Dark Swan Bundle

by Richelle Mead

  His free hand cupped my face. “I would if I could. And maybe I could. If the legends are true, you pass through iron fields to get to it. Hardly any of the shining ones could do that. I might be able to, with my abilities…. I’d stand a better chance than most.”

  I didn’t like the tone of his voice. It sounded as though he was actually considering this. He might connect with the elements of the earth, but iron was still beyond him.

  “I could bring Volusian,” I said, wanting to distract him. “If something happens to him, no harm done, eh?”

  Dorian’s face stayed serious. “No, the legends are quite clear. The Iron Crown’s lair is blocked to the dead.”

  “Well, none of it matters,” I said. “The whole idea is ridiculous.”

  His face lightened, and he pressed a soft kiss to my lips. “Which is why I leave now.”

  My heart sank, knowing the inevitable had arrived. I hurriedly put on my jeans and shirt so that I could see him and the accompanying soldiers off. I knew the armies they would join were massive, but as he rode off toward the rising sun, his group seemed so frighteningly small. When he was out of my sight, I went to summon the rest of my own party. It was time for us to go home.

  Most had enjoyed their “night out,” but my mood that morning soon set the tone for our journey back. The one small comfort to my dark morning was that Jasmine hadn’t gotten impregnated. Shaya assured me that my sister had never left her sight throughout the night and that Jasmine hadn’t actually even tried anything sinister. She had simply been content to be away from my castle. Eyeing her tight iron cuffs and the chains that connected them, I felt a small pang of guilt. I quickly banished it. Those constraints had to stay.

  After that, it was time for another Tucson jump. I first summoned Volusian and sent him to Dorian’s side, both for backup and later reports. I knew Dorian wouldn’t welcome my minion, but his having a fighter that couldn’t be killed would certainly make me feel better. Once that and other household affairs were settled, I went back to join humanity.

  The scene at my house was nearly the same as yesterday. A quiet morning, with Tim cooking in the kitchen. Only, today he was dolled up in full costume.

  “You’re Lakota,” I said, once he’d recovered from the shock of my abrupt arrival. “What happened to Tlingit?”

  He shrugged. “The Tlingit are cool, but your average stereotype-loving tourist expects this.” He wore tassled buckskin pants and a long feathered headdress. His bare tanned chest looked like it had been oiled, and it had beaded necklaces hanging on it. Studying him, I reconsidered. He wasn’t true Lakota either. Just some amalgamation of stereotypes, like he’d said.

  “Why are you dressed up so early? Morning commuters aren’t going to stop for poetry slams.”

  “It’s Saturday, Eug.”

  “Is it?” I asked, startled. My timing was all awry with my double life.

  “There’s a cultural fest out by the university, just begging to hear my beautiful insights on nature.” He flipped some sunny-side up eggs onto a plate with a flourish.

  “A cultural—?” I groaned. “Tim, the local tribes will be there. You know they’ll try to beat you up again.”

  He flashed me a grin. “Be a pal. Come protect me.”

  “Can’t. Too much stuff to do.”

  A knock at the back door astonished us both. We didn’t get a lot of visitors. Hoping it wasn’t a missionary, I opened the door and gaped at what I found. I couldn’t have been more surprised if Katrice had come calling. It was Lara. She smiled at my shock. I almost never saw her in the flesh. She worked out of a home office, most of our correspondence being handled by phone and e-mail.

  “Come in,” I said, still amazed. She stepped into the kitchen, just as tiny, blond, and cute as I remembered. A big stack of papers was in her arms. “I don’t like the looks of that.”

  “It’s your—”

  Lara came to a halt when she saw Tim. Her eyes widened. He flipped his last egg onto a plate and glanced up at her. His eyes registered equal amazement. And in that charming, con-artist way of his, he instantly slipped into character.

  “A beautiful blossom has joined us, her petals brilliant and unfurled in the morning sun.” He was using his awful ‘How, white man’ voice. Hastily, he pulled out a chair at the kitchen table. “Join us. We’ll feast and enjoy Mother Earth’s bounty together.”

