Moonshine: Phantom Queen Book 11—A Temple Verse Series (The Phantom Queen Diaries)

by Shayne Silvers

  Trust me, he’d deserved it.

  “Quinn!”

  This time my name was spoken not like a prayer, but like an invocation; I shivered as the sound of it reverberated throughout the room like a peal of thunder. As one, the Faeling and I stared at the hulking figure who charged into the room, panting with exertion. Unfortunately, the Faeling rallied first.

  “Maximiliano Velez,” he said, releasing the door. “I am so glad you have come.”

  Max staggered as if struck, his worried expression drifting towards confusion as he looked from me to my would-be assassin and back again.

  “Please, you have to help,” the Faeling pleaded, perfectly mimicking a woman’s voice. “Stop her before she hurts us both. That is why you came.”

  Too late, I realized what the Faeling was trying to do; if Max fell under his spell and took his side before reinforcements arrived, I would definitely be in a tight spot. And his plan might have worked, too, if the Fae bastard had been raised properly.

  “Max, come here and—”

  That was as far as the Faeling got before I rammed the whole freaking door—which he’d neglected to lock up after himself—into his sorry ass. The edge caught the bastard unaware and collided with his skull, sending him sprawling with a gash across his scalp. Thinking to run and get us both to safety, I snatched Max’s hand and bolted for the gaping doorway.

  Only Max would not budge.

  I swore and wheeled, prepared to break whatever hold the Faeling had on him...but it wasn’t the Faeling’s influence which sent tongues of flame dancing along his skin like little bursts of lightning. It wasn’t his magic that had the brujo’s eyes blazing like gold discs in a face carved from an inferno. It was mine.

  No, I thought.

  It was ours.

  “Quinn MacKenna,” Max murmured, drawing my hand to his mouth, his smile so lascivious my heart rate spiked. “I remember you.”

  “Right,” I replied, breathlessly. “Well, it’s about time.”

  “What are you?”

  The question came from the Faeling who knelt at our feet, one arm strewn over his eyes as though we were the bright and shining ones. Except it wasn’t awe I saw in his face, or even lust—it was fear. And he wasn’t looking at Max.

  He was looking at me.

  Chapter 9

  Maria found us some ten minutes later, the mesmerizing Faeling nowhere in sight; the would-be assassin had fled through an impromptu portal before I could interrogate him. Unfortunately, he’d left pieces of his peculiar brand of magic behind; we’d discovered tattered remnants of his spells hanging from the rafters like transparent spiderwebs, the strands snatching at us whenever we moved. The euphoric aftermath never lasted more than a moment, but—after the third time I nearly collapsed from a sudden onslaught of unexpected pleasure—I’d decided we ought to get rid of it before some poor beat cop ended up in a puddle on the floor, jonesing for a cigarette.

  So we’d started setting shit on fire.

  As one does.

  Max was busy tracing a wall with a hand encased in flame, burning away all evidence of the mysterious Faeling’s power. I’d gone a more prosaic route and opted for the lighter Max had offered me. The result was pretty much the same no matter which of us did the deed, however: each thread went up in a harmless shower of sparks. Still, I supposed I couldn’t blame Maria for reacting poorly; the two of us probably looked like an advertisement for Pyromaniacs Anonymous.

  “What in Christ’s name is going on here? Freeze, now!”

  I turned, saw Maria had her gun out and pointed at me for the second time in half as many days, and snapped the lighter shut before she could put a bullet in me for attempted arson. Max, on the other hand, kept right on walking—forcing the detective to switch targets.

  “Max?” Maria lowered her gun almost immediately. “Are you doing magic?!”

  “Don’t be silly,” I replied. “I simply set his hand on fire and dared him not to cry about it.”

  “You did what?!”

  “She is teasing you, Maria,” Max interjected without sparing either of us a look. “The truth is it was a bet. If I clear the whole room without shedding a single tear, Quinn owes me a date.”

  “Liar, liar, hand on fire,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Anyway, shouldn’t ye be almost finished by now? The sooner we get out of here, the better.”

