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

by Shayne Silvers

  “What is that thing?” Dorian asked, forced to shout to be heard over the clamor. “And what is it doing, now?”

  The god had raised both arms like a conductor about to put on the symphony of a lifetime. His eyes blazed with the same infernal fire that poured from his mouth in great gouts as he spoke in a tongue so vile it made me nauseous to hear it. And yet, I knew what he was saying as surely as though he were speaking English.

  Rise, my children.

  As though snatched up and held aloft by the collars of their robes, the corpses rose to hover several inches off the ground, their heads hanging limp on their chests, their blood-caked faces mercifully hidden from sight.

  Tear them to pieces.

  As one, the possessed launched themselves dozens of feet into the air and began descending on those gathered at the exit. Where they landed, blood sprayed, and bodies fell. Those in the immediate vicinity scattered, trampling their neighbors in a mad rush to escape. Unable to look elsewhere, I watched in mute horror as one of the possessed quite literally tore the head off someone as they tried to rise. Indeed, I was so fixated that it wasn’t until I felt something tugging at my wrist that I realized Morgan was dragging me in the opposite direction, Dorian hot on our heels.

  “This is so not the party I had in mind,” he said.

  “Me either,” Morgan hissed. “This is bad. I can’t create a Gateway. Whatever that thing is, it doesn’t want any of us to escape.”

  “Chernobog,” I said, repeating the name Liam had used. “I t’ink he’s a god. A nasty one.”

  “That’s Chernobog? That’s impossible. He was one of the very first to go into exile, and for good reason!”

  “Aye, well, it took a whole lot of killin’ to make it happen,” I replied. Once we’d ducked into the relative shelter of an alcove, I gave them the briefest possible summary of what they’d missed, sticking mainly to what seemed relevant to our current situation. The rest—how the victims and werewolves fit into everything, not to mention the role Liam had played in it all—I kept to myself. One problem at a time.

  “So, any chance either of ye have any idea what to do, next?” I asked as I removed the mask I’d been wearing and wiped away the sweat on my brow.

  The two exchanged glances.

  “Run.”

  “Definitely run,” Dorian agreed.

  “Aye,” I grimaced, recognizing the merit of that response. After all, we were outnumbered and metaphorically outgunned. Even if I removed the bracelet Morgan had given me and embraced everything I was, I doubted I’d stand a chance against a god with Chernobog’s experience. It’d be like walking into a prize fight as a promising first-degree black belt going up against a seasoned operative who killed people with his bare hands for a living.

  And yet…

  I glanced over to the mayhem taking place near the exit. Already, small clusters had veered off from the main group, trying their best to avoid Chernobog’s murderous pets. A few, to my surprise, appeared to be mounting a resistance. Unfortunately, that only served to delay the inevitable. At this point, we were trapped like rats in a cage. Only...this wasn’t exactly a cage, was it?

  Because cages had lids.

  “Morgan, what’s the biggest enchantment ye can do?”

  “What?”

  “Your magic. What’s the most it’s capable of?”

  “In terms of what?

  “Remember when ye made that cloak for me, before? I knew it was an illusion, but it felt so real I actually got hot in it while we were walking. So I guess what I’m asking is how real an illusion can you cast?”

  Morgan thought about it and shrugged. “Depends. With illusions, the more you have to draw from, the less work is required. But to make something out of nothing and then breathe life into it like I did with that cloak? It can be taxing.”

  “So, if I said I wanted ye to create a ladder...”

  “Ah. I see what you’re getting at, dear, but the walls of that canyon are a good hundred and fifty feet high. There’s no way I could fashion anything tall enough and real enough to get us out of here.”

  “Not just us,” I corrected. “Everyone.”

  “Them either,” she drawled.

  “And what if ye had help?”

  “Help from whom?”

  I shook my head and pointed. “Not whom. What.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” Morgan replied, her eyes tracking my finger all the way to the enormous Hex Moon overhead. “That’s right! Oh, you clever girl.”

  “Could ye do it?”

