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

by Shayne Silvers

  I looked, and even felt, feverish.

  Deep down, I suspected it had more to do with Circe’s potion than the dream. She’d warned me it was a temporary fix to a long-term problem—no being with that much power could be held at bay by something so simple forever. Still, I would have thought I had more than a couple days to find a better solution before it affected me during my waking hours.

  I came out wrapped in a towel with a second coiled around my head, the residual steam spilling out into the bedroom like I’d hired a freaking fog machine. The clock by the bed read a quarter past ten, which meant I’d been in the shower for nearly an hour and had missed out on breakfast. Of course, what I really needed was—

  “I got you coffee. It’s on the dresser with cream and a couple packets of sugar.” Max had his back turned to me so that he faced the door. “Your friends told me to make sure you hurry. They want to leave by eleven.”

  I had the paper cup nestled between my hands and held possessively to my chest before I could even begin processing the second half of what he’d said. In fact, it wasn’t until I’d mixed in the cream and sugar that I remembered what he and I had agreed to the day before.

  “The Fairy Court,” I said, feeling foolish for having lost track of time. “The Branson show Leo wanted us to go see with him and Lakota. I almost forgot.”

  “Sí. I must tell you, the blonde Señorita did not seem happy about us going.”

  “That’s Hilde, the one I was supposed to find. And I’m not surprised. She t’inks it’s a wild goose chase and a waste of time, which she made very clear yesterday.”

  “Is she upset with you?”

  I took a sip of the coffee while I considered how to answer that. The truth was, I had no idea. In light of what Lakota and I had found, she and I hadn’t spoken again about my deal with Freya. If anything, she’d acted like I didn’t exist—addressing Lakota or Leo, but never me. Jimmy hadn’t been around for that conversation, nor was he supposed to join us at the show. Apparently, he was looking into the possibility of a feud between the local werewolves and any other supernatural groups in the area.

  “I’m not sure. Right now, I plan on doin’ everythin’ I can to solve this case. If she doesn’t warm back up to me by then, well…” I shrugged, unwilling to consider what that might mean.

  “Any idea how long that could take?”

  The way he said that made me set down my coffee. “Why, is somethin’ wrong?”

  “No, not wrong. It is Camila.” Max shrugged so hard his shoulder muscles bunched beneath his t-shirt. “She still will not tell me what she is planning to do. She says it is a work in progress, and that she will explain it all when everything is in place.”

  “But you’re worried.”

  “It is not like her to be so...daring. Or, I should say, it is unfamiliar. When we were young, she was like this. But after Victor…” Max shook his head. “I worry she is risking too much, too soon.”

  “I get that.”

  “Then can you promise me that you will have this case solved before the Hex Moon?”

  “No, I can’t,” I said, truthfully. “But if Hilde and I haven't made any progress in a few days, we can talk about leaving. And, if you need to go, I’ll understand. Speakin’ of which...I t’ink ye should step out while I get dressed.

  “I turned around,” Max replied, sounding faintly amused.

  “Aye, and that’s an easy t’ing to do a second time. So go on, before I call down to the front desk and report ye for breakin’ into me room.”

  “Very well,” Max said before pulling open the door and stepping halfway through it. “But if you need help with any zippers or clasps, I will be right outside.”

  “What about chainmail?” I muttered once the door was shut, eyeing the discarded pieces of armor strewn across the floor on my side of the bed—all of which, apparently, I’d removed in my sleep. The digital readout on the clock ticked forward another minute, giving me under half an hour to dry my hair, sort out my defective armor, fix whatever was going on with my face, and meet everyone in the lobby downstairs...and people liked to say Hercules had it rough with those weak ass labors.

  Greek, please.

