The Phoenix Charm

by Helen Scott Taylor

  His father turned and wandered back to the three gatekeepers, flicking his hand at Arian.

  Arian roused at Dragon’s signal and stepped forward. “Where’s the son of Troy?”

  Nightshade exerted subtle compulsion to distract Arian. Although he’d only bitten him once, he should have some influence.

  “Don’t waste your time, pisky boy,” Dragon said to him. “The gatekeepers are now my creatures.”

  Arian shot Dragon a furious glance, but his father either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

  “I’m going to search for the deathless one.” Beckoning Olwyn and Dai to follow him, Arian headed toward the back door of Trevelion Manor. Nightshade let them go with only a frustrated glance. He had to choose his battles, and the gatekeepers weren’t going to find anyone to interest them inside the manor.

  “So you face me alone.” Dragon raised his eyebrows. “No piskies dare stand with you against me? Or do they not care about your fate?”

  Dragon was on a fishing trip, but he wasn’t getting any information. Nightshade continued to stare at him, stonyfaced.

  “Bring me my boy, and I’ll overlook the fact you stole from me.”

  “You don’t deserve him,” Nightshade snapped, remembering the vicious scar on Rhys’s back.

  “Arian gave the woman to me, and the child is of my blood.”

  “Rhys is my blood kin as well.”

  Dragon’s casual stance hardened. He clenched his fists, his biceps bunching. Then he snapped his wings against his back with a crack. “I’ll rip this place apart to find him and not you or any of your timid piskies will stand in my way.” Pink tinged the silver of Dragon’s eyes and his nostrils flared. “Last chance, pisky boy. Bring me my son and his mother.”

  As they stared at each other, the roar of a sports car cut through the silence. On the edge of his vision, Nightshade caught the red streak of Michael’s Porsche approaching down the narrow road from Merricombe Cottage. With a screech of tires, the car halted in the yard before the coach house. Michael jumped out, brushing the hair back off his face, and looked their way.

  Michael’s arrival broke the tension. Dragon’s stance relaxed when Michael approached with his jaunty walk and beguiling smile.

  “The son of Troy the Deathless,” Dragon said to himself. “I see the resemblance.” He glanced at Nightshade. “Is he your creature?”

  Nightshade laughed bitterly. A few days ago, he’d have said yes, but even then he would have been kidding himself.

  Dragon watched Michael with a predatory gleam in his eye.

  “We have a visitor, I see.” Michael stopped and tossed his hair, glamour dripping from him like sugar in a flytrap. Dragon’s nostrils flared, and the tips of his fangs appeared white against his lips.

  “You are of the earth, son of Troy. I didn’t expect that.”

  He took a few careful steps toward Michael, and Nightshade tensed, but Michael held his ground, his smile unfaltering. “’Tis the leprechaun half of me.”

  “Leprechaun!” Dragon guffawed. “The thought of Troy with a leprechaun is astonishing. But the result is…interesting.” He circled Michael, who glanced over his shoulder, but made no move to keep Dragon in sight.

  Nightshade’s pulse sprinted. He had no idea what Michael or Dragon were planning, but he was sure both had tactics in mind.

  “You bear no weapons,” Dragon said. “I heard you were a storyteller, but I could not believe such a thing possible of Troy’s progeny.”

  With a cheeky grin, Michael waggled his eyebrows. “Would you like me to tell you a story?”

  Dragon laughed again, sounding genuinely amused. “You are either an innocent or a charming fool.” He reached out and stroked Michael’s hair.

  Nightshade swallowed his cry of warning, but the effort nearly choked him.

  “I’m not interested in a story, pretty boy, but I would like you to do something for me.”

  Michael grinned, the seductive glint in his eye sending hot pulsing bloodlust flashing through Nightshade.

  Dragon took a step closer, his size dwarfing Michael. Too close! Nightshade’s mind screamed the warning, his muscles locked in an agony of conflict. His instinct cried out for him to jump to Michael’s defense; his mind told him to trust the bard.

  “You can bring me my son Rhys and his mother.” In a beat, Dragon’s posture changed from languid seducer to predator. His hand shot out to grab Michael’s throat, but the bard ducked away and danced back, light on his feet.

