Salty Dog

by Shayne Silvers

  Not ever.

  I fell to my knees, skin glowing with power. So much power. Enough power to blow up the moon, or spin the Earth the opposite direction, or…but no. That wasn’t how this power worked; I could sense that it was a subtle thing, not meant for anything flashy. The opposite, perhaps.

  A power forged in darkness.

  I held out my hand and watched in fascination as shadows danced down my arm to leap from my fingertips like flames, hovering, their inky tongues darting this way and that. I rose and turned, realizing I was no longer being held against my will, and opened my mouth to ask my mother’s ghost what she’d done to me. But there was no one. She was gone, and I was alone.

  Again.

  I lowered my arms, crestfallen, but something—an instinct stronger than those I’d felt when choosing the windows before—urged me to walk. And so I did, led by the burgeoning power almost as surely as I had been by my mother’s ghost, my eyes locked on a frame that seemed to glow before my eyes. Indeed, I passed window after window until, at last, I found the one I was meant to open—a gilded, blue steel frame patterned with frozen roses.

  I pressed my hand to the window’s glass surface and watched shadows play across it at odd angles, as if they couldn’t decide where to go or what to do. I drew back, flexing my fingers one at a time, and finally reached out to pull the lever down, though it took me several tries; the lever seemed to move all on its own.

  “You were successful?”

  The voice belonged to the Fae Queen within the window, her imperious tone easy to place. The Winter Queen sat on a throne of ice in a stately room I’d never seen before—new digs, I guessed. Before her stood two Faelings. The first was a child I didn’t recognize. The second was an attractive, blonde Faeling who I thought looked familiar, but couldn’t place.

  “Yes, my Queen,” the child replied. The voice made my breath catch; it was the same as the one I’d heard after I’d been stabbed. The voice of my attacker.

  “Good. I’m glad one of you managed not to fail me.”

  The blonde ducked her head. “I apologize, my Queen. As I said before, I have no idea how she escaped us. I saw her pass beneath the branch, myself. I made sure of it.”

  “Enough excuses,” the Winter Queen hissed, clawing idly at one arm of her icy chair, flicking chips of frozen liquid in the blonde’s general direction. “It is done.”

  But it wasn’t done. I wasn’t done. I let my hand drop from the lever, afraid I might snap it in two as angry as I was, and realized my skin was glowing brighter with each passing second. I seethed, staring at the trio. The Queen. The child with the knife. Bubblegum Barbie, the Faeling I’d met in Scotland—Mabel, I believed her name had been. They were the ones who’d tried to bring me over into Fae against my will. They were the ones who had attacked me. And why? Because I hadn’t gone after Nate Temple as I’d said I would? Or had my tiff with Ryan—with the new Jack Frost—earned me a one-way ticket to the afterlife?

  Regardless of their reasons, I felt suddenly very compelled to go knock on someone’s fucking door. No, not knock. To bang that fucker down and nail someone to it. Surprisingly, the instant I thought that, I could feel the power inside me roil, skin dimming entirely as a shadow spread out in front of me like a path, only to stop a mere few feet ahead. No, not a path, I realized.

  A doorway.

  Somehow, I knew all I had to do was take a single step and I’d fall right in, traveling directly to the Winter Queen’s throne room the way only I—Quinn MacKenna, Morrigan’s daughter—could. I took one look at the child and the blonde bowing and scraping as they left the throne room and felt my anger rise another notch. I strode into the darkness, prepared to give her Majesty and all her pissant minions a taste of the hell they’d put me through.

  Because karma may be a real bitch.

  But I was more punctual.

  44

  I materialized within the very room I’d seen in the mirror, emerging from the shadows cast by the throne as if I were rising from the depths of the ocean, darkness sloughing off my skin in rivulets to puddle around my feet like ink. Frankly, I wasn’t sure how I’d done it—especially how I’d managed to appear in this exact location despite having no idea where the hell I actually was—only that I had.

  But I could explore my new abilities later, I decided. Right now my priority was having a little tête-à-tête with a certain frosty bitch before someone else came out of the woodwork with a dagger aimed at my back. I flexed the fingers of my right hand and smiled as shadows pooled around the grooves of my knuckles, swarming over my skin like ants.

