Glimmer (4 page)

“I need to go, Diana.” I didn’t meet her gaze. I didn’t want her to see how frightened I was becoming.

“Your dad’s not doing well, is he?”

“He has his good days and his bad days.” I sighed. “Guess which one this is?”

“Maybe you should consider finding a facility for him.”

I looked at her then with a frown, irritation building inside. “I’m not putting my father in a home.”

“Nina, it might be the best thing for him.” She paused and rubbed at her stethoscope. “For you, too. Alzheimer’s can take its toll on a family. I know. My grandfather had it.”

“My father doesn’t have Alzheimer’s. He’s just…” I couldn’t finish the sentence. How could I possibly explain to Diana that my dad was fae-struck, and it had sucked the life out of him, both physically and mentally?

“Okay, go. I’ll make sure you’re covered here.”

For all her prickly qualities, she possessed a few good ones too that just happened to miraculously show up when I really needed them to. Like now. She knew I didn’t want to be pressed about my father.

“Are you sure?”

She nodded and then squeezed my shoulder in an uncharacteristic show of friendship. “I’ll see you when you get back.”

“Thanks.” I rushed to the staff room to grab my bag and my helmet. I ran down the four flights of stairs to the parking garage—parking indoors seemed smart from now on—mentally calculated how long it would take to get home. I desperately hoped that my dad was having an episode. Because I couldn’t quite wrap my mind around the alternative.

I made it home in twenty minutes. It would’ve been sooner but there was an accident on Hastings that forced me to take a different route. I did still speed though.

Hastily parking my bike on the driveway, I unlocked the front door and pushed it open, calling to my father, “Da?”

No answer.

Dropping my purse and keys onto the table at the front foray, I ventured further into the house, first going into the living room and kitchen. He was not there, but a chair was overturned, lying on its side on the kitchen floor. My heart slamming inside my chest, I picked it up and set it back.

I ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time to my father’s bedroom. I pushed open the door to find the room empty. His bed was neatly made, everything looked in order. I quickly checked my room, although he’d have no reason to be in there. I also checked the bathroom. The room was as I left it this morning.

But something caught my eye as my gaze swept the small window. I rushed to it and looked down into the garden. My father lay on his side on the grass near the garden, unmoving.

I sprinted down the stairs and out the balcony doors in a panicky rush, praying under my breath that he was still alive. I would never forgive myself if he had died on his own, alone and without help.

As I neared him, I saw fresh angry red scratches on his hands, arms, and face. Fearing the worse, I crouched down and placed my fingers on his neck to feel for a pulse. “Da?”

He groaned and I let the breath I was holding go, mumbling a thank you to the benevolent spirit that had heard my prayer. His pulse was strong under my fingers.

I rolled him onto his back. That was when I saw the four-inch creature licking blood from a tiny cut on my father’s chin. In a flash, its tiny head came up and it hissed at me, its thin lips stained crimson.

However many stories tell about the playful and whimsical nature of pixies, I knew the truth. There was no whimsy in the creature’s slanted opaque eyes as it glared and spat like a wild cat. I could feel the malevolence wafting off it like steam from a scalding shower.

Games of fancy were not on its mind. Thoughts of blood and pain were definitely more like it by the look of venom on its tiny periwinkle face. Distending its long vicious claws, it leapt.

Luckily, I had quick reflexes and I managed to snag the little creature, arms pinned to its sides, in my fist before it could rip out my eye, which it had definitely been aiming for.

“Letz me go, wicked girl!” it shrieked.

Its voice was high pitched like a bell and inaudible to most people. But I had great hearing and discerned every single syllable it snarled. “Why are you here? How did you get here?”

The pixie struggled in my grip but I had no intention of letting go, not until I received some answers.

“Iz always here, stupidz.”

“I’d watch your little mouth, pest.” I increased the pressure of my grasp. “Why did you attack my father?”

It thrashed about again, trying to release its limbs so it could rip and tear into me. But I didn’t relinquish my hold. Fury lifted its blue lips into a cruel snarl, and I could plainly see two rows of tiny razor-like teeth. I had no time to respond to its intentions before it sunk those fangs into the meaty part of my thumb.

I yelped and nearly opened my hand, but I caught myself before I freed my prisoner. Cringing from the sharp pain singing up my arm, I gritted my teeth and asked my question again. “Why did you attack my father? Answer me or I will squeeze you like a tube of toothpaste.”

As the pixie unhooked its teeth from my flesh and glared, blood trickled down my wrist to drip onto my pants. Its hungry gaze eyed the red path with ruthless enthusiasm. Like a thin black worm, its tongue snaked out of its gaping mouth and lapped at the crimson feast.

Angry, I increased the pressure on its body. True to my word, I squeezed the little bugger like a tube of white goo.

“Stopz! Stopz!” It yelped and thrashed about. “Iz tell you want youz wantz.”

I released the pressure a little. “Go ahead.”

“Nightfallz tell me.”

“Who in Nightfall? What’s the person’s name?”

It shrugged its bony shoulders. “Iz no not.”

My father groaned again and I looked down at his slack face, marred by angry red marks. He was an old man, fragile and innocent. He didn’t deserve this fate. Rage blossomed inside me. I shook with it. Squeezing the pixie hard, I stared into its eyes and spoke low, my voice as cold as brittle ice, “Tell. Me. Who.”

It shook its head back and forth and moaned, “Iz no name. Just hearz a whisper on the windz.”

“What did it say? What were the words?”

I could see the hesitation on its face so I squeezed even harder. Its face darkened to a deep purple as the air left its tiny lungs. After one final struggle, it slumped in my fist and murmured on one of its final puffs of air, “Killz Jason Decker.”

Shock had me loosening my hand and the pixie slid limply to the ground, landing in a heap at my knees. I couldn’t believe it. Someone in Nightfall had ordered my father’s assassination.

