Kingdom of the Northern Sun Page 2

  “I was a slave, Ms. O’Donnell,” Sarah said, “Violence was normal.”

  “That, Sarah—and please, call me Eileen—is why you’re here. Escaped slaves come here sometimes, if they manage to get in touch with us.”

  She frowned. “Us?”

  “I used to be an advocate,” I said shortly. “I’m not anymore.” I gestured at the house. “Let’s go.”

  We opened our car doors and got out. As we walked toward the house, I felt my heart rate pick up and my breath grow short. It’d been almost a month since I’d been here, and the familiarity of it made my heart ache.

  I knocked on the door. A speaker turned on. “Password?”

  “Corn,” I said confidently.

  The door cracked open. Arianna Burke stood on the other side, looking at me disapprovingly.

  “Eileen, you shouldn’t be here.”

  Arianna was an older woman, in her seventies, with white hair cropped close to her head. She walked with a cane, which she leaned on heavily.

  “Arianna.” I took a deep breath. “Please. Sarah needs help.” I gestured at Sarah, who was looking nervously around her.

  Arianna sighed.

  “We shouldn’t stand outside,” I urged her.

  “Come in,” she said, grudgingly holding the door open. Sarah and I walked in, Sarah almost knocking over Arianna in her haste to get inside.

  Arianna stopped me as I walked in, her hand on my arm. “Eileen, by rights I should call the police,” she said, voice low. “You have no right to come here and use that password.”

  “Arianna, I found Sarah in DC literally running from the fae. What was I supposed to do? Let her be caught? Turn her out on the street?”

  Arianna sighed again. “We’ll talk later. Let’s see what Sarah needs.”

  Arianna led us to her office. I looked around as we walked, feeling pain at the sight of the familiar hallways. A door opened slightly and a women peeked out. She gawked at me, and I stared back. It was Irene, one of the women I’d helped before I’d been fired. I felt my heart twinge. I smiled tentatively. She looked stonily back and shut the door with a bang.

  Arianna stopped at her office, using a key to open the door. “Let’s go in,” she said gruffly. Sarah looked at me. I nodded encouragingly, and she took a deep breath and walked into the office.

  It was a comfortable place but clearly showed the constraints of the budget; the chairs were stuffed but obviously from thrift stores, the desk listing on one leg. The file cabinet, also old and battered, was double locked. Three chairs were arranged in the room in a triangle formation, in front of the desk with its battered old computer. Arianna went to the desk and opened it, getting out some paperwork. “Intake paperwork,” she explained to Sarah. “This is the only time we’ll write your name down.”

  Sarah nodded, trembling. “He’ll kill me if he finds me,” she whispered.

  Arianna nodded, businesslike. “We’re in the business of hiding people,” she explained. “Let’s start talking, shall we?”

  Sarah swallowed. “What’s the price for staying here?”

  “This is a free service. We don’t charge. There are house rules to follow, but it’s mostly about getting along with people.” Arianna smiled. “Can you tell me your name, dear?”

  Sarah swallowed again. “My name is Sarah of Northern Sun.”

  Arianna nodded and wrote it down. “When did you escape?”

  Sarah burst into tears, burying her face in her baby’s chest. “He’ll kill me if he finds me,” she sobbed. “He’ll kill my baby, as a warning to the other slaves.”

  “Sarah,” I murmured, “Can I put my hand on your shoulder?” Sarah shook her head, still sobbing. “No worries,” I said. “This is a safe place. It’s hidden. I made sure no one was following us. Is there anything else we can do, to make you feel better?”

  Arianna cut her eyes to me. “Eileen is right,” she said. “This is a safe place.”

  Sarah’s sobs shuddered into gasps. “I’m sorry,” she gasped.

  “No need to apologize, Sarah,” Arianna murmured. “Totally normal and understandable.”

  “I was born in Northern Sun,” Sarah said, sounding choked. “I lived there all my life, until I went to the embassy. My mother died under the lash of the fae. I never knew my father. I just want a better life for Tara.”

