by Lily Silver
“As you wish,” Adrian answered in a sarcastic tone. He dug into his pocket, pulled out two English crowns and handed them to the Frenchman.
At the gleam of silver, the man’s cheerfulness returned. He bowed to Tara as if she were royalty and bade her to go up the stairs ahead of him. She did so with Adrian and the landlord following behind. It was not hard to determine which apartment was Bellow’s, as the tell-tale bottle of Lune Nuit Absinthe was outside his door, just like milk delivered by the milk man. Adrian bent to pick it up as the landlord unlocked the door for them.
As soon as Tara stepped inside a creepy feeling of unease surrounded her. The apartment was on the north side and didn’t benefit from full sun as their place did. Thus, it was cloaked in shadows, though it was little more than five in the afternoon. The curtains of the one window were pulled, adding to the gloom. The landlord spoke to Adrian in French again, and Adrian waved about the room as he spoke, explaining their intentions. With a nod and a smile, the landlord left them.
Adrian opened the drapes to allow in more light. Tara moved about warily as her instincts kicked up a sense of unease. The scent of tobacco lingered heavily in the air, stale tobacco, mingled with rotting food. Remnants of Mr. Bellow’s last dinner were decomposing as flies buzzed and crawled over the chicken bones with a few bits of meat clinging to them. “Shall we gather his things?”
“Tara, we do not have his permission to handle his belongings.”
“Bellows can’t come back here. They know where he lives. They’re delivering the poison to his doorstep. Find a satchel, we’ll at least recover his clothing and his valuables for him.”
Adrian relieved the wardrobe of its meager contents, quickly stuffing clothing into a nearby carpetbag, along with the unopened bottle of absinthe. Tara found his pocket watch, a few coins, a photo card of an older woman—likely his mother—and some letters. She brought them to Adrian to put in the bag.
The bedroom and living area were combined. The iron potbelly stove was adjacent to the hall door in the main room. She was curious about the smaller room behind the curtain. Lifting the fabric to allow in light from the main room, she noted the smaller room was long and narrow with a large galvanized basin for washing dishes sat on an old wood washstand. There were some shelves along the long wall that held dishes, a few cups and a couple of small cook pots.
The room was too narrow for a kitchen table, so the main room also served as a dining area with the small round table near the window. A dark doorway inside the tight room without a window concealed a small alcove. A place for the chamber pot, perhaps, or a pantry? Tara didn’t wish to enter the kitchen to peek inside the little cubby to find out. She turned from the kitchen entrance and dropped the curtain at the sound of Adrian’s voice.
“I’d not consider this art.” He was peering at stacks of canvases leaning up against the wall in the corner, just to the right of the black potbelly stove. “Look at this. It’s not finished, it resembles an explosion of feathers. And here,” he lifted another painting, “is this a building? You cannot tell what the subject is. Is it supposed to be a church? One cannot be sure.”
Tara drew nearer. “If you squint your eyes a little the individual elements come into focus. That’s the Cathedral of Rouen. Monet did a series on it. These kind of paintings will be worth millions in the future.” She picked up the canvas he’d just discarded and held it up for him to see. “And this one you called an explosion of feathers is a tree flowering in the spring.”
Adrian grunted and stared at the random white and pink splotches of paint against a center of dark winding black tendrils. “It is not a precise interpretation of a tree.”
“No,” Tara agreed, “but this is the heart of Impressionism. You paint what you see in a quick glimpse—no details—just quick brush strokes of light, form and color.” She also began to pick through the canvases. A small square painting drew her eye and she picked it up. “Oh, a sunset over the river.” She loved the vibrant orange and yellow tones of the clouds and setting sun against the cobalt blue river. Streaks of orange were reflected in the river and highlighted the black outlines of fishing boats. “I’ll buy this one from him for our …”
A noise came from the smaller room. Adrian set the painting down. He shoved her behind him and drew out his pistol. “Who is there? Show yourself.”
Terror rose within her as a shadow slithered past them. The sick feeling of being in the presence of something malicious made Tara’s mind go blank.
The shadow became a man. Or rather, a Darkling Fey male with black, leathery wings hanging over its shoulders like a dark cloak. It looked demonic with pale, ash gray skin, nearly black eyes and equally inky, long hair. It gazed directly at them with a sneer of pure malevolence.
Tara screamed. Adrian fired his pistol at the creature.
It, or rather he, hissed at them. Blood trickled from his right wing, just above a bare muscular shoulder. He was shirtless, dressed in black pants, and equally black boots. “Why are you here?” The deep, throaty voice reverberated in the room.
“We could ask you the same,” Adrian retorted, seeming to have no fearful response as Tara experienced. “Why are you in our friend’s apartment? He didn’t invite you here.”
“He invited us in when he accepted our gift. He drank it, all of it. And now you will die, you and that wretched fey female who mingles among your inept race like a bitch in heat.”
The dark fey rushed at Adrian. The creature’s gray fingernails extended into talons, as if he meant to tear her husband apart with those awful claw-like hands.
