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

by Shayne Silvers

  “What is it?” I asked, alarmed. “Are ye hurt?”

  “Dammit!” Bredon bellowed. “Did I really die, again?”

  I gaped at the bizarre young man, finding myself at a total loss for words. Fortunately, a pair of distraught figures hollered for me before I had to puzzle out a response. I turned to find a half-naked brujo and maskless enchantress frantically searching the stage. Concerned, I asked Bredon to hold that thought and called them over, waving my impromptu torch for good measure.

  “Over here!”

  “It is Camila!” Max exclaimed the second he reached me, sparing hardly a glance for the fallen witch or the once-dead man. “She is not answering my calls.”

  “We think she and Maria went ahead with their plan,” Morgan added as she joined us, her expression clouded with genuine concern. “Only I just learned who it was they were going up against! We should go to them, now!”

  “Wait!” I insisted, holding up a hand to calm them both. “Who are they goin’ up against? And what plan? D’ye mean the one involvin’ the Hex Moon?”

  “Sí, Morgan told me everything,” Max replied, hastily. “My sister laid a trap at an old iron mine using bait guaranteed to lure all the Fae in the area. Then Maria found Petal and her people a charm that would protect them from its effects. It was their job to rescue Robin, while Camila and Maria kept the Fae busy.”

  “It was an ingenious plan, really,” Morgan added, her tone implying she’d had a great deal to do with it. “The spell I crafted for them was designed to keep the Fae trapped until the caster set them free. That way, all they had to do was extract the proper oaths before releasing them all.”

  “But…” I said, waving her along.

  “But then Max told me who’d taken over! Maria never mentioned her name, or I’d have never let them go through with it.”

  “Wait, ye mean Catha?” I asked, perplexed.

  “Yes!”

  “Why? What’s she got to do with it?”

  “She isn’t Fae, obviously!” Morgan replied, rolling her eyes at me like I was being obtuse on purpose. “The trap won’t work on her, and neither will the spell!”

  “How d’ye know that? D’ye know who she is?”

  “Of course I do! And so do you, you silly thing! Catha. Babd Catha. The Battle Crow. Your blasted aunt!”

  Chapter 44

  After promising to check on him later, I left poor Bredon with Hilde and the rest of those staying behind to lick their wounds, which meant only Max, Morgan, and myself were preparing to go through the Gateway. The Valkyrie had wanted to come, of course, but I wasn’t willing to risk her hurting herself any further on my account. Besides, this was Boston business.

  Strike that, family business.

  I wasn’t sure what to think about the infamous Catha being my Aunt Babd. On the one hand, it made perfect sense; both Petal and Gretel had certainly implied something to that effect, though I couldn’t figure out for the life of me why they hadn’t just come out and told me. On the other, it raised a whole mess of pertinent questions. Like why, for example, was she looking for me? Why bring the slaugh along with her from Fae? What was her connection to Liam and all that had happened here?

  Determined to ask her directly, I checked myself over for the third time, gearing up for the most tiresome, maddening square on life’s BINGO card: the family reunion.

  “She is almost ready,” Max said, eyeing me from his peripheral vision before returning his attention to the enchantress. After tapping into so much magic earlier, she’d needed a few minutes longer to prepare. Which was good because it had given Max a chance to find his shirt.

  “And how are ye?” I asked, realizing we hadn’t yet spoken about his alter ego’s hostile takeover.

  “I am fine,” Max sighed. “It is not unpleasant, when the creature stirs. I am not in control, but I am aware of what it wants. What it thinks. It was very pleased when you chose to use its power the way you did. And very scared when you attacked the god, alone. We both were.”

  “It sort of just happened,” I confessed, shrugging hard enough that my armor clanked when it settled. “I saw an opening, and I took it.”

  “And if you had failed?”

  “Then I’d probably be dead.”

  “That does not bother you?”

  “Death? No, not really. Life is the scary part.”

  “So, you saw your chance, and you took it.”

