It was the fifth knife that Wes had thrown without success towards the bull’s-eye target. He normally had no trouble, and often would go outside to “practice” and impress the girls at the same time. That had all changed, and he was glad that on this drizzly day he had no audience.
Orzan was gone, he and Lyssa had killed him with the Everspell that was inside her, and he had helped her do that. Orzan had ruled the Fae world with fear and controlled the darker side of Avalon, but the Rebels had destroyed that, and a new order was taking shape. The world of Fae was changing, but Wes wasn’t changing with it.
“Wes!” Lizzi’s voice rang through the mist that had turned to a steady drizzle. “Elijah made chicken and potatoes. Hurry up or there won’t be any left!”
“Coming!” he yelled over his shoulder as he pried loose the last of knives from his failed attempts to hit the target. His mind was elsewhere, and he couldn’t get over the thought of Lyssa.
She was different, but of course she was different to him, he had read her diary. He didn’t know that’s what it was, until it was too late.
He couldn’t help but smile remembering the look on her face when she found out—if only she knew what he was really thinking. She was an amazing person that did amazing things in a world she didn’t know she belonged to. Wes wasn’t sure if he could be as brave as she was. She loved her father very much, and that’s what drove her to do what she did. Wes never had the chance to know his family because they along with his village, was destroyed by Drakes—the fire people.
“If you get sick, don’t blame me,” Lizzi said, uncovering a plate of chicken and potatoes mixed with carrots. “I’m not taking care of you if you do, and you are packing your own things,” Lizzi sat across from him with a plate of chocolate cookies in front of her.
Wes shoved in a spoonful of potatoes into his mouth. They had an even amount of butter and salt on them that was delicious. Elijah could take the simplest of ingredients and make them spectacular.
“I don’t have many things.” Wes began to cut up his chicken as he felt Lizzi’s eyes on him.
“I can’t believe you didn’t go to the Ivory Shore where all the girls went.” Lizzi munched on a cookie.
When Orzan’s power dissolved, the Rebels came out of their hiding and for their brave efforts were given the luxury of making a future for themselves. Some went to schools, other realms, or joined the sentryship. Sentries were the guardians of the Fae world. Their duties were centuries old, but still remained the same—protect the Fae world.
“I can’t believe you ate all of those cookies,” Wes put his fork down and let out a satisfying belch.
“Yeah, well, they were good.” Lizzi got up, and took his plate and headed towards the kitchen.
Wes held his glass in his hand and stared into the fire.
“Honestly, Wes,” Lizzi said as she stopped in the blackened doorway. “We are the last ones to be here, and I’m leaving in a week for Avalon. I’m going to be a clothing designer and one day work at Vine, and,” she looked at him with her sympathetic eyes. “We have to move on—all of us. The Rebels are no more.”
Wes went to bed that night with Lizzi’s words echoing in his head like a bell. The Rebels were gone because the threat of Orzan was gone, but what was he going to do now? He had never thought beyond that, and now he had to. For a moment, Wes wished that the threat of Orzan still plagued them—at least he knew what he had to do. It was simple: fight, practice fighting, and make a strong resistance. Wes thrived on being assigned missions that were dangerous and impressing the rest of the Faes with the marvels of his actions. But that audience was gone, and he stood in an empty theater. Lizzi stayed as long as she did for him, and he couldn’t postpone her plans anymore. He had to make a decision to not only give him a direction, but to give Lizzi peace of mind.
“Deravon said you can join him at the palace as a sentry there.” Elijah suggested as he put pots and pans carefully into wood crates. “He said you could stay with him in his apartment for a while until you found something.”
“A mock sentry?” He questioned with raised eyebrows. “I’ve been a Rebel for three years, and now you’re suggesting that I guard a palace that harmless tourists visit by the thousands every year?” He flicked at a crumb on the table shooting it through the air to the floor.
“It’s not just keeping tourists in order, it’s an honor to keep a tradition living and breathing in our world,” Elijah was a giant, but with his rounded features and gentle mannerisms, he was a likeable one. “Look at me,” he said with opened arms and a smile. “I’m going to be a pastry chef. Now, there’s a miracle. I’ll be the only giant in the school, and I plan on opening my own shop one day.”
