What Dawn Demands

by Clara Coulson

  I came to a halt six inches from the outer ward line. Haggard faces rose to greet me.

  Connolly and Aileen, barely clinging to consciousness as they fought through the pain of iron burns. Joseph McNamara and Constance Pillory, the owners of the two most important factories in Kinsale, their cocktail clothes spattered with blood and their faces painted white with fear. Captain Drew and Saoirse, who looked grim but resolute, sure that they would die but unwilling to pray for mercy at the feet of creatures whose withered hearts held none.

  Saoirse’s eyes were glassy as a result of a concussion, but they still managed to pass along a firm command: Do what you have to do to save the city, even if it kills me.

  I stared into those warm brown eyes that had kept me sane and centered for so much of my life, that had reproached me for my dumb mistakes, that had observed me as I learned from them, that had bathed me in compassion when I felt the guilt of failure, and that had promised me again and again that injustice could always be rectified. I peered deeply into the beautiful human eyes of Saoirse Daly, friend and mentor, whose morality had molded me into a much better human but a far worse faerie, and I nodded in deference to her demand.

  Then I stomped my foot on the outer edge of the ward array.

  As blood-red fire sprang from the Earth like the mouth of hell yawning wide, I shouted aloud the final word of Tom Tildrum’s tongue-twisting spell, which I had spent the entire walk here carefully invoking in my mind. Every scrap of energy I’d clawed from the walls of my soul, magic and life force alike, burst out of my body in a mighty wave that rivaled even Manannán’s enormous ocean swells. It shot across the ward array at the speed of light, captured all the whirling tendrils of flame in its grasp, combustion interrupted.

  The wards fought back, tried to override the spell. But I directed my energy to sink through those flames, into the ward constructions they’d emerged from, and slammed it into the intricate webs of spellwork, cracking hundreds of needle-thin energy channels and stunning the wards. So damaged, they couldn’t increase the intensity of the explosion enough to override the heavy magic blanket in which I’d encased the fire.

  Thus, the flames were halted before they rose four inches off the ground. They became nothing more than a carpet of fire that charred the dead grass and flashed the muddy puddles to hissing steam. A fire that could not reach far enough from its ignition points to touch the people pinned inside the circle prisons. An impotent inferno.

  Vianu sensed the disturbance in his wards and looked up from his gory work. The sleeves of his expensive white shirt had been rolled to his elbows, but the cuffs were still drenched in blood, and a fine spray of red coated his face and neck. The flecks of blood near his eyes served to highlight the crimson rings around his pupils, and the red smears around his mouth contrasted sharply with the gleaming white fangs he bared at the sight of a petty half-fae interrupting his well-laid plans once again.

  He made a sharp cutting gesture in the air with his dripping sacrificial knife. A signal for the watching vamps to finally pounce.

  They lunged for me, a dozen forms flitting out of the darkness so fast that the light of the frozen fire could not catch them. They moved faster than I could move, faster than I could cast. And with my body locked in place, straining to hold Tildrum’s spell as it rapidly drained my energy reserves, there was nothing I could do but observe their flickering approach from the corner of my eye and hope my comrades didn’t let me down.

  The first snarling vampire to breach my personal space fell when his hand was a hairsbreadth from my face. An ice spike shot down from the black morning sky and struck the burly man in the back. The spike was so wide it tore out all the organs in his chest, crushed them to mush, and drove the mush into the damp soil. Its larger base dragged the vamp’s writhing body down with it, until he was pressed against the ground, unable to pull himself free.

  A thousand more ice spikes followed the first. They rained down from five directions, each volley carrying the magic signature of a different sídhe soldier.

  There were too many spikes coming too fast from too many places for the other oncoming vamps to avoid. Some lost their heads in great bursts of blood and brain matter. Some were skewered and pinned to the earth like their human victims. Some were so thoroughly wrecked, they were left in scattered pieces. And some took the sides of the supersonic spikes to their chests or backs and were rendered bags of pulverized tissue that leaked thick liquid as their bodies deflated in a distinctly inhuman way.

