Prologue

With gentle swipes of the washcloth, white clown makeup was smeared from my face, revealing in streaks the peach skin that had been concealed underneath. My green eyes caught upon themselves in the mirror, and I snickered under my breath. What a picture I made, half clown and half woman.

Oh, but this had been fun. The kids who'd attended the outreach program for the Caliente Public Library had laughed themselves silly, giggling from activity to activity like hyper little hyena pups. This was what I lived for: children. Bringing them happiness.

The clown-thing had been a new twist, but I'd adored every minute of it. Most of the little cherubs (cough, cough) had recognized me despite the silly makeup, curly green-haired wig, and patchwork dress – no feat since I was the shortest adult they knew at four foot nothing. Still, they'd been so proud of themselves at figuring it out that I'd feigned shock at each disclosure, hands rushing to cheeks and mouth forming an "O".

This was the life I wanted.

So why do you go back? I asked my reflection. Why, after each of these blessed afternoons with the kids here, did I prod my steps to carry me back to a loveless home filled with hostile silences that eviscerated every ounce of joie de verve in me?

The soda pop-like joy that had infused me for the last few hours began to go flat as it always did when my thoughts turned in that direction. I snatched the sweaty wig from my head and tossed it into the duffle at my feet. My own hair fell free, a medium brown with a smattering of ginger highlights that hung in ragged hunks below my chin.

Why do you go back?

The next swoop of the washcloth was rougher, hastier. I asked myself this question all the time. Answer? I had no choice. Not really. Home was a misery, but the alternative was worse.

Times were dangerous. At nineteen, most women my age were either leaving the nest or at bare minimum heading to college. I could do neither. A dryad, or female naiad, was too vulnerable. Not being able to touch metal without suffering from serious burns would have made the world hazardous enough, but the political climate around us was the clincher. My foster father, Marcus, might not be the greatest guy in the world – Understatement, Daphne, I snorted to myself – but as a werewolf, there wasn't much of a safer place to be found than under his roof.

Well, safer physically.

And safety for any of the lesser fae - be they centaur, naiad, gnome, or any of the other thousands of flavors of us - was hard to come by. Some humans sympathized and argued for equal protections under the law, but the numbers of the militant adherents of Humans First were growing. Those of us who could pass as human did so. Those who couldn't tread very, very softly.

It was a risk for me to even volunteer as I did. How many four-foot-tall human women were there? Oh, there were some, but like me, they probably came under suspicious scrutiny.

I finished scrubbing my face and rinsed the washcloth until the water ran clear. Great subject change, Daphne. I scrunched my nose.

I think if we had a viable choice, we'd leave Earth Realm altogether. But where would we go? Back to Faerie? Snort. Not bloody likely. All lesser fae, including me, had an ingrained fear of the place, one that persisted centuries after our forefathers had fled the nightmarish land. None of us would so much as venture near the rifts scattered across Earth Realm that led back there. Well, none with a shred of sanity.

My cell phone chirruped at me and every inch of my spine went ramrod rigid. My face closed down until Alcatraz looked warmer. An automatic, instinctive response – the Aleks Effect in action.

I lifted the phone from the tote with trepidation and found a text in bold letters: YOU HAVE SIXTY SECONDS BEFORE I LEAVE WITHOUT YOU.

What-? I pressed a hand to my belly, instantly ill. Marcus had passed the buck again, roping my twin into picking me up. My chest tightened. How could you, Marcus? Easy. Marcus had never wanted to be a father, foster or otherwise. He kept us fed. He kept us clothed and physically protected. But for anything else, we were on our own.

I burst into motion. If Aleks said sixty seconds, he literally meant it. If I knew my brother, he was counting down the ticks of the second hand of our appa's, or father's, pocket watch, gleefully waiting for the exact tock that in his mind permitted him to leave with a clear conscience, stranding me here.

I bolted from the library at a dead run, face devoid of expression. There he sat, the car idling on the curb before the library's front steps. Cold, hate-filled green eyes – an exact match of my own - found me through the open passenger window. At least he didn't grow antlers anymore. Get a male naiad, a satyr, angry enough and he'd go from a normal-looking guy to an antlered, cloven-hoofed bundle of snorting doom in a matter of seconds. Short or not, satyrs were pretty scary when riled.

"Get. In," he said with zero fanfare, human guise unruffled. Long, lean fingers tapped an impatient pattern upon the steering wheel.

Face frozen in this rigid, blank mask, I tugged on my protective cotton gloves and reached for the door handle. I hated it, hated the way I shut down like Fort Knox, but I accepted the necessity. Self preservation in action.

Every spark of joy and happiness I'd eked from the previous hours with the children vanished, snuffed out like a campfire buried in a landslide. It was like Aleks was a dead zone. I turned off anytime he drew near. What scared me was that lately, I couldn't seem to turn back on after he left unless there was a child nearby. I was becoming a part-time zombie.