Wes smiled. “You’ll be a good one, Elijah,”
Elijah nailed the lid to the crate that contained his precious pots and pans, and then handed the hammer back to Wes. “You my young Fae have a world of opportunities waiting for you. You have to let the past go and move on, and the way I see it,” he said picking up the crate that would take two strong Fae to carry, “Not only do many tourist visit the palace every year, but there are many young, lovely female Faes included in that bunch. Trust me, ladies love to be entertained by heroes,” he said with a wink.
Just on that alone would have encouraged him to be a mock sentry. But something had changed, something he never wanted had changed and things would never be the same again.
Wes stood in the training yard where all the young Rebels would perfect their abilities. He closed his eyes and remembered the day Lyssa had spotted him there through the crowd of onlookers. He was using a sword—his favorite weapon. He knew she hadn’t planned on seeing him, but she did, and he took the advantage to impress her. But Lyssa wasn’t impressed. Of course she wasn’t, because she wasn’t like the other Fae girls Wes usually went for. Lyssa was different, and that different confused and intrigued him at the same time.
A sudden breeze rushed past him as water fell from the leaves of the trees it had clung to. Wes opened his eyes to a bright, flickering light through the thick vegetation. It was just about summer and the forest was at its fullest. The light traveled quickly and fluidly around and under tree limbs until it faded, and someone stood among the foliage straing at him.
Wes stood frozen in awe at the delicate looking woman with long, red-gold hair. She smiled at him as Wes rubbed his eyes—she looked exactly like Zoey. But Zoey died, or at least no body was found, but she was presumed dead at the hand of Orzan.
She smiled. “Wes, it’s me, Zoey, and we are in danger.”
She sounded like Zoey and looked like Zoey, but it could be a trick being played on him by a renegade entity or a pixie. Wes slid his hand to the small dagger he always kept on his belt.
Her eyes took notice of his movements. “That’s the dagger I gave to you when you came to live with the Rebels,” she said, lifting her eyes to his. “You immediately put it on your belt and never go anywhere without it. You may even sleep with it for all I know.”
Wes didn’t pull the dagger out, but kept his hand on it. Pixies and entities have ways of knowing private information to get what they want.
“Wes, it’s me Zoey, and I’m not dead.” Her eyes softened. “I’m in limbo, and risking my life to speak to you. You are the one I could always trust…it involves Lyssa…I know how you feel about her—you read her diary.”
No one else could know that, not even a deviant entity or pixie could go that far. Wes was looking at Zoey or at least an image of her.
“Zoey,” meekly, Wes said her name as he removed his hand from the dagger, stepped closer to her, and was just about to yell to alert Elijah and Lizzi when Zoey motioned for him to stop.
“I’m here, and I’m not here.” Her eyes filled with weakness. “I’m on The Isle of Stars, and I can’t leave. But I have an important mission for you, Wes, and I know you can handle it.”
Wes felt a spark in him ignite, filling him with the burn of a mission he thought were all but extinct.
“What do you want me to do?” Wes asked as Zoey looked at the ground and started to fall to her knees. “Zoey?” His voice echoed with concern towards the fading image of her.
“I’m weak, but not dead. Lyssa must know that she’s still in danger. Orzan isn’t done—he wants Avalon, and his power is strong enough through his sister and…his son.”
“Son?” Wes questioned as Zoey fell to the floor, image fading. “Orzan has a son? Where?”
Zoey didn’t answer as two hands grabbed her and lifted her up as her image faded like a ghost.
Wes stood there for a moment hoping Zoey would come back, but she didn’t.
“Orzan has a son.” Wes rubbed his chin wondering who it was, and where he lived.
He looked at the spot where Zoey had appeared, and cautiously went over to it. He kicked at the ground, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Her mirrored image was there, but just like a ghost, all traces of magic were gone.
Wes had to tell Elijah and Lizzi. Orzan had a son that could take over where his father left off, and if Lyssa was still in danger of Orzan…
Wes turned to sprint as fast as he could back to the compound, when he ran into something hard as a brick wall. Pain shot through his nose and forehead as he smacked into it full force. He tried to see what or who it was, but his vision went dark. He thought it might be Elijah, but it was too solid—like rock.
Wes bounced to the ground as the sound of screeching encircled him. He knew what the unmistakable sound was—landmerrows—creatures of the earth that can be either friend or foe, depending on who employed them at the time. And since Merlin had gone to Arrinia, and the rebels were no more, landmerrows served someone else. Wes hoped that someone wasn’t Orzan’s son.