  Chapter 26

  The Branson Strip on Highway 76 stretched out in front of us like a kindergartener’s caricature of Las Vegas. Soft serve ice cream shops, flea markets masquerading as antique stores, motels, and a hodgepodge assortment of roadside attractions competed for space along either side of the street in an absurd clash of colors and eras. So far, we’d passed a yellow biplane mounted in mid-dive, one half of the Titanic, a three-story Mount Rushmore featuring the likes of John Wayne and Elvis Presley, a hundred and fifty foot Ferris wheel, and a go-kart race track with more levels than most parking garages.

  “Hillbilly Heaven,” Lakota commented, having caught my befuddled expression from the backseat. “What you don’t see is the nationally-ranked amusement park, the wildlife safari, Table Rock Lake, and Dolly Parton’s Stampede.”

  “Her what, now?”

  Lakota laughed. “It’s hard to describe. If you end up sticking around at all, you should check it out.”

  “We’ve been on this case for weeks,” Leo explained as he merged into the right lane. “I encouraged everyone to take a day or two off to get their heads right. I didn’t realize they’d use it to ride rollercoasters and eat funnel cakes.”

  “Says the man who went white water rafting with his subordinate,” Lakota chimed in, grinning.

  Leo flushed, but I could tell he enjoyed the ribbing. They all did, come to think of it. Maybe that was how they dealt with the job; murder and mayhem had to take its toll, especially when you were the last line of defense between the oblivious masses and the things that went bump in the night.

  “D’ye come up with any new leads after I left last night?” I asked, out of curiosity.

  “No,” Leo admitted. “Finding out we had a pack of werewolves in town was a break in some ways, but it still doesn’t account for the victims or the way they were killed.”

  “Lakota said they were exsanguinated.”

  “That’s right. Not an ounce of blood in their bodies. And yes, I know what you’re thinking. Vampires. But we looked into that, already.”

  “And?”

  “And the Sanguine Council representative we spoke to said Branson is a Masterless city. Something about all the silver they used to mine here making it hard for them to tolerate. Not to mention the Bible thumpers.”

  “They have a museum for that, too,” Lakota noted.

  “For vampires?”

  “No, for Bibles.”

  “Right. So...you’re sayin’ it’s no country for old vampires?”

  Max, who’d remained silent up to this point, sniggered. “Nice.”

  “T’anks.”

  “I think that’s it,” Leo said, pointedly ignoring my superbly timed reference as we rounded a bend in the road. “The place on the right past the barn with the giant cock.”

  “What?” Max grabbed the back of my seat and pulled himself forward, peering over my shoulder with eyes as wide as saucer plates.

  “He meant a giant rooster,” Lakota said, swatting her superior’s arm.

  Leo cackled until he found a parking space, infecting us all with his good humor. But then, that was the sort of guy Leo was when he wasn’t arresting bad guys or going toe to toe with monsters. In another life, we might very well have been drinking buddies or next-door neighbors who hosted joint barbecues. Instead, I helped him catch—and occasionally execute—bad guys.

  What a world.

  Outside, the noonday heat had climbed high enough that I regretted having turned my pauldrons into a lightweight bomber jacket. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much I could do about it except hope the theater was air conditioned. It’d been difficult enough getting the seitr magic to stick without worrying about the weather; I’d had to cast the spells several times to make sure it didn’t look like I’d been dressed by a color
blind orangutan. If Hilde ever warmed up to me again, I’d have to ask her about that.

  “This place is drenched in magic,” Max said as we approached the entrance to what looked like a miniature medieval castle from some Russian fairytale, complete with onion domes and hedges trimmed to resemble towering trees.

  Frankly, it should have looked silly—or like something only a child would appreciate, at the very least. Instead, the closer we got, the more majestic the castle became. The colors were vibrant, the palette sophisticated enough to earn admiring looks from the adults as they corralled their rambunctious children and shepherded them towards the double doors.

  “Not just any magic, either,” Lakota added, her eyes dancing from one architectural marvel to the next as though following the flight of a hummingbird. “There’s something very strange about it.”

  “What do you mean, strange?” Leo asked as we joined the crowd.

  “It’s...wild.”

  “It is magia de Hadas,” Max said, squinting. “Fae magic.”

