And in her eyes, in the predatory gaze, something was changing. Like a growing fire, a wave in the air, a glow rising along the horizon heralding the breaking of dawn. Not the spark. It was far more than the spark. He couldn’t identify it and that made him very nervous indeed.
What had his option been, though? Stay behind and face demons while trying to control her ravings? Besides, Blythe and her kin had hardly given them an option. They were not guests here, no matter how civilly the Cú Sídhe pack were prepared to treat them for now.
But she had been so scared. He had felt it inside him as well. Terror. Fear of confined spaces, of darkness beneath the ground, of being shut away. Fear so great that she passed out rather than face it. But even her fear didn’t quite feel like her own fear.
Her breath played on his neck, soft and regular, a delicate caress.
Jinx drove the thought from his mind with brute force. He couldn’t even consider that. Her kiss had been an invitation and only shock had stopped him returning it. But he couldn’t. Not now, not ever. She was Grigori, of a bloodline that stretched back – well, forever! And she carried a spark. A divine spark that was already changing her. He didn’t entirely know what that made her.
Aside from untouchable.
As if she sensed his thoughts, Blythe glanced at him. ‘Who is she?’
He almost barked out his answer. ‘No one. Just a girl.’
Blythe gave a soft chuckle which spoke volumes about disbelief. ‘Few people react so strongly to our wards. And she didn’t look right, up there. It was like she was fighting off some sort of enchantment. Is she possessed? What are you doing with a human?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Nothing.’ She twisted the word with amusement. ‘I’ve seen people look at one another that way before and it’s usually far from nothing.’
‘Shouldn’t you b worrying aebout your pack-mates out there, fighting demons?’
She shook her head, her silky black hair shimmering as it moved across her naked shoulders. Her scent was intoxicating and she was beautiful. It had been so long since he’d seen one of his own kind, let alone a female.
So why could he only think of the girl in his arms now?
Blythe watched him with far too knowing eyes. ‘You may be young, but you’re old enough to know the fae motto when it comes to humans, Jinx – fell it, feed on it or fuck it. Which is she to be?’
‘Leave be, Blythe. It’s none of your business.’
‘You’re here, trespassing on land I protect. That makes it my business. And the business of my matriarch. She’s not going to ask so kindly.’
‘And who might she be?’
‘Oh, surely you know her. Her name is Brí.’
She could have had the same effect by dousing him in cold water. Brí? He was in Brí’s domain?
Jinx stopped in his tracks, pulled Izzy close against him. The urge to slide to hound form and run reached up in a stranglehold, crushing the breath from his lungs. He couldn’t. It would mean leaving Izzy. But of all places to end up, of all people whose homes he could have stumbled into … Brí? Fate wouldn’t be that cruel.
Blythe turned to face him, her face harder, more calculating than before. ‘Now what are you thinking? There’s nowhere to go, Jinx by Jasper. You came from this hollow, from this pack. Whether you claim us or not, we recognise you. And she already knows you’re here. Besides—’ her eyes trailed down to Izzy, disdain and disbelief warring in their depths, ‘––she has a vested interest in your little human charge.’ Her smile was cold, never rising beyond the corner of her perfect lips. ‘Run and you’ll have to leave her. You can’t carry her in hound form. And you won’t leave her. Will you?’ Blythe laughed, a sound which did nothing to comfort him. ‘Well, if you aren’t going to cooperate …’
She snapped her fingers and the Cú Sídhe of her pack materialised out of the shadows behind them. Jinx was seized from behind and Izzy taken from him. Freed of her, he twisted around, ready to fight, ready to pull her from them, when something hard and heavy came down on the back of his head and he sank to his knees.
The shadows of Brí’s hollow danced with coloured lights and laughter. He slid to the cold stone floor and knew no more.
Izzy woke to darkness, unsure of where she was or how she’d got there, and almost fell off the low divan on which she lay. She cursed to herself and sat very still on the edge. She could make out only a little of the room, but a light came from under the door and gradually her eyes adjusted to it.