  “I think I could, yes. Not a ladder, of course. That would present its own difficulties. But perhaps a ramp...yes, that would work. Especially if I use the stone that’s already there as a foundation.”

  “Excellent! Now, Dorian, I want ye—”

  “Whoa there,” Dorian said, cutting me off before I could finish. “Slow down, and let’s be clear about this. You and I both know this is not my time to shine. Unless you want me to try and seduce tall, dark, and loathsome over there. Though, if I’m being honest...not my type.”

  “Dorian,” I repeated, grabbing the immortal by both shoulders, and staring into his eyes, “I want ye to lead everyone up the ramp. Get ‘em out while I distract the corpses.”

  “And what if it’s not just the corpses you have to distract?” Dorian asked, eyeing Chernobog.

  “Then I’ll put on me freakin’ black belt and take it like a girl.”

  “Huh?”

  “Listen, it won’t matter,” I replied, shaking him a little for emphasis. “You’ll be long gone by then, and so will a lot of other people who would have died down here, otherwise. I’m not askin’ ye to be a hero, Dorian. I’m askin’ ye to let all these people ogle your fine ass while ye run away as fast as ye can.”

  “Oh, well, when you put it like that...” Dorian grinned rakishly, glancing down at his own rear with an appraising eye. “It is rather fine, isn’t it?”

  I chuckled despite myself, only distantly aware of how ludicrous my life had become that these were the sorts of conversations I had in a crisis. But then again, maybe that’s what separated people like us from those poor saps getting violently torn to shreds. Survivor 101: don’t you dare cry about it unless you need the lubricant.

  “Alright then, here’s what we’re goin’ to do…”

  Chapter 40

  I took my position at Morgan’s back while she prepared the spell, chanting in a language that sounded like some guttural rendition of Gaelic. Dorian, meanwhile, had already begun his job; the immortal jogged past the survivors, waving at them like one of those perky aerobics instructors from an 80s dance video. Still, whether it was his charisma or the fact that he was the only person who looked anything other than terrified, it worked. Within a couple minutes, he’d orchestrated an exodus.

  “They’re comin’ this way,” I warned Morgan.

  I felt her nod.

  Realizing that meant I, too, was on the clock, I placed a fist over my heart and spread my fingers wide—the seitr sign that amounted to pulling the fire alarm. At first, nothing happened, and I began to seriously worry that Nevermore would refuse to change for me. But then, almost grudgingly, the hem of my frisky flapper dress became the tail end of a chainmail shirt. My bodice became a breastplate, the shoulder straps pauldrons, the open neckline a gorget. The rest materialized quickly, and I finally stood in all my armored glory holding a fearsome looking helm that had once been a mask and a pitch-black stone that was about to become a flaming spear.

  “Areadbhar, it’s time.”

  The stone pulsed in my hand. I flung it into the air and watched in fascination as the rock exploded in a shower of sparks to reveal the first Jewel of the Tuatha Dé Danann. I thrust out my hand, and she came to it singing with bloodlust.

  “Soon,” I whispered, lovingly.

  “Now!” Morgan shouted. Behind me, the canyon wall split apart with a thunderous crack. I turned in time to see slabs of stone spill onto the canyon floor, skidd
ing towards us with so much momentum I began to worry we were seconds away from being crushed beneath the rubble. But I needn’t have worried; the very last pebble came skittering to a stop a mere inch from Morgan’s feet.

  The enchantress held both hands out wide and began bringing them together like she was squeezing an invisible accordion. The stones began to shift, some even leaping atop their fellows before settling in place. Within seconds, the landslide became a ramp.

  Do you think that will stop me?

  Hellish flames spewed from Chernobog’s mouth as he spoke, but the god remained rooted to the stage as Dorian came jogging up to us. The immortal winked at Morgan and me as he cruised past, his skin glistening with the lightest sheen of sweat I’d ever seen on a human being. Then, after literally cheering everyone on, the immortal charged the ramp, trailed by several dozen miserable people in evening attire. I watched him go, marveling at the fact that our plan had actually worked.

  “It is a very nice ass,” Morgan remarked.