  Dazed, Lara walked over to the table and sat down, unable to take her eyes off of him—his chest in particular. “Thank you.”

  “It is my honor to—shit! The cinnamon rolls!”

  Tim dove backward, grabbing a mitt and opening the oven, from which smoke was pouring out. Lara turned to me conspiratorially as he groaned about the state of his baked goods.

  “Eugenie, why is there a hot Native American chief cooking in your kitchen?” she whispered.

  “Well,” I said, suddenly realizing the two had never actually met. “He’s neither a chief nor Native American. That’s Tim.”

  “That’s what—?” Her baby blue eyes opened even wider. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.”

  Tim meanwhile was scraping blackened bottoms off of his cinnamon rolls. He held one up for my inspection.

  “It’s fine,” I said.

  He turned to Lara, putting his smile back on. “I beg your pardon a thousand times for this unworthy feast I must set before you. Such a delicate, beautiful creature like you deserves—”

  “Oh for God’s sake,” I exclaimed. “Will you cut the bullshit, Tim? This is Lara.”

  “This is …” The cinnamon roll dropped off his spatula, back onto the pan. “Are you sure?”

  I sighed.

  Both seemed at a loss for what to say. Lara’s mouth moved, no words coming out for several moments. Finally, she blurted out, “I brought tax paperwork.”

  Tim swallowed. “I … That’s pretty cool.”

  I moved past sighing or groaning. Now, I was fighting hitting my head against the table. “No, it’s not. Can we get on with breakfast?”

  “I …” Tim finally recovered himself. “Sure. Of course.” He looked at Lara. “Do you like eggs and cinnamon rolls?”

  “I love eggs and cinnamon rolls.”

  He promptly built her a plate and handed it over.

  “Hey!” I said.

  He shot me a glare. “Be patient a sec. We have a guest. You should be more polite—especially since she went to the trouble of doing your taxes.”

  “I pay her to do my taxes.”

  Lara bit into a cinnamon roll. In his daze, Tim had forgotten to cut off the bottom. “This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted. How is this even possible?” She gave him a shy smile. “Good looks and cooking skills.”

  He smiled back, nearly dropping the plate he handed to me. “I have all sorts of skills.”

  “Oh my God,” I said. Until this moment, I’d thought nothing was more annoying than their phone bickering. I suddenly wished they’d get into an argument now.

  “Besides,” he added, joining us with his own food. “You’ve got mad tax skills. I could never do that.”

  “That’s because you don’t have an income or actually file taxes,” I said.

  “Hey,” he shot back. “Don’t judge. You obviously can’t do your own.”

  “I don’t have to! That’s why I pay someone.”

  With great effort, Lara managed to drag her eyes over to me and remember her job. “They’re all done. I just need you to sign them. I wasn’t sure you’d ‘get around to it’ if I mailed them.”

  I nodded. As far as the federal government and state of Arizona were concerned, I was a self-employed contractor who did assorted home repairs. Which wasn’t that far from the truth.

  “That was really nice of you,” said Tim. “Taking time out of your Saturday for that.”

  “I take my job seriously,” she replied. “Besides, I didn’t have any other plans.”

  “Really?” He leaned forward. “Do you want to go ove
r to the university’s cultural festival with me? I’ll be reading poetry there.”

  She gasped. “I would love that. I bet your people have some really amazing insights on the world.”

  “He’s not—” I began.

  Lara turned back to me, her business face on. “Make sure you sign these while we’re gone. And you know your schedule today, right? Three jobs?”

  “Yes, yes. While you guys are out slumming with college kids, I’ll be fighting for my life.”

  Tim stood up and set his barely touched plate on the counter. “We can go whenever you’re ready.”

  She handed him her equally untouched plate. “I’m ready now. Just let me run to the bathroom first.”

  The instant she was gone, Tim turned on me. “Why didn’t you tell me she was so nice? All this time, you’ve let me think she was a total bitch.”

  “I’ve told you a hundred times she wasn’t a bitch! You’re the one who decided that, after talking to her on the phone. You only think she’s nice now because you’ve seen her and want to get her into bed!”

