by Jocelyn Fox
“Pop the hood,” said Duke, motioning from in front of the car.
Ross vengefully yanked the little lever to release the hood. The hood popped and the piece of plastic snapped off in her grip. She stared at the lever in her hand, rage frothing up within her. With growled invectives, she tossed the broken lever in the cup holder, yanked off her seat belt and climbed out of the car, grabbing the tire iron out of the front seat.
“What in the hell…” Duke murmured as he shone his slim but powerful flashlight down onto the car’s engine. Smoke rose in ghostly tendrils from the mass of melted tubes and wires under the hood.
“This was a trap all along,” said Ross, tightening her grip on the tire iron until her knuckles popped. She almost wished there was another beast to take a swing at and vent some of her anger.
“It looks that way,” said Niall in agreement.
“So what are we going to do?” She threw the words out into the night air, the edge in her voice sharp enough to cut.
“Looks like we have a couple of choices,” said Duke.
His Southern drawl, usually so charming to Ross, inexplicably irritated her. She looked away and stared at the bulk of one of the dead beasts so he wouldn’t see the annoyance on her face.
“V’s car is toast. Guess somethin’ around the creatures fried it. We can wait for Molly to get back, take off then, or we can take off now. Guess we could also split up, though if we do that someone’s gonna be waitin’ here alone and I’m not a huge fan of that idea.”
“Well, I’m not a huge fan of V waiting at the house like bait,” snapped Ross.
“Take a breath,” said Duke.
“Don’t tell me to take a breath,” she retorted. “I just killed a mutated wolf-thing with a tire iron. Now the only vehicle we have was melted into oblivion by some invisible force field and we’re miles away from V when she could be attacked right now. Oh, and we decided to go out on a limb and be Molly’s escort to this meeting with crazy Corsica and the bone sorcerer who was working with the villain that you guys just killed in this other magical realm, but apparently it’s all okay because you think he served the evil dude out of convenience. And tomorrow is my first day at the new station. So don’t tell me to take a breath!”
Her voice rose until she was nearly yelling with the last words. She felt anger and frustration shooting through her body, bouncing off her bones like pinballs in an old arcade machine, rattling and shaking. The two men stared at her silently with similar expressions of wariness. If she hadn’t been so enraged, it would have been comical: wiry Duke with his sarcastic grin and ready sense of humor wearing the same face as the stoic, unreadable Seelie Knight. As it was, it felt like a thousand hornets buzzed angrily in her chest. She stalked over to the nearest carcass and hit it with her tire iron. “And how the hell are we supposed to explain these damn things?” She gave the hulk a kick for good measure. The stench of death and decay that rolled off the beast as its body shifted dampened the roaring vortex of fury within her.
“The carcasses will disintegrate when touched by the light of day,” said Niall.
“Great,” growled Ross. “At least we won’t have to deal with those headlines. Only ones pertaining to a murderous sorcerer who uses innocent kids and gas station clerks in his sadistic rituals!”
“We haven’t seen any headlines about that yet,” said Duke, his tone calming and logical.
“It’s only a matter of time,” she spat. With a sound of frustration, she hit the carcass again.
“Okay, well, once you’ve used the dead mutant wolf as a punching bag for a while, we can decide what we’re gonna do,” said Duke, crossing his arms over his chest.
“I’m open to discussion,” she replied, spreading her arms invitingly, the effect somewhat undercut by the tire iron in her right hand and the gore spattered across her shirt.
Duke pressed his mouth into a thin line. “Going off the reservation right now isn’t helping things, Ross.”
She swallowed hard as her fading anger left enough logical thought to recognize the truth in his words. “Fine,” she gritted out. “Let’s talk, then.”
“I could stay here to wait for Molly,” said Niall. “I am unbothered by the prospect of being alone. I have ventured into the mortal world many times alone.”
“But not without your whiz-bang,” Duke pointed out. “Magic. Whatever you wanna call it.”
“I do not need my taebramh to kill a creature with my blade,” Niall replied, raising his sword for emphasis.