  With a hard downbeat of his wings, Nightshade leaped forward. Dragon spun to face him, growling, fangs fully extended into lethal spikes twice the size of Nightshade’s. A strip of red glistening scales appeared down his sternum, quickly spreading to cover his chest. Then he hissed, the sound eerily reptilian.

  Nightshade fell back, his breath locked in shock.

  “Didn’t anyone tell you where I came by my name, pisky boy? I’m blood-bonded to a dragon.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  While Nightshade squared up to Dragon, Michael surveyed the monstrous fangs and red scaly chest of the creature that had savaged Cordelia and killed her father. Dragon’s face was darkly beautiful and his body finely honed muscle, but he reeked of evil. How had she ever been attracted to such a beast?

  Drag on swung to face him. “I may not be able to kill you, son of Troy, but I’ll have fun trying.” The deep, gravelly voice grated on Michael’s nerves.

  When Dragon lunged forward, Michael darted aside, lighter on his feet than the bulky nightstalker. Nightshade circled around behind his father to split the attacker’s focus.

  “There he is.” Arian’s shout from behind drew Michael’s attention, but not his gaze. Even as the three gatekeepers bore down on him, he dared not take his eyes off Dragon.

  Holding perfectly still, Michael concentrated on the feel of Arian. Soundlessly, the gatekeeper closed on him. At the last minute, Michael dropped to a crouch. Arian’s silvertipped fingers rattled through the air where Michael’s head had just been. Then Arian tripped over Michael to land in an undignified heap on the grass.

  Dragon bellowed with laughter and caught Arian’s arm when he tried to slash at Michael again. “Leave him,” he commanded, effortlessly holding the seething gatekeeper.

  “The King of the Underworld is owed retribution for this coward’s deceit,” Arian shouted.

  “Gwyn’s a fool,” Dragon said. “Troy’s trapped him before, yet he fell for the same trick again.”

  “I want the deathless one’s son,” Arian demanded, waving a silver-tipped finger toward Michael.

  Dragon’s patience obviously at an end, he yanked Arian around to face him. “Not until I’ve finished with him.”

  Wonderful, Michael thought. They’ll be drawing lots for me next.

  After releasing Arian, Dragon turned and swept back his hair, his nostrils flaring as he stared at Michael. “Tell me where my son is, and I’ll spare the rest of the piskies.” Images seared Michael’s mind of the piskies battered and bleeding, the house trashed. The fury on Niall’s face when he saw the devastation wrought on his domain.

  Yet Michael refused to give a helpless woman and child up to Dragon. He wished he’d put some effort into testing his new powers. They might have helped him deal with this monster.

  He needed to lead Dragon away from the children. He glanced at Nightshade’s wild eyes, but couldn’t signal to him in case Dragon saw He’d just have to hope his friend was thinking clearly enough to recognize Michael’s ploy. Hanging his head, Michael said, “I’ll take you to Rhys.”

  “No!” Nightshade’s shout burst across the garden. He faded to his shade form, the gray shadow shooting forward. The three gatekeepers dashed out of the way. Before Dragon had a chance to assume a fighting stance, his head snapped back with a smack of flesh on flesh. A spurt of blood and spittle flew from his mouth.

  With a muttered oath, Michael jumped clear, expecting Dragon to fade to a shade as well. Instead, the scales down his
chest spread over his ribs and shoulders.

  Dragon jerked back with another grunt of impact, then punched the air, growling. He extended his wings and leaped skyward, ascending at an amazing rate.

  The patch of shadow solidified into Nightshade and he stared at Michael for a beat. “What you said about taking him to Rhys was a ruse?”

  Michael nodded.

  “Crap.” Nightshade smacked the side of his head. Then he snatched a breath and gazed up at his father. His forehead creased in puzzlement. “Damn it all, the bastard can’t turn into a shade.” With an incredulous laugh, he swept down his wings, and launched himself into the air.

  “Nightshade, stay on the ground where you have the advantage of shade form,” Michael shouted after him. But his friend was already too high to hear.

  Michael watched while the two black shapes zoomed toward each other. He winced in pained anticipation of the impact. At the last moment, Nightshade veered aside and kicked out, his foot smacking against Dragon’s ribs. The blow would have felled most opponents, but the larger nightstalker flipped sideways to follow Nightshade without even hesitating.

