Raven

Chapter 18

EIGHTEEN

That eerie feeling clawed through my gut again, its silent howl echoing through my bones like a fucking hyena. I didn't know what it wanted, and when I reached inside, all I got was darkness, nothing. I inhaled sharply, trying to calm myself.

When I was a child and I got this feeling, that feeling that something was wrong, or something had been forgotten—a feeling I couldn't shake—I'd pace, get up. Every part of my being would be restless, and my mother would tell me it was all okay, and I'd believed her, but then we'd move and I'd realise that was it. I was feeling her fear, her panic and her desire to move us again.

But, older now, I searched for her, my power unfurled, golden threads seeking out my mother. Her emotions buzzed in my senses, fear, apprehension, but nothing out of the ordinary in our fucked up world.

"You good, Raven?" she asked, her eyes scanning the darkness.

I nodded, forcing out a breath. "The bike won't be there. We can just go home."

"Not a chance in hell. We're getting that bike." I felt her resolve. There was no arguing with her.

We'd been standing at the bus stop for an eternity, the rain a constant companion. It wasn't heavy, but it was annoying. Slowly soaking us through our clothes. "They might have cancelled the bus." This was a service for Others, though the word service was laughable. There was no service. The bus timetable said it should have arrived twenty minutes ago. The buses came every hour and ten. I have no idea why the time was so random like that, but it just seemed to be their way.

The bus finally crawled into view—a metal coffin on wheels.

My mother put a hand up in front of me, despite me being twice her height. I'm not sure what she'd protect me from, but I let her. Mother instinct, probably. The bus pulled to a stop and the doors rattled open. The driver, a middle-aged man with a pot belly and dull eyes, made a show of caressing his weapon. Yeah, we got it. It was loaded with silver. He rested the gun on the cash tray, right at my mother, and my panther braced himself, ready to protect her.

"Two seats. Five each. You make sure you sit at the back," he spat out at us.

My mother didn't say a thing. There was a time and a place, and this wasn't it. She took out a ten-pound note, lay it on the tray, and stepped back. No need to set off the itchy trigger finger. But I could already feel the familiar heat of silver snaking around me as we boarded, threatening to strangle my cat.

The heat silver gives off isn't a nice, friendly warmth. It's hot, burning, reaching out and rendering everything about me that was shifter, dormant. It made me want to get off the bus, an inner need to back away.

The driver took my mother's money, pocketed it, and had the bus moving before we even got the chance to move towards our seats. He didn't drive gently, either. Causing my mother and I to sway and almost lose our footing. We couldn't grab the bars to steady ourselves; the metal they were made from was intertwined with silver, iron, and any other kind of metal that worked against an Other. Oh, they had all our kryptonites in things to make sure they were safe.

This was because humans knew. They knew we were stronger than them, better than them.

We made our way to the back. Several of the seats were filled, and none of the fellow passengers looked up at us.

The guard, conductor, whatever you wanted to call him, walked up and down the bus. He too was armed. He didn't have the gun in his holster, but rather in his hand, letting us all know he was ready if needed.

It wasn't our plan to anger the humans. We had enough of their shit already. But it didn't stop me sitting there grinding my teeth, fury bubbling just under the surface. I didn't look at the humans. They'd see it in my eyes—the contempt, the want to tell them all to get lost. One day ... one day the tables would turn. Humans thought their numbers made them invincible, but they had no idea what they were really fighting. We could have been allies, we could have lived side by side in peace, but they created this inequality out of fear. I hoped that when the tables did turn, I'd be around to see it.

When we finally got off the bus, it dropped us a few blocks back from where the cafe I took Tia to. We had to walk it, which was fine, but it was dark and the curfew was going to be on us soon. We had to hurry.

I didn't expect the bike to be there and it was no surprise when the cafe came into view and where I'd parked my bike, was now filled with a large SUV. "See, it's not there," I said, stopping.

But my mother kept on walking.

"We're going in," she said, pointing to the cafe's "Others Welcome" sign. "Someone will know where it is."

"It's no use."

But she wasn't listening. She marched straight to the door, and what was I meant to do? Drag her back? We had hours to walk back and if we wanted to get back on the bus, who knew how long that would take to come out this way. I was tired. Tired and sick of it all really. I just wanted to go home. Go home and close my door and not think about a damn thing.

My mother had other ideas. She was through the main door before I could stop her.

The woman who'd served Tia and I the other night, spotted me right away. She put her hands up. "We don't want trouble here." But she was talking to my mother, not me.

"No trouble," I said.

I could feel her and the other patrons. Not that there were many. A couple where Tia and I had sat the other night and then a family sitting on the other side of the cafe, all tucking into their meals. Unease radiated from everyone in the room. My power stirred beneath my skin, reaching out invisible tendrils to gauge the emotions around us. Fear, curiosity, and a hint of hostility swirled in the atmosphere.