  “We don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to,” Arianna said reassuringly. “I just need your name, age, age of any children, and a little bit about your trauma. You’ve given me everything except Tara’s age.”

  “She’s a month old,” Sarah said, hugging her child tightly. The baby woke up and began to wail. Sarah rocked her comfortingly.

  “Just a little about the rules, Sarah,” Arianna said, walking to the file cabinet. “Don’t tell anyone outside where we are. Don’t go outside after nightfall. Don’t eat anyone else’s food. And, finally, no magic. Can you accept that?”

  Sarah nodded, still rocking a crying Tara. Sarah’s head was down and her shoulders bowed.

  “Good. I’ll show you to your room. Luckily, we have space.” Arianna cut her eyes to me again. “You—stay here,” she said sternly. “We need to talk.” Arianna walked to Sarah and smiled. “Are you ready?”

  Sarah looked at me nervously. I smiled reassuringly. “It’ll be okay,” I said. “Don’t worry. It was good to meet you, Sarah.”

  Sarah swallowed again, the bruises around her eyes standing out even more after her tears. “Thank you—Eileen,” she said awkwardly. “For what you did. At the office. I know it cost you.”

  I smiled again, trying to hide my pain. “What was I supposed to do? Just let you suffer? Feel better, Sarah.”

  Arianna led her out of the room, and I leaned back further into my chair. My life felt out of control. I had no job, no money, and no prospects. I’d gotten in a fight with a fae prince. I had no magic, and an illness to deal with as well. I’d been fired from my last job. What was I—a broken down, ill, useless woman—to do?

  “Eileen.” I glanced up with a start. Arianna had come back into the room. “Eileen,” she said sternly, not bothering to sit, “You were fired from the Unity Shelter. I made an exception this time, but you can’t do this again. Do you understand?”

  I stood, heart heavy. “I understand, Arianna,” I said, trying to keep my voice level. “But what else was I to do?”

  “Next time,” Arianna said harshly, “call the hotline.” She held her office door open. “It’s time for you to go.”

  I walked to the door, shoulders back, head high. We walked to the front door in silence. As she began to open the door, though, Arianna paused.

  “Eileen,” she said awkwardly, “Are you feeling—better?”

  “Yes,” I said, flatly.

  “No more hallucinations?”

  “I don’t see what business of yours that is,” I growled. I reached to the door and pushed it open, then walked out, not looking back.

  Chapter 2

  I drove back to my home in silence. After my breakdown, I’d moved back in with my family; I lived with my brother, my mother, and my father. Fortunately no one was home when I pulled into the driveway. I needed to think.

  I unlocked the door and went up to my room, kicking aside piles of clothes that lay on the floor. I pulled off my suit top and bottom and threw them on the back of my chair, then collapsed in my underwear onto my bed. I pulled my comforter over my head and began to cry.

  Prince Faolain—Sarah’s desperate face—the fight, for Sarah’s life, and possibly my own. It was just too much. I couldn’t handle it. I curled up into a ball.

  You can’t do it, one of the voices whispered. It was Joe, the voice that spoke to me the most often. I’d named him Joe after a captain I knew back in the army, who looked like a donkey. It helped, to name the voices. It made them less terri
fying. Just give up now.

  Yes, another voice chimed in, agreeing. I sighed. It was Sheldon, named after a coworker at the Unity Shelter. Give up. Give up. Give up.

  My phone rang. I floundered my hand around, searching for it, the voices still thundering in the background. It was probably still in my suit pocket. I groaned. I didn’t feel like moving. They could leave a voicemail. I curled back into my ball, cursing life.

  “Eileen.” A stern voice sounded from right next to me. I blinked and rolled over. A Sending cloud was next to my bed. It sparkled dark purple, a sign that I’d never received a Sending from this particular person before.

  “Eileen, get up. Leave. You’re in danger here, and you need to go.” The voice paused. “Just drive. We’ll find you.”

  I sat up, blinking. “Who are you?” I asked, wishing I had my old M4 rifle or Spellblaster.