  “Pretty much—”

  Max was suddenly there before I could finish, pulling off my helmet and pressing my armored body against his with enough force that I ended up on my toes. I was so surprised I actually squeaked, releasing Areadbhar so that my hands were pressed against his chest as though I planned to push him away—which, for a moment, I seriously considered. When I didn’t, however, he brought his lips to hover over mine, his dark eyes searching for the slightest hint of a yes. I slid my hand up his chest, past his neck, and traced that perfect jawline until I reached his dimpled chin and pulled.

  The kiss was...not nearly enough.

  The second his lips met mine, our tongues twining, our bodies mimicking with clothes on what we’d have much preferred to do with them off; it was like I could no longer ignore all the pent-up sexual tension between us. What had once simply hummed in the background had become an operatic seduction worthy of a Baz Luhrman film. Worse, it seemed we both knew it.

  Max pulled away, first. “No time.”

  “Later,” I said, breathily. “I mean definitely sooner rather than later. But later.”

  “Well, whatever you decide, do be sure to take pictures for posterity,” Morgan chimed in, grinning like the cat who ate the chimera. The enchantress beckoned us, flapping her hand madly back and forth as though we were the ones holding everything up. “Come along, love birds! We haven’t got all night. Apparently.”

  Max handed me back my helmet while I retrieved my spear, the two of us blushing so hard I thought I might have a face to match my hair. A few seconds later, we fell in at her back, physically aware of each other in ways we hadn’t been only a few minutes before. The enchantress, meanwhile, pointed two fingers and waved them in ever-widening circles until a ring of sparks formed in the air. It expanded, growing wider and wider until I could make out a moonlit landscape not terribly unlike our own. A quarry, perhaps? I remembered Morgan saying something about an iron mine, which meant we were at least several miles north of the city.

  “I’ll go first,” I said as soon as the Gateway was large enough to pass through. I slipped by the enchantress holding Areadbhar at the ready.

  “Be careful,” Morgan warned, sounding worried. “We have no idea what we can expect once we’re over there.”

  I’d only just turned to say something cavalier and reassuring, however, when both she and Max lunged forward, simultaneously. I had about half a second to wonder what on earth they were doing when a sinuous arm snaked around my waist and yanked me backwards so hard I actually dropped Areadbhar. The owner of that appendage raised me high and flung me to the ground like a rag doll. A blinding light and the acrid stench of burning ozone immediately followed, accompanied by a scream that sounded like Morgan’s.

  “Quinn!” Max yelled. “Quinn, come—”

  The rest of what the brujo had to say was lost, however, swallowed up the instant the Gateway snapped shut. Another voice, so familiar it raised unbidden memories of the goddess it belonged to, filled the chilling silence that followed.

  “If anyone else tries to interrupt, kill ‘em.”

  Chapter 45

  I lay flat on my back with the wind knocked out of me, staring up at a dark-haired figure dressed in so much black leather that her pale skin seemed luminescent by comparison. Or maybe that was the moonlight itself; the Hex Moon shone brighter here than it had in the mountains of the Ozarks, for some reason. Next to her stood a moor troll—larger and swarthier than their bridge troll cousins, his kind were notorious for guiding those wayward travelers who wandered lost among the
fog, primarily to their deaths. Rumor had it they were meaner, too. I’d never met one before, myself.

  “Get her up,” Babd commanded.

  The same arm that had taken me and the others by surprise a moment ago came down like the trunk of some enormous elephant to wind across my chest and yank me, quite violently, to my feet. The arm retreated as quickly as it had come, like a turtle’s head, into the furry mass of a Faeling creature even I thought was made up.

  “That’s enough, Fachan, ye can go.”

  The Fachan bared its razor-sharp teeth, blinked its singular eye, turned on its heel, and hopped away on its one and only leg. All of which should have been odd, at worst. And yet, having stared into that baleful creature’s eye, I felt infinitely better the moment it left.

  “Where d’ye find that one?” I asked, offhandedly.

  “Shut her up.”

  The moor troll backhanded me so hard it sent my helmet flying and created a ringing in my ears. I blinked through spots in my vision, the right side of my face stinging with pain. I spat, tasting blood.