I kept my eyes on my mother, watching her every move. She had that look, the one that meant she wasn't leaving without answers. Part of me admired her determination, but another part was screaming that we should go.

"My son was in here the other night. He left his motorbike in the car park. Do you know what happened to it? Maybe you put it away for safekeeping?" My mother's voice dripped sweetness, like sugar melting on her tongue. It took me aback; I'd never heard her lay it on so thick, and actually mean it—or at least pretend to mean it so well that even I believed it.

The woman behind the counter swallowed hard and looked from me to my mother. Fear radiated off her in waves, a level of terror that wasn't normal. I hadn't attacked anyone here. Actually, I hadn't attacked anyone at all. It had been the humans.

I sent out my threads, invisible, letting them snake around her like ghostly vines. I wanted to calm her before she bolted and got an itchy finger on that trigger I knew was under the counter. Sure, this was an Other-friendly place, but they had panic buttons everywhere. One press and the police would be here in seconds, and it wouldn't matter what we were doing. We could've been sitting in a corner with our hands raised, knitting with cotton wool—they'd still charge us with something. I couldn't afford that.

So I calmed her. Or tried to. I wasn't sure of how far my ... I'd say magic, but was it magic? Power? Ability maybe. I wasn't sure how strong my ability was. In truth, I'd never actually tested it; I just knew I was able to use it.

But the woman did calm. "The girl he was with moved it," she finally stammered.

"Tia?" I whispered her name. I think only my mother heard it, because I sensed her jolt.

"What did she do with it?" my mother asked. "Did she ride it away?"

"No." The woman shook her head. "She took it to the bar." She motioned, daring to come out from behind the counter and away from that button. She went to the window at the other side of the cafe. "We call it the bar. Down there, just over the cliff. We thought she might have tossed it over."

I don't know what my mother was thinking, but she paused to look and then turned her attention on the woman and held it there for longer than a glance, making the woman shift uncomfortably. "Thank you," she said in the end.

Outside, I said, "The bike is long gone." I had resigned myself on some level, but that was also due to everything with Tia and not understanding why it had ended. It overshadowed the loss of my bike, I think. "Should we just walk—" But I had stopped and my mother walked off. "Where are you going?"

"To find your bike," she shouted over her shoulder. She was marching to where the woman had pointed. I sighed and contemplated staying where I was and waiting for her. I'm not sure what she thought she'd find, but my bike was gone. I'm not even sure why she was so adamant to get it back. She hated the thing. Most of the time, she didn't want me to use it, but I found myself following her. I was starting to feel like a good little kitten, following my mother around.

The bar was a cliff. Sort of. It wasn't a drop, but more a steep hill, with a path that'd been carved out and down at the bottom was a scrapyard, which stretched out before us like a chaotic monument of forgotten journeys. Evening had settled in, casting a muted, grey light over the scene before us. The rain still fell steadily, creating a pitter-patter of drips and splashes as it hit rusted metal and shattered glass. The air was thick with the scent of wet metal and oil.

Cars, taxis, and other vehicles had been piled haphazardly, some stacked three or four cars high, their frames twisted and bent from the years of neglect. Many were missing windows, which now acted as entry points for the rain, pooling inside shells that had once been seats and dashboards. Doors hung ajar or were completely absent, leaving gaping holes that seemed to swallow the dim light.

As we made our way down the cliff-like descent, carved by countless others who had ventured before us, I spotted shapes moving inside some of the vehicles. At first, I thought it was a trick of the rain and shadows, but then I saw them clearly: figures huddled inside broken shells. They watched us with wary eyes, their faces partially obscured by the darkness.

My mother was down before I was. The ground was a mix of mud and gravel, slick and treacherous underfoot. The scrapyard was a maze, each turn revealing more decaying vehicles and hidden onlookers. Some of the people were using the vehicles as shelter, makeshift homes in this metal wilderness. Others appeared to be scavenging and paid no attention to us.

"We should just go back," I said, but my voice trailed off as my mother stopped, and we both saw it. "It's there." I couldn't believe it. My bike, leaning against a car, looked mostly intact. My helmet was resting on the seat. The other one was gone, but my bike...

"I told you we'd get it." My mother marched over to it, but I watched the eyes and faces watching us, unease still crawling under my skin. I headed to my bike, and just as I reached for it, a skinny-looking man with white hair and bright eyes stepped out.

"Can I help you two?"

I halted, and my mother did too. I inhaled deeply. "I'm just here for my bike," I pointed to it. He was fae, his pointed ears and silver eyes giving him away. Unseelie fae, too. The worst kind, but even worse if he was down here. Even the bottom of the Unseelie fae barrel didn’t consort in such places, so he must have done something really terrible to find himself in the trenches of the human world.