“Still don’t like it, especially if the bone sorcerer knows we’re here,” said Duke.
“So you think we should wait and leave V.” Ross couldn’t stand still. She paced over to the car and stared at the twisted lump that had once been its engine.
“V isn’t alone,” Duke said with badly concealed exasperation.
“She might as well be,” snapped Ross.
“Oh, so you don’t think Jess and May are capable of keeping her safe?”
“Perhaps you are discounting Vivian’s own abilities,” Niall contributed in his infuriatingly mild tone.
“Okay, first of all, Jess is great, I’m sure, but I’ve known him two days and he’s not really versed in how to kill one of these things,” said Ross.
“Actually, we’ve killed a bunch of ‘em,” drawled Duke.
Ross clenched her jaw. “Fine. Whatever. Sounds like we’re just waiting here.” In the back of her head, she knew she sounded like a petulant teenager, but they lapsed into silence, the still night air surrounding them with the humid scent of the swamp. She tugged at her shirt uncomfortably, wishing peevishly that the car had at least turned on so that she could sit in the air conditioning while they waited. As the minutes dragged by, her anger trickled away, replaced by a hollow sense of tiredness and annoyance edged by worry. She leaned against the dead car and rested the tip of the tire iron on the ground. God, she was going to be dragging ass tomorrow if she didn’t grab at least a few hours of sleep. And a shower. She smelled like road kill.
Molly appeared out of a cloak of shadows without any warning. Niall, at least, seemed unsurprised, but Duke straightened and reflexively brought up the Beretta halfway. Ross readjusted her grip on the tire iron and tried to look unconcerned.
“I thought those two wouldn’t be a problem for you,” said Molly, her gaze shifting from the dead creature in front of the car to the carcass behind it.
“So it was the bone sorcerer who sent them after us,” said Ross.
Molly shrugged. “Or Corsica. I’m not sure.”
Ross couldn’t help the snort that escaped her.
“The car’s dead,” said Duke. “We gotta walk back.”
“Or run,” countered Ross, even though her body already ached with the tiredness of the night’s events.
“Or run,” allowed Duke.
Molly looked at them for a long moment, her face a pale oval set with the blazing gems of her feline eyes. The dark nimbus of her hair blended into the shadows. “I’m staying here.”
Ross broke the stunned silence. “Excuse me?” She felt another little bud of anger stir in her belly, although she wasn’t sure she had the energy for any more wrath for a while.
“I’m staying here,” repeated the half-Fae woman. “Corsica and the bone sorcerer are going to teach me.”
“And what will you give them in trade?” Niall asked quietly, his pale eyes flinty.
Molly’s mouth settled into a hard line. “My oath that I will join them when they rise against Mab.”
“You would bind yourself to one who worked with Malravenar?” said Niall in a low, dangerous voice.
Raising her chin, Molly replied, “It is a price I am willing to pay.” She and Niall locked gazes for a long, taut moment. “You know that Mab is descending into madness.”
“And that is reason to ally yourself with the bone sorcerer?” said the Seelie Knight.
Ross wondered if Niall was going to try to stop Molly by force.
“It is a price I am willing to pay,” Molly repeated. Her eyes glittered. “You don’t know what I’ve endured at her hands. You don’t know what she stole from me.”
“And what of the harrowing of the North?” demanded Niall. “Gryttrond betrayed his own kin to the Darkness. You think he will have some sort of loyalty to you?”
Molly smiled humorlessly. “The harrowing of the North did not spur your Court into action. And I have no illusion of loyalty. It is, as you say, a matter of convenience.”
Ross found her voice. “What about Ramel?”
For the first time, Molly’s expression softened as she shifted her gaze to Ross. “I know you and Vivian will take care of him.”
“What will he think when we tell him where you’ve gone?” Ross pressed.
Molly’s face darkened. “If anyone will understand, it’s him. Tell him what you like. In the end, I will kill Mab or I will die trying.”
