by Emily Mckay
Sometimes, I have to actively work to keep Dark Worlder artifacts from just floating through the front door.
CHAPTER EIGHT
One second, the barrier of Kane’s wards is solid at my back, the next, it’s gone.
No rune magic, no spark, no hint at what I did to bring it down. It’s just gone.
Huh.
Well, I’m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. I stand, rubbing the sting out of my backside, and tiptoe up the stairs.
According to Wallace, Kane lives on the third floor.
The first two floors are The Volume Arcana and its storage.
The stairs are uneven heights, the way they are in extremely old buildings. I guess the Kingdoms of Mithres don’t have a lot of government inspectors.
As soon as I reach the second floor—which looks like a poorly lit maze of stacked bookcases and crates—I hear it. A noise somewhere between a whimper and a groan. It sounds like it’s coming from a wounded animal.
I cringe, squeezing my eyes closed. Do I go forward and try to help or flee, like the coward I am?
I’m about to scurry back to the stairs when a voice groans, “Please. Help.”
Screw it.
I may be in the Kingdoms of Mithres. I may be the least powerful person here. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to ignore any creature in pain. I pull out my phone, turn on the flashlight, and head toward the voice.
I follow the sounds and find myself facing a large open space with a cage in it. It’s about the proportions of a dog crate, but big enough to hold a timber wolf. Or a bear. Or…
Or a human.
I creep closer, shining the light over the shape inside. Nope, not furry. Not a dog. Just a girl, dressed in rags, curled in the corner.
“Hello?” I ask.
There’s a groan, followed by a whimper. I take another step closer, shining my light on the side of the cage, looking for a way to open it. The metal is the color of brushed aluminum, but it’s faintly warm to the touch. There’s a latch on the outside, but there’s no lock, so I guess the person inside is too weak to open it.
The mechanism on the latch is a little stiff and I have to ram my palm against it several times before it opens. She does little more than whimper and cry. Her obvious pain stirs a sick, squishy feeling in the pit of my stomach. My fingers stumble as the latch gouges deeply enough into my palm that I bleed a little, but I finally get it.
“Can you get out? Do you need help?”
“Do…I…look…like…I…need…help?”
Wow. It takes a pro to maintain such sarcasm in the face of gasping pain.
“Okay,” I say, even though I am already regretting helping her. “Can you take my hand?”
“Do…I…”
“Yeah. Not this again.”
I brace one hand on the top of the crate and reach in with my other one to grab her forearm. Her skin is pale, her hand thin and fine-boned, her skin splotchy with burns. Her grasp is surprisingly strong as I pull her from the crate.
She stumbles out to land on the floor, where she lies for a moment. Then, she stands, straightening into a startlingly tall, wraith-thin young woman. Beautiful, but gaunt and grimy. Then, her appearance changes. It’s like watching a time lapse photography movie. The wrinkles fall away from her clothes. The dirt vanishes from her face. The burns on her hands whiten and fade. The knots in her hair smooth. For a moment, she’s merely pretty. Okay, very, very pretty.
Then her hair itself straightens before springing into thick curls. The pink of her lips deepens to a glossy rose. Her eyebrows smooth into perfect arches.
Within a minute, she has gone from a girl who looked like she lived on the street to a gorgeous creature worthy of the pages of a magazine. She is dressed in a blindingly white shift dress scattered with actual flower petals.
“Whoa.”
So this is what an actual fairy princess looks like.
I know who she is. Who she must be.
“You’re Princess Merianna of the Red Court.”
One of the most beautiful women in the world. An unparalleled master of glamour with the ability to heal anyone (including herself).
Undoubtedly, I’d just witnessed her healing powers. And she’d added a glamour on top to seal the deal. The transformation from wounded victim to glowing princess is some serious, Skywalker Ranch–level special effects.
Except that it’s not illusion. It’s magic she just did. Right before my eyes.
A second ago, she was wounded. Now she’s…
“Hey, are you still hurt? Do you need me to call 911? Or whatever the equivalent is?”
“Do I appear to be unable to heal myself?”
“No.” My hands go up in protest. “I’m a big fan of the whole strong female character thing. Obviously. Since I’m a woman. You get it. I know you have the glamour and healing power and all that stuff, but does it really work that quickly?”
I’m babbling. I do that when I’m nervous.
The princess takes a step backward, looking just a little concerned for my sanity. “How do you know of my powers?”
“Um…” Somehow, I don’t think she’s going to be a fan of the I-stumbled-into-her-world-by-accident-like-Lucy-in-the-fricking-wardrobe version of events. “I’ve heard of you?” I say tentatively. “You are famous, right?”
This seems to mollify her. She tips her chin up to reveal an even more flattering angle. “Well, yes. I suppose I am.”
Whew. Dodged that bullet.
“I owe you a debt of gratitude,” she says. “Ask for a boon and I will grant it.”
“No, thanks.”
She frowns, looking horrified. “Excuse me?”