  “Is that any way to talk to family?” I rasped.

  “What part of shut her up didn’t ye understand?” Babd snapped as though she hadn’t heard me, planting her fists on her hips for emphasis.

  The moor troll raised his hand again, preparing to slap me once more, open palmed this time. Unfortunately, I’d already given the flunky his freebie for the evening. This time, he was going to have to pay the toll.

  I waited until the troll’s hand descended and went up under the intended blow, effectively trapping his arm while I threw all my weight into his shoulder and rode his sorry ass to the ground. From there, all I typically had to do was lean back and apply pressure on the shoulder joint to make my opponent tap out. Sadly, nothing about this scenario was typical. One, because this wasn’t a sparring match. And two, because my opponent outweighed me by a couple hundred pounds.

  Which was why I had no choice but to pop his arm out of its socket.

  I flipped over the troll’s back, keeping hold of his wrist, and essentially worked it like you might a water pump—using all my weight to force the limb in a direction it wasn’t meant to go. The joint snapped loose with a wet pop, and the moor troll began to squeal like a stuck pig. I released the wrist, straightened, and turned just in time to find myself held three feet off the ground by my throat.

  “Who do ye t’ink ye are, hurting me people without me permission?” Babd demanded, shaking me for emphasis.

  “You’re tellin’ me ye don’t even recognize your favorite niece?” Thanks to the gorget around my neck, I spoke without any strain. “That’s almost hurtful, Auntie Babd. It’s me, Quinn.”

  “Quinn...” Babd lowered me until my feet hit the ground. “Aye, I’ve been lookin’ for Quinn…d’ye know where she is?”

  “What? Don’t be ridiculous, I’m right here.” I took hold of her wrist, squeezed, and pried her hand from my throat. “Look at me, Babd. It’s Quinn. Morr—Nemain’s daughter.”

  “Nemain...Macha!” Babd snatched both my arms, her expression ravaged by some wretched emotion. “We have to save Macha! Before it’s too late!”

  “Easy there,” I soothed, realizing for the first time that I might be dealing with someone who wasn’t simply violent, but quite possibly mad. “What’s happened to Aunt Macha?”

  “You!”

  Over Babd’s shoulder, four figures approached. The two in the middle I recognized immediately, though they’d been smacked around so much their faces were puffy and mottled with bruises. Still, the eyes of the two Hispanic women remained defiant even as their captors tugged them forward by the ropes that bound their hands. The captors themselves I clocked only a few seconds later. The first was Albi, standing tall and menacing like some nightmarish version of the Easter Bunny. The second, and the Faeling who’d spoken, was Liam.

  “How did you get here?” Liam demanded. The Gancanagh passed Maria’s rope over to the Pooka dismissively and came marching up to the two of us, his humor from earlier supplanted by a seething rage. “You should be dead.”

  “Why? Because ye sicced a god on me?” I shook myself loose from Babd’s grip and faced the soon-to-be-dead Faeling. “You’ll have to do better than that, ye two-faced fuck.”

  “Did you escape, then? I knew I shouldn’t have come back here until I was sure. Still, I’d have thought he'd make short work of you and your friends. Maybe he slept too long?” Liam waved that away. “Oh well, I’m sure he’ll shake off the rust, soon enough.”

  “Oh, he tried.” I shrugged, insinuating Chernobog’s attempts to murder us all had been less than impressive. “Also, and I hate to be the one to tell ye, I t’ink it’s hard to shake off the rust if you’re dead.”

  “You killed him?” Liam asked, shock writ large across his face. Then, to my surprise, he cracked a wide smile that turned into gut-busting laughter. “All that work, and you killed him? Tonight is just getting better and better!”

  “Liam? Liam, what is this?” Babd asked, sounding eerily like a lost child. “What’s happenin’?”

  Like he’d flicked some sort of switch, the Gancanagh’s whole manner changed in an instant. He reached out, taking my aunt to his breast like a lover, and patted her head. “It’s alright, m’lady. Everything is fine. The slaugh await your word to hunt down the traitors. We have captured the mortal witches who planned to expose you. All that’s left is to deal with this wretched creature that came here to kill you.”