  “Fae magic?” I asked, wheeling. “Are ye sure?”

  “Sí. Look, there, what does that remind you of?”

  I followed the trajectory of the brujo’s outstretched finger and saw the turrets bathed in the warm glow of the golden hour. Except that was impossible because it wasn’t quite yet noon. Indeed, now that I knew what to look for, I saw all manner of impossibilities, including a nonexistent breeze which kept the flags flying unabated.

  “It’s like the alley, in Boston,” I remarked. “It’s glamour and grammarie combined, probably to make the place more appealing to tourists if I had to guess.”

  “Not tourists,” Lakota countered. “Or not just tourists. This place is calling to me. I can feel it.”

  Now that she mentioned it, I could sense the same thing; there was a wistful yearning in my gut that tugged at me, promising a life-affirming experience on the other side of those open gates. Looking at my companions’ faces, I realized we all felt it to some degree.

  “So, I’m startin’ to t’ink Leon’s tip is goin’ to pay off. But does anyone else have a bad feelin’ about this?”

  As one, the others nodded.

  “Good. So long as I’m not the only one.”

  Chapter 27

  We sat in the back of a darkened theater staring down at an empty stage, waiting for something strange to happen. At first, however, it was everything you’d expect from a crowded venue: children squealing, parents shushing, and the general hubbub of casual conversation. Feeling oddly anxious, I reached into my pocket to hold the Spear Stone, as I’d come to call it. The rock throbbed once in response to my touch, warming incrementally as the overhead lights dimmed, leaving us immersed in utter darkness.

  A figure stepped out onto the stage.

  Dressed in a gossamer gown garlanded with gilded water lilies beneath which lay arguably the loveliest silhouette I’d ever beheld; the actress was an ethereal creature with white blonde hair and skin that seemed never to have seen the sun. For the space of a single breath, she stood stock still, staring at us all like a startled deer. Then, with an abruptness that quite literally stole my breath away, she smiled.

  The actress began skipping from one side of the stage to the other, a basket of blackberries tucked into the curve of her arm swinging to and fro at her side. As she moved, she was trailed by motes of light that mimicked fairy dust, and with every footfall came the subtlest chime of distant bells.

  So enchanting were her movements, in fact, that I almost didn’t notice the shadowy figures appearing in the wings until she reached that end of the stage and turned to us, her expression terrified. She bounded to the other side, only to come upon the second mass of dark shapes. The basket went flying, sending berries everywhere as she raced to stand in the center of the stage, her breath coming so fast her pale chest heaved against the bodice of her gown, her bare feet smeared with pulp and juices.

  And that’s when the lights went out.

  I pressed a hand to my own heart, suddenly very aware of how horribly fast it was racing. Sweat pricked my brow, and movement to my right and left suggested my companions were experiencing the same sensation. Fear, of course, but not just any fear. This was the terror of being hunted. Of being preyed upon.

  I heard a child’s muffled cry from below.

  A woman’s sob to my right.

  Then a light shone on the stage, which was now empty except for the stains smeared across the hardwood—evidence that the actress had been taken away by force. A father in the audience gasped, no doubt wondering exactly what sort of show he’d brought his children to see.

  “My fellow subjects,” a voice called, its shaky tenor reverberating above our heads in a desperate plea, “our beloved sovereign has been taken, abducted by the Maker Children, who know she will have no choice but to grant their every wish.”

  Anguish hit me like a physical blow.

  “Soon, the mortal sun will set on the Sithen, and our people will leave this realm forever. Thus does the hour of her return grow short.”

  Panic clawed at my throat.

  “And so I have come to you, the Fairy Court, to seek a champion. One who will rise up and reclaim our Queen.”

  The panic receded almost immediately following this declaration, and the anguish with it. In its place, a burgeoning sense of duty took hold of my heart—a sense that I owed my life to our beloved Queen.

  “One who is noble and strong.”

  Righteousness flooded through me.