  At the back of the room, a strand ignited with a pop and hiss.

  “Si. All done.”

  As if on cue, a cry sounded from further down the hallway. On its heels came another, followed by gritty gurgles of masculine laughter. Cops. The three of us exchanged hurried glances; we were about to have company, and the whole damn room smelled like butane. Maria holstered her gun, but not before pointing at Max and me in turn.

  “One of you will fill me in on what happened here. I mean it.” The detective beckoned us over. “If anyone asks, you’re with me. Otherwise, keep to yourselves and try to look harmless.”

  Max nudged me with his elbow. “You heard the detective, be sure to keep your hands to yourself.”

  “Very funny, Casacoma.”

  “Are you two about done?” Maria barked.

  “Ask Captain Spanish, he started it.”

  Max chuckled. “Si, Maria, we are done. Get us out of here, por favor.”

  In the end, I managed to keep my hands to myself, and we managed to leave the precinct without anyone the wiser—though I suspected that was largely because O’Malley’s shift had ended and no one else seemed to know or care what we were up to. Once outside, Maria called a cab, which gave Max and me more than enough time to summarize what had happened with the Faeling intruder while I waited for Areadbhar to return. It also allowed me to ask a few questions of my own.

  “How d’ye know I was in trouble, anyway, Max?”

  “I didn’t. Camila sent me to ask you a question, but el hada used his magic to prevent me from reaching you. At first, I thought I had missed a turn and gotten lost, but then I heard you screaming and broke the enchantment.”

  “What d’ye call him?”

  “El hada,” Max reiterated. “It is our word for his kind. For what you call the Fae.”

  “Ah.” I sighed, disappointed. “I was hopin’ ye knew what he was. I don’t suppose you’ve encountered anythin’ like him in the past?”

  Max thought about it. “There are creatures with similar power, but few who would dare attack in broad daylight in the middle of a police station. Seduction magic is an art honed in darkness and best reserved for a willing victim. For a creature to ignore such things, it would have to be either very powerful, or at least powerfully motivated.”

  I found myself staring up into the brujo’s dark eyes, surprised by the eloquence of his response and remembered that I was talking to a practitioner who had accumulated at least two decades of experience that I lacked. At that precise moment, it occurred to me that I’d put Max in a box without meaning to. That, between the rampant flirtation and our mutual attraction, I’d been playing in the shallow end of a much deeper pool.

  “Is something wrong?” Max asked.

  “Uh, no. Sorry.” I cleared my throat. “So, what was it that Camila wanted to know?”

  “It doesn’t matter now,” Maria cut in, frostily.

  “Why not?”

  “Because,” Max replied, “there can no longer be any doubt you are who you say you are.”

  “And why’s that? Not that I’m complainin’, but for a minute there I was sure I’d have to submit blood before you’d believe me.”

  “That will not be necessary,” Max insisted, cutting off whatever Maria had been about to say. In the sullen silence that followed, a cab painted in candy-cane colors swerved through two lanes of traffic and pulled up to the curb some thirty feet ahead of us.

  “And why won’t it be necessary?”

  “Because this.” The brujo gestured from himself to me and back again. “Because us.”

  “Enough chitter-chatte
r,” Maria snapped, her agitation palpable. “Come on, the meter’s running.”

  “What’s her problem?” I whispered out of the side of my mouth as soon as the detective was out of earshot, though I had to admit part of me was relieved to have Maria acting like her old, bitchy self.

  “She blames you for many things, most of which she knows is not your fault. Deep down, however, I believe she sees you for what you really are and resents you for it.”

  “And what am I?” I asked, fully prepared for a lewd comment, or maybe some good old-fashioned ribbing.

  “You are revered,” Max replied, somberly. “And Maria is, in her heart, a very romantic woman who cannot tell the difference between love and adoration. The rest is just an excuse to validate how she feels.”

  I gaped at the brujo. “Since when d’ye get so insightful?”

  “I am what I have always been, and more,” Max replied, cryptically.

  Maria poked her head out of the cab’s rear window. “Hey! What’s the hold up?!”