  Liam turned my own aunt to look at me, pointing. His skin had already begun to shimmer. Indeed, by the time he looked up at me I could hardly gaze at his face without feeling the urge to touch it. Babd, of course, did just that—pulling him into a kiss that left her glowing with her own power.

  “That’s pretty impressive,” Albi remarked, his voice as bland as I’d ever heard it. “Using your power on a goddess, and in the midst of all this iron, no less…”

  I tracked the Pooka’s gaze, realizing he was right: we were surrounded by iron. Not ore deposits, of course, otherwise it wouldn’t have been abandoned. Instead, the limestone vista was littered with rusted iron beams—the kind that were used as train tracks before the newer, higher quality rails were invented. They sat piled atop each other in sad bundles, maybe six to a stack.

  “Mind your own business, Albi,” Liam snarled, though I noticed the loving expression he bestowed on Babd never so much as flickered.

  “I’m only pointing out we could have gotten these two talking a lot sooner if you’d have taken the lead,” Albi replied, scratching idly at his cheek, his furry hand matted with his captives’ blood. “I mean, it’s nearly midnight...on the night of the Hex Moon.”

  “I said keep your thoughts to yourself,” Liam snapped. “If you’re so concerned about the time, why don’t you go send the slaugh after their prey.”

  “They listen to her, not me,” Albi replied.

  “Babd,” Liam whispered lovingly, “will you send the slaugh? For me?”

  “Of course, Liam,” the goddess replied, petting his cheek. “Ye have but to name your prey, and the slaugh will hunt the poor, unfortunate souls to the ends of this realm.”

  “And will you fight this one?” Liam released my aunt, giving her a light shove in my general direction. “She wanted to sneak in here and challenge you. She believes you are no match for her. And look at what she’s already done to your favorite troll!”

  The moor troll sat cradling his wounded arm, looking nowhere near as fierce as he had when I first laid eyes on him.

  “She wants to fight me?” Babd glared at me, her momentary indecision replaced by the promise of violence. She took a threatening step forward, tiny arcs of electricity dancing along her fingertips. “Surely no one is that stupid. I am Babd Catha, goddess of battle.”

  “Yes, you are, my love,” Liam replied, already turning his back on us as Babd began stripping off her bulkier, more cumbersome leathers. “Enjoy nesting her to death.”

&n
bsp; “Wait!” I yelled, hoping to stall while I came up with a plan that didn’t involve going toe to toe with my batshit crazy aunt. I caught Albi looking at me, his sickly yellow eyes flicking to the sky and back like he was trying to tell me something. Wait...what had he said before, about it being before midnight? And the Hex Moon...

  “Don’t bother trying to get out of this by talking,” Liam warned, cheerily. “When she’s like this, you either have to knock her out, or kill her. Otherwise, you’ll be dead.”

  “What, ye refuse to fight me, yourself? Are ye a coward? Or are ye that disloyal? Because, if ye ask me, those who are loyal to someone should always serve that person’s best interests, whatever they may be.”

  Albi merely blinked at me, his expression sour.

  “What a charming sentiment,” Liam replied. “To tell you the truth, I’m actually rooting for you. I’d never have wasted all that time in the Ozarks if I’d known there was a local ringer who could take this one down. Good luck!”

  The Gancanagh beckoned Albi to follow him, presumably so he could tell the slaugh to hunt down Petal and the others who’d gone to rescue Robin. But the Pooka declined.

  “I want to watch this,” Albi explained. “I mean, how many battles between the Tuatha Dé will we ever get to see?”

  “What did you say?” Liam froze, his whole body tensed.

  Albi repeated himself.

  “She’s one of the Tuatha Dé Danann?” the Gancanagh asked, gesturing at me. “You’re sure?”

  Albi shrugged. “Rumor has it.”

  “I don’t deal in rumors, Pooka. I deal in facts.” Liam marched back to where he’d stood a moment ago. “Show me, then, or I’ll have Babd stomp on your pretty little head until I could spread your brains like jam on toast.”