Adrian dropped the carpet bag and tossed his spent pistol to the floor. It only had one shot. He kept Tara behind him. Quickly, he feinted to one side. Inching to the black stove, her husband grabbed a fire poker that leaned against it. Adrian moved back again in an extremely elegant, fluid movement for one who required a cane to walk. Tara realized in that second that he had left his cane at home.
He was intent upon keeping Tara behind him as he held the poker up before him like a sword.
The dark creature rushed at him, making an inhuman snarl of triumph.
The sound of shattering glass filled the room as the window imploded against the weight of another large, winged creature.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Glass flew everywhere. Tara ducked and lifted the small painting over her face to protect her eyes. The shower of jagged shards made tinkling noises as they hit the wood floor.
She peered out from her shield of canvas to see Mick roll up from the floor and unto his feet with his wings fully spread. He lunged at the frightening creature, grabbed it beneath the arms from behind to restrain it just as Adrian struck the curved iron poker against the darkling’s breast. The poker didn’t have a sharp tip. It was curved at the end and had a bar formed at a right angle. All her husband could do was hold the man at bay with the poker end.
The dark one shrieked. His flesh reddened and sizzled where Adrian’s weapon touched it. Her husband withdrew it from the Fey’s skin and then pressed it flat again in another spot. Another mind piercing shriek and the smell of burning skin chilled her blood. Tara’s gaze remained on the two fey men as her heart threatened to claw its way free of her chest in panic.
The hissing demon-fey twisted himself free of Mick’s grasp and turned to confront him.
Mick—with his lovely white swan’s wings extended looked like an archangel ready to take on Lucifer. The fey men collided with hissing and snarls of fury. They moved so fast Tara saw only a blur of white and black wings as the warriors toppled the meager furnishings in their attempt to destroy one another.
Her brother managed to corner his enemy. He stood with his back to them, shielding Adrian from the vile creature. Blue energy flashed from Mick’s hands and arced up in a brilliant flash before hitting his intended target. The dark fey screeched as the jolts of power stung his flesh, and retaliated in kind. Mick hissed, and rolled quickly to escape the dark one’s energy punch. It
barely missed him, but singed the tip of his wing. The wall behind him was scorched black. The agony on her brother’s face told her the jolt was powerful enough to cause pain.
As the fey men fought, Adrian found another iron poker near the black stove, a pointy one with an arrow-like tip. Raising it like a spear in both hands, he moved in to help Mick. While Mick circled the intruder with slow sidling steps, keeping its attention on him instead of them, Adrian stabbed the thing in the back, pushing until the tip emerged from his chest.
The horrible screeching the creature emitted made Tara recoil and cover her ears. Nightmarish images rose up at the nerve shredding sound. She pressed tight into the corner, unable to move as terror left her frozen like a statue.
The room became silent. She clutched the painting to her chest like a shield and opened her eyes. Adrian pulled the iron stake from the creature’s back and edge away warily.
His target dropped to the floor, rasping, struggling for breath. It rolled over with dark eyes gazing up at the ceiling, and fangs—yes fangs—dripping with blood, its own blood.
Mick stood over the creature and placed his booted foot on his adversary’s throat. “Nobody touches my human or my baby sister, you evil piece of shite, no one!”
Nobody touches my human. Tara remembered uttering something similar when Mick had tossed Dan across the room like a pillow. The emotionally charged declaration had come from someplace primitive and deep within her. And from Mick as well, it appeared.
Mick pressed his boot into its throat to emphasize his point. It moaned and snarled, the long fingers reaching up to claw at the air near Mick’s leg, but the fight was definitely leaving it.
It? Tara shook her head, wondering where that had come from. To her, this was another monster like the nightmare creature who ruined her childhood. Yes, it!
“Come, now!” Mick grasped Adrian’s arm with one large fist, and held out his hand to her. “We must return to our lair before his comrades come to rescue him. Tara, come to me!”
Tara grabbed the carpet bag. She tossed it to Adrian, and was surprised to find she still clutched the small canvas painting of the orange sunset. She clutched it under one arm and took Mick’s hand. Without warning, they were soaring up into the sky with him holding each of them firmly in a bear hug, pulling them with him. Adrian’s face grayed at the prospect of being transported by a winged man to safety.
Moments later, they landed on the rooftop of their apartment building, in the patio area George guarded and the brothers used as a landing pad. They nearly collided with Riley, who was sitting in a sort of yoga pose, his eyes closed.
Riley started suddenly, as if coming out of a deep sleep. “What’s happened?”
Mick let go of Tara and Adrian but hurried them to the opened hatch door with his palms firmly on their backs, like a father herding his children to safety. “We’ve been attacked,” he threw over his shoulder at his brother. “Hurry, get inside. More may be coming.”
Tara and Adrian climbed down the ladder, Riley followed, and finally Mick came inside behind them and closed the steel door firmly. Tara saw him draw another sigil in the air as purple dust floated from his fingertip and adhered to the inside of the trapdoor. His feathers were still out, but retracted like a feathered cloak behind him.
Adrian stood clutching the carpetbag to his chest, and the painting she had been holding until a few seconds ago. He looked as if he would be ill at any moment. Tara placed her arm through his, and led him down the stairs to their own apartment.
