thanks, but Thomas refused to look at him. Fine. It wasn’t as if they’d become fast friends or anything.
“Fare thee well, BlackWing,” the Dark Queen said.
“I’m counting on it,” he said, hefting the sack and hearing the satisfying clink of coins.
The queen lifted her hands and frigid blue light streamed from her palms. She gestured, and the light enveloped Aran. It swirled about him like a blizzard. He caught a few last glimpses of the Dark Court whirling past, and then doubled over in pain as an icy knife stabbed him in the gut.
He fell to his knees, gasping, one hand going to his stomach, the other clasped tight about his reward. Had she tried to kill him?
The cold light faded, leaving Aran in darkness. Where the hell was he? He rubbed his shirt, and didn’t feel any blood or injury. Pain had been the queen’s parting gift.
Slowly, he took a ragged breath and tasted a familiar, musty scent on the back of his tongue. He fumbled in the cloak’s pocket and pulled out his tablet. Flicked it on.
The screen light illuminated the lumpy couch in the Chowneys’ garage, the scabby walls and stained concrete. Relief flared through him, and he sat back on his heels. He was back in the real world.
Right behind the relief came sheer, bone-numbing exhaustion. Aran nudged the gold-filled sack under the couch, then powered off his tablet, wrapped the cloak tightly around him, and barely made it horizontal before his eyes closed and he crashed into sleep.
The second she got back to the hotel from the concert, Spark hurried through the quiet halls and rapped on Niteesh’s door. She figured he’d still be up, watching mindless vids. The late-night hush was punctuated by faint snores, and the hallway smelled like bleach and perfume, the same as a million other hotels. Even the carpeting was one of about five different variations—this one in gold and red.