With Envy: Castle Street Fae, #3

By MK Mancos

Orphan. Survivor. Outcast.

My entire life has been spent trying to stay alive. In the system since my mother died from a drug overdose, I've kept a low profile, dreaming of the day I could age out and decide the path I wanted to take—not have it dictated to me.

Now I'm eighteen, living with a local doctor, and strange things are happening to me. The good doctor claims I'm not only fae but at the center of a war between the Seelie and Unseelie Courts. That my very existence might tip the scales. Problem is, I'm not sure who the good guys are these days.

To top it off, my secret crush, Tannis Warren, is following me like a lost puppy and claims he can help. Do I dare trust him, when I've worked so hard to keep people at a distance?

I'm Tiana Jules and I'm one of the Castle Street Fae.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mystic Kat Press
• Release date: Jan 22, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393008538

Book preview

Chapter One

Agents of Change

Hate festered in my soul, a pustule that grew with each passing day. I didn't come into this world with a distaste for all of humanity, but circumstances had beaten me down and showed me that the world was full of assholes. Most of them I'd had the unfortunate luck to live with in one of many foster homes.

I got shuttled away a lot.

Not my fault. Though the blame was usually placed at my feet. I got labeled troubled more times than I cared to count. If I was troubled, then I got that way through trying to protect myself from all the deceitful, hateful people who used the system to prey on vulnerable children.

I'd learned a long time ago not to allow myself vulnerability. That way lay disaster.

To that end, I'd decided to take the matter of my life into my own hands and not play by the adults in my life's rules anymore. I'd make some of my own and leave the world of the foster care system to rot in my wake.

Summer had come to Blackwell, and with it the promise of a thousand and one possibilities.

I stood on the porch of my foster family's house as a warm breeze ruffled my hair. The humidity had made my golden-brown curls frizz. I pushed it back with a hand and lamented my genes that gave me more than bad hair.

The neighborhood was quiet. At least it had that going for it. All working-class houses with lower end cars parked out front. No one at these addresses were getting rich anytime soon. Nor did most of them have the drive or ambition to better their circumstances.

Me, I wanted more. Better.

But I wasn't about to get it staying in the system.

My caseworker, Marcia Fenhold, stood across from me as I handed her a packet of papers. She unrolled them and read as I admired her shiny blonde fail-to-frizz hair. Yeah, she had no trouble getting her mane to tame in the summer heat.

I watched her face as she looked down at the paper I'd handed her. She didn't look happy, and I didn't care.

Really, I no longer needed her consent to do shit. As of the week before, I'd turned eighteen and had every right to pull myself out of the system. Actually, I saw little point for staying in. I'd also obtained permission from the Department of Education to take my GED, so I didn't have to return to Blackwell Regional High School.

As they said in sports parlance, I was a free agent.

The school was filled with the biggest bunch of fake-ass losers I'd ever seen in my life. There might have been one or two cool students in the entire population. Sheep. That's what they were—the majority of them followed along with the popular crowd. I had no time for that.

The only halfway cool people in all of Blackwell High were Peony Nash and Jilly Addams. They didn't march to anyone else's drum, and they made no apologies for it. Though of the two, I'd say Jilly was the nicer one. Calmer. She didn’t give off any frantic vibes like Peony did.

We weren't friends though. I didn't have any of those.

Oh, Peony used to sit by me on the bus every once in a while, and try to talk to me, but I never played that game. The less I said and the more I stayed quiet, the fewer waves I'd make. I liked it that way.

People tended to forget me, and I got to fade into the woodwork. If I stayed inconspicuous I could move through life without being seen, without being touched, without being disappointed.

Marcia pursed her over-outlined, over-painted lips in a show of disapproval. Now, Tiana, you still have an entire year of school. Aren't you afraid you'll miss out on all the fun of your senior year?

I hated when she went into lecture mode. Made me want to grind my teeth and pull my hair.

If I'm not shuffled to another home, you mean? I put my hands on my hips and stared her straight in the eyes. I found, by doing so, people usually backed down. Not because I did fuck you looks so well, but because the acid scars on my face made them uncomfortable.

