Chapter 4
Chapter
Four
Silva
Reaching back for Wylder’s hand already felt like second nature. Habitual. Even though this was only the second time he’d done it. They stepped through the door in Solston and stepped out into a similar room in Chicago.
Unlike Solston’s room of doors, this one was square, but it had the same smokeless fire. Only now that fire resided in a circular pit. Soft light emanated from everywhere and nowhere, no source to be seen.
The door clicked shut behind them, and Zavia, another seer, appeared on the opposite side of the fire.
“Welcome, Silvanir. Fred told me to expect you.”
“How?” Wylder whispered behind him so quietly that Silva was sure he wasn’t supposed to hear.
Zavia smiled, her dark skin shining like the smoothest marble in the firelight. She wore a simple deep purple slip dress and somehow made it seem as elegant as a queen’s gown. “Welcome to you as well, Wylder, nephew to Sigurd.”
“Um, thank you.” Wylder stepped up beside Silva, keeping their fingers entwined. “You know my uncle?”
“I met him many years ago.” She turned her attention to Silva.
Like Fred, she looked young, aside from her eyes.
Deep furrows lined the skin around bright green orbs the color of Granny Smith apples.
“Tread carefully in these streets tonight. There has been unrest in the darker pockets of our underbelly as of late.”
With that, she disappeared.
Wylder gasped.
Silva sighed. “Freaking seers.”
“Are they always doing that?”
“Yep.” Silva started for the door that led to the rest of the building. “If you’re going to be part of guarding the door from now on, you’d better get used to it.”
It’d been more than a decade since Silva had set foot in Chicago, but his memory was almost as sharp as his blades.
Unlike the Seers Guild building in Solston, the Chicago hub was mostly underground.
When he opened the door to the stairs leading up and out, Wylder made a noise of surprise behind him.
“Wasn’t expecting that.”
Silva started up the stairs. “Chicago has been the site of some pretty brutal paranormal wars in years past. The seers set up this station as more of a bunker about a century ago. It’s expanded a lot since then and gotten a lot more peaceful on the surface, but they decided to keep it where it is.”
“Makes sense.”
They reached the top of the stairs and stepped out into an alleyway between two high-rise buildings. The whistling breeze tunneling between the buildings washed over them, bringing the scent of water, garbage, and lingering spices from a nearby restaurant. Indian, if Silva had to guess.
“Where are we exactly?” Wylder asked, looking toward one end of the alley, then the other.
Pointing in the direction Wylder was looking, Silva said, “Well, the lake is that way. That end is Michigan Avenue.”
“Huh.”
“Have you been here before?”
“Years ago. Sigurd brought me. We spent a long weekend. Went to a baseball game, museums, and my first off-Broadway show. It was nice.”
Silva smiled and started toward Michigan Avenue. “I knew he’d be a good parent.”
There was a smile in Wylder’s voice. “The best.” As they neared the street, Wylder asked. “What about your parents? Are they here?”
Silva had expected he’d have to answer that question at some point, but perhaps not so soon. “As far as I know, they’re still alive in the Winter Court of the Fae realm, but I hardly know them. I was given into the queen’s service when I was very young and raised in the training grounds there.”
Wylder was quiet for a few steps, but the statement hung in the air.
He knew, especially for humans, that his young life seemed sad.
Cruel, even. Maybe it had been. But he’d grown up a warrior, and at the end of the day, he wouldn’t change it.
Even if following the orders of his queen had made it so he could never go home again.
“Don’t think about it too hard,” he finally said when Wylder hadn’t found words to respond. “It was difficult at times, but I wouldn’t change it.”
Wylder reached out and briefly squeezed Silva’s fingers. “Are you close with anyone you grew up with?”
Silva smiled. “I am, actually. There were two others who entered training around the same time as me. One of them is here.”
“Good.”
It was good. Osk was a good friend and an even better warrior. Still, Silva was hoping he wouldn’t have to call him in on this one.
They stepped out from the alleyway and joined the flow of traffic on the sidewalk. The night was cool, but not cold, and it certainly wasn’t slowing shopping on the Magnificent Mile. Silva guided them down a couple of blocks to a bus stop.
“Where are we headed?” Wylder asked while they waited.
“Here.” Silva kept his gaze on the street.
With the glamour he used in human spaces—blond hair instead of silver, blue eyes, and rounded ears—most humans didn’t give him a second look, but there were always paranormals lurking who could see through the glamour.
