City of Fae

Miles manhandled me from the car at Chancery Lane station, marched me through the foyer, and through the throngs of people. When we were stopped at the ticket gates, he flashed his Met Police badge and we were waved on through. Down he guided me, down the trundling escalators, down the tunnels, down where the dry air cracked my lips, and where the trains thundered. His hand on my arm, he steered me away from the people, through tunnels where nobody walked. Out footfalls echoed off tiled walls. Under the glare of the artificial lighting, Miles appeared to age, and his hand on my arm trembled. There were no smiles now, no sideways leers.

He pulled me up short in the middle of a pedestrian tunnel. I looked around us, expecting … something. Behind, as in front, the dirty white walls of the tunnel curved away. The ground beneath my feet shuddered and the lights flickered.

Miles’s white-knuckle grip released. “This is as far as I can take you. I’ve done my part.” Unlocking the cuffs, he stumbled back a few steps. “Sweet dreams, Alina.” He turned on his heel and marched away, footfalls echoing long after he’d turned the corner out of sight.

Rubbing my wrists, I turned on the spot and eyed the other end of the tunnel. Besides some graffiti and a peeled advertising poster, it looked harmless enough. If I’d learned anything about the fae, it was surely that looks could be deceiving. Free, as far as I could tell, I turned away from the unexplored tunnel and broke into a jog, back the way I’d come. Whatever the reason Miles had left me there, I wasn’t sticking around to find out. As I rounded the corner, the tunnel turned from the everyday into a funnel of cobwebs, leading down into bottomless darkness. I reeled back. That hadn’t been there before … Keeping my eyes on the dark heart of the web, I twisted, my feet already carrying me away.

Black and red tree branches snapped on either side of me. I spun, a scream lodged in my throat—not branches, legs. The queen reared up, legs arched wide, seeking. Her swollen body glistened and her fang-filled smile cut across her monstrous face. Behind her, sprawled facedown and motionless in a pool of thick blood, lay Miles. Wide, glassy eyes gazed toward the middle distance. Dead.

The queen hissed, and lunged.





Chapter Fifteen


Fear is a terrible thing. It cripples, wrenches away all hope and buries the mind deep inside a place where instinct reigns. The damp bricks beneath me, the slight metallic taste in the air, the rippling and hiss of a dozen arachnids and their writhing pitter-patter where they crawled inside my clothes. I knew exactly where I was. Knew I was surrounded, buried, smothered. The underground reservoir. Terror clamped its icy grip around me, shutting down all but my most basic functions. Breathe. Spiders scurried over my face, their twitching legs delicate, but their numbers formidable. I breathed though my nose, keeping my mouth pinched shut. Make this not be real.

I heard—no, sensed—her approach, sensed her spiders fan outward, cresting in a wave of millions upon millions of tiny bodies, before they broke over me. Her carapace creaked. The fine hairs covering her body whispered as she swept through her millions, and her legs tapped out a staccato beat. Fast, irregular, coming closer, heavier, louder.

The last of the spiders scuttled away and for the first time in what felt like forever my body was my own again. I didn’t want to open my eyes. Her gaze settled over me like a veil of cobwebs. I knew she stood over me. If I didn’t look, she wouldn’t be real. None of this was real. Just a hallucination. Bespellment. Please, God, let it be bespellment, let me be mad.

I cracked one eye and witnessed the monstrous body of the red and black queen. She wavered on the eight legs craned over me, swaying slightly from side to side. Red pupil-less eyes peered down at me; unblinking, she smiled. She always smiled, to make way for her crescent fangs.

“You’re not real.” Even though I could see her, smell her oily excretion, hear the rustle of her fine hairs, my fragile thoughts wouldn’t acknowledge her.

“I am not real?” she echoed, her voice fractured, brittle, shattered, and forced back together to create sounds that merely mimicked speech. My stomach heaved. She grinned.

One of her glossy black cantilever legs probed toward me and nudged my shoulder. Grimacing, I turned my face away. Not real. Not real.

“You had served me well, until now. Such is the way of things in Under. Borrowed draíocht will never be enough … Never.” Her legs rippled, carrying her backward. She turned away from me, scuttling toward one of the arches.

Propping myself up on an elbow I scanned my surroundings. The reservoir floor glistened with rivers of spiders, undulating to an internal beat like poison-rich veins feeding into her world. Shadows sagged and pooled among the brick archways. Candles flickered and danced. If those candles died, I’d be plunged into darkness.

“Where’s Reign?” My voice rolled over and over into the cavernous space.

“Ah, my Sovereign, disobedient youngling. The Authority have him … They will set him on the correct path, or I will.” She hissed and turned back toward me, scuttling forward, bearing down on me. She loomed, shortened appendages below her human arms reaching for me. I scrambled back, kicking my heels against the ground. I didn’t want to look, didn’t want to see her, but couldn’t tear my horrified stare away.