She got up and stumbled across the room until she found the door. With a shaking hand she tried the handle. When it didn’t work, she rattled it.
‘Hello?’
No answer. Of course there was no answer. Why had she dreamed there would be a freaking answer?
‘Jinx? Hello?’
Nothing from him either.
She let out a long breath and tried to force her racing heart to a calmer rhythm. The last thing she remembered was the rock opening, Jinx picking her up and carrying her towards it. Into the dark. Then nothing. Frightening dreams, horrific images, and the overwhelming need to reach the Wishing Stone. It didn’t make sense.
Then again, nothing made sense any more. So nothing new there.
Izzy swallowed painfully on a dry mouth. The room was bigger than the tunnel, but she was still shut inside. In the dark. The walls felt smooth, like polished metal.
‘Hello? Somebody? Hey, you can’t keep me in here. Let me out or I’m calling the cops.’ If she had a phone. One that worked underground. As if she wouldn’t have done that right away.
‘Stay calm. You are quite safe.’
And right on cue, she was hallucinating again. That voice in her head, fan-bloody-tastic. Never a good sign. With a strangled cry of frustration, she kicked the door so hard it rattled and her foot began to throb with pain.
‘You’re going to harm yourself,’ said the voice, with obvious concern.
‘Who the hell are you and why do you care?’
‘I care because I always care. Angels care, Isabel. Despite what Jinx believes.’
An angel? Oh, that was all she needed. And why not? Why should the angel get left out? It was only her mind. ‘You’re the one who fell, aren’t you? Who left the graffiti angel and the spark.’
‘I am.’
Izzy sank onto the narrow divan. ‘This is all your fault then. Why me? Why involve me?’ Her hand touched material, a rich velvet, fold upon fold of it neatly positioned at the edge. She pushed it off because it was about the only thing she could control anymore.
There was a long pause. Trying to figure out an answer no doubt. One that might make sense, hopefully, although she sincerely doubted it.
‘You were the one. I sensed you nearby and knew you would come. And my enemies were closing in on me.’
‘Demons?’ Even in the warm stillness of the room, she shivered. ‘There are demons?’
‘Yes, you saw one of them. And his shades. They followed you home. They were outside your house. I sent them away.’
Of course you did, Izzy thought and then wondered if an imaginary angel had a sarcasm detector.
‘Can you get me out of here?’
There was a moment’s pause. Then a sigh. She felt it run through her body as if it was her own. The angel spoke again. ‘No. I have grown weak. Like the spark, I am melting into you. Soon we will be part of you and I will be no more. It has been hard to even communicate with you.’
For a moment Izzy almost felt sorry for her. But sitting in the dark, lost in a nightmare, sympathy only went so far.
The angel didn’t sound upset, just despondent. They weren’t the same thing. Well, boo-hoo. It wasn’t as if she’d given Izzy any choice in it either. ‘Do you have a name?’
‘No longer. I gave it up to fall.’
‘How did you fall?’ That was serious, right? Falling. That was like being expelled for sin. It had to mean something really bad.
‘I lost someone, long ago. Someo
ne I loved. I … I made a mistake.’
A mistake. Right. Izzy knew all about mistakes. Mistakes had got her here, locked in a room in the dark. Underground. Alone. Or rather not alone, but talking to the fairly useless and rather pathetic angel lodged inside her head. A whole series of mistakes. Starting with going into that alley to look at a bit of graffiti in the first place.
Dad had mentioned mistakes too. Mistakes of long ago. Like not telling her everything when he still had the chance, she supposed. But thinking of Dad, especially thinking of him in anger, didn’t help. It left a hollow ache that gnawed at her heart.
‘Don’t blame him, Isabel,’ the angel whispered and deep inside her something warmed, comforting and calming.
‘I don’t. Not really.’ She only whispered the admission. It wasn’t the type of thing she could say out loud. How could she blame Dad when she could lose him at any second? But the angel, at least, seemed to understand that. Even if Izzy didn’t.