Why? What purpose would his death demonstrate? He was not a threat to Nightfall. At least, I didn’t think he knew anything that could threaten their existence.

The pixie stirred on the ground. I glanced down at it, sympathy digging at me like a jagged tooth. It had only been a tool of someone else’s evil intent. No choice but to obey its fae masters.

It struggled to its feet, its breath coming in quick hard pants. One of pale blue gossamer wing lay crumpled against its side. A pang of compassion rang over me and I nearly reached down to help it up. But then I remembered what it had tried to do to my father. Most of my kindness drained away.

“Go back to Nightfall and tell your mistress or master that any more attempts on my father’s life will have disastrous results for them.”

Bowing its head, the creature struggled to unfurl its wings. Pain flashed across its face as the broken membranes and thin delicate skin of its wing tore open, leaving it with one full wing and a piece to fly with. Springing up with its legs, it took to the air.

I watched as it maneuvered toward the night-blooming moon flowers, fully expecting it to disappear into the dark petals.

At the last second, it turned around. Teeth bared, it launched at me. 

This time, I was too slow. Pain ripped through me as it tore into my right cheek. Teeth and claws dug into my flesh with ruthless slashes and bites. With both hands, I gripped it and yanked violently at its body, desperate to get it off my face. As I extracted it, I could feel skin and flesh coming with it. My stomach roiled over at the thought of what the pixie had managed to rip off my cheek.

Hissing and spitting in my hands, the pixie’s face was covered with gore. My gore. My blood and skin and flesh.

Without another thought, I crushed it in my hands, too iced up to revel in the sound of snapping bones and squishing insides. I squeezed until the heat of its body dissipated. I squeezed until I couldn’t feel the tiny patter of its heart.

Once I was positive it was dead, I tossed it into the garden then attended to my father lying still on the ground. I checked his pulse again and thanked god it was getting stronger. Sliding my arm under him, I lifted him into a sit.

He stirred from the movement, eyelids fluttering.

Holding my breath, I waited until he opened his eyes. At first, he seemed disoriented, peering around at his surroundings as if seeing them for the first time. Then his gaze settled on me, and recognition settled in. “Nina?”

“Yes, Da.”

He raised his hand and touched the now-tacky cuts on his forehead. Wincing, he pulled his fingers back and stared at the congealed blood on the tips. “What happened?”

I debated whether to tell him the truth. For years now, I’d been protecting his fragile mind from the reality of the situation. Trying to convince him, and maybe myself, that the fae world didn’t exist. That he hadn’t been fae struck and was slowly dying from it. But after this attack, I couldn’t hide it from him. He had to know. Then maybe he could protect himself, instead of letting the magical myth of the fae to brainwash him into believing that they just wanted to play. The games these fae played had lethal consequences. “You were attacked by a pixie.”

He frowned. “What? Surely not. Pixies are friendly.”

Standing, I helped him to his feet. He wobbled once and I had to put my arm around him so he wouldn’t fall. Once he was stable, I grabbed his hand and turned it so he could see the cuts and scratches. “Does this look friendly?”

Eyes wide, he turned his hand back and forth, studying his wounds. “I must’ve fallen in the rose bushes.”

“The rose bushes are on the other side of the yard.” Anger clipped my words, but I was beyond tired of his ignorance to believe that those from Nightfall were not our friends. Including my mother.

It was then that his gaze fell upon the dead pixie in the garden. “Oh my God, Nina. What have you done?”

“That vicious little bugger nearly killed you. He even attacked me.” I turned my face so he could see my ruined cheek.

Tears welled in his eyes. “Oh, Nina. You don’t know what you have done.”

“I saved your life is what I did.” Tired of standing out in the garden, I started for the house, half carrying, half dragging Da with me.

By the time we reached the deck, he was sobbing. “You have brought ruin onto us, Nina. Those in Nightfall will avenge the pixie’s death.”

I dragged him through the glass doors and into the kitchen. He wasn’t resisting me, but he definitely wasn’t helping either. By the time we reached the bottom of the stairs, I was breathing hard

“To kill one of the fae is to bring death upon your head,” he ranted, his voice now shrill with hysteria.

“Let them come, then. I’m not afraid.”

Turning, he grasped my shoulders, a wild look in his eyes. “You should be.” Then he promptly passed out.

I managed to catch him as he fell, cradling his head before it hit one of the steps, but I knew now I’d never get him up the stairs to his bedroom. Inching him down gently to the floor, I pondered his last words.

I was never one for fear. My mother had cured me of that emotion by abandoning me to an alien world I would never be a part of. After something like that, a child doesn’t really have much to fear.

But I had to admit as I considered the consequences of my actions in killing the pixie, a small thread of fear wound its way around my body. Who or what would they send to avenge the pixie’s death? Maybe my mother would be the one to come. Deep down inside the place where I was still just a child, where the pain of her abandonment still lingered and the anger for what she’d done to my father simmered, I hoped that it would be her who the fae lords sent.

I’d be ready. Then finally I could get my retribution.

***

Chapter 5

After getting my father onto the hide-a-bed in the den and cleaning his wounds, I went into my bathroom and stitched up my cheek. Three painful stitches later, I crashed for a few hours before returning to work.

Two days passed without incident. My cheek was healing, probably a little too fast than was normal, but so far no one had commented.

Thankfully over the course of that time, I didn’t have any unexpected visitors from Nightfall screaming for revenge for the pixie’s death. My father returned to his blissful ignorance and acted as if nothing had happened in the garden. As if an assassin from Nightfall hadn’t tried to kill him, and I hadn’t slain the assassin instead. Sometimes I wished I could forget things like that so easily. Then maybe I wouldn’t be having trouble sleeping.