With eyes still out of focus, and blood pouring from his nose, Wes tried to reach for his dagger when a strong hand clasped around his wrist.
“I am no enemy to you, Fae. We share a common concern,” said a familiar voice that Wes thought he’d never hear again. “Avalon’s battles are not over.” It was Dane, the Drake that brought Lyssa to the rebels. But Wes didn’t totally trust Drakes as their past with the Fae had always been clouded.
“Where are you? I can’t see,” Wes said through the spattering of blood from his mouth and nose. Dane kept his hand around his wrist as Wes could hear the landmerrow’s vines that acted as arms for the creatures, curled and flop on the ground all around him.
“Fae were always the delicate creatures.” Dane’s voice sounded disappointed mixed with a slight enjoyment.
“Let go of me.” Wes demanded as hissing erupted behind him. “I didn’t hit you that hard—why can’t I see you?!” Frustration filled him.
“Like I said, Fae are delicate creatures that managed to survive by several strokes of luck in these lands.” Dane’s voice sounded amused as more hissing erupted all around Wes.
He tried to pull his hands loose from Dane’s grip. “I’m not here to try to hurt you. I’m here because the one thing we share in common is the well-being of one important Fae—Lyssa.”
Wes quit trying to free himself and stared straight ahead into the blackness that filled his eyes. Before he could say anything, something whizzed through the air that sounded like angry hornets.
Dane let go of Wes, and he tried to get up, but Dane shoved him back down with his foot. Screeching landmerrows surrounded him, and it sounded like a battle had suddenly came down upon them. Darts, he could only guess that’s what they were, shot by him, some barely brushed past Wes.
Could it be Orzan’s son or some other creature employed by him that was attacking them? Wes’s vision was slowly coming back, and he scanned the area to find everything had suddenly fallen into silence. The whole commotion of battle dissolved just like Zoey’s image. Where had they gone, or was he hallucinating everything? Gingerly he touched his swollen nose—no he had run into something. Dane was just here with landmerrows as his backup.
Wes stood up, and started to head back, when suddenly something stung him in the back of the neck. He fell to the ground face-first, and knew no more.
“No, that will never do,” Megan’s mother said.
“But it’s perfect,” Megan looked at her reflection in the mirror.
“You need something that says royalty, Casperinia.” Megan scowled at the sound of her true name. It was her Banshee name, and she hated it. Megan had grown accustomed to the sound of her Etherling name—Megan—it had a better sound and was attached to a life she’d rather be living than one filled with appointments, rules, engagements…it never ended.
“I don’t care what you think is royal, and what isn’t.” She twisted and turned in the dress that hugged her every perfect curve.
Megan looked over her shoulder and smiled at herself in the mirror as her mother gazed disapprovingly behind her.
“It doesn’t matter what I think is royal or not—it isn’t a personal preference.” Her mother stepped in front of her and looked up at her daughter. “You are royal, Casperinia, and you can’t change that.” Her eyes shifted to the slinky, black, glittering, and perfect dress. “It isn’t about what you like; it’s about what is expected.” Her blue eyes held their steady gaze on Megan. “And you need a different dress, and you will wear the blue one.”
Megan’s lips curled with distaste. “No.”
With a flick of her mother’s fingers, a store attendant popped up behind her.
“Do you need assistance?” The wide-eyed girl asked.
“We will take the blue dress we tried on. Alterations will be done at our residence. Please schedule an appointment with one of your best seamstresses,” she said in a cool tone as the clerk left with a quick nod.
Megan knew there was no use in arguing with her mother.
“I expect you to be on your best behavior.” She looked at Megan who gazed sadly into the mirror at the dress she’d rather be wearing. “Look,” her mother’s voice turned soft as she stepped closer to Megan. “What we want and what is expected of us are two different things. We must compromise our wants from our duty as representatives of the Banshee race. We hold many in our confidence, and that, you never want to destroy—especially now.” She raised her eyebrows at Megan. “I need to have you presentable at the conference—it will be my chance, and I need all the ammunition I can get.”
Megan gazed hard at herself in the mirror after her mother excused herself. Megan was a Banshee that was good at executing spells, nearly had her call down good that could control the winds, and had fallen in love with an Etherling. She wasn’t princess material, and never had been, but since the Muse brothers were gone in what the media claimed to be a tragic accident, Megan knew differently.