Molly’s words chilled Ross with their conviction. The gleam in the other woman’s eyes bordered on fanatical. It reminded Ross of extremists from other faraway lands, willing to do whatever it took to achieve their ends, no matter how bloody. She suppressed a shiver.
“The Bearer and the ulfdrengr will return to exact justice on Gryttrond for his crimes,” warned Niall.
“So be it,” said Molly. “By then, I believe I will have what I need.”
With that, she turned and disappeared into the darkness.
“I didn’t see that comin’,” said Duke softly.
Ross sighed and climbed into Vivian’s poor car, retrieving the keys and locking the doors manually. She checked the glove box to ensure that Vivian hadn’t left her wallet or anything in the car and then slithered out of the back seat one last time. Duke shut the hood over the mangled engine with the somber air of closing a casket lid over a corpse.
Ross slid her phone out of her pocket and flipped it open. “Of course. No signal.” She looked at Niall and Duke and then glanced up at the moon. “Well, we better go unless we want more beasties coming after us.”
“We could kill any number of the bone sorcerer’s creatures,” said Niall, but he fell into step beside her as she shifted into an easy jog.
“This night did not turn out well,” muttered Duke.
“Don’t speak too soon,” said Ross as they began their trek down the backcountry road, their steps crunching on the gravel. “It’s not over yet.”
Chapter 20
Dying was not as simple as she’d expected.
The blackness had swept her away from the icy stone floor in the Unseelie dungeon. After a while, the need to breathe and the feeling of suffocation faded, disappearing into nothingness. She felt herself fading too, the edges of her essence leached away by the blackness. It wasn’t as terrifying as she’d imagined.
Then, just as simply as if she’d opened her eyes, she stood at the edge of a gray cliff, mist twining about her ankles. She let herself wonder for a while whether this was truly another world or just the product of a dying consciousness, one last flare before being snuffed out. When she thought about ceasing to exist, she did feel a vague sense of loss – not for herself, but for something else. For someone else. What exactly had she thought was so important? What had brought her to the edge of this cliff? She couldn’t remember. The white mist fawned about her legs, inviting her to walk the path down the side of the cliff, laid out before her feet, ready to be explored.
She hesitated. She wasn’t even sure why she hesitated. Tendrils of the mist tugged at her feet. A voice echoed in the grayness, a voice that plucked a chord of dim recognition within her. She turned away from the path down the side of the cliff, trying to listen. More voices resonated through the air, snatches of sound that shoved at the mist. She felt a strange tug of familiarity at particular echoes.
The voices sounded…concerned. She groped for words, trying to remember something just out of her reach. The grayness around her shuddered and a strange patch of brightness hovered a few paces behind Calliea. She frowned.
Release your burdens, sighed the mist. Walk the path before you. It is your time.
She turned back to the cliff. She couldn’t see where the path led. It disappeared into the fog. Glancing back over her shoulder, she saw that the patch of brightness looked like white fire burning through the fabric of the gray world. Something unfurled within her – she groped for the name of the strange sensation, finally grasping it. Curiosity. And then the ribbons of voices curled around her again, one stronger than the others. That voice…it was important to her. It made her feel…longing. Regret. Love.
The tendrils of mist thickened into tentacles, wrapping around her legs with insidious strength. She struggled to take another step toward the blazing portal. The voice became clearer.
“Calliea, listen to me. Don’t leave me. Please. I’m begging you.”
Merrick.
Memories burst into her, restoring her awareness of herself, flooding her ethereal form with strength and determination. She shuddered at the recollection of the mace thudding into her side with the sick sound of a blade cleaving meat. The journey would not be easy. She clenched her jaw. But then again, nothing worth doing was ever easy.
Calliea strained against the bonds of the white fog, fighting for every step gained toward the portal. She heard snatches of voices: Robin and Thea, Liam and Moira. And Merrick. Always Merrick. She leaned forward, stretching her arm, struggling against the pull of the cliffs. Her hand brushed the white fire of the portal, and it threw her back into her body with bone-jarring force. Agony crashed over her. She felt like she was drowning. Her breath wheezed wetly in her throat. She tasted blood.