  This was going to be a good conversation.

  I stepped out from behind the throne, fully aware of just how intimidating I’d seem appearing out of nowhere after being presumed dead. In fact, I was counting on it, prepared to scare the living…befreezus out of the Winter Queen and her lackeys.

  Except, rather than step out in all my nebulous glory, I tripped and fell flat on my face.

  “Motherfu—” I began, cutting the curse off as I groaned, trying to climb back to my feet. But I couldn’t. Or, rather, my body wasn’t cooperating. In fact, it felt as though every ounce of energy I’d had roaring inside me only a moment ago had suddenly fled, taking with it even my own reserves, leaving me drained and exhausted and…weak.

  So very, very weak.

  “Guards!” the Winter Queen shrieked, startled by my sudden appearance and subsequent collapse. I glanced over, taking particular note of her tastelessly tall heels and dainty ankles before I felt a beefy hand push me flat to the ground. I grunted, finding it suddenly hard to breathe, my ribs pressed so tight against the stone floor I thought they might shatter.

  “Get her up,” the queen commanded, snapping her fingers.

  The hand gripped the back of my neck like I was a naughty kitten, drawing me to my feet. It was freaking embarrassing, but personally I was glad for the order; at least this way I wouldn’t die from lack of oxygen. And yet I was having trouble even standing on my own two feet.

  Dear God, what was wrong with me?

  Had I overdone it with my mother’s magic, somehow?

  “You!” the Winter Queen gasped as her bodyguard—a blue-skinned, red-furred troll with filed teeth—propped me up against his shoulder.

  “Me,” I replied, lamely, waving one hand.

  “But how?!” the child assassin cried, running up to us, apparently drawn by the ruckus I’d caused. Except he wasn’t a child, at all. He was a beardless dwarf, his features slightly too robust to belong to a kid. “I stabbed her, my Queen, I swear it!”

  “Clearly you should have stabbed her again,” the Winter Queen drawled, studying me. “No matter.” She strutted forward, those high heels clicking against the stone, loud enough to set my teeth on edge, and placed one freezing hand on the pulse of my throat. She ran it down, fingers trailing, and I shivered, turning this way and that in an attempt to get away from her glacial touch. But, with the troll holding me fast by my neck, I simply wasn’t strong enough to free myself.

  Only…since when had I been too weak to break out of a hold, even from one of the Fae? I scowled, realizing that something—something not related to my mother’s power and the possible magical overload—was very, very wrong.

  The Winter Queen’s eyes met mine and a slow, languid smile split her face practically in two. She licked those cobalt-coated lips and tapped my breastbone thoughtfully with a slender finger, nail breaking skin with each descent to leave bloody half-moon welts on my chest. I winced, shying from her touch, but remained unable to get away. “Oh, child…” she said, seductively, “what promise did you break?”

  The Winter Queen’s dungeon was freaking cold.

  Big surprise.

  I leaned back against the iron bars of my cell, unconcerned whether or not the metal brushed my skin since it seemed to have no effect on me currently, still beating myself up for being so monumentally stupid. What promise did you break? I felt like those words may
as well have been etched onto the back of my eyelids for as many times as I’d reflected on them—on what they meant for me. But then, I wasn’t the only one getting screwed over right now.

  There was Eve, too.

  My poor, potted houseplant, who I’d promised—on my godsforsaken power—to bring to Fae the next time I visited. And yet, what had I done? I’d stepped right into the freaking lair of the Fae Queen trying to have me assassinated without an ounce of fucking sense and lost everything, including the advantage of surprise and, naturally, my dignity.

  To say I was feeling low would be an understatement. Truthfully, I felt like a fool, yes, but worse, I felt like I’d betrayed Eve. Betrayed someone I’d come to care about because I’d been too shortsighted, too eager to kick ass and take names. And now, not only had I broken my vow, but I’d gotten myself captured by a race of creatures who thought of time as a malleable law of physics, who equated decades with hours—which meant, at this rate, Eve may never get her wish, at all.

