by Shona Husk
“Five actually. You just didn’t know about it.”
“So what do you want?” If he didn’t get into his car soon, he was going to faint. Darkness pressed at the edges of his vision. He needed to sit. Driving counted as sitting. If he fainted here, Will might stuff him in a boot and do worse things to him than feeding him iron. Although right now, Finley was almost sure eating iron was the worst thing that could be done to an Albah.
The smirk returned. “I want to see you suffer. I want you to watch your career die and everyone you love turn away from you.”
“What the fuck did I ever do to you?” Finley had lost plenty of roles he’d auditioned for. It was part of the job. Wrong look, wrong accent, just wrong. It was luck and timing and a little ass kissing.
“I was supposed to play Matt Huntley.” Will was still pissed about not getting the role on Out of Control. “I was dating Celeste before she moved on to you. You dumped her after only a month, but she didn’t come back to me.” Anger contorted Will’s features as he stalked closer. “You don’t even remember the way you ruined my life and took what was mine.”
“I didn’t do anything. Plenty of other people didn’t get the role. I got lucky.” He hadn’t even wanted the role. All he’d wanted was to be a stunt driver on the show because it was a regular job and he’d fancied a more regular paycheck. He’d gotten that and then some.
“You used magic. You trick people into getting what you want.”
“That’s not how it works, buddy.”
Will was too close now.
Finley put up a shield made of air. If Will brought out any weapon, he should be safe.
“How does it work? Or are you already too weak to do anything?” Another step closer.
“Put down the iron and I’ll show you what I can do.”
“I’m not stupid.” Will lifted his chin and Finley was tempted to throw a good right hook and knock him out. Couldn’t be much different than a fake punch, or even hitting a punching bag.
But he wasn’t sure. He’d never been in a fight because he could usually talk his way out of trouble. “Yeah, you are. Not even the Guardians are brave enough to come after me. King of the Albah.” It was a small lie, but he was sure Will wouldn’t be able to tell since he didn’t even know about Guardians and the Albah. How he’d discovered the truth about magic was anyone’s guess. “If I fall, there will be war between our kinds. Who do you think will win when we can call on the elements and turn the air you depend on against you?”
He was lying his ass off. There weren’t enough Albah to wage war on anyone. Maybe all those acting lessons would actually save his life.
While he couldn’t suck the air out of someone’s lungs the way his half sister Saba could, he could smother someone. Have the air push up so hard against them it was like they were pulling Gs and getting crushed into diamonds.
He wrapped Will in a blanket of air. The iron was in Will’s back pocket made a weak spot, but that was okay. Finley didn’t have the strength to hold it all over Will’s body so he concentrated on his stalker’s face.
Will’s skin distorted and his nose flattened. “Stop it.” He flailed at his face as though he could tear the air away. He could breathe, but his face had to be hurting.
“Or what?” Concentrating his effort on Will’s head, he used the air to shove him up and away and then let him fall. He wouldn’t kill Will, but he was going to let his agent know that it was Will behind this trouble. Maybe this time something would be done about Will. Finley wished he’d gone to the police when his father had told him to instead of passing the ball to someone else.
Will got up. “You’re not right. No one should have that power.”
Finley opened his car door. He held up his bleeding hand. “Walk away and leave me alone, Will. Leave the Albah alone and go back to whatever hole you crawled out of.”
“I’ll expose every last one of you so humans know what lives among them. They’ll no longer be blinded by your tricks.”
“Who pissed in your bottle when you were growing up?”
Will’s lips twisted into a snarl. “My grandfather was just like you. He refused to teach me magic.”
“It can’t be taught, you brown-haired idiot. You’re either Albah or you’re not. And you aren’t.” He was tempted to ask Will’s grandfather’s name, but it would be easier to get his father to check that out too. Finley shut the car door, started the engine and peeled out. In the rearview mirror Will was still standing there, unmoving.
As he drove Finley started making the calls that would save his job and his life. If he didn’t get the iron out of his body, they might need to use the accident footage to kill off his character because he’d be unexplainably dead in a few days.
Chapter 17
Alina was at Finley’s apartment when he pulled in and parked across two bays. She ran over and opened the door. His face was pale and sweaty like he had the flu, except for the blood all over the steering wheel and his jeans.
She stood there, not sure what to do. When he’d said he’d cut his hand and that he had food poisoning and had asked if she could meet him at home to help, she’d thought he was being a little over the top. After all, if he was really sick, he’d have gone to the hospital. She’d been hoping he wasn’t one of these man-flu types who needed nursing through every minor illness.
Given the amount of blood everywhere, he should’ve gone to hospital. This was not a minor injury, and while she was no nurse it didn’t seem like food poisoning either. “What happened? What did you eat?”
He picked up his cell and handed it to her. “Talk to my dad. I told him everything on the way.” Then he leaned back and closed his eyes as though it was all too much effort.