  The children weren’t safe only one mile away at Merricombe Cottage. The way Nightshade and Dragon were zooming around in the air, they’d fly that far in a minute. Michael hoped Cordelia had kept everyone inside out of sight. Keeping an eye on the gatekeepers, who were all staring upward, Michael retreated, taking silent steps back toward his car. He couldn’t drive to the cottage and warn them of the danger because Dragon would see him. But if he reached the phone in his car, he could call Thorn’s cell.

  Arian’s gaze jerked down from the fight and focused on Michael as he moved away. Michael thought of running, but there wasn’t any point because the three gatekeepers would transform into light balls and catch him in an instant.

  “Leaving us, son of Troy?”

  This“son of Troy” moniker was really starting to tick him off. “The name’s Michael O’Connor.”

  Arian strode toward him, his silent footsteps eating the ground. He stopped five feet away and his lip curled at the corner in distaste. “Your family owes the King of the Underworld a debt. I claim payment from you.”

  Michael wished he hadn’t left the Taser in Cordelia’s apartment. He would like nothing better than to wipe the supercilious look from Arian’s face. “Didn’t your minder tell you he had first dibs on me?”

  Arian flexed his silver-tipped fingers. “He’s otherwise engaged, fool.”

  He advanced on Michael, a cruel smile thinning his lips.

  “Halt,” Michael commanded, loading his voice with compulsion. Arian’s outline shimmered with light as he protected himself from the silver tongue.

  Even as Michael clenched his fists and held them up, he knew he was wasting his time. His best chance of felling Arian was with a quick kick to the happy sacs. He kicked out, caught the gatekeeper square between the legs. Arian’s mouth dropped open, his eyes bulged, and he fell to his knees.

  “You do have balls then,” Michael said as he backed away. Dai and Olwyn turned to look at him, but instead of moving to detain him, they glanced nervously up at Dragon.

  Michael raced toward his car. He yanked open the door and dialed Thorn. Arian looked up and glared when Michael pressed the phone to his ear.

  “’Ello,” Thorn answered.

  “Get the children out of the cottage and away.”

  “Michael?”

  “Aye.”

  “Where do I take them?”

  “Into the center of Truro.”

  Dragon was arrogant, but he wouldn’t show himself in the middle of a city full of humans.

  Michael cut the call and jammed the phone in his back pocket while Dai and Olwyn pulled Arian to his feet. The three of them dissolved into clouds of light before reforming as glowing orbs.

  How in the Furies did he deal with light balls?

  He could jump in his car and lead them away from the children and the piskies. He glanced up at the two nightstalkers, still diving around in the air, neither with the upper hand. The problem was that if Nightshade didn’t stop him, Dragon would then be on the loose with no one to keep track of his movements.

  In the distance, Michael heard the roar of the Land Rover engine leaving Merricombe Cottage, and some of the tension left his shoulders.

  The three light orbs whizzed toward him like evil Yule baubles. If he couldn’t hurt them, he must trap them somewhere. He needed to buy himself thinking time. He ducked into the coach house and rifled through the sports equipment store. “Ah-ha.” He grabbed a tennis racquet and spun around, brandishing it as the light spheres circled and headed his way.

  The orbs separated and approached from different directions. Michael narrowed his eyes, took a back swing, and let fly. The first light sphere hit his racquet dead center, passed through the strings, and missed him by a whisker. “Shite!”

  He ducked behind a car as the other two orbs flashed over his head.

  Time for plan B.

  Dodging between the cars, he headed for the door to the house, went through, and banged it shut behind him.

  The hall inside was silent and empty. The few piskies in the house must be hiding. He sprinted along the corridor, certain the door would pose no obstacle to the Teg. When he reached the main entrance hall, he looked back, suspicious that there was no sign of them.

  Pressing his back against the wall, he glanced around. Think, man. How could he catch them? He pinched the bridge of his nose. In the fraction of a second his scrutiny relaxed, Arian materialized in front of him. Even before he’d fully solidified, he swung his silver-spiked fingers at Michael’s throat. With the wall at Michael’s back, he had nowhere to go. Instinctively, he raised a forearm to ward off the blow. Spikes raked his skin, leaving an icy burn that flashed to heat as blood welled in the four slashes.

