by Karlik, Mary
He turned away from her and toward the altar. “You bound your soul with mine.” His tone was so even, Layla couldn’t tell if he was angry.
“Aye. In the end, I was able to separate your soul from mine. But since you were unconscious, a piece of my soul will forever be embedded in yours.”
He continued to examine the altar. “And what exactly does that mean?”
She cringed and wished he’d turn his head. He didn’t have to focus on her, just acknowledge that she was there next to him. “Please understand. I had no choice. You were half dead as it was.”
“What does it mean, Layla?” His tone was harsh and still he didn’t look at her.
Her gut tightened. You’re alive and I have no regrets. “It means that I feel your pain.”
“And?”
She didn’t want to tell him the rest, but it would be wrong to withhold information from him. “If you die, so do I. Since your soul is not within me, if I die, it won’t affect you.”
Slowly, he turned toward her. His eyes glistened with tears and her breath hitched in her throat as she tried to formulate an apology.
“You sacrificed a piece of your soul for me? For the rest of my life, you will feel every ache and pain I have?” He dropped his hand from the back of the pew to cup her shoulder.
She didn’t get the wonky human/fairy vibe or a post-ritual romantic feeling, just that of a great friend reaching out to another great friend. And she smiled. “Aye.” She threw in a cheeky wink. “So be careful, will you?”
His mouth tightened as if he were trying to control his emotions. “Why would you endanger your life so? You could have let me die.” His tone was full of emotion and a little shaky.
As much as she wanted to keep things light, her eyes filled with tears too. “No, I couldn’t. And anyway, it’s done.”
Then his eyes grew wide as he realized the full impact of what she’d said. He understood the breadth of her sacrifice. “And if I can’t control the dragon and you have to do—what you have to—you’ll die. It’s a lose/lose.”
Layla shook her head. “There is another option. You must learn to control the beast. Maybe he will demand to be unleashed, but don’t let him be your master. You must be his.”
Ian’s face lost some of its color. “Wise words. Let’s hope I can follow them. For both our sakes.”
As they prepared to leave the church, Father Wilson appeared before them. He looked at his pocket watch and back at the humans and fairies gathered near the door. “All is well. Early morning hours are prime for one-night lovers, thieves, and magical creatures on a mission. May God be with you.” He made the sign of the cross above their heads.
“Thank you, Father.” Layla’s wings fluttered in nervous waves, echoing the butterflies doing flips in her stomach. She was anxious to get started and now that the hour had arrived, she was anxious to finish the rescue.
Ian nodded in thanks to the spirit. “Aye. We’ll need all the help we can get.” To Layla and Buzzard, he said, “Let’s go.”
Clouds played hide and seek with the moon as Layla led Ian and Buzzard to the tunnel. A few minutes later, Jack and Theo would escort Shona and a team of the fairies to the shop. Layla had given them another nip of the elixir and hoped the fairies would be strong enough to handle whatever was waiting for them.
She entered the tunnel first and held out the dragon stone on Tormed’s hilt as a backup to the torches the men carried. As they crossed the threshold, she swept her sword left and right along the winding path, her muscles tensing in anticipation of whatever ward awaited them.
Buzzard stumbled on an uneven stone in the floor and her wings popped wide in alarm. The sound of her wings opening was so loud and unexpected that both Ian and Buzzard started as if a spider had just landed on their faces. Nervous laughter twittered through the passage as Layla closed her wings. Still, the muscles in her shoulders and back bunched in little knots that made her torso want to collapse inward. She forced herself into an upright stance as if every corner of her insides weren’t trembling in anticipation of whatever obstacles lay ahead.
But there was no ward. The path was clear all the way to the right turn leading to the cavern. She stopped before making the turn and pulled a heaping load of false bravado from somewhere deep within her.
She slipped her sword into its scabbard, whipped around the corner, and shot an anti-glamour spell. There was no change and no ward. But she knew—they all knew—something was coming. It was just a matter of what, when, and where.
The three hurried to the building. Layla clasped the door handle to force the tumblers open, but there was no magic sealing the door either. And her stomach tightened.
The door opened easily, and once inside, the fireball didn’t greet them. The room was bare. There was no indication that there had been a battle, that a dragon had been slain, or that there had been cages full of imprisoned fairies.
Her gut clenched harder and her throat grew a little tighter. “This is too easy.”
“Aye.” Buzzard scanned the room. “I wish they’d hit us with something and get it over with.”
Layla walked to the false wall at the far end. “Maybe we caught them with their guard down.” She didn’t sound any more convincing than she felt, but it was a nice fantasy.
Ian craned his neck and sniffed the air. “He’s here.” His voice sounded gravelly and not quite his own.
“Who?” Layla pressed the stone revealing the passage to the staircase.
Ian looked at her as if she were speaking gibberish. “What?”
Buzzard glanced at the dragon scales. “You said he’s here.”
“Did I?” He pulled his weapon from his shoulder holster.
Layla directed an eye roll at Ian. “Do you think that wee toy is going to be useful against magic?”
“I think it’s better than nothing.” He held up his weapon. “Let’s get those fairies.”