Self-conscious, I wanted to touch them, to hide behind the fall of my hair as I did out in public but didn't dare make a move that might be construed as weak. I wanted and needed to show Marcia that I was strong and capable. That I had the ability to make my own way in the world.

I didn't break my gaze but held her eyes as I offered my next blow. I'm leaving the system. I'm done.

Marcia was a petite birdish woman with a haircut that screamed Karen. She probably talked to more managers in her life than the people who worked for them. Man, I'd hate to be waitstaff at a place where she ate. She probably busted balls with all the precision of a meat grinder.

The best thing about Marcia was that she was a little on the shorter side. The fact I was taller than her allowed me to look down on her.

She pursed her lips again. For a dollar, I'd have ripped them off her then beat her with them. I don't think that's wise. You need direction. Structure.

What I need is to be left alone. I crossed my arms and moved back on my heels. If I take my GED, I can go straight to work, take some classes. Learn a trade.

She rolled her eyes in a blatant show of disapproval. A trade?

For your information, Marcia, there's a lot of money to be made in the trade professions.

"How will you support yourself while you go to this trade school? She said the phrase as if there was a stink attached to it. You'll need money for room and board, insurance, groceries, utilities."

It's not like I don't buy all those things for myself now. I really wanted to finish this conversation and get on with my life. I had a lot to do, and I didn't want her standing in my way or coming up with alternatives. As a matter of fact, if I didn't get a move on, I was going to be late for work.

For the first time, her expression showed something other than disapproval: confusion. What do you mean you buy all those now?

Well, you don't think Mr. and Mrs. Farber use any of the money the state gives them to actually support me, do you? If they did, they'd have been the first ones in my life to do so.

Since the age of fifteen, I'd worked outside the home and used all the money I made to buy clothes and food. Most of the time, I didn't even sleep at the house where I was supposed to live. More often than not, I'd crash at the local women's shelter or mission. Odd to think I felt safer in either of those places than with the Farbers. Something was really off with those two, and I couldn't put my finger on it.

I'm sure they do what they're supposed to. We've had no cause to think otherwise. Marsha acted as if I hadn't spoken or offered evidence of a red flag.

Of course, she wouldn't. The adults in my life had always stuck together.

I raised a shoulder. I really don't have to even discuss this with you. Not anymore. I did so out of consideration and because I don't want anyone putting my name and face up on television saying I'm missing. Not that anyone gives a shit enough to care should that happen.

And that was true. Not even Marcia had the gall to deny it. Instead of addressing the elephant on the patio, she attempted to redirect.

Give me a few days. I'm sure I can find someone else to take you in. Someone you might find more compatible. She patted the top of her leather portfolio. I'd hate for you to leave school your senior year. To miss graduation.

I didn't think she'd really heard what I'd been saying. The words, yes. The spirit, no. Not even a little bit. She'd already decided she knew what was best for me, even better than I knew myself. Man, was she a whole bag of wrong.

I'd spent my life going from home to home, not being heard by anyone in a place of authority—by those who made decisions about my life. I'd gone way past tired of it and now sat in some corner of I Don't Care Land.

After Marcia left, I remained outside. The air was still hot, almost unbearably so, which was one reason why I'd wanted to meet outside. I wanted her to be as uncomfortable as me.

The other reason was because I didn't want nosey-face Gail Farber to listen to our conversation. She'd run and tell her husband, Ralph, and I'd be in a fight before storming off mad. That's the way it usually happened.

That's the way it'd ended up on my birthday.

All because I'd gotten a package and a card and thought they'd given it to me. Not because they'd ever shown me any kind of affection, but because I had no idea who else had known it was my birthday.

After the fight, I'd come home, and the package was gone. The only evidence was a bit of the string that I found on the dining room floor. Fuckers had opened it and then lied about it. Ralph had said he didn't remember any package. Seriously. Bastard had bald-faced lied to me. Denied starting a fight about the damn thing as well.

God, I hated them—couldn't wait to leave their tacky suburban home.