“That’s it, that’s it,” said Merrick into her ear. “Thank the gods. Keep breathing, keep fighting.”
She wanted to tell him that he made it sound so simple, that she was trying but it felt like one of the great stones of the fallen tower pressed down on her chest. She couldn’t open her eyes. It was all she could do not to escape into the blessed relief of the blackness and then the gray cliffs. Her awareness of the scene around her came and went in waves.
“Tess, that’s enough, you can’t give too much…”
Calliea felt a warm pressure at her side recede. What had Tess done? Another flood of pain washed away the thought.
“…said she’s coming herself…right behind me…”
A breathless voice, as though they’d been running. She had almost identified the speaker when a spasm of agony scattered her ability to think, so shattering her consciousness into glittering pieces that she struggled to keep from sinking into the depths of darkness lurking just below her. She fought against the tide like a swimmer straining to keep her head above the water. And then a voice slid over her like oil, like a balm, inexplicably soothing.
“Oh, child, you have taken a cruel wound, but you are strong. And you will draw strength from these others.”
She felt warm, sure hands probing at her side, flitting over her chest with a light touch, somehow comforting rather than agonizing. A strange pressure, a sensation of something sharp sliding where it should not have been, but then an immediate relief from the feeling of drowning. The stone sitting atop her chest lightened and then disappeared.
“You did well, Lady Bearer,” said that sure voice. “Now let me work.”
Calliea became aware of Merrick’s hand around her own just as he began to draw away. She reflexively gripped his hand, desperate not to lose what she’d just regained.
“Well, if she wants you to keep holding her hand, then do it,” Maeve told Merrick. She felt a warm flood of gratitude as she recognized the master healer’s voice. Anchoring herself with the feel of Merrick’s hand holding hers, she tried her best to even her breathing, but she couldn’t help her body’s involuntary reactions. She felt herself arch off the table with Maeve twisted something deep in her mangled side. She heard Merrick make a strangled sound. She wanted to reassure him somehow, and she was able to recognize the humor o
f that through the haze of pain.
“Give me a quarter hour and then we will move her,” said Maeve. Her hands moved quickly. Calliea stopped trying to understand what was happening, concentrating on breathing and the feeling of Merrick’s hand in her own. She let the sensations of Maeve’s ministrations fade into the background, felt, but not contemplated. Finally, Maeve’s voice came again.
“You’ve done well, Valkyrie commander. Time to rest now.”
A warm fog that smelled of lavender and sage wrapped her mind. With Maeve’s permission echoing in her ears, she surrendered to the softer darkness of unconsciousness. She didn’t dream and she didn’t walk the gray cliffs.
When she awoke again, it was to the dim light of the healing ward. Her eyelids felt heavy as she blinked away the grit of her long sleep. A taebramh lantern glowed beside her bed. She swallowed thickly, her mouth tasting of old blood and cotton. She felt the bed shift as someone who’d been leaning on it near her legs sat up abruptly. Her body sent vague signals of shrouded pain at even that small motion as it jarred her side.
“Thank the stars,” said Merrick huskily, his voice sleep-hoarse and his words thickened with emotion. He looked pale, his dark hair unkempt, and he still wore the clothes he’d worn on the raid, the shoulder stiff with dried blood.
Calliea couldn’t muster the energy to arrange her face into disapproval, but she managed a cracked whisper. “Clothes…and shoulder.”
Merrick gave a low chuckle, bringing up one of her hands to his lips for a tender kiss. “Why am I not surprised that you’re immediately concerned for me?”
She felt her mouth tilt in some semblance of a smile. Her body felt faraway, her head leaden and yet floating at the same time somehow. Scraps of memory drifted through her mind. She blinked as Merrick turned to the bedside table, busying himself pouring water onto the corner of a clean cloth in a cup. When he turned back to her to offer her the water, she pushed aside her sudden ravening thirst and whispered, “Princess?”