  “One whose power will no doubt strike fear into the cruel hearts of the Maker Children.”

  I started to shift in my seat, preparing to stand and declare myself the Queen’s champion, when a hand snatched me by the wrist, pinning it to the plastic arm of my seat. I froze, startled by the contact.

  “Quinn,” Lakota whispered, “it’s some sort of crazy strong spell. We have to fight it. I’ve got you and Leo, but you have to take Max’s hand.”

  Provoked by the urgency in her voice, I snatched up the brujo’s hand just as he was about to climb to his feet. He stilled, turning to me with an anesthetized look in his eyes which likely mirrored my own.

  “Ah, our champion rises!”

  Genuine panic surged through me as I swung around to see which of the other two had succumbed to the power of the spell. But it wasn’t Lakota, or Leo. It was a young, blonde guy several rows down. An overhead light tracked him as he worked his way towards the aisle, which should have been awkward, but wasn’t. Perhaps it was the graceful way he moved, or the awed faces of those he passed. Either way, by the time he reached the stage, he’d proven himself more than worthy in all our eyes.

  Here was our champion.

  “What is your name, champion?”

  “Bredon,” the young man replied, one arm thrown across his eyes to shield them from the glare of the stage lights, which inadvertently cast the rest of his face in shadow and dispelled any suspicion that he’d been planted among the audience. After all, any actor worth their salt would surely know how to avoid such things.

  “And will you rescue our Queen, Bredon?” The voice asked. “Even if it means risking eternal death?”

  “If it would serve the Fae, then I would gladly give my life.”

  The voice hesitated, and for the briefest instant it was as if I could see the insidious spell hovering on the peripheries of my vision. But that sensation passed as quickly as it came, supplanted by a feeling of overwhelming gratitude.

  “Then go forth, noble Bredon, and prepare thyself for the coming battle!”

  The young man dropped his arm as lights along the stage guided him towards an empty wing. Just before stepping through, however, he looked back as if scanning the crowd—presumably looking for whomever he’d come with. Then, between one heartbeat and the next, he was gone.

  Chapter 28

  The second half of the show was nowhere near as compelling as the first, though there was significantly more spectacle by comparison. Exe
cuted in a series of intricately choreographed dances, an armored knight meant to be Bredon—though far broader through the chest and shoulders than the young man had been—fought to win back the Fairy Queen from malevolent figures in dark cloaks who refused to speak and yet still managed to send shivers up my spine.

  The final scene featured the Queen bound to a painted wall by iron chains, her beautiful gown torn at the hem and shoulder, her hair tousled and full of twigs and leaves. And yet, even as the knight rushed to slay her captors and break her chains, you got the sense that her spirit had never been, and would never be, broken. The effect was admittedly rather rousing—though, frankly, it was difficult to tell how much of the show’s achievements hinged on the emotional cues the audience received, courtesy of the spell.

  In any case, by the time the Fairy Queen was at last safe in the arms of her champion, the audience was cheering and clapping like they’d seen the greatest show of all time. Indeed, that feeling lasted until well after the curtain fell and the lights came back on. Everyone but us began moving towards the exit, the children tittering with excitement, the adults showering the production with praise.

  “That was unbelievably brutal,” Lakota said, her face haggard with exhaustion. “I tried to fight it, but it was like trying to hold my breath. Eventually I had no choice but to give in.”

  “I have never encountered magic like that before,” Max agreed. “It was subtle, but also completely irresistible.”

  “We need to find out who cast it, and why.” Leo rose and beckoned us to do the same. “Come on, let’s go take a peek behind that curtain.”

  “Good idea, Dorothy,” I replied in an attempt to lighten the mood. Unfortunately, the joke fell flat. It seemed none of us were there yet, and that included me.

  We waited for the aisles to clear before marching single file towards the stage. Leo took point while the rest of us remained on high alert, aware that the spellcaster could—in theory at least—hit us again at any moment. I, for one, had no desire to find out what a targeted assault looked like.