Resentment flared. Marcus should have warned me that he'd sent Aleks in his place. Our foster father knew the deal. He wasn't blind. Probably thinks throwing us together will fix things. I wish it would, but an extraterrestrial invasion seemed more likely.

I slunk into the passenger seat. Aleks always made me feel small and unwanted. I'd long since accepted the truth: my twin brother hated my guts, and nothing in the world would budge him from that stance. I knew. I'd tried. For years.

My eyes shied from him, seeking refuge in any distraction. I stared blindly out the open window. Would it ever hurt less? Nine years - nine years - since he'd spoken a kind word to me. We'd been ten, it'd been our birthday, and he'd promised me he'd be the best brother ever. Quite the promise. It had lasted all of two days.

Bitterness choked me, as intense as when the wound had been fresh. I hated what was between us. I missed the Aleks who'd been my best friend.

Yet, the guilt was mine. I'd thrown it all away in ignorance, earning his hatred as well as my own. Life didn't allow for do-overs. Nothing would fix it, certainly not time. Our parents were dead, and it was my fault.

Aleks's silence felt like an oppressive anvil around my neck. I prayed the drive home would pass quickly, because his proximity was tortuous. Green lights. Please, please let us hit all green lights.

That this hostile silence was an improvement in our relationship was too pathetic for words. Back at the beginning, silence wasn't an option for Aleks. He'd followed me around, spewing the most vile insults and then jeering when I'd burst into tears – which I'd done at the drop of a hat. I mentally sneered at my former self. I'd kept coming back for more, too, unable to comprehend that my brother wouldn't change his mind and love me like he used to.

Chump.

Even now, years later, the pain hadn't lessened. The idea of time mending all wounds had never quite panned out for me, but at least my grief was locked away where Aleks would never find it. I would never let him see me cry again. That had been my promise to myself since the day he'd informed me he'd prefer it if I would just die. We'd been twelve. He'd meant it.

I'd kept my promise and learned to betray no weakness…mostly. Not to my twin. He'd only twist the dagger harder if he'd any inkling just how deeply his words still cut.

OoOoOo

Aleks fumed as he navigated down Caliente's streets towards home. Picking up the chit was not his job, and he resented having his arm twisted to do it. What part of hating her did Marcus not get?

The anger burned hotter. It was her fault. All of it. She'd ruined their lives, and he'd never forgive her for it.

Traitor.

His cell rang, and he slipped the device from his pocket, eyeballing the screen to see who it was. Marcus. He sneered at the thing before stowing it away. He'd had enough of Mister In-Charge Werewolf for one day. As soon as he dumped her off at the house, he was going to head out. Maybe spend the night in the desert with the animals. Anything to get away from them all.

Two more months, he reminded himself. His minimum wage job wasn't spectacular, but it served its purpose, padding his savings account so that he could leave Caliente and never look back.

A second later, her cell rang. Her expression remained as warm as an ice floe as she answered it. "Hello?"

Aleks snorted in disgust. Even her voice had no life. It grated on his nerves like the roughest sandpaper. How he hated her.

She bolted upright in her seat, her hand tight about her phone. "Say that again?" she asked.

Aleks let a bit of the satyr loose, not enough to alter his human-like appearance but enough to magnify his senses. He bit out a silent curse when that failed to bring the caller's voice to clarity.

"M-marcus, is this a joke?" she stuttered, her face still freakishly devoid of life.

Unnatural, he thought again.

She stared straight ahead, unmoving. Aleks could hear Marcus's deep baritone rumbling as she listened.

"I understand. I'll tell him." With that, she hung up the phone. Her gaze skirted his way but flinched aside, a fact that pleased him inordinately. She'd better be wary of him. "That was Marcus."

"No, really?" he said with sarcasm.

No reaction. He might as well mock a statue. It infuriated him. He wanted her to hurt. She deserved to hurt.

"An Old One showed up on the White House lawn today."

Hold up. What? His ire vanished in light of the shocking news. "You're freaking kidding me."

"Secret Service agents surrounded him, but he called in some…hostages. He announced that they were Humans First and had killed a great, great something grandchild of his." Her gaze this time did meet his. "He executed each perpetrator as well as their family members, from children to fourth cousins. All of them. Right there on the lawn."

Holy crap. Aleks's fingers tightened on the steering wheel. Old Ones. Here. To his knowledge, an Old One had never left Faerie. The rest of them had counted upon that continuing. The lesser fae had fled their lands to get away from the capricious creatures.

"President Vaughn declared it an act of war," she said in that same matter-of-fact voice. Aleks temper reached new heights at further proof of her inhumanity. "The National Guard has been called to active duty. Door to door searches and DNA scanning of every citizen is to be instituted."