“I don’t need anything.” Sure, if I ever need someone to bibbidi-bobbidi-boo me a dress for prom, I’ll probably regret not accepting a gift from a fairy princess, but off the top of my head, I can’t think of any way a favor from Princess Merianna will help me save Kane.
“Very well,” she says, turning to leave.
Except…
While I don’t need a favor from her, I do still need to rescue Kane. And I’m sure I could use some help with that.
As soon as I put her and Kane together in the same thought, it hits me.
Book Five starts with the princess being kidnapped and Kane being hired to find her…
Which means…
But she’s already heading down the stairs.
I chase after the princess.
“Wait! Hang on!”
She pauses, turning back to me, her lovely brow furrowed. “Hang on to what?”
“What? No. That’s just a saying. But, here’s the thing—and I need you to trust me on this.” My words have tumbled out so quickly, I have to pause to take a breath. “I need you to get back in the cage.”
More brow furrowing. “Pardon?”
“See, here’s the deal. I’m not supposed to be the person who rescues you. Someone else was supposed to do that. So if you’ll just come with me, I’ll lock you back in and—”
“You expect me to get back into the crate?”
“Yes! Exactly. Then I’ll go get Kane and—”
“But you just freed me.”
“Yes, but—”
“And being in there was extremely painful.”
I cringe. “Yeah. I was afraid of that. But, once you’re back inside, I’ll be really fast. I’ll just zip right upstairs, find Kane. Then he can rescue you and the story will be back on track.”
At least, the good parts of the story.
The budding romance needed to stay intact, but I still needed to find a way to avert the assassination. But I would worry about that later.
The princess was still frowning, but she was looking less confused and more annoyed. “What story?”
“The story.�
�� See, this is why she was annoyed. I hadn’t explained it properly. “You are destined to fall in love with the man who rescues you. And he’s right upstairs.”
The princess narrows her gaze, scanning the room. “This man I’m supposed to fall in love with lives here?”
Her tone alone implies that “here” is a rat-infested hovel. Which, in all fairness, it is.
“Not here here.” I point up. “Two floors up.” Her expression of scathing disdain doesn’t even flicker, so I add in a few flourishes. “In a loft with contemporary modern decor and a stunning view of downtown.”
Okay, that’s not exactly how Wallace described it, but Princess Merianna looked like a woman who appreciated modern architecture.
“I find it very unlikely that I would fall in love with any man who lives above a vermin-infested storage facility.”
With that pronouncement, she turns away, the skirt of her dress flaring out dramatically, before she sweeps off toward the stairs.
Okay, her bad attitude is really starting to get on my nerves.
I rush after her, bodily throwing myself between her and the stairs.
“You can’t leave.”
“Are all Dark Worlders this deranged?” she asks.
“No!” I follow her down the stairs, but her legs are longer and she moves fast. “I mean, I’m not deranged. I swear.”
I break into a run and throw myself between Princess Marianna and the puce curtain. “You have to stay here and meet Kane. I’ll introduce you. I won’t even make you go back into the cage.”
“Dark Worlder, you have neither the power nor the ability to make me do anything, least of all go back into that iron prison. You cannot prevent me from leaving this building and summoning my guards. You do not wish to be haranguing me when they arrive.”
“You can’t leave!”
Princess Merianna waves her hand in apparent frustration. “No wonder the Dark World is so dark. Your wits are all addled.”
And before I can stop her, she marches through the front door of the shop and out into the night.
I rush after her, only to skid to a halt, looking back at the door I just passed through. The door that should have sent me back to Austin.
But it didn’t.
Excerpt from
Book Five of The Traveler Chronicles:
The Traveler Undone
I work alone. I’ve lived alone since I was fifteen. Since loop-hopping with another person is a pain in the ass, I even travel alone.
So do I want a job guarding the princess twenty-four seven for the next three weeks?
No.
But when all seven of the High Courts actually agree on something long enough to ask you to take a job, you do it. Especially when they remind you the Kingdoms are on the brink of civil war. Basically, if the Red Court and the Han Court can agree to marry off their heirs, the rest of the courts will fall in line and accept them as High Queen and King. War will be averted. The Kingdoms will be saved. Nothing will go kaboom.
Besides, someone has to take up the mantle of responsibility and rule the world. I don’t particularly care who it is, as long as it’s not me.
CHAPTER NINE
“Wait!” I call out to the princess. She’s on the corner by now, looking around as if she expects her car to appear out of thin air. “You can’t just leave.”
“Of course I can,” she says, shooing me away as she marches down the street. In my Austin, the streets around Book People were full of shoppers. Here, not so much. “Now be on your way. I don’t want you anywhere near me when your stench attracts the attention of a Barghest.”
“A what?”
“A hellhound,” she says with slow exaggerated pronunciation. “A beast that guards the barrier between—”
“I know what a hellhound is.”
“Ah! Then you know to avoid them.”
Then she raises her hand, her forefinger and middle finger extended, and swipes them through the air. Immediately, a car zips out of traffic—as if by magic—and stops at the curb.
