“Let me guess how this ends,” I said. “I agree to bring you along and get Kalos cured and you’ll show me a Fae on your little collection of screens.”
“Exactly.”
“Just know I’m not on board with your god-complex agenda.”
Argos and Kalos gave each other a quick glance that was difficult to interpret. Having allies with differing motives was never a good thing. It made it easy for your group to splinter. We’d have enough enemies in the Plains—and Tributary, if we made it that far.
With less than two hours to go, that was an open question. In the meantime, with the clock still running, I’d just have to keep an eye out for signs of open insurrection.
“So, where’s this elusive Fae hiding?”
“That’s easy,” Argos said. “One of the surviving Vanished wandering around out there? They used to be a Fae.”
“Great.” I pointed to Kalos. “You’re getting him since you’re already infected.”
“Consider it part of the deal.” He plunged the sharp needle into his thigh, his face twisting in immense pain. The color returned to his skin slightly as he withdrew the syringe. He blinked twice and cracked his neck.
“Feel better?”
“Ready to make a new goddess.” Kalos winked and rushed past, the border collie at his heels.
Lucky me to have such good friends.
16
Hour 11
Let’s put it this way.
The Fae Plains weren’t exactly a vacation spot. I’d heard stories through the supernatural grapevine, but they couldn’t quite prepare me for how unkind the years had been to this Realm. A dense industrial smog hovered in the air, a factory belching smoke on the green-tinted horizon.
It’d always been cloaked in this grayish sunlight, but it seemed the recent Industrial Revolution had made the place even grayer. The entrance to the Plains closed behind us, cutting off our return to Earth. I pushed the snarling Vanished down to the weak, yellowing grass, and Kalos pulled the trigger. The loud shot echoed across the dreary landscape.
I pushed my wet hair out of my eyes and checked my watch. A little over an hour before the Tributary closed for good.
“No one told me we were visiting the Fallout Zone,” Roark said, blue eyes surprisingly jovial. I, for one, wasn’t in a laughing mood. But I guess for him, just being here and on the way to the Tributary was cause for celebration.
We’d talk about his ill-fated solo journey later. For now, we needed to haul some ass.
A loud caw knifed through the polluted air, toward which I fired an errant shot. Black feathers exploded in the grim sky, raining down upon the ragged grass-like stalks littering the ground.
Roark gave me a look, handsome jaw set in amused consternation.
Pulse returning to normal, I said, “Not a fucking word.”
He shrugged, the dorky short-sleeved polo bunching up around his lean arms. I pointed toward a forest on the map, and the group fell in line, making good time. We trotted along the worn forest pathway in silence. Roark and I took lead, with Kalos and Argos trotting behind.
I used the quiet time to reflect on when Kalos might try to eat the rest of our faces. It was hard to gauge, but the sooner we tracked down an antidote, the better.
Two problems, besides the handful that had been bouncing around my mind since this morning.
I had no idea where a cure might be lurking in this forsaken landscape.
And the Fae were not exactly hospitable creatures.
The Fae, unlike the stories, were not a benevolent species. Creatures of light essence, yes. But light and darkness didn’t dictate good and evil. Common misconception, which creatures like the Fae exploited to their lying, thieving, skullduggery-filled ends.
But while all this rampant deception hadn’t made the Fae Plains the happy Realm from the movies—perhaps filled with frolicking meadows and candy cane forests—it also hadn’t looked quite like this last I’d seen it. Earth hadn’t been the only place to fall on recent hard times.
I was about to break my self-imposed silence when I saw Roark reach for his holster. No matter that, between us, we had only a handful of bullets. I counted four to my name, after the standoff with the Vanished. But before he could draw, a spear whizzed past my head, embedding itself in a nearby tree.
Eyes that glowed like radioactive cores burned in the green forest haze, accompanied by sharp fangs.
I tried to raise the shotgun, but a gruff voice said, “I wouldn’t.”
“And why not,” I said, scanning the deadwood forest. Where it had been abandoned moments before, an army of tribal Fae had materialized. Maybe they’d learned from Pearl’s school of stealth. I wondered if they’d also had to go back to the start of the obstacle course upon breaking a stick.
Would explain the silent footfalls.
Shotgun ready, I surveyed the collection of glowing eyes with suspicion.
“This is my forest,” the leader barked. “All who enter the forest of Solon must pay a toll. It is written in stone.”
“Stone!” the rest of the group cried like idiots.
The sharp tips of the spears glinted in the dull sunlight snaking through the spindly branches. I weighed the available options. Fighting would deplete our already limited ammo stores—and likely end with the four of us as pincushions.
Diplomacy, then, was the only reasonable solution.
Stepping forward as the de facto leader of the group, I called into the forest, “And what might that toll be?”
There was rustling in the sparse trees as the Fae conferred with one another. I waited, more annoyed than scared. Our window to enter the Tributary would close in an hour, which meant Malcolm would win—or something worse. This just seemed like an unnecessary bump in the road. To be expected while journeying through a trash heap of a Realm, to be sure, but an irritant all the same.