  “Go on ahead, I’ll be right there,” I assured Max.

  The brujo did as I asked, sauntering off while I ducked into the shadows of a nearby alley. Pedestrians wandered past on opposite sides in loose throngs, but I figured few were paying close enough attention to see Areadbhar come flying to my hand—and fewer still who would have believed what they saw. The moment she reached my outstretched hand, I sighed with relief, feeling whole in a way I hadn’t since sending her away.

  “We really need to find a way to keep ye hidden,” I murmured, softly.

  Areadbhar vibrated so violently in response that it made my teeth chatter. Startled, I let go of her shaft. At first, she seemed content to buck from side to side. But then, so suddenly I could only watch in horror, the devourer on her blade began swallowing the rest of her; the jewel consumed her like some gaping maw. Within seconds, all that remained was a glimmering stone hovering in mid-air. I found it almost hot to the touch.

  “Areadbhar?”

  The stone pulsed in recognition against my fingers.

  “D’ye do this for me?”

  The stone grew hotter, which I took to mean yes.

  “But I’ll still be able to call on ye, like before? When I need ye, I mean?”

  Hotter, still.

  Feeling remarkably relieved to have at least one thing go my way today, I grinned, pocketed the stone, and raced to join the others before the rising cost of Maria’s fare gave her a legitimate reason to kill me.

  Chapter 10

  The driver, a middle-aged Italian man, whipped us through the streets as though the conventional rules of the road were open to interpretation, earning a series of startled grunts from Max and disapproving scowls from the detective. Personally, I was glad for the distraction; it was reassuring to see Maria pissed at someone other than me, for once. Unfortunately, the constant breakneck turns meant all our legs and shoulders routinely occupied the same space.

  A tinny voice warbled out of the cabbie’s radio talking about some lunar event taking place in a couple weeks—something about a supermoon. The announcer squawked with excitement, urging New Englanders to mark their calendars. Apparently, this was the closest the celestial body would be to Earth this century, making it the largest moon we were likely to see in our lifetime.

  “Dependin’ on the lifetime,” I muttered under my breath. Max shot me a questioning look, but I waved him off as though I hadn’t said anything; I wasn’t ready to confide in anyone just yet. Not until I knew whether immortality was truly in the cards for me. Of course, that didn’t stop Maria from noting the exchange.

  “What happened to your spear?” she asked, irritably.

  “Oh, she’s around.”

  “Where did you get something like that, anyway?”

  “Atlantis,” I replied, matter-of-factly, as I patted the slight bulge in my pocket. “I like to t’ink of her as a souvenir.”

  Maria merely rolled her eyes. “Fine, don’t tell me.”

  I shrugged. There was no need to defend myself; it made no difference what Maria did or didn’t believe. Besides, I had a feeling my extended absence would come up again, and that I’d have some explaining to do when it did. So, until then, I’d save my breath.

  The cabbie pulled onto the narrow streets of Boston’s North End some ten minutes later, forced to slow to a crawl to avoid clipping inattentive pedestrians. The meter continued to tick until at last he found an empty stretch of sidewalk and jerked the wheel. Once parked, Maria fetched a money clip from her jacket, counted out the total on the screen, and handed it over.

  “What, no tip?”

  “Oh, you wanted a tip? I can give you a tip.” Maria wedged herself between the gap in the seats so she could look the driver in the eye. “Here’s my tip: obey the speed limits, stop at red lights, and use your turn signal, or I’ll call your boss and have you fired.”

  “Whatever, lady. Just get the fuck out of my cab.”

  “That’s detective to you, Mr. Russo,” Maria said, sweetly, as she raised her phone to snap a picture of the man’s Taxi license. “I’m in a bit of a hurry today, but don’t worry, I’ll be sure to check in on you in case you need any more tips. Unless you’d rather get together where I work?”

  The cabbie grunted, clearly unimpressed. “Alright, you’ve made your point, detective. Now, are you done busting my balls? Some of us have a job to do.”

