Page 4 of The Crown of a Fallen Queen
“Let’s find her, then.” I step off to the riverbank first, and a mix of rocks and gravel crunches under my feet. The farm’s lights are just ahead, partially hidden behind a line of trees.
This is no ordinary place. It’s too quiet—no animal sounds, no chatter, no movement. Only the subtle hum of cameras, their lenses most likely trained on every corner of the property. A series of electric floodlights illuminates the area, bathing the farmhouse, barn, and outbuildings in cold white light.
I stop before crossing the broken down fence, the grass beneath my feet still saturated with rain, making the terrain muddy and slippery. There’ll be no chance to conceal our escape path, not until we reach the boat. I slip my hood back over my head and motion for my unlikely partner in crime to activate the talisman.
His knuckles clench around the chain, his entire body shaking with nerves and rage, his silhouette blurring as the magic of the talisman envelops him. He’s not completely invisible, but in the dark, he’s just a shadow. And it will definitely ensure the cameras don’t pick up his presence, the mortal technology easily diverted by the subterfuge.
“Don’t be a hero, alright? Your daughter will need you when this is all over,” I whisper.
“As long as we get her out,” he chokes out, forging ahead.
The magic I inherited from my sire—a magic I keep secret from my kin—allows me to become completely invisible as I follow the ex-cop’s muddy tracks to the seemingly abandoned barn. The doors and windows have been boarded off, but the methodical, secure way it was done hints at the sinister truth of it.
We pause by the only door that’s still in use.
“I can open the door, but their security system will see that it’s open. Unless they’re snoozing on the job, we won’t have a lot of time,” my companion warns.
“We only need a minute.”
Inside, the illusion of a barn is gone. Sweat, blood, and urine assault my senses, mixing with the acrid smell of fear that clings to the concrete floors. The original barn walls have been reinforced with plywood, the added layer meant to muffle the prisoners’ cries and shouts. Two rows of cheap, metal beds litter the space, with twenty or so women and girls sleeping—or not sleeping—in them. A series of cameras surveil the interior of the barn as well.
“There’s too many of them,” I whisper quickly.
A makeshift bathroom in the back, separated only by a curtain on a rail, offers no privacy. This isn’t some witch hunter cult, but a full-blown human trafficking operation. Young women are herded here like cattle, waiting to be sold to the highest bidder. My heart pounds in my chest.
I will end this.
The bite of power coming from the two little girls near the front confirm Nick’s suspicions that real witches are amongst the prisoners. They can’t be older than nine, holding each other for dear life. Even though I do not share their blood, my heart aches for them.
Escaping quietly isn’t an option anymore, not when there are two dozen hostages, and I let the invisibility fall, revealing our presence to the prisoners—and the cameras. I shouldn’t do this, but I can’t help myself. I’m exhausted from all these covert, inefficient operations. Sneaking, stalking. Barely scratching the surface of a well-oiled machine that trades women and children. These men need to be punished for once.
Hiccups of surprise and fear echo through the barn, the women unsure whether I’m friend or foe, probably thinking I’m just here to feed them. Or buy them.
“Change of plans. You better call the cops, Roger,” I clip, making up my mind about what I need to do, no matter the consequences.
“My name is William, actually.”
He might be an ex-cop, but he’s still a stranger to my world, still a mortal, and I roll my eyes. “You should never tell a Fae your real name, William.”
He wrenches the talisman from around his neck to break the spell. "Angie? Angie, darling, are you in here?"
A little girl, still tucked under the grimy, pitiful covers of her cot, shrieks and leaps out of the bed. She runs headfirst into my companion.
Shouts, hurried footsteps, and the clicks of shotguns reach my ears, coming from outside. “Now, close the door behind me, get these women away from the walls, and call for backup,” I order. “I’ll give these men what they deserve.”
I slip outside the barn, but William follows.
The cold night air swirls in strings of mist in front of his face as he says, “You can’t possibly face them alone?—”
I shoot him a death stare, demanding to know why he's resisting my command, and let my true power rise to the surface.
His eyes bulge. "Yeah, yeah, alright!"
He doubles back inside and slams the door shut behind me. Relief licks my ribs as I hear him barricade it from the inside.
There must be ten or fifteen men heading my way, trickling from the farmhouse and adjoining garages, and I cradle a whip of light in my hand, a weapon made out of pure energy.
I don’t care what it costs me. I’ll kill them all.
