Page 135 of Caged in Silver
The goddamned condom.
No wonder Leo didn’t know how to use one. He’s a faerie. They probably eat a magical birth control flower or some shit like that.
Wait a minute. I had sex with afaerie!Oh my god! Isn’t that, like, sodomy or something? And what if some freak accident occurred and I’m pregnant? With a half-human, half-fae?
I’m teetering in my desk chair, ready to tear off in a panic, when I remember I’m in class, surrounded by dozens of curious eyes. With a deep breath, I sit back and try to focus on the lecture, but I can’t.
Later, while I’m curled up on my bed trying to readUtopiafor Brit lit, my mind drifts yet again into La-La-Land. Didn’t Rime say the fae were from the Northern Isles?
Next thing I know, I’m plunging down an internet rabbit hole, reading all about the Tuatha Dé Danann. According to Celtic mythology, the Tuatha Dé is a pantheon of gods, a race who came to Ireland from—get this—the Northern Isles. With them they brought not only a vast knowledge of magic, but also four treasures: the Cauldron of the Dagda, the Stone of Fál, the Sword of Nuada, and the Spear of Lugh—each a powerful symbol of the island from which they hail. Yes, the Spear of Lugh, one of the etchings on Leo’s ring. The Spear of fucking Lugh!
After I pick my chin up off the floor, I read on to learn that the Tuatha Dé Danann are considered the ancestors of the fae. When Ireland was conquered by the Milesians, the Tuatha Dé agreed to go underground. Literally. They became the keepers of the Otherworld, living beneath the Neolithic mounds scattered all over the Irish countryside. Evidently they, the faeries, can be accessed via these mounds, and also through mists, lakes, caves, and groves. A folklorist writes on her blog, “Beware where you rest out-of-doors. Many a poor soul has fallen asleep under a Hawthorn tree only to find himself carried away to Faerie.”
With a jerk, I spring from my chair. None of this can be real. It’s mythology. Folklore. Legend.
But the scholar in me knows there’s always some truth behind these tales. The question is, how much?
After ten minutes of pacing and hyperventilating, I go back to my laptop. Links lead me to Norse Mythology where I discover two realms in their cosmos that arouse my suspicions: Alfheim, the land of the “light elves,” and Vanaheim, the realm of the Vanir, a group of gods akin to the fae. Are they the same as Ireland’s Tuatha Dé Danann? Unfortunately, scholars know jack shit about the Vanir.
My hours of research only leave me with more questions. I can’t remember what Rime called their land, but none of the names I read ring a bell. Could it be an actual place, like the Faroe Islands? Or is it in a parallel dimension? And if it’s beyond the veil, so to speak, then how did the fae get here, to the human realm? Through lakes and mounds? Are there other faeries walking around in plain sight? Am I sitting next to one of them in Modern Grammar or buying my coffee from one in the Bobcat cafe?
I gleaned from the heated conversation in Leo’s living room Friday morning that he, Rime, and Topaz—and no doubt, the ever-mysterious Robin—are on some sort of mission here in the human world. A mission for which they need my help. Avery and Aaron’s too. And apparently none of the fae expected to come across a human as “powerful” as me, whatever the hell that means.
I snap my laptop closed when a new line of thought sends me careening back to the anger stage of grief. Leo’s been grooming me. For months, he’s been trying to persuade me to embrace my gift while I’ve been stubbornly resisting him. So what better way to get a reluctant and uncooperative helper on board than via her heart? Soften her up, tell her you’ll always be there to protect her, tell her how “incredible” and “powerful” she is.
And if all else fails, kiss her, romance her, and take her to bed.
He’s texted and called me at least once every day, undeterred by my silence, and I cry every time I see his name on my phone. My finger hovers over “delete contact” but I never tap the button. Because I have no backbone. I want to believe all his apologies—thathe was protecting me with his lies, that he was afraid of losing me. I want to believe he cares about me. But how can he, if he didn’t even respect me enough to tell me the truth?
Despite the numbness, I somehow survive the week, making it to all my classes and completing every assignment. Most of them are a welcome distraction, exceptSir Gawain and The Green Knight. Its themes—of honor and manipulation, of giving in to base desires, and of deception—hit too close to home. I write my obligatory two-page response on it, then shove the book in the bottom of my desk drawer.
I’m stretched out on my bed bingingVampire Diarieswhen the door slowly creaks open and Liv appears. She’s been tiptoeing around me all week, giving me a wide berth like I’ll go medieval on her if she gets too close. To her credit, she’s already apologized, more than once, for the “Zander incident.” How she knew about the fight in the library, I can only guess. Zander loves telling fish stories and the O-Chi brothers gossip like old church ladies.
But with some better sleep and little perspective, I’ve realized Liv wasn’t being malicious when she ratted me out to him. I’ve been hanging out with scary new people, doing scary new things. Liv was afraid she was losing her best friend. She was afraidforher best friend.
Turns out she had good reason to be.
“Are you ready to talk to me yet?” she asks softly as she lowers her backpack to the floor and perches on the edge of her bed. “I really am sorry.”
She’s so forlorn, I can’t bear to punish her any longer. She thinks all my misery is because of her and Zander, but I can’t tell her the truth and relieve her. How do you tell someone, even your best friend, that you got your heart broken by a faerie? I still don’t quite believe it myself.
I sigh. “I know.”
She bounces a bit on her bed, excited that I’ve spoken. “I only told him because I was worried about you.”
I repeat, “I know.” I get it. I’ve been fretting about her and Braden for months.
“I’m sorry he acted like an idiot.” She screws up her face. “I thought he’d handle it a lot better than that.”
I feel my first smile of the week tugging at the corners of my mouth. “You know you’re talking about Zander O’Leary, right?”
She gives me a classic Liv snort-laugh. “Yeah. My bad.”
As I sit up, she asks, “Have you gotten dinner yet?”
“No.”
“Wanna go together?”