  The vampires beyond the reach of the spike downpour came to a sudden stop, unwilling to risk their necks. And this cost them the only chance they had to salvage their master’s murder plot. Because, as I sank to one knee, groaning from the monumental effort of maintaining Tildrum’s spell, three dozen funnels of swirling wind reached down from the sky like the fingers of a god.

  The funnels ripped the metal spikes from the earth, gently plucked the hostages from the ground, and then hauled them up, up, up. Away from the fiery ward array trying its hardest to burn them to ash. Away from the vampire lord who wanted to see them dead. Away from a building battle between vampires and faeries they couldn’t hope to survive.

  Saoirse, Connolly, and Aileen were among the last to be rescued.

  The first mouthed words of encouragement to me as she rose into the air, including the delightful phrase: “Kick that fucking vampire’s ass.” The second gave me the most appreciative look I’d ever seen on a faerie’s face. And the third fixed me with a challenging stare that told me I’d better not die before she had a chance to thank me with a handshake and a speech.

  The three of them flew into the air side by side and were gone from my sight in seconds, hidden by the haze and the darkness of night. Four blocks to the east, I knew, the wind funnels would soon deposit them, along with the others, into the waiting arms of Granger and his emergency defense teams, who would ferry them all to safety.

  As soon as the last person was out of range of the ward array, I scampered away from it and released the spell holding back the fire.

  A wall of angry flames rose twenty-five feet into the air, roaring like a living beast, devouring everything it touched. The heat was so intense it seared my cheeks, the glare so bright I had to avert my eyes. The entire night sky above Kinsale was lit up by the menacing hue of Vianu’s aura, every burning building and column of smoke and shocked face of an onlooker tinted red.

  It was like a great rift had opened up between Earth and a demonic nightmare of a realm. There was a second where I wholeheartedly believed that an army of demons and imps would emerge from the blaze and overrun this world.

  Then the fire petered out as quickly as it had ignited. Darkness fell over the park.

  The only things still illuminated were Vianu’s summoning circle and the shield around it.

  Inside the circle, Vianu stood at his makeshift altar, twirling his knife in his fingers. He’d continued to sacrifice people instead of trying to thwart the rescue of his hostages, and now there were only four humans remaining in the execution line. He looked between the next person in line, an older woman shaking like a leaf, and me, trembling just as hard from the spiritual power drain that had come dangerously close to knocking me out. The vampire lord appeared to do some quick calculations in his head, lips framing indistinct sounds, fingers dancing to unknown numbers.

  Vianu came to a decision. And whistled. Loudly.

  All the vampires who’d backed down during the ice spike barrage reemerged from their shadowy hiding places. Plus all the vampires who’d been waiting inside the buildings that bordered the park. Plus all the vampires who’d been stationed in the flood tunnel system in case they were needed as backup.

  Roughly a hundred vampires came into view, separating from the darkness to reveal their faces to me at last. A hundred people who had been human just six months ago, and whose lives had been made forfeit because I stirred up a rivalry with a bitter old god.

  Added to the vamps who wer
e wreaking havoc across town, the total number of Vianu’s soldiers must’ve been somewhere close to a hundred fifty. Almost twice the number I’d expected.

  Of course, I thought as a lead ball settled in my gut. He read the report. He knew the estimated vampire conversion rate we used to calculate the minimum Watchdog recruitment numbers. So he quietly doubled his conversions to make sure we could never overpower his undead army.

  Vianu shot me a snide grin—and whistled again.

  The vampire army attacked.

  There was no word on Earth to adequately describe what happened next. The one that came closest was “pandemonium.”

  The Watchdogs who’d set off for the park on my signal—the release of the inferno—met the oncoming vampires with abandon. Hundreds of spells discharged at once. Booms and crackles broke the air. Wildly flickering flares of light chased away the shadows.

  Vampires burned in balls of fire, were torn to bits by lightning strikes, exploded at the touch of force blasts so strong they shredded molecular bonds. Watchdogs died in spurts of blood, screaming as their bones were crushed, spitting curses even as sharp fangs tore through their throats. And on the front of it all, soaring toward the park like gods descending from a frozen heaven—the sídhe soldiers.