  “Ruddy Badba!” Michael dived to the side and sprinted toward Cordelia’s rooms to get the Taser. Suddenly an idea struck him. He swung around and barreled into Arian, who was following, knocking the Teg back against the wall with the unexpected maneuver. “Want to see the nursery, boyo?” he shouted over his shoulder. “Follow me.”

  Michael took the stairs two at a time, his arm stinging like the Furies. At the top, he headed for the nursery, thanking the gods that the babies were safely away from here. Ana and Niall had used leprechaun earth magic to protect the children’s room against evil. Michael had no idea how the magic worked, but if the spells kept evil out, he was guessing they would also trap evil inside. He just had to tempt the three gatekeepers into the room and shut the door on them. Piece of cake—he hoped.

  He ran through the nursery door, leaving it open, hoping the gatekeepers would follow him. One of the windows stood open. He’d have to shut that before he left; otherwise the Teg would simply fly out.

  Close on his heels, Arian prowled into the room without even pausing at the threshold. Praying his plan would work, Michael backed toward the babies’ changing table in the corner by the window. He trod on a toy, making it squeak incongruously in the tense silence.

  He’d spent hours in the nursery and knew the position of every piece of furniture, the contents of every cupboard. Rose had made sure there was nothing sharp or breakable in the room. But he could think of something that might come in handy.

  Arian halted in the center of the space and glanced around, hands tense at his sides. The metal spikes clicked together like skeletal fingers.

  Michael rubbed his palm on his thigh, his heartbeat fast but not manic. The fact that he was unkillable lent him confidence.

  As if Arian read his thoughts, he sneered. “You may be deathless, but when I get hold of you again, I will make you wish for death, son of Troy.”

  “The name’s Michael,” he repeated. His back bumped into the changing unit and he made sure he knocked the table hard enough to wobble the toiletries on top. Feigning a move to stop the items from falling, he grabbed the talc. There was no way to conceal the tall
plastic container in his hand, but he kept the label hidden.

  Now all he needed was for Dai and Olwyn to grace him with their presence and he was ready for action. Or ready as he’d ever be.

  Arian made no move to approach Michael. Instead, he drummed one set of silver spikes against his thigh. “Do you plan to throw that at me?” He glanced at the container in Michael’s hand and laughed derisively. “Your father would be disappointed in you for putting up such a dismal defense.”

  Your father would be disappointed in you echoed through Michael’s brain, resurrecting countless childhood memories.

  “Me father’s not here,” Michael ground out. His father had left him in the Underworld. A choking pain rose in Michael’s chest, tight and hot. He clenched his teeth until his jaw ached. He didn’t care what his father would think. If he kept the babies safe and stopped the piskies from being hurt, he would be proud of himself.

  Arian was obviously waiting for Dai and Olwyn to help him capture Michael, which gave him a frisson of satisfaction. When the other two gatekeepers appeared at the doorway, Arian beckoned them in and stepped forward. Michael held his position, thumbed open the lid on the talc, and visualized exactly how things would play out.

  Arian moved cautiously, his hands spread, while Dai and Olwyn flanked him, obligingly forming a line in front of Michael.

  Two more breaths, one…two…Michael raised his arm, angled the baby talc, and held his breath as he flung an arc of fine powder, hitting Dai, Arian, and Olwyn in the face. He didn’t wait to observe his handiwork, but jumped to the side, yanked closed the window and latched it. While he sprinted for the door, the three Tylwyth Teg coughed and spluttered. Michael paused at the door and looked back in time to see Arian rip the silver spikes from his fingers so he could wipe his eyes.

  He closed the door behind him, turned the key, and slipped it in his pocket. Then he relaxed against the wall and rubbed the back of his neck while he listened to the crashing inside the room.

  Later he’d have to deal with the rats he’d caught in his trap. Now he wanted to check on what had happened to Cordelia, Ana, Thorn, Eloise, and the three babies. On the way downstairs, he saw a pisky woman peeping through a door. “Mari, there’re three Tylwyth Teg trapped in the nursery. No one must open the door until I come back.”