Most would know what he was if they saw him and go about their business.
It was the few who would realize who he was that concerned him.
“A bus stop?”
Smirking, he caught Wylder’s gaze. “The bus it leads to.”
Wylder chuckled. “Ass.”
Before Silva could respond, the pneumatic brakes of a bus sounded down the street. A few moments later, it stopped in front of them and opened its doors. Two people exited before they stepped up into the vehicle.
Silva spotted Alban immediately. If he squinted, he saw the other Fae as the human his glamour presented to the world.
The vision Alban showed humans wore layers of dark, dirty-looking clothing and had a permanent scowl.
The truth was, Alban was a Forest Fae. His antlers gleamed a golden bronze in the bus’s harsh lighting, and while he still wore layers of dark clothes, they were clean and in good repair.
When Alban noticed Silva, he tensed, and he wasn’t the only one. Behind Silva, Wylder stopped completely.
“What the fuck.” Wylder whispered the words, but there was a tinge of panic licking at the edge of them.
Silva stopped and looked back at Wylder. “What do you see?”
Wylder shot him a look that clearly questioned Silva’s sanity. “He’s got freaking antlers!” he hissed close to Silva’s ear.
Wylder could see through Alban’s glamour. That shouldn’t be possible. Not if Fae power had never manifested in him. Both Wylder and Sigurd had assured him it hadn’t.
“What color’s my hair right now?”
Wylder tore his gaze away from Alban and narrowed his eyes. “Silver, like always.”
Shit. Silva hadn’t bothered with glamour when he’d been at Sigurd’s.
He thought Wylder just hadn’t questioned it when he’d cast the glamour as they arrived in Chicago, but that wasn’t the case.
Wylder could see through his Fae glamour, and he obviously had never encountered Fae like the one sitting at the back of this bus.
Reaching back, Silva took his hand and gave a squeeze, leading them back to where Alban sat alone. All the other riders gave him a wide berth. Silva sat in the seat behind Alban, pulling Wylder down to sit with him.
Once the bus started to move, Alban said, “Silvanir.”
“Hello, Alban. It’s been a while.”
Alban snorted and turned sideways in his seat so he could easily look at them. “You’ve been here long enough to know a decade is more than a while.”
Silva nodded his head in acknowledgement.
“What do you need?” Alban’s gaze went to Wylder. “You must be of Sigurd’s blood. You have his look.”
“He’s my uncle.” Wylder held out his hand to shake. “I’m Wylder.”
Alban tilted his head. The antlers stood tall enough to tap the window as he did so. He shook Wylder’s hand.
“Ansel came after Sigurd.”
Alban went still.
Silva continued, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the seat back in front of him. “He discovered Sigurd’s mate here in Chicago. Manipulated the Council here to get the mate sent to Solston.”
Alban hummed. “And to Sigurd.”
“Yes. Attacked once Sigurd had had the chance to know his mate.”
“And now you’re here looking for answers.” He glanced at Wylder. “Did Ansel get away?”
“No. He’s in the custody of the Solston Hellhounds.” Silva lowered his voice further. “He claims there’s something worse than him. A group trying to open the door.”
Alban furrowed his brow and reached up to scratch at the dark gold hair surrounding the base of one antler before he finally said, “There are always whispers. You know that.”
“I do.” Alban knew something. Silva was sure of it, but he also didn’t think Alban was going to hand the information over freely. “Any of those whispers worth sharing?”
Mouth twisting, Alban shook his head. “Sorry, Silva. Wish I could be more help.”
Wylder had tensed up beside him. Obviously, picking up the same vibe Silva was.
The bus slowed to a stop, brakes hissing. Silva didn’t know where they were, but he nudged Wylder to stand. “It was good to see you, Alban.”
“Same to you, old friend.”
They’d made it to the door when Alban said, “The Hunter has changed, Silva. That’s all I know.”
Silva stopped, looking back to meet Alban’s gaze as thoughts spun through his head. If the Hunter had changed—
“Hey! If you’re not getting off, then sit down!” the driver said.
They stepped off the bus onto a much darker and less busy street. As the bus pulled away, Wylder turned to him. “What does that mean?”
“Everything…or nothing. I’m not sure yet.”
Before Silva could say anything else, three forms detached from the shadows across the street and headed straight for them.