  They landed in formation a hundred feet away from me, Orlagh at the lead. Swords drawn and brightly gleaming. Energy wafting off their skin as mist. Frigid eyes alight with a desire to destroy every enemy in their path.

  A horde of vampires raced toward the fae, their bodies nothing more than blurs of color in the dark.

  Orlagh didn’t flinch. She barked the order that no sídhe had ever given on Earth before today: “Don’t hold back!” And with that, Orlagh Maguire became the first sídhe since Mab herself to show this realm just how much power lurked beyond the veil.

  She swung her sword to the east, and everything before it disintegrated. The force blast blew a crater into the dirt forty feet wide, ripped up the asphalt of the nearby road, and slammed into the buildings that lined that road, annihilating every single one. Brick and stone and wood and metal barreled into the air like ejecta from a meteorite impact, the debris flying so high it crossed the barrier, causing the entire dome to flash a faint blue.

  The twenty-odd vampires who had been in the path of the blast no longer existed.

  The ones who hadn’t been now realized how badly outmatched they were, and took evasive maneuvers. They approached the soldiers like an angry swarm, buzzing this way and that, preempting any further massive attacks that could greatly cull their numbers.

  But these sídhe soldiers were no amateurs. They immediately repositioned themselves for close-quarters combat and jumped into action. Threw pinpointed spells. Raised powerful shields. Repelled every vamp that came near and ripped into their pale, undead bodies with sharp ice and strong winds.

  Dozens of lives and dozens more vamps were snuffed out in the span of two minutes. The two minutes I sat on the ground, catching my breath and coaxing more energy from that unknown source to refill my aching soul. At one point, two vamps set their sights on me, but I spotted them coming and activated my shield bracelet.

  They slammed into it, trying to burst straight through. Only to succeed in tripping the force component, which flung them across the park and smashed them into the brick wall of an already damaged apartment building. The entire wall collapsed on top of them, trapping them under half a ton of rubble.

  I patted my bracelet and wearily muttered, “Good job.”

  Then I hauled my worn body to its feet and faced the vampire lord.

  Vianu didn’t seem to care that war was raging outside his shield. With a broad smile and a spring in his step, he finished carving up the second to last sacrifice, snatched the woman’s soul as it tried to flee, and stuffed her into the designated spot in the summoning circle. As he stepped around the altar to toss her disfigured body atop the overflowing pile, he actually paused to give me a little wave, taunting me. And when he wrapped his strong hand around the throat of the last sacrifice, and lifted the man from the ground with a flourished flick of his wrist, I got the message.

  He didn’t believe there was any way in hell I’d be able to breach his shield before he finished the ritual.

  We’ll see about that.

  I snatched the smoke grenade off my belt, spun around, and tossed it in Orlagh’s direction. The grenade landed a few feet to her left and spewed a toxic cloud that drove away three of the five vampires trying to bring her down. She slashed the remaining two to pieces while they were distracted by the smoke, and then she glanced my way. I gestured to Vianu’s shield with emphasis.

  Comprehension dawning, she pulled out from her position in the soldier formation, shouting for the others to close the gap in the circle. They followed her order with a smooth transition. Not a single one even paused to process the shift.

  Without McCullough at the helm, they were a well-oiled team.

  Orlagh darted past me, cutting down vamps as she went, and vaulted over half of Vianu’s shield. She landed on the center of the dome, which tried to blast her off with a pulse of red energy. But she countered with a pulse of her own, dyeing half the shield violet. She then braced her boots on the curve of the sizzling surface, spun her sword around, and drove the blade into the shield. As the sword made contact with the shield, Orlagh unleashed another colossal blast of energy, directing it through every fiber of the shield’s construction and ripping it to pieces.

  The shield shattered like glass.