  Tim gave me a grave look. “Eugenie, that is not the kind of woman you have a one-night stand with. She’s a goddess among women.”

  “Unbelievable,” I said.

  When Lara returned, I noticed she was wearing lipstick and had neatened her hair. “All set.”

  I scowled at the dirty plates Tim had left on the counter. “Don’t forget to do the dishes when you get back!” I called as they headed out the door.

  “Don’t forget to earn a living while we’re gone!” he called back. “This mortgage doesn’t pay itself.”

  “Neither do you,” I muttered. But they were already gone, lost in the throes of infatuation. Considering all the things that had happened in my life, you’d think nothing could surprise me anymore. Clearly, I was wrong.

  Turning around, I set to washing the dishes myself, deciding that kicking some supernatural ass was exactly what I needed.

  Chapter 7

  I signed the tax return and left a check before heading out. It figured: I owed. Self-employed people always owe. It was a credit to Lara that she’d managed my books well enough that the amount was low, but after seeing her run off with my roommate, I decided it was a good thing our working relationship didn’t include performance reviews.

  She’d also left me a jam-packed day, which turned out to be beneficial. A busy schedule kept my mind off Dorian (mostly) and what was transpiring in the Otherworld. I fought with ferocity, as though each ghost or monster I battled was Katrice herself. It was the drives in between that were the roughest on me. There was no action then. Just my own thoughts.

  My last job of the day was the most difficult, undoubtedly scheduled that way on purpose so that I didn’t walk into the little ones tired and injured. True, I was feeling weary, but concern for Dorian kept a spike of adrenaline burning through me, one that I knew would get me through this last job. Yet, walking up to the client’s house, I couldn’t stop asking the same questions in my mind. Why hasn’t Volusian reported to me yet? Isn’t the fight over?

  A nervous-looking young woman answered the door, introducing herself as Jenna. She was the one who had made the call, though it wasn’t exactly on her own behalf.

  “She’s in the living room,” Jenna whispered to me, letting me inside the foyer. Her eyes were wide with fear. “Just sitting there. Staring.”

  “Does she speak?” I asked. “Does she answer your questions?”

  “Yes … but … it’s not her. I know that doesn’t make sense, but it’s not. The people at work think she’s just gone crazy. I’m pretty much the only one who still talks to her. She’s about to lose her job, but …” Jenna shook her head. “I swear, it’s just not her.”

  “You’re right.” I held my wand in my left hand and my silver athame in the right.

  “Is she …” Jenna’s voice dropped even lower. “Is she possessed?”

  “Not exactly.” Lara had warned me about this one. It had initially sounded like possession, but further data suggested otherwise, unfortunately. A possession would have been easier. “It’s a fetch. It’s like … I don’t know. Her double. Kind of.”

  “Then … what happened to Regan?”

  I hesitated. “I don’t know.” I didn’t want to tell Jenna there was a strong possibility that Regan was dead. That was the usual fate for a fetch’s victim. Of course, fetches usually left once they’d sucked all the energy and goodness from someone’s life. If this one was still here, the odds of Regan still being alive were marginally higher. “If … er, when we find her, she may be in bad shape.”

  I stared off down the hallway, where I could hear the sound of a TV in the living room. I shifted my grip on my weapons and prepared myself.

  “What should I do?” asked Jenna.

  “Wait outside. Don’t come back inside until I tell you to—no matter what.”

  Once she was safely away, I set off down the hall. There, in the living room, I found a woman sitting perfectly straight on the couch, her hands folded neatly upon her lap as she stared at the TV. There was a blankness in her brown eyes that told me she wasn’t really watching. She didn’t even acknowledge my arrival. Glancing around the living room, I took in its space and features, assessing them for a fight. I also noticed a couple pictures on the wall, group shots with Jenna and a smiling brunette who looked exactly like the woman on the couch. Yet, glancing between them, I knew Jenna was right. This wasn’t Regan.

  “Where’s Regan?” I asked.