The bushes finally stopped rustling with feverish activity. A single figure emerged from the darkness, onto the barren forest path. He was slight of stature, his shoulders hunched. The wrinkles at his eyes suggested that he was older—but just how old was difficult to ascertain. Few of the Fae lived past fifty, and forest living was undoubtedly not kind to his complexion.
As he stepped closer, however, his eyes glowing green, I noticed one strange detail: a tarnished crown clinging to the sparse hair atop his head.
The man blinked twice and said, “You.”
“I’m sorry, have we met?” I didn’t make a habit of consorting with Fae. They tended to just cause problems. Or try to steal from you.
It wasn’t personal. They’d do it to their own mothers.
“I am the deposed Prince Solon,” he said with a regal air that was difficult to pull off with all the dead leaves sticking to his hair. “And I have you to thank for my fall from grace.”
“Think you got the wrong girl.”
“No.” The usurped prince waved his stick—a rusted scepter, actually, worn down by years of roughing it in the elements. “Harcourt described the woman who brought him back here. Beautiful. Deadly. With the unbridled energy of a thousand lions.”
“Doesn’t sound like me,” I said. Meanwhile, behind the scenes, my mind was working on overdrive, screaming fuck. I’d transported Harcourt against my will back to the Fae Plains after he’d been banished once by the very prince who stood shaking with anger before me.
Apparently, Harcourt’s second stint in the Fae Plains had been more successful. Harcourt had staged a coup. Naturally, he himself hadn’t assumed the throne—that would have limited his ability to spread chaos throughout the Realm. But he’d done a number on old Prince Solon.
“I would never forget his description. I can smell the scent of Earth on you, Ruby Callaway.”
The rest of the tribe—the prince’s royal court, perhaps—sniffed the air like wild boars. My muscles tensed, wary of an imminent attack. It dawned on me that Harcourt’s map had led right through Solon’s Woods for a reason.
If I
’d hated the son of a bitch before, that disdain was boiling over to a fever pitch. Shooting him in the head once wasn’t vengeance enough.
Prince Solon stopped sniffing the air. Leaning heavily upon the scepter, he edged forward until he was but a few feet away. A strong smell of sweat and mud swept through the smoggy air.
I forced a smile. “You mentioned something about a toll.”
He waggled a craggy finger at me. “I have but one thing in mind for you, Ruby.” His eyes lit up with manic glee. Never a good sign. “A special task.”
“We’re kind of on the clock, here.” None of my companions had seen fit to chime in. I didn’t know whether that was a show of their faith in my negotiating skills, or a wary silence as the figurative ground dissolved beneath our collective feet.
Ever the optimist, I chose to take it as a sign of their unflappable confidence.
“You do not make the rules in Solon’s Woods.” He stamped the scepter into the dust.
“No, no, of course not.” I waved my free hand in conciliatory fashion. “What did you have in mind?”
He rubbed his craggy hands together in glee. “I want my throne back, dear Ruby.”
I shivered, recalling Harcourt’s use of the phrase. “What’d you say?”
“Ah yes.” Solon cracked a wide grin, his green, diseased eyes glowing like halogen lamps. “An old saying from the same person who put me out here in the woods.” His grin stayed put. “From my brother.”
Goddamn did I hate the Fae.
17
Solon Leblanc agreed to help Argos procure the necessary ingredients to cure Kalos’s demon bloodlust—provided Roark and I made good on his request. They stayed behind, ostensibly for “treatment,” but really as collateral. A new map in tow, we were ushered to the corner of his woods, where a pair of ragged-looking horses stood tied to the trees.
The capital hovered in the greenish-gray distance—full of towering smokestacks and a looming castle. Its stone masonry looked blackened to a crisp from the pollution.
From where I was standing, the city didn’t look that much preferable to the forest. But Solon had warned us that the dog and Kalos would both meet terrible fates if we didn’t deliver. And I’d dealt with Harcourt enough to know that psychotic tendencies probably ran in the whole family. Which is why I didn’t bank on Solon following through with his promise.
Curing Kalos was no guarantee.
I checked the watch. Forty-five minutes. Cutting it close, but I’d done the best I could, given the circumstances.
“How’s it looking?” Roark asked, a slight hitch in his voice. This was the first time alone we’d gotten since last night’s events.
“Not good, asshole.” I dug my boots into the horse’s flank. It snorted in annoyance, but sped up.
“I’m sorry, Ruby. Harcourt came to me first.”
“Don’t even start,” I said, shaking my head fiercely.
“But how can I defend myself if—”
I whipped my head back, focusing on his blue eyes like a homing beacon. “I waited for four hours.”
“It’s my brother, Ruby.” He took the reins of his steed and coaxed the beast to go a little faster. “I thought you’d understand.”
“See, you said that before, and it didn’t work.”
“You spent twenty years trying to get revenge for Pearl.”
“And that got me nowhere. I thought you’d understand that.”
Roark averted his eyes, choosing instead to stare out at the depressing plains. Between here and the capital lay nothing but gray space and dead grass.