  I stifled a laugh as I stepped out onto the sidewalk, made room for Max to join me, and surveyed our surroundings. As Boston’s oldest district, the North End practically oozed kitschy charm; dominated by red brick tenements and cracked cobblestone streets, it was the sort of place that saw more foot traffic than actual traffic. During the day, that meant shopping and business lunches. At night, it meant drunken happy hours and raucous pub crawls. And yet, for some inexplicable reason, the particular stretch of road where we stood was all but abandoned—not unlike the park during our run-in with the slaugh.

  “What a mook,” Maria muttered as the cabbie peeled off. “Come on, we better hurry inside, just in case.”

  “In case what?”

  “In case we were followed.”

  “Is that likely?” I asked, casting furtive glances left and right.

  Max shrugged. “It can be tough to tell, these days. Not everyone is as bad at tailing people as you are.”

  I opened my mouth to say something snarky, but my companions were already on the move. Maria took the lead, headed directly for what appeared to be a solid brick wall running between two buildings. Before I could ask what she thought she was doing, however, the detective slapped a hand against the wall’s surface and mumbled something under her breath which sounded an awful lot like a nursery rhyme.

  The air changed.

  Thick with moisture and pregnant with energy, it felt like we’d stepped into a storm cloud; my hair hung heavy down my back while those on my arms stood straight up. And then, as suddenly as it had arrived, it dispersed. I let out a breath I didn’t even realize I’d been holding as cracks began to spread outward from Maria’s hand. They began small, at first—thin and arcing like forked tongues of lightning. Within seconds, however, the cracks became chasms as whole chunks of stone shattered and collapsed in a pile at Maria’s feet. Dust swirled into the air like fog. And yet, there was no grit to speak of, nothing to irritate the nose or eyes.

  “How did she do that?” I asked Max.

  “You mean disperse the glamour? It is easy enough to do if you have the key.”

  Feeling foolish not to have seen through the illusion, I watched in fascination as the pile of rubble shimmered, wavering like a mirage to reveal a three-story building where the wall had once stood. Maria’s hand lay on the door—a door that opened almost immediately, the creak of its hinges followed by a familiar, high-pitched voice.

  “Lady Quinn!”

  A pixie no bigger than my hand flung herself at me through the gap, her wings fluttering with such frequency that they made a buz
zing sound somewhere between a bee and a dragonfly. I shied away in surprise, but that didn’t save me from the diminutive Faeling’s assault; Petal took hold of my finger and spun around it with all the grace of a Vegas stripper, squealing with glee.

  “You two know each other, I take it?” Maria asked, cocking one of her painted-on eyebrows.

  “Ye could say that,” I replied, unable to hide my sudden confusion. “What are ye doin’ here, Petal?”

  “I should go on ahead,” Max interjected, patting my shoulder. “Mi hermana will have questions.”

  Maria was instantly hot on his heels. “I’ll go with you.”

  “The Huntress swore you’d come,” Petal said, ignoring both my question and the others' departures. Her face was much as I remembered it—as expressive and rosy-cheeked as it had been beneath the Scottish sky on the day I was abducted. And yet there was a haunted look in her eyes I hadn’t seen since I’d freed her from Frankenstein’s prison, what felt like a lifetime ago.

  “Scathach did? When was that?”

  “Before she left. She knew what was coming, and that she could not hope to stop it.”

  “What was comin’? D’ye mean Catha, or the slaugh?”

  Petal smiled at me in a way that could have meant anything, or nothing. “The others will be very pleased to see you’ve made it back. We were all very worried.”

  “Others? What d’ye mean, ‘others’?”

  “Everyone’s inside. Come on, they’ll be glad to see you, and they could really use the encouragement.”

  “Hold on. I still don’t understand what—”

  “There’s something’s different about you,” Petal interjected, tilting her chin so that she could scan the length of my face. The pixie leapt from my finger and hovered, her wings beating furiously. “Have you come to save us, again, Lady Quinn?”

  “Save ye?”

  “Nevermind.” Petal waved that away. “Come and say hello to the other refugees.”