  And yes, that, too.

  “They’re right behind us!” a portly man yelled, huffing as he scrambled onto the ramp in his dress shoes.

  As he’d indicated, I turned to find at least six of the possessed witches coming for Morgan and me—their legs churning at speeds no human could possibly match. Unfortunately, the enchantress was far too exhausted to put up any sort of fight. Not that I was surprised; she had warned me before we enacted our plan. Which meant it was up to me...and Nevermore...and Areadbhar.

  “It’s good to have friends ye can rely on,” I said as I donned my helmet, found my center, and swung Areadbhar around so her blade was pointed skyward. Then, I waited, bouncing lightly from one foot to the other, refamiliarizing myself with the raw physical enhancements the Valkyrie armor provided in conjunction with her damn near impregnable shielding.

  The first witch came at me howling wordlessly, her mouth so impossibly wide it made me wonder whether she’d unhinged her jaw during her seizure. In that moment, I realized I might have pitied this woman before I’d discovered how she’d gotten that black mark crusted on her forehead—how she and her coven had obtained all that immense power. A spiteful part of me wished I could ask her if it had been worth it. The rest of me simply didn’t care.

  I planted the butt of my spear between two stones, crouched, and swiveled in one smooth movement so that Areadbhar took the witch right between the teeth. As I’d anticipated, the witch’s momentum carried her onto the blade and halfway down the shaft, effectively bisecting her face. Hoping to shake her loose and deal with her companions in a similar manner, I started to pull Areadbhar free. But then a hand latched onto my wrist, squeezing with enough force to pulverize bone. I glanced down to find the witch’s blood-rimmed, hate-filled eyes staring up at me from a face that had once belonged to a living, breathing human being with hopes and dreams and people who might actually miss her when she didn’t make it home tonight.

  Alright, so maybe I did pity her, a bit.

  “Areadbhar.”

  The spear responded to my unspoken command with relish, her shaft suddenly ablaze with unquenchable flames that began to lick at that woman’s face, leaving it charred and flaking. At first, the grip around my wrist tightened, and I began to worry we were dealing with literal zombies—the kind that have to be chopped into pieces to stop them completely. Fortunately, as soon as the cursed mark on her forehead went up in flames, her hand fell away.

  Which explained how Chernobog was controlling them.

  Good to know.

  “Quinn, look out!”

  I’d only just flung the witch’s remains to the ground when I heard Morgan’s warning. Expecting one of the other witches to have covered the distance while I was distracted, I quickly brought Areadbhar to bear. What I hadn’t anticipated, however, was a coordinated strike; from above, two of the remaining twelve witches had leapt into the sky in defiance of gravity, while a second pair came at me from either side like those goddamned velociraptors from Jurassic Park.

  At this point, I could see that over half the surviving guests had started up the ramp, which meant I only had to hold my ground for a few more minutes to be certain the majority escaped. Unfortunately, I wasn’t sure I could guarantee them that much time; I could take one of the witches head on, maybe even two, but fending off more than that at once was bound to be a defensive battle I was sure to lose.

  Unless, of course, I was willing to up the ante.

  I’d already wrapped a hand around my bracelet, prepared to yank it off and let the chips fall where they may, when a lone howl split the night. A moment later, dozens more joined in. The witches coming at me from below very unexpectedly stalled not fifteen feet out before immediately breaking off their assault. At my back, Morgan made a startled noise.

  “Well, you don’t see that every day.”

  I wheeled round to find at least thirty pairs of glowing amber eyes staring down at us from the lip of the canyon. Eyes which belonged to wolves the size of horses—some shaggy and barrel-chested, others impossibly sleek and lean. One, however, stood well above the rest. Half-human, half-wolf, it was she who held out her arm and pointed at us with one absurdly long claw.

  On their Alpha’s command, the wolves galloped down the ramp, weaving as they went so as not to knock the remaining survivors over the side. Before I could decide whether they’d come to fight with or against us, however, a winged figure came soaring across the sky to meet the airborne witches. Special Agent Hilde Thorsdottir, her armor gleaming in the moonlight, rammed the first hard enough with her shield to send him plummeting to the ground in a shattered heap. The second she dealt with by lopping off a hand, then an arm, and finally a head. Having apparently caught sight of me watching from below, the Valkyrie saluted with her sword.