She didn’t hear footsteps in the passage outside, but the lock turned and the next thing she knew, the door was open, spilling light into the room, illuminating the figure of Blythe. Light bounced off the polished bronze that lined the walls. This wasn’t the cell Izzy had taken it for, or at least if it was, it was a comfortable one. More like a waiting room. The divan, a soft chair, even a fireplace, though it was cold and empty. A table in front of it even had some food and wine. Her stomach rumbled loudly at the thought that it had been there all this time and she hadn’t known.
Not that she would have touched it. She wasn’t a fool, even if she was starving. If she was away with the fairies, she wasn’t going to be taking their food and wine so they could keep her there. She remembered that much from the stories Gran used to tell her.
‘Good, you’re awake. Talking to yourself?’
Izzy ignored the jibe. ‘Where’s Jinx?’
Blythe just raised her eyebrows. ‘He’s safe and sound for now. Don’t you worry about him. You didn’t eat?’
‘Bit hard when you can’t see it.’
Blythe frowned at her and then gave a groan of dawning realisation. ‘Oh, of course. Human eyes.’ But instead of getting a lamp or something she just shrugged, ‘You should be getting dressed. You have an audience with the matriarch, girl. She’s very interested in you.’
Bristling again, Izzy pushed her irritation away. If Blythe was trying to get her to lose her temper, she had a long way to go to reach the Mari-standard of pointed remarks. ‘Getting dressed in what?’
‘That would be the dress, duh,’ said the Cú Sídhe. How could she look like something out of a medieval fantasy and talk like she’d walked out of the shopping centre a few minutes ago? What dress, anyway?
The folded material on the foot of the divan. Izzy had forgotten about it. She picked it up from the ground and lengths of green velvet fell from her fingertips. ‘You’re kidding, this?’
‘Not every day you’re summoned to see a living goddess, little human. Might as well look your best.’
A goddess?
‘There is only one God. This is an impostor. One of the lost.’ The gentle, soothing voice was gone. The fallen angel’s anger flared in the back of Izzy’s mind – righteous indignation, divine rage. It left her stunned for a moment.
Soldiers, Jinx had called them, assassins and killers. From the tone of the voice in her head, his description had fallen short of the mark. Zealots and fanatics, more like.
She took a breath to calm herself and then found the strength to glare at Blythe. ‘Well, if I’m going to get ready I need privacy.’
Without another word, the Cú Sídhe walked out, slamming the door behind her.
Damn, thought Izzy. I should have asked for some light as well. Bitch.
But what good would it do? The only way out of this was to go through with it. And hopefully find Jinx again.
She slid out of her clothes and into the dress. They hadn’t thought of shoes. Or underwear, of course. Well, she’d have to do. Goddess or not, whatever she was. Thank God she still had her boots. They might not go with the required masquerade costume, but who gave a toss about that?
‘You’re unarmed. You’re walking into danger.’ The angel’s voice softened to gentleness. Genuine concern coloured the words.
Izzy turned to her clothes and pulled the iron knife from her jacket pocket. She wasn’t going anywhere without that. It might not be much, but it was iron and that counted for something. She slipped it up one of the long, close-fitting sleeves and it rested there, very cold, against her skin.
‘How’s that?’
There was no reply, but she sensed the angel’s satisfaction. It purred like a cat at the base of her brain.
Izzy unclipped her hair and shook it out but before she could put it up again the door re-opened.
‘Good,’ said Blythe, examining her with a single glance. ‘Let’s go.’
‘I will be with you. Where you walk so shall I, to shield and comfort. Do not fear, Isabel. I am with you.’
Sure. Just like that. It sounded like the angel was singing the words. Izzy swallowed down fear. ‘Let’s go.’
Chapter Fourteen
Collared and Bound
Izzy’s footsteps echoed down the corridor, though Blythe moved without a sound.