The Fae world was changing, and her mother wanted a piece of it for the Banshee race.
Rain had steadily fell from the lavender sky since she arrived at Vine—the famous designer of the rich and famous of Avalon. Her creations were worn by many, and even had rumored to be worn in the Etherworld—the place Megan had a normal teenager’s life, and had fallen in love with Craig Hartford.
Megan smiled at the thought of him when they were at the rebels’ compound and played fetch-the-stick with his pet mog. It was such a simple thing to fall in love, Megan thought. One her mother took away and deemed it un-Banshee-princess like—she was a princess and always under her mother’s thumb.
“Casperinia!” A voice pierced through her like a spear from out of nowhere as she approached the black and silver carriage parked in front of the dress store. “What are you wearing to the conference this year?” A man, short in stature, asked flashing a camera in Megan’s face.
“I…” She shielded her eyes from the light of his picture-taking as more camera-toting Fae joined him in a flock of photographers.
“All of you—move!” Boomed the voice of Mimir as he got out of the gleaming carriage.
He towered over the crowd like a dark cloud descending over a flock of frightened sheep. Megan had to smile as their picture taking ceased.
“Princess,” he said softly in his deep voice as he took Megan gently by the arm, and guided her towards the carriage just as a brave photographer clicked a picture.
With a quick grasp of Mimir’s hand, the camera was snatched from the photographer’s hand. Mimir’s green eyes glared at the Fae with emerald flames. Even his black, wavy hair pulled back and held securely at the nape of his neck, seemed to curl tighter like a snake readying itself to strike. The Fae cowered as Mimir crumpled the large camera in his Giant hand, all the time glaring with a scowl.
Plastic, glass, and other camera parts sifted through his hands to the stone pavement in small chunks. At this point, most of the other photographers took off not risking their lives with the temperament of a Giant. Megan couldn’t help but to smile at the man as his face turned red.
“I just got that camera!” He shouted towards Mimir that looked unconcerned as he brushed his hands together, and flicked the remaining camera parts from them. “Ooo, you will hear about this!” His face turned even redder. “You,” he pointed his finger at Mimir, “Will. Hear. About. This!” His tone grew more threatening with each word.
Mimir pulled out his sunglasses, appeared calm as he let out a moan-grumble as he put on the glasses.
The Fae still had his finger extended, when Mimir quickly glanced in each direction, grabbed the Fae’s finger, and it snapped like a twig.
“I didn’t break your camera,” Mimir said, as the man yelled out in pain holding it.
“Mimir, let’s just go,” Megan said, stepping beside him.
“You fell and broke your camera the way I saw it. You should watch where you are going.”
“Really, Mimir,” Megan slid her hand through the crook of his elbow. “Let’s just go.”
Mimir nodded as they left the Fae kneeling on the ground holding his finger as they got in the carriage. Megan slid in the back seat as Mimir closed the door. She looked over her shoulder just as a photographer came out of Vine and clicked a picture of them leaving the scene with the injured Fae on the sidewalk.
Megan turned around as the carriage with its white, leather interior, and new smell, sped off with Mimir humming a tune.
Sidhe Hills was a gated community of the wealthy, famous and important people of Avalon. Megan was new to this area as he mother wanted to be “closer to the action” as she called it. Banshees lived in a designated area called Aibell. It was a small area surrounded by forests of tall trees with several villages dotted among the forest.
Megan didn’t miss her home in Aibell. It was beautiful, yes, but it wasn’t the like the Etherworld.
You could go anywhere in the Etherworld, be anyone you wanted to be, and no one knew she was a Banshee. She had many guys there, and all of them she liked, but one stood out to her and did something to her that she couldn’t explain.
Tempted to use a spell on him so he wouldn’t stray from her, Megan almost did, but then that would alter his personality. And for the first time, she enjoyed flirting without the use of a spell.
Megan stood in front of her window and looked down at the perfectly clean street as the street cleaner whirled by with giant, circular brooms whisking away the tiny specks of dirt. This was a perfect community where order, predictability, and tradition were strong. There was no veering from it, and as her mother planned to make a place in Avalon for Banshees, Megan decided upon a plan of her own.
Megan could hear her mother’s voice ring through the house like a bell. She listened to it for a moment. It was strong as usual, but it also had an element of sophistication to it that Megan seldom heard.