She hadn’t realized that Finley had been on the phone. She picked up Finley’s phone. “Hello? Mr. Ryder?” Alina still had no idea what to call his father. He was the king; she couldn’t just call him Quinn.
“The iron is poisoning him. We need to get it out of him, but you can’t use magic because the iron dampens magic,” Quinn said.
“How can iron be a poison?” Iron was all around.
“Rust just is. I don’t know why or how and we don’t have time to debate it or study it right now.” Quinn’s voice was sharp.
“I don’t know what to do.” Panic filled her chest, making it hard to breathe. She wasn’t a doctor and she didn’t know how to help Finley. She didn’t even have healing magic. Hoping that he had some idea, she looked at Finley.
“Take me to Walter,” Finley said.
“No,” Quinn said. “If he’s Albanex his solution will be to make you one too.”
In the background, another man said there were no records of Albah surviving iron poisoning. Not in the last hundred years.
“But they survived in the past?” She put her hand to Finley’s forehead. He was warm but not overly so. There had to be a way to fix this. Fix him.
“There are things that the Albanex can do that we can’t,” Quinn said.
“They have different magic. Blood magic.” Finley had told her that when they were talking about vampires. Was that the magic that could save Finley?
“Yes, iron doesn’t affect them, but silver does.”
“Silver doesn’t affect us, but iron does.” Vampires were the anti-Albah. “So Walter will be able to help him? He’ll be able to get the iron out?” It was too late to hold back, her hopes were already up.
“Only if he is Albanex,” Quinn said softly.
She didn’t want her grandfather to be a vampire. That would mean he’d broken the rules. It would mean that her mother was right about their family and that they loved magic more than anything else.
“If we do nothing Finley will die.” She couldn’t let that happen. While they’d only been together a short time, she couldn’t imagine life without him. Or magic.
&nb
sp; “If he becomes Albanex then he will be dead anyway.” The pain in Quinn’s voice made her wonder why Finley thought his father didn’t care.
“I’m not going to die any kind of death,” Finley muttered. “I’m going to live to make sure Will Sorrell dies horribly and painfully.”
Alina was here and Quinn wasn’t, so while he could offer advice, it was up to Finley and her. “If you don’t know another way to help him, I’m taking him to Walter.” If Quinn forbade it because dealing with potential vampires was bad, she was going to ignore him.
“The duty son. Nothing more.” Finley’s words were soft and bitter. “Mum and Dad thought it would be a good idea to do their bit for the Albah, but I wasn’t what they really wanted.”
Quinn was still talking to her. Warning her not to go to Walter, that she didn’t understand the magic that was involved. But she was listening to Finley. His actual mom was still alive. “What do you mean duty baby?”
“There’s no rush. Give us a few days. The poisoning won’t kill him for several days,” Quinn said in her ear.
“He’s in agony,” she snapped. Why wait when they could act now? How could Quinn seem to care, but then be so cold about what was going to happen?
“Give him painkillers and keep him comfortable. We’ll find a way to save him. I’ll find an Albah doctor over there, one we can trust. He can’t become Albanex.”
“Because it would be bad for you? Why would it be better he die?” The calmness that she’d tried to hold on to was slipping away. She was going to start panicking really soon and that would be a disaster. Her magic would lash out. Her skin was already getting that tingle.
“I don’t want him to die, or be undead. He’s my son and I love him.” Quinn sounded sincere, but she wasn’t sure she believed him when his plan was to do nothing for a few days.
“Maybe you should tell him that.” She hung up before Quinn could reply. She needed to act. Finley needed help and she wasn’t going to sit around and do nothing when they could do something now. “We’re going to see Walter.”
She shouldn’t be pissing off the king. He probably didn’t like her already. After all Walter was her grandfather and her family had dropped away from the Albah for reasons. She wished she knew what those reasons were exactly because she didn’t like where her best guess was taking her.
Her grandfather couldn’t be a vampire. Finley had said that was heavy-duty magic that involved death. But if her grandfather wasn’t a vampire they had no one to turn to.
“We can wait a day.” Finley tried to get out of the car, but he couldn’t quite get himself out of the low-slung seat.
“Great, then we don’t have to act today. We can see him and talk options. Then when your dad gets back to us”—if he ever did—“we’ll have all of the information.”
Finley looked at her. There was no silver in his eyes, only worry. “I’m not sure I want to go and see him in this state.”
“Will the iron really kill you?” She squatted and put her hand on his forehead again. It was damp and warm, but he had no fever. What was the iron doing to the inside of him?
He nodded. “Not straight away. My father is right about that.”
“Why have none of you thought to find a cure?” Surely this couldn’t be a rare problem.
“Medical research takes time and money, and who is going to volunteer to be a test subject? Julian is a doctor and he still has no idea. We have iron in our blood the same as any human, but this is different. I don’t know how. Just help me upstairs.”
She wanted to offer him a hand, but once she got him up there what if he got worse? How would she get him down again? If she had to call an ambulance, he’d end up in hospital where they wouldn’t be able to help him. “No. I’m taking you to Walter and we are going to learn what we can and if he’s a vampire who is immune to the effects of iron, then it stands to reason that he might be able to help. Move over.”