  “I said it before, Morgan, and I’ll say it again...it’s good to have friends ye can rely on!”

  Morgan laughed, weakly, before slumping against me. I caught and lowered her, only then realizing how much her not so little spell had cost her. The werewolves reached the canyon floor, several peeling off to form a protective circle around the two of us. A single wolf, burlier and more savage looking than the others, trotted forward with his tongue lolling halfway out his mouth. Somehow, I felt I recognized the creature’s leering grin—or maybe it was the look in his eyes.

  “Zeke?” I asked, tentatively.

  The wolf barked in response.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  Another bark.

  “Are ye here to help?”

  Zeke spun in a quick circle, plopped down, and howled at the moon. An emphatic yes, that time. Good to know.

  “Can a couple of ye keep an eye on Morgan here? She’s a wee bit tuckered out.”

  Zeke swung his shaggy head around to scent the air, then rose and took a step forward as if to sniff the enchantress directly. His tongue was all the way out by this point, and he was drooling.

  “Step one paw closer, dog,” Morgan warned, “and I’ll turn you into a squirrel and watch your closest friends hunt you down and swallow you whole.”

  Zeke froze, his hackles raised.

  “I’d do as she says, Zeke. See that freakin’ ramp? She did that. I wouldn’t press your luck.”

  The werewolf shuffled back the way he’d come, turned, and yowled at his canine companions. Three remained behind while the others tore off after their fellows, most of whom were engaged with the witches.

  Which reminded me.

  “Zeke, ye have to tell your pack that the creatures they’re fightin’ can be stopped by destroyin’ the marks on their foreheads.”

  The werewolf barked an acknowledgment, spun on his hind legs, and went loping off into the night, braying his freaking head off for all to hear. In the relative peace and quiet Zeke left behind, I craned my neck to study the one piece in this chess match who had yet to make a move.

  Chernobog stood in the center of the stage, arms folded across his naked chest, watching it all
unfold with a fucking grin on his nightmarish face. He was enjoying this. The slaughter, the mayhem, even the loss of his so-called children—I could sense it. To a god of destruction, such struggles were entertaining, but ultimately pointless. And why? Because there wasn’t a game he could lose once he smashed the board to bits and lit the pieces on fire.

  “Where do you think you’re going, Goddaughter?” Morgan asked, rapping a knuckle against my breastplate.

  “Who says I’m goin’ anywhere?”

  “Don’t play dumb with me, dear. I can see you’re planning to do something stupid.”

  Rather than reply, I scanned the canyon floor until I found Hilde; the Valkyrie was helping the stragglers and the wounded navigate the battle so they could reach the base of the ramp, which meant she’d be coming to me next. Perfect.

  “I mean it, Quinn,” Morgan insisted, sitting up so she could grab my shoulder and turn me to face her. “What are you going to do?”

  I considered lying, for her sake. I could tell her I wanted to help Hilde with the survivors or take out the last of the possessed witches. Either would mollify the enchantress. But, frankly, Morgan le Fay was not my Godmother. If anyone deserved that title, it was my Aunt Desdemona. Now her I would definitely have lied to. No question.

  Because she could have stopped me.

  “I’m goin’ to find out how it feels to kill a god.”

  “You can’t be serious.” Morgan gaped at me. “You can’t go after Chernobog on your own. Not as you are. He’ll cut you out of that armor piece by piece.”

  “Don’t ye worry,” I insisted, patting the enchantress’ arm in reassurance. “I won’t be alone.”

  “That’s not what—”

  “Oy! Hilde!” I called, a hand perched on the side of my mouth.

  The Valkyrie finished handing off a poor old lady who could have been somebody’s grandmother—her tattered gown stained with someone else’s blood, her flabby arms covered in more bruises than a ripe banana—to the care of one of the werewolves before replying to me.