Page 29 of Killer of the Bells
Chaos.
It wasn’t a sound.
It was so much worse.
Something intrinsic to me began to vibrate, and my edges and senses blurred. What was me became so much more.
Infinite possibilities unfolded and collapsed around me. My past, present, and future all happened in one moment, crashing around me and colliding, making it impossible to distinguish any one from the other. I forced myself to continue to breathe, staying connected to my body as much as possible.
The monster in me stirred, but rather than fully rousing, it was content to observe rather than act.
It would be over soon. I would survive as I had so many other times, only for some reason, it felt easier than it had the last time I’d endured it.
It was even worse for Wraith. With every tolling of the bells, Wraith became more like his name. I didn’t blame him for leaving town. I was more surprised that he’d stayed to observe Briar and Isa the first day instead of fucking off immediately.
The effect was muted for me since I was only fae-adjacent. I’d gotten unlucky. Many part-fae creatures were completely unaffected by cold iron bells. If they weren’t, then science would have come up with a name for it and labeled it as a rare, sound-related malady that caused psychosis in a handful of unfortunate people.
Only all of those people would have unknown fae ancestry and be utterly fucked because science is all but useless in the face of fae magic.
Ancient fae like The Cody are completely immune to cold iron and all its effects. They’re as much a part of the world as the rocks and dirt covering it, so most rules of magic don’t apply.
Wraith and I had checked in on Isa and Wraith’s cousin Briar the day before, and both had seemed unaffected by the bells, though Wraith assured me that it was early days for both of them. Briar was young, and Isa was an infant when it came to his fae abilities. Anything could happen with them.
I liked to keep track of Isa because he’d interacted with Wraith’s magic, taken on a portion of it, and hadn’t gotten cursed. Or, at least, it seemed that way so far. Only time would tell.
It was only four p.m., so the bells didn’t toll for long. My world began to realign, and I started to believe I was about to make it through unscathed once more, when I realized Echo was holding my hands.
“Vale…Vale…” He called my name softly, worry painted across every feature.
In the dim light of my lab, he managed to be more appealing than anyone or anything I’d ever laid eyes on.
It seemed only natural to pull him to me and bury my face in his sweet-smelling neck. Only natural to take another bite.
Echo gave a small gasp, half surprise, half joy.
Unlike the first time, I tasted him slowly. Savored him. When his memories began to flood me, I allowed them, sifting greedily through them, gorging myself on every moment of his life. Time seemed to stop as I landed on a particular moment.
Echo was on the cusp of manhood, slim and lean, but he still had a touch of childish roundness to his features. He sat by a window looking out over a well-manicured garden. He seemed to be in a medical facility of some sort.
“He hasn’t spoken since they brought him in.” The voice was from a woman in a tasteful pantsuit holding a briefcase. “He’ll be a ward of the state unless he can recover enough to take care of himself.” She handed a folder to a man with gentle, starlight eyes. “Brandon, this is your new social worker. He’s going to do his best to help you.”
At first, I didn’t know who she was talking to until she walked over to Echo and patted him on the shoulder.
“Thank you, Miranda.” The man said, opening the folder.
He looked through it until the other woman left. Once she was gone, the man put the folder down and kneeled down next to Echo.
Echo didn’t move, didn’t seem to even notice the man was there.
The man sighed, and his starlight eyes were full of sadness when he said, “Oh, honey. Life has done a number on you, hasn’t it?”
Echo huffed, showing that he was, in fact, aware of what was going on around him. He’d just been refusing to acknowledge it.
“You don’t know me, but my name is Cal, and I’m not actually a social worker.”
The young man’s head tilted minutely toward Cal, though he didn’t face him.
“I know I don’t legally belong here, but Iamsupposed to be here.”