  The fetch didn’t look at me. “I am Regan.”

  “Where’s Regan?” I repeated harshly. “What have you done with her?” Please, please let her be alive.

  This time, the fetch turned her head, those cold eyes taking me and my weapons in. “I told you. I am Regan.”

  I had a moment’s debate on what to do. Killing the fetch without learning Regan’s location would make the next part of this job even more difficult. Yet, as the fetch continued staring at me, I knew she’d recognized what I was and what threat I represented. I had to take her out now, banking on the fact that fetches usually kept their victims close.

  I held out my wand and began chanting the words that would drive this creature back to the Otherworld. It was where fetches came from, and a forceful enough banishing was usually enough to deter them from returning. I’d only have to get the Underworld involved if she decided to—

  She attacked.

  The fetch didn’t transform into her true shape as she sprang at me. Rather, she turned into something in the middle. She still wore Regan’s face, but it had a sickly green hue. Her eyes were bigger and darker and looked like they’d been stretched out. Her hands and feet were bigger too—and clawed.

  She came at me with her full strength, knocking me into a wall mercifully free of furniture. I kneed her in the stomach, needing to get distance between me and the claws trying to rake my face and neck. She fell back a little, not much, but enough to give me more maneuvering room. I swung out with the silver blade, and she recoiled. Iron could inflict lethal blows on the gentry, but silver was the metal of choice for almost any other creature.

  “Tell me where Regan is,” I said, advancing forward. “Tell me, and I’ll simply banish you back to the Otherworld. Make this difficult, and you die.” I was managing that balance I always did: weapon ready to attack while part of my mind focused on a connection to the Otherworld. Hecate’s tattoo, a snake on my upper arm, began to tingle.

  The fetch decided I wasn’t a full threat yet and rushed me again. I dodged this time, anticipating her movements based on the last attack. A fetch might be able to replicate someone, but their fighting style was mostly brute force. My athame caught her arm as I moved, and she snarled in pain, showing fangs that dripped with green saliva. It hurt her but didn’t slow her down as she lunged back at me. I sidestepped her again but overlooked what was behind me, hitting painfully against a cabinet.

  I winced, and she pressed her advantage, sw
inging those claws at me. I barely escaped them, managing to squirm away and hurry to the other side of the room. A banishing, I decided. I’d just keep my distance and do a banishing. I just needed a couple minutes—and to stay alive. I began chanting words to send her from this world, words that didn’t have to follow any ancient form so long as my power and intent were clear. She paused briefly, realizing what I was doing, and seemed to consider her options.

  A circle. I should have put a circle of protection around the house. There was a very real possibility she might try to flee. That and killing me were pretty much her only options. The former would probably be easier for her—and would release Regan. But I didn’t want this fetch freely walking the world. I needed to send her on.

  Power surged in me and through me, out to the wand and toward her. This was her last chance to run—or, as it turned out, throw a coffee table at me.

  I admit, I didn’t see that coming—literally or figuratively. I should have, though. Furniture, props, whatever … they were all fair game in a fight. The fetch had no reason to rely simply on hand-to-hand combat, and my athame gave her good reason to attack from a distance. The coffee table was a simple one, a smooth circle of glass on iron legs. A wood-framed one would have been better. The frame would have slowed the spread of glass. This table had nothing to stop it, except me. I tried to jump out of its way, saving my head and face. I wasn’t far enough away when it hit the wall and shattered, though. Stinging, burning pain went through my back and left arm as glass scraped and—no doubt—embedded itself in my flesh.

  My sense of self-preservation kept me moving through the pain, but my connection to the Otherworld had shattered with the glass. The fetch knew this and leaped forward, risking the athame in the hope I was too addled and injured from the glass to stop her.

  I wasn’t. I had never let go of my weapons, and my athame was ready and waiting when she came. I plunged it into her heart and started the banishing again. Over the years, as I’d grown in power and spent so much time in the Otherworld myself, these banishings had become easier. Not easy, but easier. There was a time when I couldn’t have held a fetch off with my athame while simultaneously attempting a quick banishing.