Page 20 of A Bond with the Dark

Slipping in through the glass doors, a sexy fairy with long dark hair, pointy ears, and amber eyes greets us. She’s wearing thorns that hold up leaves that barely cover her nipples, her soft purple skin shining in the false light.

“You again?” she states flippantly.

Ollie approaches, “Yes, well, I just wanted to see your beautiful face.”

A sigh escapes her lips, and I can’t tell if it’s spun from annoyance or longing.

“We have got to figure out where all these grimspawn are coming from,” Ollie pleas with her, “and we know the fae king and queen are the ones who make the warlocks. We would be most grateful if you have any information to help us.”

She opens her mouth like she’s about to say something and then closes it again.

“Please,” Ollie says, reaching for her hand, which she retracts. “What is your name?”

“Nyxaria.”

“Please, Nyxaria. The situation is getting dire. They are taking over New York, and if we don’t get a handle on them, they will spread their illness like a pandemic. And not one that has a cure.”

Her amber eyes have golden rings, almost as if the sun itself lives inside them. “I can’t…”

“Nyxaria, please,” I plead. “We’re running out of options, and it’s getting so bad that we’ll have to relocate.”

Her eyes pointedly flick to the camera on the ceiling then back to us. “All I can say is seek out the witches. They help the fae with warlocks. I don’t know how else to help you. King Trystan hasn’t been to this part of the realm in months, and Queen Tallyn is in Feylight. They’ve had a falling out again, and I don’t know what’s going on.”

“All right. Thank you,” I say, grabbing Ollie by the arm. She’s being watched; we aren’t getting anything else from her.

His rigid posture and the tension in his arm tell me he doesn’t want to go yet, but I insist, pulling him harder. I’m older and stronger than he is and he knows it, so he doesn’t resist.

Once outside, he glares at me, the tick in his jaw clenched tight. “What was that?” he snipes, throwing his arm up.

“Someone is watching her on that camera in there. Whomever it is doesn’t want her to disclose any information about this which means she most definitely knows something about it.”

“So what do we do?” he asks as we meander further down the line of shops.

“We find someone who isn’t being watched.”

9

PAIN THAT CHANGES YOU

SAYAH

Sitting outside the school in my car, the steering wheel keeps going out of focus as I run through things I will say to Gauge to save him from his grief.

Having to tell him over the phone that both his grandparents died was quite possibly hell on earth. Not being able to hold him while his ten-year-old heart shattered cut into me in ways no blade ever could. I wanted to wait to tell him in person, but he knew something was wrong by the sound of my voice when I called him to say goodnight. I have a thing about honesty—given how his father and I ended up—lying is the number one thing someone can do to break a relationship. Being truthful with the people you love is something I drill into him, and who would I be if I didn’t uphold that?

I’m happy that now I can hold him.

As soon as the school bell sounds, I see his bright green wheelchair emerge from the maroon double doors, ahead of all the other kids.

His sweet cherub face is fractured by sadness, and the puffy red circles under his brown eyes tell me he has been crying all day.

I get out of the car to help him with his crutches and backpack.

Gauge almost died when he was born. At a year and a half old, he was diagnosed with Congenital Myopathy, which is just a fancy word for muscle weakness. He’s in a wheelchair but can use his legs and walk with crutches; he’s just a little less strong than other kids.

I tell him he’s differently abled. Never disabled. It’s not that there’s anything wrong with the word. I know that some people prefer being called disabled or people with disabilities, which is fine, but he doesn’t identify that way. I never want him to feel like it defines him

“Hey, baby,” I say as I meet him, taking the crutches and backpack from his lap. “How are you?”

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