Maybe it isn’t her at all. Maybe it’s you. Maybe you’re getting weaker.
Was I getting weaker? Could it be? No! Impossible!
“Your Majesty? Is everything all right?”
I whirled and stared at the fae. One of my commanders. He stared at me strangely. I realized I was standing, gazing at nothing, like a stupid cow. His eyes dropped to my shirt, at the blood that had stained it all over.
“I’m fine!” I said sharply, and followed his stare. It wasn’t just the blood. I’d buttoned my shirt crookedly. I had begun dressing in the morning with no mirror. Whenever I glimpsed a reflection, Cassandra’s mother appeared in it.
“Get out of my sight!” I roared at the man, and he fled. My fists clenched. I needed to crush something. I needed to kill. I needed…
What you need are warm thighs to spread. A mouth to kiss.
A tear of frustration materialized in my eye as the images swamped me, and I heard her laughter. Again.
“We have a six-hour march ahead of us…”
In the humid, stuffy tent, I could hardly breathe. I tried to unfasten my cloak. Get some air. There was no air. My general talked on calmly as if everything was normal.
“Our scouts will move ahead of us to make sure that…”
Another wave of images hit me. A naked woman, her breasts glistening, licking her lips, her hand between her thighs…
“Enough!” I shouted, thumping on the table.
All eyes turned to stare at me. A peal of laughter bloomed in my mind. The abomination, the mistake. How was she doing this? How?
The London Stone.
The realization hit me like a stormy wave, and I dropped down into my chair, closing my eyes. I suddenly recalled a report on my table, yesterday. A freak fire where the Stone had been kept. The Stone had been unharmed, but some of the Arawn fae had lost their lives. At the time, I had dismissed the report as unimportant. After all, the Stone was safe; that was all that mattered. But now I put the pieces together.
It was her. She’d been there. She had touched the Stone, and we now shared a connection.
I ignored the commanders’ searching stares, and focused inward. Searched my soul, my memories, my—
There.
There it was, a strange thing, one that hadn’t been there before. A small web of consciousness, such that only a short-lived animal would create. I touched it with my mind, and recoiled in disgust at the emotions and images that suddenly filled my thoughts. Shameless lusts, wantonly behavior, weakness… How could this creature have come from my loins?
I needed to find her, to rip her head from her body. I was no fool. This was what she wanted. She thought she could bait me into a trap.
We would see.
But first, I had to search her mind, as distasteful as the task was, and find out where she hid. This connection worked both ways. If she could invade my thoughts, I could invade hers. I focused on the web, mentally prodding at it, and I tried to catch a glimpse.
An image instantly flickered into my mind. I was watching the world through her eyes—a wooden house, surrounded by lush, green countryside.
I stood up, pushing my chair backward. “I am leaving. I am taking your fastest cavalry troop with me.”
“Your Majesty, we’re preparing to march on the outpost in—”
“You will march without me! And without one troop! Can’t you take one measly outpost without me holding your hand?”
The general blinked. “Of course, Your Majesty. The troop will be ready within an hour.”
I left the tent, letting the flap flutter behind me, my fists clenching. Right now, most of all, I needed loyalty. There were few men in this camp I trusted completely. I would need to use him.
I found him in the outer rim of the camp, playing dice with several officers, and his blue eyes met mine.
My face twisted with disgust. My second moment of weakness, in the flesh. The dreamer, the bedbug, named after the fae god of apples and sin. At least his whore mother had covered up his true heritage, and only my bastard son knew the truth.
“You,” I barked. “Abellio!”
He quickly scrambled to his feet. “Your Majesty?”
“Saddle up. We’re leaving.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Obedience and loyalty. Unlike his sister, the abomination, he had these two qualities going for him. Of course, he wasn’t half-beast. “And get our esteemed prisoner. Tie him to a horse.”
He blinked in surprise and nodded.
I allowed myself a small smile of satisfaction. “We’ll need him, too.”
The rumbling of the horses made my heart beat faster as I spurred on my own mount to go faster. The sooner we slaughtered the fortal, the sooner I could go back to my moment of victory.