The breath wheezed from his lungs. He knew what came next. The internet was full of warnings of the empty FEMA camps just waiting for fae prisoners. They'd be collared just like convicted fae criminals already were. His foot pressed down further on the accelerator. How much time did they have? Where could they go? Drones and infrared cameras meant that even the national forests would offer no sanctuary. No way would he set hoof in Faerie.

A thought. All he had to do was stop the car and shove her out. That was all it would take. She'd never reach safety in time. For a moment, the vision of the chit with a big, fat black collar around her neck filtered through his mind.

He felt a twinge of remorse for even entertaining such a notion, but a part of him insisted he'd get over it to be free of her. He didn't want to look at her anymore. Each glimpse was a reminder of just what had been ripped from him and of how cold his life had been ever since. She looked exactly like their mother. Remove the reminder, and he'd feel like a million bucks. He was sure of it.

A pang. What have I become? Bleak sorrow mixed with his anger. He needed away from her before he turned into someone he couldn't live with. It was like this part of him was driven to dig and dig and dig…and he liked the man staring back at him in the mirror less with each go-round.

No. He wouldn't become that person. He refused to. But as soon as he had the chance, he was ditching her.

Three hours later

Elsewhere

A tall, ethereal woman glided down the halls of Stormspire Keep, the train of her gown a pool of rich, cobalt ethersilk behind her. She climbed stairs of glossy marble to the spire's peak, her steady gait never slowing nor hastening.

At last, she reached the circular room on the top floor and joined the man waiting there, her hands flicking her waist-long, ebony hair from her shoulders before finding a resting spot upon the filigree balcony rail. Her gaze swept across the vista below.

"I trust you succeeded, Muriste?" the male said with languid warning.

She smiled coldly. "I do not fail."

The twitch of his lips in return proved all the icier. "Of course not," he purred. "Report. How many naiad pairs remain in Earth Realm?"

When she failed to respond immediately, he lifted one elegant brow. "How many?" he asked with silky threat.

"Auverd visited Earth Realm this very day. Were you aware of this?" she countered archly.

"Of course," he returned without pause. "What of it?"

The woman tapped one hand upon the railing and turned to face him, her deep blue-green eyes luminescent even in full sunlight. "He executed eleven human family lines before their leader."

"What of it?" he repeated, uncaring.

"The humans declared war upon Faerie…and the lesser fae."

That did gain a rise from the male. He stiffened, his eyes narrowing. "Is that so?"

"You asked what I found, and now I answer: of the naiad lines that left Faerie, all but two are no more."

His lips compressed. "How many individuals?"

"There were forty-eight, but the humans placed metal devices upon most of the dryads, killing them. Their satyr brothers rampaged and were struck down. Your answer is two. There are now only two naiads of any use left to us. They descend from the maple and laurel bloodlines."

"Crossbreeds?" he mused as if to himself.

"You miss the important fact," she dared to voice. "There are only two naiads left. Naiads native to Faerie have all gone feral. The dryads have chosen a tree's life and our satyrs roam our lands as white stags."

"Do not preach to me facts of which I am aware," he said, his glowing black eyes seeming to burn darker. "Faerie dies a little more each year from the lack of balance that naiads provide. Two is not enough."

"They are all that is left," Muriste repeated calmly.

The male lifted his face to the sky, his dark skin and hair seeming to absorb the sun's light. "The two naiads must be brought to me."

"In time," she returned.

His head whipped around, and those black eyes assumed a smoky light. "Faerie weakens," he said in an ominous croon.

"I owed a debt to their paternal line," Muriste said. "To honor that I will allow them some measure of time before bringing them here."

The male smirked. "How very sentimental of you," he mocked.

"I will not court death by risking the wrath of the Wild Hunt. I will not be forsworn," she said. The woman lifted one thin shoulder in a half shrug. "I created a pocket world for them. Large enough for the male to roam freely and with enough green to satisfy the dryad's needs. If we should war against these backward humans, they will not be damaged there."

"Good. For war, we will. The humans have declared it," the male said with dark pleasure. "We will but honor their wishes."

OoOoOo

Muriste watched as Ovid's dark form retreated down the stairs, her composure not betraying the slightest crack. Inwardly, fury consumed her. Not one word from her lips had been a lie – Old Ones could not utter a falsehood without bringing the Wild Hunt down upon them.

No lying. No kin-slaying. Their only laws.

She'd won time for herself. For though she had sent the naiads to a pocket world of her own creation – a cage with every luxury such primitive beings as naiads could hope for – something had interfered and snatched them from her hands before they'd fully transitioned into that pocket of space. Her people would execute her for this should they discover it. Or worse, strip her of her powers and toy with her like they did every lesser being within reach. She refused to be treated like some lowly brownie or harpy.

I will find you, she promised the naiads with an inward hiss. And when I do, you will rue the day you dared defy me. That the naiads had no role in their own abduction mattered not a whit. Her own survival was at stake. And when I find you, she promised the unknown being that had interfered with her plans, you will wish for the blessing of death.