  I groaned, letting my head fall back to clang against the bars of my cell, grimacing at the sudden spike of pain. Then again. “Stupid, stupid, stupid…” I muttered.

  “I told you, halfling,” a voice said, slithering out from the dim hallway outside my cell, “you’ll never beat us. You simply don’t have what it takes.”

  I spun around on instinct, kicking my way across the floor just in time to avoid the knife thrust I’d sensed coming. The blade gleamed with some infernal light, casting shadows in all directions, but it was enough to make out my attacker. Mabel, the elven girl who’d insulted me before the race in Scotland. Ryan’s fangirl. In hindsight, her presence made all the sense in the world; Ryan must have recruited her when he’d gone to work for the Winter Queen. Turned her into a spy, using her to dig up dirt on the Chancery. I scowled, wondering how many other traitors we had hiding out among our members. Wait, our members? I laughed at the momentary slip-up, acknowledging to myself that not only was I not a member of the Chancery, but that—at the moment—I wasn’t much of anything.

  I was a mere mortal. Fragile. Weak.

  “Having a good time?” Mabel asked.

  I shrugged, glad the cell was large enough that I could at least stay well out of her reach. I pretended to take a long look around as she withdrew her blade. “I mean, it’s not the Ritz,” I replied, thoughtfully, “but I’ve stayed in worse places.” Frankly, I wasn’t sure that was entirely true, but I had spent a couple months sleeping on the floor of a friend’s closet in New York City…at least this wasn’t my choice. Less embarrassing that way, maybe.

  “Oh, I doubt that,” Mabel replied. She dropped to a squat, staring at me from about eye-level, her smile malevolent. “They’ve been debating what to do with you for a while now. The Queen and King Oberon, that is.”

  I perked up at that, something like hope fluttering in my chest. Granted, Oberon and I hadn’t exactly been pals following our little run-in with Balor and his army…but we hadn’t been enemies, either. As things stood, the Goblin King, as he was sometimes known, might be my only chance of making it out of this place alive. “And?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

  The elven girl shrugged, coolly. “They go back and forth. Torture you, leave you to rot for a few hundred years…” She trailed off, waving her dagger about as if there was little difference between the two. “That’s why I figured I’d stop by, first.”

  I studied that odd, glowing dagger. “Ye wanted to kill me, instead?”

  “Oh no. Personally, I’d have preferred what the others had in store for you,” she admitted, eyes flicking down the hall. “But Ryan made me promise not to let you talk.”

  “Why?” I asked, incredulously. Thing was, while Ryan and I had found ourselves on opposite sides of the field, I certainly hadn’t expected him to try and have me killed. Especially not for something as mundane as talking to his boss. Hell, that made even less sense; wouldn’t he want them to pry every ounce of information out of me?

  “Ryan wouldn’t say,” she admitted, looking a tad petulant.

  “He doesn’t trust ye?”

  Mabel tensed, her smile vanishing so swiftly I thought I must have imagined it. “He loves me.”

  Oh, here we go.

  “Well, you’re probably right,” I said, shrugging. “I mean, I always thought trust was integral to any healthy relationship. But that must just be a human t’ing. Don’t mind me.”

  Mabel’s cheeks flushed. “It’s not important why. Ryan trusts me to do what he asks, that’s all. If I’d wanted to know, he’d have told me.” She pressed one hand flat to the ground, hunkering forward until her face almost touched the bars. “But I do want to know one thing before I cut you open,” she purred. “How did you escape? That day at the race, why didn’t you end up here like you were supposed to?”

  I grunted. “And why would I tell ye?”

  The Faeling blinked owlishly as if she hadn’t considered that.

  “Is there like a standardized test out there ye lot take to figure out who among ye is the dumbest?” I asked, cocking an eyebrow.

  “What?”

  I shook my head. “Nevermind. Listen, I don’t know what you’ve got planned here, but unless ye can get past iron bars, I can promise ye I’m not gettin’ close enough to let ye stab me with that t’ing.”