Moment of defeat, you mean. You’re going to lose. Best enjoy the little time you have left. Maybe stop at the next village, find a woman—
I blocked the thoughts away, grimacing. She thought she could waylay me with temptation? When I got my hands around her she would feel what I do to whores and harlots. I’d maim her before I killed her.
As we thundered closer to the portal, I searched for more and more glimpses from her eyes. I could see her talking to her companions. Only four. Taranis was the biggest, his face so similar to Ulthor’s, his traitorous father. The second, a woman, I identified easily. She was the lowest of the lot, the real scum. I had her locked in a prison once, but she’d escaped. The other two were filthy gutter fae, and I dismissed them in my mind. Of course a Taranis would consort with criminals and peasants. I’d make him watch as I mutilated his precious whore.
Four fae and one abomination, trying to lure me into a trap.
I was going to enjoy slaughtering them.
I surveyed my bodyguards, and my cavalry.
Hawkwood Forest lay ahead of us, the portal only miles away. I smiled, spurred on by the promise of vengeance.
We crossed the field of yellow, blooming rapeseed, miles and miles to the northwest of London. It had taken us eight hours to find this gods-forsaken place. As we’d moved through the city and countryside, glamour had shielded us from the humans, forcing them instinctively to move away from our horses. But it had been worth it.
In the past eight hours, I had been constantly connected to her, drawn to her by our connection. And as I moved closer, our connection grew. I could see her watching through the window, waiting, could feel her anticipation, her excitement. She was beckoning me closer. Into a trap. They were waiting for us with guns full of iron bullets. I had seen her training them to shoot. They hid in that house, waiting for us to get close enough to the structure, and they’d open fire on us. I would be their target, I knew.
In the field of rapeseed, we paused by a sycamore, a few hundred yards from the decrepit house. I avoided looking straight at the crooked white structure where they hid. If she watched through my eyes, I didn’t want her to know my exact location.
I dismounted and looked at Abellio. “Bring me the prisoner.”
He nodded, and led a black horse forward, strapped with a dark form. I could not see it exactly, yet I knew he was there. Shackled in iron, starved and beaten, too weak to struggle. But still there.
“I need you to do something for me,” I said.
He didn’t reply.
“I need you to drown that place in darkness. Do it now, or you will suffer.”
He did not speak; a strange sound like the fluttering of wings rose around me, and his words echoed in my mind like a thought, echoing off my skull. No, I will do no tasks for you. My suffering means nothing.
I wasn’t surprised. As one of the generals of the rebellion, he wouldn’t be so easy to break. I wasn’t about to waste time with threats. I had one offer, and he’d accept.
“If you do this one thing, I will give you a clean death. Tonight. I give you my word.”
Tension curled through the air. Tonight?
“Yes, if you do it right. You drown that place i
n darkness. No shred of light, not even a glimmer. No…” I let a small smile show. “Reflections.”
Very well.
We all waited, hardly breathing. Darkness bloomed, seeping into the structure. Quickly, I whirled to Abellio.
“Now!” I barked. “Burn it! Kill anyone who tries to leave!”
He set out at a fast gallop, torch in hand, the cavalry following him. All had flasks of oil. All held burning torches. I watched them ride forward, and then looked inside, watching from her eyes. As they moved closer to the white house, I saw Cassandra run to the window, and I felt her delicious fear.
With my eyes closed, I tuned in to her sensations. Through Cassandra’s eyes, I watched as she turned to the other fae, shouting something. Was she realizing her mistake? A cloud of darkness was descending over the wooden house. They couldn’t see their targets, couldn’t shoot.
While I watched from a safe distance, my soldiers surrounded the house submerged in darkness, dousing it with oil. And after they’d flung oil over the building’s exterior, they dropped their torches.
On a windy day like today, the flames rose fast.