  The cloud sparkled again. “Eileen, get up. Leave. You’re in danger here, and you need to go—”

  “All right, all right,” I muttered. It was a programmed Sending—probably no one was listening to my responses. I grabbed a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt from my old unit that happened to be lying on the floor next to my bed. I smelled them, made a face, and threw them on anyway.

  I paused. Was I sure this wasn’t a hallucination? Usually I’d ask my brother or my mother, but neither of them were here. I sat back down.

  “Go away,” I told the Sending sternly. “Nobody’s chasing me.”

  The Sending cloud sparkled again, a deep purple. No answer came.

  I pulled the covers back over my head and swung my feet onto the bed. “Go. Away,” I repeated. I grabbed the side of my bed, focusing on the hardness of the wood.

  I must’ve fallen asleep, then, because I awoke to a pounding head and cramped muscles. I looked up—the Sending was gone.

  Yawning, I stretched and sighed, pulling my cell phone out of my suit pocket. It was five o’clock—I’d slept for two hours. Checking my messages, I saw a missed call from an unknown number. There was no voicemail.

  Probably spam. I swung my bathrobe on and went to the door, yawning again. It sounded like a good time for coffee.

  I headed downstairs and looked around. No one was home yet. Grabbing the coffee canister from underneath the counter, I measured out the coffee and turned on the pot. Yawning again, I walked into the living room and turned on the news.

  “—this is Channel 7 news. And today, a debate on the sanctuary law—is it really in our best interest? One congressman is trying to change it.”

  I looked up. Congressman Corey Hamilton was standing in his office, next to his desk, looking solemn.

  “Sanctuary laws put us at odds with the fae,” he declared, pounding his fist on the desk for emphasis. “We must protect our citizens, our people. That’s why I’m fighting to have this law repealed. Sanctuary laws take money from law enforcement, from our taxpayers. And we don’t even know if they work.” He paused, pounding his fist again.

  “Sanctuary laws currently state that any escaped fae slave may, after a year, be given citizenship in the United States. But why should we protect them? We need to protect ourselves—and the fae embassy has viciously protested this law since it was signed. How can we expect them to be our allies if we can’t support them, as well?”

  He opened his mouth to continue, but I snapped the television off, disgusted. I wished I had voted in the last election—he’d won by a very narrow margin.

  My phone rang again. I glanced at it and sighed. It was another unknown number. I hit the ignore button, then turned the television back on. Maybe there was a Forensic Magic episode on.

  My phone beeped with a text message. I picked it up. The text was from an unknown number as well.

  “It’d be in your own best interest to answer your phone.”

  Frowning, I texted back.

  “Who is this?”

  Almost as soon as I sent it, I got a reply.

  “We could be your best friends. We want to be. We know what you did.”

  The phone rang, from that unknown number. I hesitated, then hit accept. I turned the television volume down and lifted it to my ear.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Eileen. I’m glad you finally answered. You ignored our phone calls—we were getting worried for a minute there.” The voice on the other end was male, crisp and even.

  “Why are you trying to talk to me? Who are you? Did you send the Sending?” I asked, clutching my phone. Scrambling to the side table, I picked up a pen and paper to take notes. How I wished I had a recording app on my phone, or could simply spell it to record!

  “We didn’t send a Sending, Eileen. We’re trying to talk to you because you did something very brave today. And please, call me Garrett.”

  “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, Garrett. I did nothing brave.” I scribbled on the sheet, wondering if I should call Arianna and warn her about the attention.

  “You saved a slave today, Eileen, both her and her child. She was as good as captured—and you stood between her and a very powerful fae. Prince Faolain should not be underestimated.” Garrett sighed. “We’re worried about you.”

  I hesitated. “I’m worried about me, too,” I admitted. “I was so focused on getting Sarah out—but Prince Faolain threatened me.”

  “Unsurprising. It also makes it even more important that we move, quickly. Can you meet us tonight?”

  “Where?”

  “We’re in Vienna. At 5060 Park Avenue. Should be about a forty-five-minute drive. Come at six—or should I say, Lieutenant O’Donnell, 1800.” He laughed softly. “We did some research on you.”