  Mabel laughed, the sound akin to birdsong—an awfully pretty sound to come out of such an ugly, malicious person, I decided. Then she casually reached back with her free hand and drew a set of keys from somewhere, dangling them for me to see. “Don’t worry, Quinn MacKenna, if you can’t come to me, I’ll come to you.”

  Well, Mabel may have been dumber than pixie dust…

  But she certainly had a flair for villainous delivery.

  45

  I was already on my feet by the time Mabel found the right key—a process which took at least five ridiculously long, excruciating minutes. At that point, the elven hussy was so pissed she was spitting; it probably hadn’t helped that I’d mocked her the entire time for not being able to put the right key in the appropriate hole. I may or may not have alluded to Ryan putting his key in a lot of holes to see which fit best…not my proudest moment, or even one of my best jokes, but what can I say?

  I’d gotten bored.

  “Oy, tell me, can a Faelin’ catch anythin’ from humans? Ye know, if he’s especially promiscuous?” I asked good-naturedly, as if I were inquiring about the weather or picking an appetizer off a menu.

  Mabel snarled, twisting the key so savagely I seriously thought it might break.

  “Imagine that conversation with a doctor, am I right? Can ye even imagine what bang slang they’d come up with for that one?” I cocked my head thoughtfully, finger pressed to my lips. “Oh wait, why am I askin’ ye like ye don’t already know?”

  “I will kill you,” she hissed, throwing open the door.

  “Ye said that already,” I drawled. “Lesson number one when threatenin’ someone? Try not to lead off with death. Doesn’t leave ye much wiggle room.” I said all this as she stepped inside, but before she advanced too far into the cell and effectively cornered me. Then I did the only thing I could do under the circumstances; I rushed her.

  Mabel, so angry she probably couldn’t even see straight, lashed out with her dagger, baring her perfectly straight teeth—but I was already moving. I pivoted to the side, relying not on the speed and strength I’d gotten so used to of late, but on my hard-earned reflexes—years and years of hand-to-hand training which rendered even Mabel’s superior Fae genetics momentarily useless—as I dipped my shoulder, I snatched her outstretched arm and slammed it into the nearest iron bar. Once, twice. She shrieked, flesh sizzling, and dropped the knife.

  Which was all I’d been waiting for.

  I snatched up the knife, whirled, and plunged it deep into Mabel’s thigh. I’d have preferred a more lethal strike, personally, but my options were limited; even without the blade, the elven girl could snap my neck with hardly any effo
rt, assuming she didn’t feel like plucking off my limbs one at a time like some demented toddler with her least favorite Barbie. But none of that turned out to matter because—the instant the blade struck her flesh—Mabel promptly disappeared.

  And, of course, that’s when the alarms went off.

  I stood in front of two of Fae’s most powerful rulers, wrists and ankles shackled, two armed guards on either side watching my every move. To be completely honest I was kind of flattered, feeling a little like Il Duce from The Boondock Saints. With one notable difference, of course; I wasn’t about to be released to exact my own personal brand of vengeance anytime soon. If ever.

  “I’ll ask you again,” the Winter Queen said imperiously, “how did you escape?”

  I sighed. “I told ye, I didn’t escape. The Pink Ranger tried to kill me.”

  “Mabel,” she clarified, nodding along as if she’d heard it all before—because she had. “And yet none of my people can find her. Although doing so should be easy, if what you’re saying is true.”

  “She disappeared into thin air,” I explained.

  “How convenient of her,” the queen drawled.

  I rolled my eyes. “Look, I stabbed her with the dagger she came at me with, and she went poof. I don’t know what else ye expect me to say.” I shrugged, chains clinking, and was rewarded to see my guards flinch. So touchy.

  “Neither do I,” the queen retorted, waving her hand dismissively. “Especially not from someone who breaks her vows as easily as you do.”

  That made me wince. “Listen, I—”

  “Why haven’t you gone after Nate Temple?” Oberon interjected. The Goblin King wore his favorite disguise—a goblin meatsack that hid his true form, a gargantuan, horned creature with all the presence of a god—and sat in a gaudy chair the queen must have procured for him. His eyes glinted with amusement to see me in irons, though there was a tension in the way he held himself that made me wonder just what I’d wandered into, here.