Cassandra shouted at the other fae, demanding that they flee. I felt the fear in her blood as they smelled the smoke. The fae bolted for a door, Taranis hesitating just for a moment. She motioned him away. She had a different way to flee. She fumbled in her purse, then suddenly raised her eyes, staring at the growing darkness. It had an oily feel to it as it roiled around her, covering everything, a black void. She pulled a mirror from her purse, her hands trembling. She looked at the reflection just as the darkness closed on the mirror. And the reflection vanished from sight.
I’d make Taranis look at her charred corpse before he died.
She panicked, then; heart beating, she began to run to the door. The smoke was thick, the fire heating the room. But she couldn’t see the flames. Couldn’t see anything in the billowing smoke, in the darkness created by the fae. At any moment, she’d walk into a wall of fire.
Now, following her, I couldn’t see through her eyes anymore. But I could feel the smoke entering her lungs, making her cough and gag. Could feel as she accidentally ran into flames she couldn’t see, burning her face and hands. Could feel as her hair caught the flames. That pink, whorish hair igniting in cleansing flames.
Hundreds of yards away, in the clear air by the sycamore, I felt her agony. The flames burned me, too, but I clung to her, feeling everything she felt as she rolled on the ground, screaming in torment, blinded, burning, dying.
And suddenly, it all stopped. My eyes snapped open, and I heaved a sigh of relief, breathing the fresh country air, only faintly tinged with smoke from this distance. The sun pierced the sycamore branches, and I stared at the beautiful flames that claimed the house, that burned my daughter’s body.
My muscles relaxed, and I let myself smile. I was finally rid of my mistake. I should have killed her when she was a little baby.
You really should have, Your Majesty. You can’t surprise someone who can hear your every thought.
My jaw dropped, and something gurgled behind me. Turning around, I stared in shock as one of my guards fell off his horse, his throat slit. By his side stood that worthless carnal parasite, Taranis. And just behind him was my daughter, her pink hair whipping in the smoky wind, blades in both her hands.
Chapter 37
Dizziness washed over me as I finally unlatched myself from the king’s thoughts. My head throbbed—a result of the last three days of abuse. I’d hardly slept as I’d constantly maintained my vigil in the king’s mind, carefully setting up the trap. The final day had been the hardest, conjuring images and feeding them to the king’s mind, making him think I’d been in the countryside house.
In the field of yellow blossoms, I stumbled back, vaguely aware of the battle around me—the guards spurred on to action by Roan’s attack, Elrine’s arrow in a soldier’s neck, the clashing of swords.
Weakened, I closed my eyes, sinking away from the action, blocking out the cries, the din of weapons clanging. I knew that, by now, the Elder Fae were descending, ambushing Abellio and the cavalry.
The trap had snapped shut.
As I moved away from the action, Ogmios whirled, locking eyes with me, features contorted with rage. I flashed him a mocking smile, knowing that his anger weakened his sense of control. I hoped that he couldn’t see the tiredness in my eyes, how I could barely stand. The stilettos in my hands were a joke—I didn’t have the strength to plunge them through a chunk of butter, never mind a fae warrior.
One of the king’s warriors suddenly turned, charging for me. I scrambled back, helpless, lifting my stilettos in a pathetic defense against his huge blade. But as I braced for his attack, a cloud of darkness enveloped him, and he screamed in fear. Drustan had joined the battle. I lunged forward, my blade cutting the warrior’s hand. Nothing serious, but in his blindness, the sudden pain terrified him. Pain is much more frightening when you don’t know where it’s coming from. Abellio had taught me that. The warrior scrambled back, and Branwen lunged forward to slide one of her blades across his neck. In battle, she’d unveiled, and her eyes shone like cat’s eyes, dark wings sprouting from her back.
Shakily, I took another step backward in the rapeseed, and then felt a tingle at the back of my neck—the power building. I looked around frantically, and noticed that the king was staring into the air, as if focusing on something invisible.
“No,” I blurted. “Stop the—”
Time slowed to a crawl, but this time, it wasn’t my doing.
The King of Dread smiled as dark tendrils of fear coiled around us. He plucked them as easily as a child picking flowers. He had been doing this for centuries, and had the terror of thousands of souls to feed his power.