“Yes, I would love to be seated by Ms. Snowbird. I’ve yet to meet her, and the opportunity is greatly appreciated… yes, of course…”
Megan suddenly caught the earthy scent of a spell as she eavesdropped outside her mother’s library.
“Thank you for all your help. And yes, please have my daughter sit beside her son.” She sounded like she was sharing a laugh with whoever she was talking to on her phone. “His name is Isaac, and he likes the color blue…”
A spell to get information, sway decisions…I’m tired of being a puppet.
Megan was her only daughter, and now she felt she was being used as a game piece.
“Thank you for all your help.” And the conversation ended with a beep and a satisfying sigh of accomplishment.
All the more reason to get out of here…
Megan crept upstairs, changed into jeans and a black, cloak-like cape with a large hood to cover her blonde hair. She slipped two spare spell vials into her deep pocket, and glided down the staircase.
The lingering scent of the spell was potent. Megan knew she had to use a strong one since her victim was a distance away. She knows a lot about spells and galmours, and they have been woven into her just like you’d teach manners to small children. But Megan wasn’t as good as her mother, but her mother isn’t exactly an open book. She taught Megan the basics and a few complicated ones, but nothing too complicated—that would be giving up power. And family or not, a Banshee never gives up her secrets.
Megan slipped out of the house easily. Mimir was watching a movie and her mother enjoying a glass of ambrosia from Shangri-La. Sidhe Hills was on a schedule where nothing unexpected happened in this gated community. No one suspicious or of questionable nature would be able to get past the guard, but that also meant Megan. She’d have to get out another way.
Spell vial number one would be used for this purpose.
Megan walked up to guard tower that was made of stone with large windows all the way around. A black, wrought iron gate stood like a giant in front of the guard tower, and through its intricate designs, Megan could see the dim, almost sickening green lights of Duegar District. She didn’t want to go there, but it was whispered through the grapevine that a Fae that knows of the ancient ways was there. Megan just wanted to talk to them, find out what she could on Banshee magic, and make it home by morning.
“Megan?” The guard quickly removed is feet from the counter and threw the magazine he was reading to the floor. “I-I wasn’t expecting anyone. Is there a problem?”
Megan gazed at him and smiled. “No, Zac…is it?” She curled her fingers around the bars and tipped her head to the side letting her hair fall around her face.
He swallowed hard as his eyes focused on her—she had him, and with hardly the cap off her vial.
Executing a spell wasn’t just chanting, it was simply letting yourself take control of what you want. Faes were as easily affected by Banshee magic, and Zac here, was no exception. Especially, since he already had a crush on Megan. This made her escape so much easier.
“Turn off the cameras.” Megan commanded in a playful tone.
Open the bottle just a little more…
“Because,” she put on her playful face. “I’m a bored girl locked up in this boring community and surrounded by boring Faes.” She leaned closer towards him, and like a magnet, Zac followed her cue. “What I want to do to you I don’t want recorded.”
“Shh,” she placed her finger through the bars to his lips.
Zac wasn’t much older than she, and under different circumstances, she might like to know him. But for now, he was the lock to the gate and to her freedom.
Zac clicked off the cameras and opened the door to the guard tower.
Megan stood outside and opened the bottle the rest of the way inside her pocket. She could smell its sweet scent that only she could pick up on. Zac stood in the doorway and smiled at her.
“Well, Miss Mourhill,” his left eyebrow arched under his wavy, black hair. “Do you want an invite or are you just going to attack me here?”
Maybe she used a little too much of her spell. He had an animalistic glow to his eyes that gazed at her like she was raw meat. Megan stepped back.
“I want you to lay on the ground and go to sleep.” She pointed to towards the ground.
He looked at where she was pointing. “What?”
He gave her a confused look—she didn’t totally have him. Megan cursed herself internally, and wished she had an ounce of her mother’s ability. She could do spells without the use of vials—I guess that’s why she’s the Queen.
Megan smiled and ran her finger along Zac’s shoulder to his elbow. “Get on the ground, it’s a surprise and close your eyes.”
Zac looked at the paved road then at her as she motioned for him to do it.
“Trust me Zac, I’m a Banshee.”
Without any more resistance, Megan slowly stepped away as she whispered over and over the command to go to sleep. And finally when he did, Megan opened the gate and slipped outside the protective gates towards Duegar district.