‘Where’s Jinx?’ Izzy asked again. She didn’t get an answer. Blythe wasn’t in a talkative mood. Maybe she didn’t approve of Izzy getting this so-called audience. She didn’t seem to approve of anything connected with humans at all.
The ceiling opened out above them, and they stepped into a cavern, deep inside the hill that Izzy thought she knew like the back of her hand, a vast chamber like a bronze dome, the walls hung with heavy drapes and portraits, with burning torches. Between the tapestries, and behind the torches, the walls were lined with the same polished bronze. It reflected the light, casting an infernal glow back again and again, illuminating everything in the chamber. Positively medieval. Nothing like the modern nightclub that Silver had made of her hollow. A world away. Millennia away.
Izzy could only stare. She tilted her head to look at the vaulted ceiling, high above them. Lanterns hung there, like stars in the sky. She didn’t want to think about how they were lit. The idea made her dizzy.
All around her, Sídhe of varying natures gathered, like any crowd in a large space, clustered in groups, lost in their own conversations with no single focus for them. That all changed as she passed. The voices fell silent, and eyes as sharp as any thorn latched onto her. Hair, skin, eyes and clothes varied through every colour imaginable, and they were taller and smaller than any human. These fae were less human-like than any she had seen so far. Izzy held her head up high. No matter what happened, she wasn’t going to be intimidated by them. She thought of Mum, of the way she held herself, of Dad’s calm self-assurance. And she walked past them without giving them the benefit of seeing the nerves rioting inside her.
She wished Jinx was here, and quickly shoved that need aside. A weakness she couldn’t afford, one that might leave her helpless.
Up ahead, the patterned marble of the floor came to a halt and a pool spread out. The water came right up to the ground, a smooth line unbroken but for the soft ripples that every so often shook the surface. It looked like a mirror. A dais rose from the centre. A throne dominated it. And in front of the throne, a flame.
It burned brightly, without any source or fuel, but it hung there, incandescent in the still chamber. It joined with the torchlight and amplified it.
Blythe stopped at the water’s edge and Izzy came to a halt beside her, staring into the brightness.
‘Bring him out,’ Blythe called.
A scuffle heralded a group of warriors bundling a shackled prisoner between them. Izzy’s eyes widened as she recognised Jinx, but she held herself cautiously, careful not to react. He looked wretched, but when he saw her, pulled himself upright and tried to shake them off.
Proud, she thought. And strong. Noble, even in captivity.
And really, really stupid.
He had fought them. That much was clear. Bruised and battered, his body had taken one hell of a beating. A collar circled his neck, ornately decorated silver, and chains ran down to similar cuffs at his wrists. Beneath the skin was red and raw, as if the metal had burned him. Izzy’s stomach tightened just looking at him. Pain was a constant ghost in his steely eyes. Not the after-image that always lingered there. This was fresher, stronger. Agony.
What had happened? What had he done? Last time she saw him, Jinx and the Cú Sídhe seemed like long-lost friends.
Jinx and his guards stood behind her and Izzy had to fight the urge to turn around and hurl a hundred questions at him. He was in no position to answer them. Her heart beat faster. This was wrong. So very wrong. All her instincts were screaming at her. Everything had gone wrong.
‘You must not panic.’
Shut up, she thought desperately. I don’t need you distracting me now, mad voice in my head.
‘I can help you.’
No. Shut up and go back to being imaginary.
A curious sense of the importance of this moment spread over her, as if so much hinged on what happened here, as if a mistake now could cost lives – namely hers and Jinx’s. She felt like someone else. Not a teenage girl whose biggest worry was upcoming exams and whether she’d still have a job at the coffee shop come Monday morning.
Her dad’s life was tied up in this too. Had it really been an accident? Or had it been deliberate? She didn’t know, but someone did. Someone knew what this was all about, why she was so important that an angel chose its moment to fall so it would be near her, so important that every supernatural thing seemed to want her, so important that the spark was eating into her. She caught her train of thought and almost laughed. ‘Important’ wasn’t a word for her. ‘Cursed’, perhaps, but not ‘important’.
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