Layla nocked an arrow to her bowstring and led the way down the stairs. She passed through the room stacked with empty globes and was about to step into the main room where Miranda’s empty workbench sat, when Buzzard grabbed her arm.
“You’re right. It’s been too easy. No wards, no disguises, no creatures to fight us? It’s not right. It’s a ploy to boost our confidence, to make us careless, to entice us to let our guard down.” He tilted his head toward the main room. “I wouldn’t just barge right in there.”
Layla shot the arrow into the room. It burst into flames as soon as it crossed the threshold. She exhaled through puffed cheeks. “Reckless again. I’m sorry.”
Buzzard stepped back from the doorway. “Just inexperienced.”
Ian sidled up next to Layla. “Welcome to magical warfare. Any ideas?”
She considered the workroom. “We need a counter spell. Let’s see what water does.”
Layla had watched her sister water the garden with conjured rain a thousand times and knew the spell well. The question was whether she could fill the whole room with conjured rain.
She threw the spell and a tiny cloud manifested in front of her. Waving it into the room, she expanded it until it touched all four walls. Then she held her breath and released the water. The floor sizzled as the rain pattered on it.
Ian moved closer to the arched entrance. “The floor isn’t red like before, but I’m betting it’s acid just the same.”
“Let’s find out.” Buzzard took one of the empty globes from a shelf behind him and rolled it into the room. As soon as it made contact with the floor, it melted.
Layla peered into the steam. “The only way in is to fly, and I’m the only one with that ability.”
Ian shook his head. “I don’t like it. I think there’s more to this than the floor and the fire.”
“What else could there be?” Layla shot another arrow into the room. “Look. It shot straight. There was no ill wind.” She fey-sized and hovered in front of the men. “I’m going in. I promise if anything feels wrong, I’ll come back.�
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She zipped into the conjured rain, past the workbench to the storage area. As she fluttered in front of the globes, the cràdh reared its ugly head and poured helplessness through her, shredding her confidence along the way. So many fey. How could they possibly get them out before they were discovered? Because there was no doubt that they would be discovered.
Failure is not an option. Ian’s favorite build-you-up phrase looped in her mind until she cocooned herself in determination and away from her nemesis parasite.
She flew back to the storeroom. “There are more fairies than I thought. At least twice as many globes as there are in this room. I’ll use magic to fly them from the storage room to you. Be ready to catch them.”
When she reached a point in the room where she could see both the racks with the fey globes and the men, she focused her will and lifted the first globe from the shelf. It floated across the room to Ian’s waiting hands. He handed it off to Buzzard, who placed it in one of the sacks they’d brought.
It didn’t take them long to get into a rhythm and once they did, they cleared the top row of the first shelf easily. It was almost like dancing inside a rain cloud.
Layla concentrated on the second row and lifted a globe. It was a simple move. The globe didn’t even touch the shelf above it, but the whole rack shook. Glass knocked against glass as the globes rattled.
“No, no, no!”
A tremor vibrated across the floor of the room and one rack after another swayed back and forth. Then all at once, the globes fell from the shelves. And as they fell, so did the security of Ian’s mantra.
Layla’s heart ceased to beat in the instant before the globes all hit the floor like giant hailstones. Sweet Tatiana, how many fairies had she killed?
But the glass held. Not a single globe broke. But as if the floor had suddenly developed a slant, they rolled toward the threshold. If they crossed, they’d melt into the floor like butter on a hot bannock. Layla threw a spell and stopped them from crossing, but magic fought her.
Ian peeked his head out of the storeroom. “Is there a problem?”
“You could say that.” She spoke through gritted teeth as she struggled with the spell.
Buzzard asked, “What happened?”
Sweat beaded across her lip and her arms trembled as she fought to keep the fairies safe. “The globes emptied themselves from the shelves. And magic is pulling them to the acid floor.”
Buzzard yelled from the storeroom, “Can’t you just float them?”
“I can… barely… hold them back. We need… to neutralize the floor. Hurry.”
Ian scanned the room. “There has to be a way, otherwise the workbench would have melted.”
Buzzard pulled empty globes from one of the shelves. “Help me unload this.”
Layla darted her eyes at them. “Are you pixie-mazed? We already know... the globes will... melt.”
Ian turned over a rack. “But we don’t know about the wood. It makes sense. Look at the worktable.”
They ripped the shelf apart and shoved one of the planks onto the floor. It hissed as it slid, but it didn’t melt.
“Can you hurry... with that wee path? My arms are getting heavy... and the magic is harder to fight.”
Ian looked up from the board he was pushing across the floor. “We’re almost done. Stay strong, wee fairy.”
Her arms burned as the magic pushed against them. But they were almost finished with the path so she tightened her core and added a wee surge of energy to the struggle.
When the planks stretched to the second storage room, the men made their way along the wooden path like tightrope walkers. Ian packed globes into the sacks, careful not to let them touch the floor. When the first one was full, he passed it to Buzzard.
As one fey globe after another was removed from the room, the magic became easier to fight. Layla wanted to search for Esme among them, but she didn’t dare in case her power weakened.
Still, she couldn’t stop the grin forming on her face. “We’re doing it. We’re saving the fairies.”