As he drew all the fear into him, he unveiled, growing larger. He flashed a predatory grin, sharpened teeth, as fur covered his body.
And then I knew what a skilled dread fae could do. The fear became a storm of terror within him. A hurricane of nightmares.
He unleashed it like a tidal wave, slamming everyone in sight, his men as well as ours. The fae around me crumpled, minds numbed with fear, turning their muscles into liquid.
Then, time resumed its course as silence fell around us.
The king looked surprised as he noticed I was still standing. He cocked his head. “Well. They don’t call you the Mistress of Dread for nothing.” He pulled a long, beautiful sword from the scabbard on his back.
I crouched, raising my stiletto, staring at him. I felt the rush of power as I unveiled, my teeth lengthening, claws growing from my fingertips.
He dismounted, and crossed to me, his features calm. Sunlight glinted off my stiletto, and I widened my stance, my eyes locked on his.
“The least I could ask from my daughter is obedience,” he snarled. “But I guess that’s too much to ask of an abomination such as you.”
“I am not your daughter.”
“You are. Your mother brought you to me when you were a babe, and—”
“My mother was Martha Liddell. My father was Horace Liddell. All you ever were was a weak sperm donor.”
He gritted his teeth, and I threw one of my blades at him.
It missed him by almost a foot, thudding to the ground behind him. He laughed cruelly, and then stepped forward, his blade swinging in lightning speed.
Then, I jumped through the reflection in the blade in my hand, materializing behind him through the other blade. With speed only a burst of adrenaline could give me, I snatched the stiletto from the ground and thrust forward, sinking it into the back of his shoulder.
He screamed and whirled, slamming his fist into my face. I fell on the ground, all my strength gone, the left side of my face throbbing. Face twisted in fury, he raised his sword.
At that moment, a dark shadow lunged forward. Roan. His resistance to the dread magic had been sharpened by my practicing on him. His sword was lightning fast. The king whirled, trying to parry, but his
arm was wounded and clumsy.
Roan’s blade sunk into Ogmios’ chest. With a loud snarl, he gored his antlers into the king’s throat.
The king fell to the ground, silent as the life faded from his eyes.
Chapter 38
I walked down the gravel path, ignoring the fine rain that pattered my skin, dampened my hair. The raindrops masked the tears I knew would come soon.
Gabriel’s remains lay in a small graveyard encircled by stone, his burial plot marked by fresh dirt, and a stark stone engraved with his name.
Gabriel Stewart
1981 - 2017
To his left stood the grave of Lorena Stewart, who’d died three years ago. Instantly, I regretted not bringing another bouquet for her.
I laid the sheaf of white lilies on Gabriel’s grave, amongst three other bouquets. It felt almost as if I was acting out a ceremony that meant nothing. My friendship with Gabriel did not have anything to do with flowers. If I had really wanted to leave something that signified my bond with him, it would have been a Starbucks coffee cup. But leaving a plastic cup on the grave would have been crude, so I went with traditional flowers.
I thought of him as I wanted to remember him—fixing eggs in his tidy kitchen, playing his old jazz band. Trying to keep me away from a murder victim, because he didn’t want me to be traumatized. Listening to me as I explained I was a pixie, his face serious and rapt, without a shred of disbelief. Giving me his coat during a cold stakeout, as we waited for a serial killer to show up. Helping me on a mad dash to save Scarlett’s life. Over and over, risking his career and life to help me.
Always there. Always caring, listening, trying to help.
I smiled as I recalled his persistence in calling the fae “demons.” How he had insisted on entering a fae club with me because he didn’t trust Roan to keep me safe. A twenty-first century knight in shining armor.
His loss gnawed at my chest, a void.
The guilt was gone, transformed into sorrow. Looking back, I knew I’d made mistakes, but Gabriel’s death hadn’t really been my fault. The people who were to blame were all dead. I had made sure of that.
Agent of Darkness (Dark Fae FBI Book 3) Page 29