CHAPTER 75

"This mortal claims that he loves the banshee Cecilia, and would walk through Hell itself to get her back. Seeing the honesty in his heart, I have decided to test his worth." She pointed a finger at him, a sneer on her face. "Henceforth, you are banished from entering the fae realm by any means from your world until you can complete this task, Caretaker Radley. The faerie realm lies parallel to many dominions, the Underworld included. Should you find a way to enter my court via the Underworld itself, I will allow you to leave here with your dear Cecilia."

"Leave unharmed. You will allow us all to leave unharmed. And intact." he added.

He hadn't been expecting this, and realized that he had somehow been played. It was likely an impossible task, but he was willing to bet it was the only way she would let Cecilia go. The court was now an animated throng as coin exchanged hands and the fae debated the potential outcome.

"And I want this agreement in writing."

The queen rolled her eyes and summoned a scroll from midair and tossed it to him. He caught it and opened it up to look. It seemed straight forward, and guaranteed the banshee's release and safe passage for both of them if he could come back to the court by way of the Underworld.

"Guess I'll be seeing you soon. I agree to the terms." His name appeared, scrawled in golden ink. He looked at Cecilia, whose face was crestfallen. "I'm coming for you."

She nodded her head, then wiped a tear from her cheek.

"Oh. And one more thing." The queen raised her hand for silence, then clenched it into a fist and yanked it down. The sky ripped itself apart, and a large shape slammed into the ground next to Mike, thrashing about in confusion.

It was Quetzalli.

The dragon roared in pain, and a sickly blue aura surrounded it, followed by the sizzle of electricity. The horn on its head glowed with power, summoning lightning from the sky. The boom was deafening, and Mike covered his ears.

"Hey, stop it!" he yelled, then ran to the dragon. A blast of lightning scorched the ground near his legs, so he halted his advance.

"Let it be known that he is to receive no help from any fae, or any other creature who wishes to remain in these lands. I wasn't clear enough with my prior orders, so let it be known that what is about to transpire is an act of leniency on my part." She turned her eyes on the dragon. "Since you seem to like humans so much, why don't you go and live as one?"

The blue light ripped through the dragon, shedding feathers and scales in every direction, and the beast roared in agony. Mike covered his face and threw himself over Beth to protect her from the swirling dragon bits, clenching his teeth in pain as he was buffeted by tiny stones that swirled about. The light was diminishing, revealing a huddled figure in the middle of where the dragon had lain.

"Quetzalli!" he cried out, racked with guilt. The dragon had gotten caught up in this mess solely for being a good Samaritan, and he turned his gaze back on the queen. "I'm coming for you, too," he warned her.

"I look forward to it," she replied, her voice carrying to him over the wind. Through the maelstrom of magic, he could see golden lines forming in the air above her, lines that flew behind him and stacked themselves into an intricately built gate.

"Now get the fuck out of my queendom," she said, and a powerful wind pushed the three of them across the stone floor. The gate opened, and he caught a brief glimpse of his house just as his grip slipped off of Beth's shoulders. Lifted free of the ground, he saw Beth and Quetzalli tumbling across the ground after him. Unable to control his flight, the edge of the gate clipped his head on his way through it, and everything went black.

"Easy, kisa."

The familiar voice was thick with a Russian accent and elicited both feelings of warmth and sadness. It spoke to her from the void, guiding her back to the world of the living. The darkness peeled away to reveal a small dance studio with wooden floors and large windows overlooking a city. One of the interior walls was a mirror, and in the reflection was a young, black teen who sat on the floor, her face wracked with pain as an older man held her left leg in place while examining her knee.

It took a moment for her to realize that she was looking at her own reflection. Unable to control her actions, she was forced to watch.

"No need for tears, kisa, is just sprain." The man left her behind and crossed the room to a small closet. He dug around inside and came back with a thick roll of bandages in his hands.

She couldn't see his face in the mirror, her eyes locked on her own reflection. She was maybe fifteen or sixteen, but it was hard to tell. Her frame was thin and possibly malnourished, and there were small hollows beneath her eyes like she hadn't slept in days.

Is this who I was?

"Will I still be able to compete?" the teen asked, hopefully. She kept wiping away fresh tears before the man could see them.

"The heart of a dancer is stronger than the body of one, kisa. Perhaps you sit this one out."

"No, I have to compete," she protested, her voice fading into a distant echo. The memory was melting around her, the void reaching out with icy hands to claim her once again. She kicked her furry legs and swam away into the darkness until she could float alone with her thoughts. Had that been one of her memories? Was she the girl in the mirror?