Page 30 of Taken By the Fae

I tiptoe into the office, a small room with a couch, a desk, and a chair. One wall is lined with bookshelves filled with old textbooks, some of my parents’ books, and our family albums. I cross the room, switching on the desk lamp as I pass, and run my finger along the spines. I crouch and pull out an album.

As I flip through the pages, I find nothing useful. I sigh, glancing at the shelf full of matching binders. These photos are all too recent. If I wasn’t half asleep, I’d have realized that before I wasted my time. If I crawled into the attic, I might find something that dates back far enough, but I can’t do that when I’m trying to stay quiet. I won’t get any answers tonight.

With a yawn, I drag myself to my bedroom and fall onto my bed, hoping Tristan will leave me alone for the rest of the night.

When I find myself in another dreamscape, anger swiftly rises, and I grit my teeth. My eyes focus on the ground beneath my feet. Cracked pavement. I frown as I lift my head and gasp, coughing on the smoke that’s heavy in the air, then blink until my vision is as clear as it’s going to get in this war-torn environment. There’s nothing left for as far as the eye can see. Buildings have been reduced to piles of concrete and metal, and leafless trees have fallen, scattered in the mess. It looks like a scene out of a dystopian movie.

And when my eyes land on the seelie fae knight, realization knocks the air out of me. I don’t think I’m in my dream anymore. I think… I’m inTristan’s.

He’s standing atop a mess of concrete rubble, staring right at me. No, not at me,throughme, as if he doesn’t see me standing here. He doesn’t know I’m in his dream. HowamI here? And where ishere?

Is this the fae world?

My eyes shift back to Tristan. He’s a mess. His dark clothing is torn, all but shredded in some places along his midsection, and his hair is darkened with dirt and ash. I walk closer, careful where I step, and watch his face pale. His eyes are bloodshot and wide, with dark circles underneath. They’re bouncing all over the place, never stopping in one spot too long, but growing more frantic by the second. His chest rises and drops, and he balls his hands into fists at his sides.

“Tristan,” I whisper, my voice cracking, and suddenly I’m fighting this all-consuming urge to comfort him. The pain in his expression is hurtingme.

I say his name louder, but he still doesn’t hear me.

My eyes burn as I watch the seelie fae knight fall to his knees and stare at the ruins with an utterly hopeless expression that makes my blood run cold.

In the next second, my eyes fly open, and daylight streams into my room. I stare at the textured ceiling above my bed, unable to shake the harrowing scene I just witnessed.

I should feel relaxed and rested; there’s nothing like sleeping in your own bed at home. Compared to the stiff twin mattress I sleep on at school, this bed usually feels like a cloud of comfort and warmth. Everything about my room makes me want to stay here: the Polaroid photos I have hung on one wall, the desk that’s covered with books on business and marketing, the window seat my dad built for me the first summer I got into reading when I was thirteen. The giant bookshelves are the best thing about the room, though. They hold so many books; I’ll probably never read them all. I glance longingly at the keyboard set up across the room. If I could somehow make it fit in my room at school, I’d have it there. I’ve been playing the piano since I was little. Playing always makes me feel in control and at ease. It helps make life less chaotic.

My thoughts go back to the chaos of my dream—rather, Tristan’s dream. The image of his face is etched into my memory. The acute pain in his features won’t leave me, and I’m shocked by the lump forming in my throat. It doesn’t leave me as I go through the motions of getting dressed and ready for the day.

Only am I able to shove it away when I head down to the kitchen and find Mom sitting at the breakfast bar. She’s in front of her laptop, with papers scattered all over the counter. “Morning.” I keep quiet in case Dad and Elijah are still asleep.

“Morning, honey. How’d you sleep?” She ties the belt on her soft blue robe and yawns.

“Okay,” I say automatically. I don’t want to think about the vividness of that dream. My stomach is still in knots. I cross the kitchen to the coffeemaker and pull a mug down from the cupboard above it.

She takes a sip of her coffee. “Elijah is happy you’re home.”

I fill my mug and smile, leaning against the counter. “Me too.” For a little brother, Elijah isn't annoying despite being twelve years old. “I’m guessing he and Dad aren’t awake yet?”

Mom’s soft laugh lightens her eyes. “You know Elijah is a monster to get out of bed before noon, and your dad is running errands.”

I glance at the clock on the stove; it’s just after eleven. “Gotcha,” I say, staring down at my coffee. “We were talking about things running in families in class the other day…”Nice segue, Aurora.“Businesses and traditions and whatnot,” I add. “Do you know if our family had anything like that, even a long time ago?” What a time to be completelynotsubtle.

She glances at me curiously. “I can’t think of any on my side, but your dad’s family was always more… eclectic with traditions and such. Maybe you could ask him?”

My lips part as if I’m going to respond, but no words come out. I’m at least able to force a nod. The back of my neck tingles, the hairs standing straight, and my arms break out in goosebumps.Was Tristan right about my family?And if he was, does that mean my dad knows about the fae? I doubt it, considering Tristan said the fae in my family were hundreds of years old. My stomach drops. How could I not have thought about it until now? If my ancestors were fae, does that mean they’re still alive?

My phone chimes and my throat goes dry when I pull it out of my sweater pocket and read the message.

I’m in your room waiting for Allison and some guy named Max came here looking for you.

Did he say why?

No, he left the second I said you weren’t here. Everything okay?

Yeah. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.

I send Allison a message to tell her Max was creeping around. I figure it’s best to give her a heads up. As far as I know, she still isn’t on great terms with Tristan, so I want to make sure she’s safe. I shudder at the thought of Max looking for me, my pulse ticking faster as I try to come up with a reason for his unexpected visit.

“Honey?” Mom asks. “Is something wrong?”

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