Somewhere a few blocks away, there is a loud thud and a crunch of metal. What sounds like a car alarm goes off. The princess looks in that direction, a frown marring her perfect features.
As she moves to get into her waiting car, she glances back. Master Flores is hurrying toward us. The princess stills, looking longingly at the limo and then at Master Flores. Obviously annoyed, she steps away from the limo. When Master Flores is closer, the princess drops into a florid curtsy and says in a dull voice, “Madam Curator. I am honored by your presence.”
There is another thud, another crunch, and another car alarm goes off, this time closer. Something very large is running through the streets toward us, knocking cars out of the way as it comes.
Master Flores scowls at the princess’s deep curtsy. “Yes, yes, yes. Now stand up.”
From her curtsy, the princess tilts her head to glare at Master Flores. Under her breath, she growls, “You know I cannot.”
Ah, this must be part of the binding protocol of the High Courts that Kane mentioned.
More thuds pound down the street, so strong I feel the vibration through the ground.
Ignoring them, the princess continues, “I bow before your wisdom and age. Please gaze upon me and find me worthy of my lin—”
Master Flores grabs her by the arm and drags her to her feet. “I release you from your bonds.”
Pulling the princess behind her, Master Flores swoops past me, snagging my arm on her way. Though she is smaller than either of us, she drags us bodily back down the narrow street that runs beside the bookstore, as chaos erupts behind us. “Child, why did you leave the safety of The Volume Arcana?”
I ignore her question and ask one of my own. “Exactly how big are hellhounds?”
From behind us comes the sound of crunching metal and smashing bricks. Shit. Do I even want to know what’s coming after us?
I glance over my shoulder.
Yep. Big mistake.
And, no. I did not want to know.
There are two of them and they are huge. They’re dogs, but only in the most general sense. They have roughly the girth and weight of a rhino. Their snouts are both too long and too broad to be dogs. Their paws are the size of footstools. Oh, and again, there’s the size. I mentioned that, right? Rhino big. Think about that for a second.
Naturally, they’re hellhounds. Of course they are.
The alleyway ends in the entrance to the bookstore. The princess tugs at the door, but it doesn’t open.
The hellhounds thunder down the alley toward us. Except they don’t really…thunder. Oh, there’s all the noise, but very little of the speed. They’re hampered by the tight space of the alley. Their shoulders keep bumping the walls, knocking them from side to side. Their inability to maneuver buys us precious seconds.
Madam Flores moves in front of us, stretching out her arms. “At all costs, you must protect the girl.”
“Okay,” the princess and I both say.
We exchange a look and the princess smirks. “She was talking to me.”
Keeping my eyes on the hellhounds, I dig into my messenger bag. My right hand closes around my pepper spray. I slip my hand through the wrist strap and I thumb the lock off as I pull it out.
“I hardly need protection from a Dark Worlder.”
Hellhounds are rampaging down the alley. They have teeth the size of hatchets.
I think we need all the protection we can get.
Before I can say this out loud, the hellhound has reached Master Flores.
She holds out her hands. “I am the Curator of Lineage—”
With a rumbling growl, the hellhound leaps at Master Flores. With a brutal sweep of his head, he knocks her clear off her feet. She flies through the air and hits the wall before crumpling to the ground. He g
ives his head another massive shake and a tendril of slobber flies off his lips to splatter the brick wall.
“Forget this,” I mutter. I thrust out my hand and jam the button down, emptying the entire canister of pepper spray up his nostril.
The creature rears back like a bucking bronco. He stumbles over the hound behind him and they both yelp.
The hellhounds have collapsed in a tangle of legs and bristly fur, but all eight feet are struggling to gain purchase, even as they snap and growl at each other.
I push the princess past the jumble of canines. “Go!” I yell. “Run!”
Her feet stumble as she turns to gape at me. “But—”
“I’m getting Master Flores. Run!”
I don’t wait to see if she follows my advice, but instead drop to my knees beside Master Flores. Her chest heaves. She’s still alive.
Sure, you’re not supposed to move someone with a possible spinal injury, but death as chew toy has to be worse. Even if I could pick her up, we’d have to get past the hellhounds, who’ve untangled themselves. At the entrance to the alleyway, the princess pauses, looking back at us.
One of the hellhounds leaps after her. He doesn’t even slow down. He just twists his head to the side and snatches her up in his mouth.
I suck in a pained breath, but I don’t have time to worry about the fate of the princess. I have my own hellhound to deal with.
Even wounded, he’s faster and stronger than I am. But I’m no stranger to fighting things faster and stronger than I am. I do it all the time in the dojang. Against humans. I know their pressure points, their weakest joints. I don’t know any of that on a dog.
Then, in a burst of fur and speed, he launches himself toward me, landing directly in front of me, one ottoman-sized paw on either side of me, his snout level with my face. And all I have to defend myself is the empty can of pepper spray still dangling from my wrist.
Hell, I may not know his weakest points, but that nose looks pretty soft.