Faerie Blood by Angela Korra'ti Read Free Book Online

my business can wait.”
    I wanted to talk, all right. I wanted to shriek, wail, and howl that I’d seen a monster. But the moment I gave in to that impulse was the moment the boys would wonder if I’d gone nuts and I wouldn’t lay that on them. Especially not on the night before they left to take care of ‘complicated family business’. I could do the math. They were a male couple, after all. And from what I knew of Jake’s family, only settled in America in the last couple of generations, they were big on traditional Japanese culture. And conservative to boot.
    “Right now,” I said, slumping back and closing my eyes, “I just want to decompress. I’ll be fine, Jake, I swear.”
    “If you’re sure…”
    “I’m sure.”
    He let it go, to my relief. But to ease his and Carson’s minds, once we got home I accepted their offers of chamomile and peppermint tea and the recovery of my bike from the Burke-Gilman trail. Once I had the former, they set off to retrieve the latter, leaving me to the company of my cat and my wildly churning thoughts.
    The haven of my bed temptingly beckoned, as did my favorite quilt all done in fiery shades of red, yellow, and orange. But my hands needed the warmth of the cup of tea, and after that, my violin. I settled on the couch with the instrument, not noticing what I played aside from slow, gentle airs in minor keys that suited my mood. Each note’s vibration through my palms and the physical act of drawing the bow across the strings provided the comfort I sought. Forgiving me for my earlier negligence, Fort curled up at my side, lending his purr to the violin’s soft meditations.
    When my eyes refused to stay open any longer, I stumbled off to sleep without bothering with the usual nighttime bathroom rituals. The bathroom had a mirror; the mirror meant my reflection. And right under “real, live monsters” on my list of things I least wanted to see on the planet was a pair of yellow eyes staring out of my mirror. I shed clothing and shoes and crawled beneath the quilt, wrapping its vibrant hues around me, and imagining myself an ember in a fireplace’s heart.
    Fort jumped up to join me, bonking me with his substantial head until I rolled over on my back. Then he climbed atop my chest, jammed his whiskery muzzle under my chin, and launched into a steady, rib-rattling purr. I kept most of me under the quilt, but snuck an arm out to hug my cat close. And after a while, I slept—somewhat.
    They never blossomed into full-blown nightmares, but scattered fragments of dreams continually sparked like bolts of summer lightning across my mind. I remember running along a Burke-Gilman trail overgrown with sinister vegetation through which I glimpsed misshapen shadows and implacable, glowing eyes. I remember the presence of something huge and ancient behind me giving chase, something I needed to elude at all costs.
    But I never saw what gave pursuit. Far clearer were the flashes of Christopher’s searing, pleading gaze and the strange electric pressure of his fingers, his skin hot against mine in dreaming as it had not been in truth, almost too hot to bear.
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    A sane, sensible person would have called in sick the next morning. But when the alarm clock jarred me awake, neither sense nor sanity had gained much ground against the night before. I still felt in physical and mental shock, queasy and off kilter, as though I were fighting off the flu. My skin itched and stung in random places. My eyes, gritty and heavy with inadequate sleep, burned.
    I risked a glance into the mirror when I stumbled into the bathroom to make myself fit for public consumption. My hair was a wild mess, but a fast shower and several determined swipes of a brush fixed that. Less easily mended were my haggard complexion and the shadows at the corners of my glassy and all too yellow eyes. Once out of the shower I shook my head vigorously and scrubbed a towel across my face, hoping my eyes would revert to normal if I