After our ambush in the forest, I was wary of other Fae causing problems. My intuition hovered in a state of lax alert, the wisps assuming a blueish-yellow tinge. Feeling antsy I removed the Realmpiece from my jacket. The dial spun uselessly, never settling on a symbol for longer than half a second. Pocketing the ancient compass, I settled back into the journey.
A few minutes later, Roark said, “Solon’s right about you, you know.”
“Better choose your next words carefully, buddy.”
“A thousand lions doesn’t begin to describe it.” Roark adjusted his hair, which was still wet from the storm. “I’ve never met anyone like you.”
“Your loss.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You weren’t the one waiting with a thong in your ass for four hours.”
Roark stifled an ill-advised snort. “You were mad because you had to dress up?”
“I’m glad the thought of me dressed up is so funny,” I said, flushing slightly at the ears.
“You always look good, Ruby,” he said softly. “You’d look good in anything.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but rather annoyingly found nothing to say. Two hundred years should’ve produced some witty comebacks. But emotions had a funny way of fogging the brain, making you do or say things that wouldn’t come out otherwise.
Sometimes that randomness resulted in elegance.
Other times—well, we all made choices we regretted. Did Roark regret his?
The wisps suggested no. And that rankled me more than anything. We could’ve headed out together. Instead, he hadn’t trusted me enough to ask for help.
Roark said, “You look like you ate a lemon.”
“Life feels that way sometimes,” I said, staring at the approaching Fae capital. The air was already thickening, the faint taste of oil hovering on the back of my tongue.
“On that, we agree.” Roark cleared his throat and drew his pistol. “You see that?”
I scanned the flat landscape. A mile or two ahead, an outer gate to the towering industrial city loomed. Solon had slipped us a couple passes to travel through safely. I couldn’t see any imminent threat.
I reached for the shotgun. “See what?”
“Nothing,” Roark said, shaking his head. “I thought I—”
His words were devoured by a roiling explosion on the horizon. One of the enormous smokestacks teetered and then crumbled, surrounded by plumes of orange fire. I quickly traced the smoke trail back to the west.
I saw it now: an approaching army. The wisps went bananas, turning the same shade of red that they had when Odessa had attacked us in the desert.
She was here.
And this time, she’d really brought an army.
18
Warning sirens blared from the Fae capital, loud enough to be heard even at the outer gates. I double-checked Harcourt’s map, and saw why the main city was under siege: the entrance to the Tributary supposedly ran beneath the royal palace, in the ancient catacombs.
Long ago, the royal castle had been built there to draw upon the energy of the magical source itself. Judging from the landscape, which now resembled a charcoal painting punctuated with streaks of fiery orange, that effort had been largely unsuccessful.
Somewhere along the line, the knowledge of the Tributary must have been lost, turning into legend. But Harcourt had somehow uncovered the truth between chaotic binges. It left a taste fouler than the Plains themselves that he was acting as my Sherpa from beyond the grave.
But Roark’s words from the time loop echoed in my brain.
Sometimes catching bad people requires doing bad things.
Or, in this case, listening to bad people. And besides, the world wasn’t all heroes and villains. Everything was as gray as this smoggy dump of a Realm.
The horses panted nervously as we approached the towering stone gate. Chunks of masonry littered the dying grass—not from the recent attack, but simply from disrepair. I guess the current prince wasn’t big on infrastructure investment.
Maybe that was why Solon wanted his damn throne back so badly.
A loud, amplified voice rumbled from the gate’s core tower. “This is an emergency. Turn back now.”
I reached into the saddlebag and pulled out the passes. “I have these emissary travel cards. I’m from Earth.”
“Earth?”
“Yes,” I replied, trying to concoct a pla
usible lie on the spot. “We’re investigating the recent spate of breaches into your Realm. We believe this current attack is related to these security threats.”
There was a little pause before the speaker crackled. “A little late, aren’t you?”
“Do you not want Earth’s assistance?” I asked. “The foremost expert on Supernatural Realm Defense rides before me.”
I pointed to Roark, who waved at the stone tower.
“Let me check with my Field Commander.”
“Better hurry. There won’t be anything to secure if you wait much longer.”
Roark glanced back at me, eyebrow slightly raised.
The massive gate blocked our view of the capital, but the sounds of war painted a pretty clear picture. Odessa’s army was charging hard—and she was playing to win. Made sense. Harcourt had broadcast the time limit to everyone, so she had nothing to lose by making an all-out assault. But how she’d gotten through to the Plains was a mystery.
Actually, it wasn’t. Probably the same way we’d entered: through one of the front doors, using a citizen as a free ticket. Basic, elegant, and unstoppable.
The only reason the Fae usually didn’t have to worry about security breaches was because no one wanted to vacation in a place that cut ten years off your life expectancy with each breath. I could almost feel my brain cells choking from the oxygen-starved air.
“Odessa’s really pulling out all the stops,” I said to Roark.
He stroked his handsome jaw thoughtfully, his lean muscles tense. “I don’t think it’s the demoness.”
“You think she gave up?”
“No,” he said, cool voice unwavering, “but those explosions look like they’re being launched from artillery.”
“You mean—”
Ruby Callaway- The Complete Collection Page 47