  “Then you should know it’s former Lieutenant O’Donnell,” I snapped, pressing the pen hard against the paper.

  “I don’t think you every truly leave it behind, Eileen—and that’s coming from ‘former’ Sergeant First Class Garrett Pine.” Garrett laughed again. “There. A detail for a detail. You’ll learn more about us tonight at six. Till then.” The call ended.

  I frowned. Garrett Pine had found my cell phone number. What if Prince Faolain did, as well? I glanced outside. Aside from the pine trees, there was nothing there.

  What could I do? I felt a chill run down my spine. It was nothing, I told myself firmly. Prince Faolain wouldn’t act so quickly—not while he was licking his wounds. I glanced at the phone screen. It was 5:15. If I left now, I’d make it exactly on time.

  First, though, I pulled up Messenger and texted my mother.

  “Got in a fight with a fae over a slave. I’m fine, nobody hurt, but going to meet some people about it. 5060 Park Dr. Vienna. Guy by the name of Garrett Pine.”

  Pocketing my phone, I headed out the door, snagging my keys and my purse. As I got in my car, I heard my phone buzz.

  “What time will you be back? Do you want backup?”

  I texted back, “Probably no later than nine. Will text if later. And no backup ... I’ll just tell them I told you where I was going, lol.”

  With that, I pulled out of the driveway and sped down the street.

  It took exactly forty-five minutes to make it to Park Avenue. I pulled up outside a small building, studying it. It was in the commercial part of Vienna and had the appearance of a refurbished store. Just like the Unity Shelter, it was set back from the street. At least there was a lot of parking. I pulled in and parked the car, jumping out and grabbing my keys and pepper spray from the glove box. Quickly, I walked to the door and tried to open it. A familiar blue glow shone around it. With a sigh, I knocked.

  The door swung open. “Ah, Eileen O’Donnell,” the man on the other side said. “Garrett Pine.” He held out his hand, and I gave it a firm shake.

  Garrett Pine, former Sergeant First Class in the United States Army, was at least forty. His hair was buzzed short to his scalp. His black skin shone in the light. He
was easily six foot five, and muscled. I noticed the tattoo on his arm—the Ranger insignia. I hid a wince. As a Ranger, he’d be expertly trained in warfare, hand-to-hand combat, and battle magic. I wondered what kind of organization this was.

  “Come in, please,” he said, gesturing. I stepped in, looking about. The entrance hall was small and dark, lit by only one small fae light. The hallway led to a single door, glowing ominously blue.

  Garrett led me to the door and, with a glance at me, leaned in close and whispered a word. The door smoothly creaked open. He waved me inside again, smiling. “Welcome, Eileen. This is the Northern Virginia Rescue Association.”

  I’d heard of them in the news—they frequently launched rescue attempts deep into fae-held territory. They were just this side of legal because of it. The NVRA was reputed to be well funded and well-staffed, certainly no collection of amateurs.

  “So this is Ms. O’Donnell,” a woman’s voice said as I walked through the door. A small woman, gray hair caught up in a bun at the back of her head, came up and shook my hand. She smiled sympathetically. “I’m Helena. I see the damage, Eileen. I’m sorry for the trauma you went through.”

  I blinked. “How do you—” I asked suspiciously.

  “I’m the local healer. My Sight shows me wounds. I see both the brain damage and the sickness. I’m sorry.” She released my hand.

  “That’s extremely personal,” I snapped.

  “Don’t worry, Eileen. I won’t tell anyone here. I don’t believe your medical condition makes you a danger to us. I just wanted you to know you have a friend in me.” She nodded once, and turned back to sit.

  The room was large and windowless, with maps hanging about the walls and a large table dominating the middle of the room. I recognized maps for Shenandoah, Northern Sun, Western Wind, and the Kingdom of Texas.

  “Some of our areas of operation,” Garrett said, coming up behind me. “The rebels in the Kingdom of Texas, in particular, are very active.” He snorted. “They still hold a grudge for the Alamo.” He waved his hand at the table. “Please, take a seat.”