They were worse than some of the others I'd known over the years. With the Farbers, they hid their hatefulness under a veneer of Christian values and God-fearing rhetoric. For the most part, they hadn't physically abused me. I rather think they both thought better of that. I had an edge that screamed not to mess with me, or I'd seriously cut them. However, the financial and emotional abuse was constant.

I hoped they choked on the money they stole for their fancy clothes, car, and Sunday collection plate.

Gail stood at the window, looking out at me. Her bright, cheery expression dimmed, and frown set in place when she realized Marcia had gone. With no audience to play for, why bother with the façade of niceness.

I rose and grabbed my phone. It was a cheap one I’d gotten at a big box store. I paid as I went so there were no other fees associated with it but what I used. I liked it that way. It allowed me to travel light and I didn't get a bill.

I used it very sparingly, so I didn't have to put more money on it.

I lived frugally. Clipped and saved as many coupons as I could find. Had to. The Farbers of the world made that a necessity.

A chime sounded on the phone, and I looked down at the screen. I had just enough time to get to my second job. I hadn't mentioned that to Marcia and doubted I would either. She didn't need to know everything about me.

Hell, even I didn't know everything about me.

Like the identity of my father for instance.

I knew my mother was a crack whore, who’d died in a drug den from an overdose when I was twelve. She'd never mentioned a possible sperm donor, so I had real doubts even she knew.

I walked to the corner where the closest city bus stop was located. Movement from my periphery made me stiffen. Unlike most people, I didn't turn my head when I saw something approaching. I liked to appear as if I didn't notice or was unaware. In reality, the opposite was true. I was hyperaware. I used all my senses to track people and knew where every person stood in relation to me, without having to see them.

Lately, I saw movement from the corner of my eyes, but there was nothing there. I didn't smell, feel, or hear anyone. Yet, they still sent a ripple over my other senses.

Unfortunately, I'd developed this ability after the acid had eaten scars into my flesh. Otherwise, I’d never have been caught unaware.

I kept a knife in a sheath under my shirt sleeve. A quick snap, and it would drop into my palm. My bosses would be horrified if they knew I packed at work, but I didn't care. I felt safer with it close at hand.

I moved my wrist into position, in case I needed quick access. The bus pulled up to the curb and I hurried to get on and sit in my regular seat behind the driver.

Work wasn't far from the Farbers' house. Close enough that I only had about a ten-minute ride on the bus, but far enough that walking was out of the question. Especially if I wanted to get there on time.

The job wasn't anything glamorous—as if I'd have the chance for something like that. I worked in the mailroom of a medical office complex. Low level excitement, but good pay and benefits. I didn't even really have to think much while on the clock, which made it perfect.

I got to while away the hours planning my future, free of the dictates of a system that had failed me. Oh, yes, that was on my mind a lot.

After swiping in with my badge, I took the elevator down to the basement.

One of my coworkers—a woman nearing retirement who wore orthopedic shoes and had a helmet of curls in her steel gray hair—gave me a nod of greeting. I'd worked here a little over a month, and she was the only person who ever even bothered to acknowledge me.

Not that I minded.

I liked how I could move through the world with invisible silence. No one took the time to bother me, and I damn sure didn't go out of my way to mess with anyone else.

I filled my cart with mail for the offices in my section and left the mailroom. Since most of the offices were still open, I hurried to place the mail in the receiving bins and picked up the outgoing.

I didn't engage with the office staff. Better to get in and out before anyone saw my face for longer than a second. I especially hated going into the pediatricians' offices. Kids loved to point and stare. Their parents were worse. They usually tried to explain to the child in loud enough voices for me to overhear their cautionary tales.

She did something really bad. Be good or it could happen to you.

We don't point and stare at people different than us. We accept them.

I'd roll my eyes and bite my tongue. I never corrected their assumptions that'd I'd done something wrong. What was the point? People made their minds up about me based on an incident out of my control. Their loss. Not mine.

It seemed my entire life after the acid had been spent hiding my face in one aspect or another. Either from curious classmates or pitying adults. To me, they all slept in the same camp. I hated attention, no matter the reason.

One office I didn't mind