Ian grabbed another globe. “I’m dripping wet from fey-made rain standing on a board that is the only thing between me and getting my feet burned off. Don’t be too happy yet.”
When there were only a dozen globes left, she floated them in a line past the men to the second storage room.
Buzzard and Ian made their way across the boards into the room. Buzzard gathered the last of the fairies into a sack. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
Layla hung just outside the storage room and reduced the rain to shower just her. All she had to do was fly into that room.
They’d grab their load and make a run for it.
But then black began to swirl in the steam that had filled the room from her conjured rain.
Chapter Twenty
Layla smelled the stench of his magic before she saw him. She knew where he was before she turned.
The fog dissipated and the Dark Harvester stood in the center of the room, impervious to the flames. The hood of his robe was pulled up, but unlike before, he’d left his face exposed. Layla wasn’t sure what she’d expected—perhaps a skeleton or maybe a black fog with those ice blue eyes floating somewhere in the center.
What she didn’t expect was the beautiful dark-skinned man before her. His face had a golden glow that begged her to stare at him. But then, staring at his face would segue to staring into his eyes, and that would be deadly. Instead, she focused on the little triangle of skin that showed just above the collar of his robe and just below his chin. He walked toward her with slow, measured steps. With each footfall the floor sizzled, but didn’t affect the soles of his boots.
Layla was almost mesmerized by the Harvester until in a single graceful movement he swept his arm upward, his fingers covered by his sleeve. Her pulse surged with the knowledge that he was about to dry up her rain and she shot into the storage room.
But it wasn’t her tiny conjured raincloud he was after. A stream of red pierced her chest and clamped around her magic. But he didn’t take it. He sequestered it from her.
Her pulse thundered in her head as she struggled to free her power. But her magic was as useless to her as when she’d worn the protection bracelet.
The Dark Harvester was in control and bit by bit, like a pull toy on a string, he dragged her toward the entrance to the workroom until the tip of her right boot burned where it crossed the threshold. She struggled against his magic but knew all he had to do was tug harder on that string and she’d fly through the door and burst into flames.
Fear surged as the Dark Harvester eased her closer to the workroom. “Help me!” She kicked to try to propel her body backward.
Buzzard fired his gun at the Harvester. The bullets passed through him as if he were a spirit, but the grip on Layla’s magic eased enough for her to raise her arms above her head and hurl the biggest storm she could conjure into the room. At the same time, the Harvester jerked her through the doorway.
Now that her magic had been activated, he couldn’t shut it off, but he could steal it. The trick for her was to keep the storm brewing without giving him a direct stream of magic to take.
“You took my pets.” When he spoke, his breath expelled a putrid gas—a horrible contrast to his godlike face.
“They are no more your pets than I am.”
He laughed and a spider crawled out of his mouth. “Oh, but you are my pet.” He flipped his hand over and she turned upside down. “You may have conjured your little storm, but I can make you do what I will.”
“Let her go,” Ian yelled from the doorway. His neck muscles bulged and the green in his arm brightened.
The Harvester spun Layla in a lazy circle. “I think not.” He stopped her abruptly and lowered her so close to the floor she feared her skin would burn from the waves of heat rising from it.
A low, guttural moan erupted from the storage room. From where Layla hung in the air, she saw Ian’s eyes turn crimson. If he couldn’t contr
ol his anger, he might get them all killed—or worse, kill them all.
She looked at Buzzard but spoke to Ian. “He hasn’t hurt me.”
The Dark Harvester laughed again and more spiders spilled from between his lips. He flung Layla from one side of the room to the other, then back to hover in front of him.
Ian shrieked and pain shot through Layla’s body as if it were being torn in two. But it wasn’t from the Dark Harvester. She was feeling Ian’s pain. Buzzard yelled something, but she couldn’t tell what over Ian’s howl.
A slow, sickening smile settled on the Harvester’s mouth. “The beast awakens.”
Layla’s gaze strained over her wings to see the storeroom just as Ian burst through the archway, scattering stones like wooden blocks.
He was in full dragon form.
The colors of his scales ranged from viridian to the darkest forest green to the bluest peacock. Spikes marched from his shoulders to his spade-shaped tail, and his hands and feet had formed into long, menacing talons.
“You’ve lost, fairy, and I’m through playing.” The Dark Harvester released Layla and she careened toward the acid floor.
Ian swept down, picked her up, and tossed her into the storeroom. The rainstorm had become nothing more than a trickle. But that didn’t bother the dragon as he challenged the Harvester.
The Harvester shot a stream of magic at Ian. He dodged it and blasted fire back. But the Harvester was as impervious to the heat as Ian was. The two went back and forth with the Harvester slinging magic at Ian and Ian returning fire. It was a stalemate.
Layla turned to Buzzard. “Get the fairies to the tunnel.”
“I can’t leave you.”
“Go while the Harvester is distracted. It’s the best chance we have for the fey. This is a magical fight. There is nothing you can do. Get them to the church as quick as you can.”
She unbuckled the belt holding her sword and scabbard and handed it to Buzzard along with her targe. “Take these in case you have trouble.”