“No. What if the only cure is becoming a vampire? I don’t want that temptation. I don’t want my life to be over.” Fear softened his words as though just speaking them would make it a reality.
“You said we have days, so let’s at least get some painkillers and information. Please. If you don’t do this, then you are as good as dead.” She held his hand, the one that wasn’t torn open and bleeding.
“I know.” He grimaced. “If I ever get my hands on Will, he is dead. I’ll feed him to the vampire myself.”
“See, you can’t get revenge if you die. Now move over.” She forced a smile. She was in way over her head. Life had been so much simpler without magic. Without Finley. But she couldn’t go back to seeing only in black and white when she’d seen all the colors.
He hesitated then eased to the passenger side with her help. She got in and tried not to worry about the blood all over the steering wheel and gear stick. “Why is there so much blood?”
Finley held up his wounded hand. “Because I ate iron. The poison is in my bloodstream. The wound won’t clot, or heal.”
That was what the iron was doing to him on the inside.
* * * *
Finley pulled the address up on his phone so he didn’t have to give Alina directions. He’d never been so ill in his entire life, and he never wanted to feel this way again. He was weak, and could barely function. Add in the sweats and it was like he was already dying.
Julian had assured him he had at least three days, probably five. There were several well-documented accounts of iron poisoning—by ingesting, not just stabbing—but they were all historical. His half brother was going to read through them and see if anything might help. Help, he hadn’t said cure. Neither had his father.
Will had known exactly what he was doing. He’d mentioned an Albah grandfather. Finley texted his father. He’d forgotten to ask which Albah Will was related to.
It didn’t really matter right now. That knowledge wouldn’t save him. It just made a more compelling case for keeping a better eye on the Albah that were left.
Would he still be alive to learn what the result of the vote was?
If he couldn’t be cured, he didn’t really want to spend the next few days slowly and painfully dying. The car crash would’ve been instant.
But he’d have never met Alina if he’d died on the track. He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the damage Alina was doing to his gearbox. There was still time to die in a crash. His car shuddered and groaned. “The clutch is your friend.”
“Sorry, I haven’t driven a manual in years. Who drives a manual these days?”
The car jerked and he winced. People who liked to drive cars drove manuals.
“Do you want to tell me how it happened?”
He gave her the rundown of the cupcake that had cured him of liking salted caramel, and how he’d gone into his trailer for silver and shredded his hand on strategically placed nails. If he missed one lot of iron, he’d have got the other. Somehow Will had gotten onto the set, or he’d paid someone.
“You should call your people and the police and get them out there to look at that. Vandalizing your trailer, tampering with the food. There’s probably something left to analyze.”
“There’s nothing they can do. So they find filings in the cupcake, big deal. Who gets sick from that? No one but the Albah.”
“Yeah, but someone put the nails there to hurt you. That is a crime, or at least it should be.” She glanced at him. “Do it before Will goes back and cleans up.”
“He probably has a friend on set who’s already done that.”
“I think you’re being entirely too rational. They have achieved what they wanted. Why would they think to clean up?” She slammed on the brakes at the red light.
“You might want to change to first before the light turns green.”
“Right, I knew that.” She gave him a tight smile. “Maybe we should’ve got a taxi
.”
“No, they’d just wonder what was wrong with me. They’d think I was on drugs like everyone else.” He picked up his cell and called his manager. Two minutes later, his manager was vowing to get the cops out there, and make sure that his hair was screened for drug use—after triple-checking that there would be nothing to find—while Finley got stitches and shots, and whatever else he needed.
If the rusted nails were still there, that coupled with the e-mails might be enough to get things started. He leaned his head back and blinked but it was the world’s slowest blink as when he opened his eyes they were only a block away from Walter’s office. That or Alina had covered half an hour of driving in less than a second. His palm was wet against his thigh, his jeans were clinging to his skin and sticky with blood.
It wasn’t the weakness in his limbs that was worrying him. It was the blood loss. That could be fatal even to humans.
He wished Julian would hurry up and call back but while it was afternoon in L.A., it was some ungodly hour in Australia. His father had reacted the way any good parent would when faced with a middle-of-the-night medical emergency. Perhaps he’d judged his father too harshly, but there was a good chance he’d die and his father didn’t seem to be overly worried about saving his life. His father would rather him die than be undead. Not that Finley wanted to be undead. But undead he’d still have a life instead of rotting away.
Alina parked the car and stalled it instead of turning it off. She wrinkled her nose as though about to apologize again.
“Thank you for driving,” he said before she could speak. She was his only friend who had a clue what was going on.
Thank any gods who were out there for throwing her in his path. Fate or destiny or whatever they wanted to be called, had smiled on him that day, today, not so much. He wasn’t sure that he wanted Walter’s help even if it was offered. There would be a price. Nothing was ever free in this business.