The smell of urine curled around Megan like one of her spells. The ground was slimy—like the bottom of a garbage dumpster. She pushed her grimace away she had for this place that made her skin crawl like it was covered with thousands of bugs. Megan had no clue if even the Fae was still, or ever here, and had to take the chance to find them.
She first heard of them while she accidently eavesdropped on her mother talking to magistrate of Aibell.
“They exist, yes, Louis, I’m sure…in Duegar District.”
Megan heard her mother speak to the magistrate several times concerning her move to Avalon. He opposed it, saying it was too dangerous and Avalon was unstable right now, but her head-strong mother who always knew best, ignored his warning.
Megan had never hated her mother, but never loved her mother in the way a daughter usually loved a mother. They cared for each other, but something, like a sudden autumn breeze that killed the last of the summer days, had parted them like an invisible blade. Megan felt in her gut she had to do something, and finding this illusive and possibly fictional Fae was a start.
She had no idea where she should start, who she should see, and what building they were in. All she knew was she had to be quick, and get back home before anyone noticed her missing.
Megan passed several buildings, some empty, some humming with music and voices. She kept her eyes forward, glancing sideways from time to time. Megan knew she had to move quickly through this muck of society. Why did this Fae even live here? Surely someone with rumored knowledge would live in a nicer place.
She looped through the streets passing by several Fae all huddled around doorways and in the shadows of decaying buildings. She felt their eyes on her, watching her like hungered animals. Megan knew she didn’t blend in, but she wasn’t going to be there long.
Just like a smack across the cheek, Megan caught a whiff of a spell. She stopped at an intersection, dimly lit as a mist of acid water fell from the sky. She took in the scent trying to find its direction. Could it be them? Her heart bounced in her chest.
She twirled around ignoring the grisly Faes covered in dirt and who knows what else that were beginning to take notice of her. The scent was getting stronger, and coming at her in waves almost like it was a neon sign flickering at her.
“Pretty miss,” a weary, old woman had snuck up behind Megan and placed her knobby hand on her shoulder. “Anything you might have to help an old woman?”
Megan jerked her shoulder out from under the woman’s hand.
“Get away from me you urchin,” Megan said, and started to turn when she about ran into a man smiling back at her with a toothless grin.
“Don’t you know respect, girl?” He was slowly joined by several other shadowed Fae that started to gravitate towards her.
“Let’s teach her some.” One said from the crowd.
Megan felt adrenaline surge inside her as her heart pounded in her chest. She had to do something or they’d end up killing her or worse—the media would find out and she’d have to deal with her mother when she got home. She had to get out of this impossible situation herself.
“If it’s money you want,” she said, reaching into her pocket. “Here!” She threw up into the air the small amount of coin she had.
The tiny, silver coins twirled in the air and landed smacking into the muck street as a few scrambled to snatch them up, but not all of them.
“We don’t want your money…”
Megan backed up and tripped over the old woman. She landed on her back with her legs resting on the haggard woman’s hunched body as if she was an ottoman. She didn’t even notice Megan as she fought other Faes for Megan’s coin scattered in the muck. She felt the damp moisture seep through her coat as she struggled to get up out of the slippery mess.
Her hands were coated with mud as the old woman turned to her with milky colored eyes and smiled. She pulled on her coat, and began to search Megan’s pockets as the toothless Fae charged towards her.
He grabbed her by her coat. Threads tore from his filthy grip and fabric stretched to the point of tearing. Hot anger filled Megan. She loved this coat, and even considered not wearing it as it was her favorite, and now, it was being handled by some disgusting vagrant.
“Let go of my coat.” Megan demanded.
The man laughed and was joined by the swarm of Faes. Their stink that encircled Megan could reach the tallest building in Avalon. It made her sick, but just the thought of someone trying to overpower her, sickened her more. They were bugs in her way, and just like bugs she would squish them.
Megan had no weapons, wasn’t strong enough to overpower them, but she had one thing that was always readily available—air.
Tilting her head back, she let out a scream that was silent to all ears except those of the wind. She felt it surround her, slowly building, as it rushed from high above her and charged towards the ground like an army on horseback. Megan thought of its movements twisting and turning through Duegar District. It curled around buildings, pushed against the urchins that lived here, and like two strong hands, plucked the would-be assailant in front and surrounding Megan from the ground they stood.
Wind rushed through the street, Faes fell to the ground or rushed inside the shacks that lined the street, and Megan stood with a small smile.