“Who are you?”
“Caoimhe is my true name. It means ‘kind and tender’ in Gaelic. Deliciously ironic, wouldn’t you say?”
“What have you done to Miss Claribel?” Skye despised the trembling fear in her voice. Weak, she was so stupid and weak that she couldn’t wrap her mind around the evidence in front of her.
“There is no Claribel, never has been. What kind of half-witch, half-fairy are you? I expected more of Rowena Watters’ daughter.”
Skye stiffened at the insult and came out of the horrified stupor. She grabbed one of the bronze objects lying on the ground from the spilled box and flung it at Claribel’s face with all her strength.
Claribel raised one of the wands in her hand and a stream of blue light vaporized the object in mid-flight, as easy as if she were swatting at a fly. She smiled in a twisted grimace, shredding the mask of dreamy Claribel.
“I’ve heard the rumors of how special you are. Show me what you’ve got.” The wand lifted again, this time aimed dead center at Skye’s chest.
Skye reached in her coat pocket and found the charm bag of herbs Kyle gave her. This better work, it was all she had. She quickly scrambled to her feet and charged Claribel. She opened the bag and flung its contents in Claribel’s face.
Claribel was overcome with a fit of coughing and sneezing. Bless Kyle, he knew his herbs.
Skye ran for the stairs. She tried taking them two at a time and fell halfway to freedom. She heard Claribel’s labored breathing behind her, not coughing quite as much now. A quick glance showed Claribel at the foot of the stairs behind her. Skye scrambled up, reached the top of the steps, grabbed the handle to the closed door, and yanked.
It was locked. She pounded the door in frustration and screamed. “Help! Is anyone out there?” More pounding. Skye risked a look back.
The smile on Claribel’s face terrified her more than being chased by the pack of phoukas.
“Won’t you come down and join me, my dear? We can have us a nice long chat. I want to hear all about your so-called legendary abilities.”
Skye looked around wildly for a weapon or a way out. A glance over the stair’s railing revealed a long drop to the concrete floor below.
Trapped.
Fly you idiot. But her wings were bound. She flung off the coat, pulled the shirt over her head, and hastily started unraveling the miles of Ace bandaging she’d used to hide the wings.
A maniacal, high-pitched laughter erupted. “Oh, this is too precious, darling. I’ll just wait right here for your unveiling. I want to see you in all your half fairy glory.”
Skye hesitated, then went back to unpeeling the binding. She was out of options. If this didn’t work . . .
Free at last, she rippled her back muscles, praying her wings weren’t bent and damaged from their makeshift imprisonment. Wearing only a halter bra from the waist up, the air was frigid.
Loud clapping from Claribel. “Go ahead; give me a demonstration of your flying.”
Skye jumped.
She plummeted straight down, the floor now only a few feet below. She uselessly flailed her arms and legs before muscle memory returned to her back muscles and her wings flapped. She landed awkwardly and fell to her knees.
More laughter. “What fun.” Claribel ambled away from the stairs, smiling, taking her time. “We can do this all night. You run and try to hide, and then I’ll catch you.” She raised the wand again. “Like this.”
A bolt of blue lightning struck, this time at the ground by Skye’s feet. She jumped and spun to avoid it. Another bolt fired. Again, she twisted and jumped in a humiliating, pain-avoidance dance.
Cat and mouse.
Skye took off, half-running, half-flying around the storeroom with Claribel laughing and walking behind, not even out of breath. Boxes, books and knick-knacks fell everywhere as Skye bumped into the metal shelves housing The Green Fairy stock. Even with her mincing little steps, Claribel was always only a few paces behind.
Fly higher, that’s what she needed to do. Skye was so used to being grounded, dependent on two legs to move around, she forgot she had wings to soar.
Skye flew to the lone window, high in the southwest corner of the basement, and peered through the narrow iron burglar bars, hoping someone or something would be out there. “Help!” she screamed.
Hundreds of glowing green eyes mocked her cry. The Dark Fae creatures were lined up along the side of the next building, on top of trashcans, and covering the alley street, as if lined up in a theatre to watch a show.
They had come to watch her die.