  Orlagh began to drop toward Vianu, sword raised to deal another blow, but the vampire lord didn’t respond to the imminent threat. I realized why too late, and yelled for Orlagh to watch out just as three vamps careened out of the darkness and tackled her in midair. They’d leaped from the rooftop of a nearby building, and they were going so fast that the impact carried Orlagh almost forty feet away. The tangle of bodies slammed into the ground, throwing dirt high into the air, and the vamps started to tear into Orlagh before she could get back on her feet.

  But even as a set of fangs sank into her arm, she called to me, “Stop him, Whelan!”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said under my breath as I returned my focus to Vianu.

  He was slicing up the last sacrifice as fast as he could, moving in a blur. But no matter how fast he moved, it wouldn’t be fast enough to stop me. I was too close. I’d come too far.

  I started walking toward him in the same calm manner I had approached the ward array, and with each step, I gathered more energy beneath the surface of my skin.

  My magic well was as dry as sand, my life force reserve painfully low, but I dredged up the energy anyway, throwing caution to the wind and trusting whatever enigma existed at the base of my soul, whatever secret had been lurking there for thirty-three years, buried so deeply behind my glamours that I’d never come close to sensing it.

  I trusted Tom Tildrum, strange as it sounded, trusted in his hint that I could and should utilize this unknown energy source to my advantage. I trusted that whatever this energy was, wherever it came from, it was a natural part of me and meant me no harm. I trusted that like the rest of my essence, this energy was fae, and since it was fae, its effects could be trusted even if its motives were impure.

  Because faeries could not tell lies.

  One step closer, and three vamps came for me. But green energy bursts came for them like heat-seeking missiles, launched from Odette Chao’s silver arm. One step closer, and two vamps came for me. But hot-pink fire came for them, whips of flames that ate through flesh like tissue paper, dancing to the beat of Indira Sanyal’s wily will.

  One step closer, and one vamp came for me. But a sniper’s bullet came for him, shot from the magically charged barrel of Camilla Mallory’s rifle, a bullet that burst on impact and took a brain along with it. One step closer, and I reached the edge of the summoning circle, just as Vianu wrenched the last soul from its ruined mortal shell.

  I wound back my arm, humming with power
, and aimed my fist at the circle Vianu would not have time to repair before his ritual window closed. I plunged my fist toward the circle, toward the complex construction whose own design made it susceptible to even the simplest of magic attacks. I drove my fist down, down, down, energy spiraling off my knuckles, anger spiraling off my tongue as I shouted an invocation that would rock the earth and destroy all the delicate, damaging work Vianu had carved into it. I carried my fist closer and closer toward a resounding victory against an enemy few thought could be defeated. I brought my fist within two inches of the ground, two inches of a vampire lord’s defeat, two inches of a triumph…

  And then someone shot me in the back with an iron-tipped bullet.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Snow. It spiraled down in fat white flakes, shrouded the garden paths, the ice statues, and the tall stone walls visible from the arched window of my bedroom. I was curled up in the window’s cushioned nook, reading a really hard book and occasionally glancing out the frosty pane at the wintery landscape below, the snowfall so heavy that you couldn’t see beyond the palace grounds.

  In Camhaoir, the capital of the Unseelie Court, winter was always at its peak, but the sky was usually clear and black, the stars blazing bright and the moon hanging large. When it snowed instead, it made the city seem more festive.

  There was nothing I wanted more than to throw my heavy old book to the floor, run off into the city, and find a party. I wanted to escape from this stuffy room, this stuffy castle, the stuffy people who were tasked to mind me, and do something that was actually fun.

  Momma always took me on fun outings, but no one else ever did, so I’d been cooped up in this room for so long I’d forgotten what outside even smelled like. Because my mother had left on a business trip seven weeks ago, and no one had heard from her since.

  I was six years old, and I was lonely.

  I stared at the current page of my history book for five whole minutes, trying to figure out what all the words meant. But this book was written in a language I didn’t know very well, and every sentence was a chore to read. I hated trying to read things I couldn’t fully understand, so each page of this book upset me more than the last. When I had to skip another whole line because I only knew three words out of twelve, I finally gave up.