His top lip peeled back. "You mean my bike?"

I narrowed my eyes at him. "No. It’s mine. It was left in the cafe car park."

"So, you left it ..."

"Parked it," I growelled

My mother put her hand up. "Don't play games. We just want the bike. Nothing else." But her attention had shifted. She angled around, eyes locking on a gutted motorhome nearby. A tarp created a makeshift shelter, and in the doorway...

A young woman swayed, her eyes wide and unfocused.

"Malachai?" The name slurred from the woman's lips. She looked disoriented as she spoke, slurring even that single word. Her eyes were wide, pupils like saucers. I reached out to her, not physically. Her heart was racing. Shadewine. She wasn't human; I could see that much, but she was high. Shadewine was essentially shifter blood. Humans took it. It had everything that would cause them to go furry removed, and all the good things left. It enhanced them—their hearing, their strength. But when they came down, they crashed hard, and that was where she was at. Crashing. Only, she wasn’t human. Witch, maybe. When others took Shadewine, it made them even stronger, yes, but it also made them like this woman. Drunk.

"Lyra ..." my mother breathed.

The Fae—Malachai—moved to block her. "I believe she isn't any of your concern. You said you just wanted the bike."

My mother's glare could've melted steel. "I believe she's my concern if I say she is." She pushed past him. "Lyra. It's me, Raina. You know me, from Madame Sian's."

Malachai's smirk was pure venom. "Another fucking whore. I swear, I wish Society would wash you all away. Do the place right. No wonder humans don't want to bother with you all."

Rage exploded in my chest. "You want to call my mother a whore?" I snarled, fists clenched.

"Sure," he said. "You think you can take me on, little kitty?"

My panther clawed beneath my skin, begging to be unleashed. "Fuck you," I spat.

"Raven ..." my mother warned.

"Yeah, Raven ..."

"Leave it." My mother's voice cut through the red haze. She eyed the Fae. "He isn't worth it." But her attention was on Lyra, who was barely standing, bruises stark against her pale skin.

"Get back in the fucking camper," Malachai barked at her.

Don't you speak to her like that," my mother shot back, her eyes blazing with fury.

Malachai's fingers dug into my mother's arm like talons. I moved to intervene, but she shook her head. "You came here for the bike, right? That's all you take."

Their gazes locked, a silent battle raging between them. The air crackled with heat, though I couldn't tell which of them was the source.

"You piece of shit," my mother snarled. "Did you drug her up? Is that why she's high? The only way you can keep her here is by hooking her on fucking Shadewine?"

He raised a brow, voice dripping with menace. "Careful what you accuse me of, or I might tell the young man here some home truths."

"You wouldn't know the truth if it hit you in the fucking head," she spat back.

My mother turned to Lyra, her voice softening. "You can come with me if you want. Right now. We'll get you away from this piece of shit who'll only use you until you're dead."

Lyra looked at my mother, and for a moment, the haze in her eyes cleared. "Raina ..." her voice was soft.

"Yeah."

" I..." I thought she was going to say yes. Her eyes glazed over, and she trembled, but then she closed her mouth and looked to Malachai. He didn’t need to do or say anything. His presence alone was enough to make her back down. "I'm okay here," she said, her voice so soft and weak I was surprised any of us heard it.

"Don't be afraid of this dick."

"I'm not. He's good to me." She stepped out and went to stand beside him, curling herself to his side in a fake show of loyalty. But I could see the anger in his expression, feel it coming off him.

"Take your bike and go," he said to my mother, his voice cold. "Before this turns into something you don't want it to."

My mother’s anger was like ice in my veins. "Do not move," she growled at me, and despite me being bigger than her, I knew enough to respect her authority. This was her fight. I wouldn’t let this fae beat her or take her, but I would stand back and watch, as she asked, because defending her was like saying she wasn't strong enough to handle it.

She walked right up to him, getting in his face, her teeth bared. Her panther teeth had shifted, adding a wild, animalistic tone to her words. "You want to threaten me, and I'll rip your fucking balls off and feed them to the strays as you watch."

He leant into her, a sneer on his face. "You don’t scare me." He flicked his hand up; I moved to intervene, thinking he'd strike, but instead, a blast of water hit her face out of nowhere, drenching her

My mother staggered back, choking as water spewed from her nose and mouth. Water fae.

"Take the bike and go. And don’t mess with things that have nothing to do with you." He grabbed Lyra, rough enough that she yelped.

My mother was bent over, water dripping from her, and she heaved out clear fluid. She gasped for breath, trying to recover.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

She didn’t even look at me. But her eyes were locked on Malachai. "Get your bike."