Once they were safe in their own lodgings, Tara locked the door, leaned against it, and gazed up at her bewildered spouse with eyes burning.
“I’m sorry. I should have done something back there. I should have protected you.”
Tara struggled to contain those annoying tears. They betrayed her weakness, her fear. She had to make Adrian understand she wasn’t a helpless female.
And yet, in those frightening moments when the Darkling Fey confronted them, she had been just that, helpless, almost ready to wet herself in her terror.
“Shhh, my sweetling.” He set the carpetbag and the painting on the floor and came to her. “You were frightened, no one blames you for that.”
“I blame me,” Tara whispered, as the stinging behind her eyes was relieved by a sudden waterfall racing down her cheeks. “They took me, when I was very little. A Darkling Fey male swooped down from the sky and snatched me up while I was playing on the beach. They stole me away from my mother.”
“I heard your brothers talking about it before, sweetheart.” Adrian cupped her cheeks in his hands and gazed into her eyes. “You were but a wee girl.”
“I’m going into the bedroom. I need some time alone.” Tara stepped away from him and retreated before Mick came downstairs to scold her for her inaction.
Adrian wanted to follow her, to comfort her. He took two steps toward the closed bedroom door when Mick entered the room behind him.
“How did you do that?” he turned to confront the man. “The door was locked.”
“A trifle.” Mick’s mood was dark as he searched the room for his sister. “Where is she?”
“Leave her be. She’s upset.”
“Aye, we all are!” Mick stalked about the room with his hands fisted at his sides. His skin was turning blue, a sure sign he was seething with fury. He crept to the window, but not too close to the panes, and peered out at the skies. With a quick jerk, he closed the curtains against the gathering twilight and turned around. “They’ll know we’re here now. Whose bloody stupid idea was it to go out and confront one? Can none of you stay put where I tell you to? Jaysus, I leave and everyone scatters off like rats to parts unknown.”
“What do you mean, everyone?” Adrian didn’t like the sound of that. “We told Dan to stay with Mr. Bellows while we went to his apartment.”
“Aye, and he took off shortly after you left. And why in a pixie’s hell would you be going off to that place alone?”
Adrian didn’t like this side of Mick. The man—er—fairy—had always been amiable before they came here. Now he was giving orders like a major in an army camp. At one time Adrian had been the one in charge as Captain Midnight and Mick followed his orders.
“How is she?” Mick asked, his voice gentling and his skin returning to the pale alabaster shade of normal.
“Upset!” Adrian was not in the mood for this. He wanted to be with Tara, but she’d withdrawn from all of them. “What do you expect? She was terrified. It brought back the memory of her abduction years ago.”
A quick nod was all Mick gave, but his agreement in the matter relieved Adrian. He didn’t want to argue with the fellow.
“What do we do now?”
The tall, silver haired fey glanced about the room with uneasiness. He seemed to be listening for something outside. He kept cocking his head this way and that. After a few moments, he seemed satisfied by the quiet. “Come, across the hall. I don’t like leaving Bellows unguarded. They’ll be looking for him as well. He was one of their experiments.” Mick was at the hall door in a blur, moving too fast for Adrian to follow his progress. All he saw of the man was a blur as he moved from the window to the door. Adrian had no choice but to follow him.
As they entered the hall, Dan’s heavy feet were heard clumping up the stairs.
Mick paused, and then groaned when he saw that Dan had Miss Tisante in tow.
Adrian was startled by her disordered appearance. She was always neatly coiffed and fluffed up to attract any males in the vicinity. As they reached the top of the stairs, he could see the woman had been crying hard for some time.
“What happened? Has a family member passed on?” he asked politely.
The disheveled woman shook her head, but did not elaborate on her difficulty. “Lord Dillon,” she sniffed, making a light curtsey as she lifted her night robe.
Adrian shot Dan a lethal glare. At least he hoped it was lethal.
What had the big ox told her about them?
“I will be across the hall,” Mick stated with impatience. “Meet me there quickly, and bring Dan, but not the female.” With that, Mick disappeared into his own apartment.
Adrian followed the pair into his lodgings, determined to find out what Dan revealed about them to the woman. Hopefully he had enough sense to leave out time travel, and fairies.
“Sacre Bleu, it must be true.” Miss Tisante turned about in a circle, wide-eyed with astonishment at the changes in the furnishings. She stepped forward to touch the mahogany table that replaced the old, rutted and weathered one she remembered from former visits. She whirled about quickly, right into Dan’s form. He reached out to steady her, and in that one look between them and the silly grin on Dan’s face Adrian knew they were lovers.
“Where is Tara?” Dan asked, suddenly looking ill at ease as he caught Adrian’s displeasure. “Gisele needs our help.”
“Tara is in our bedchamber. She wishes to be alone, understood?” He glowered at the big man. If Dan told her he was an Irish viscount, then he’d impose his will on them just as he could back home. “And Mick wishes us to come across the hall, just you and I.”
“Right then,” Dan mumbled. He took Miss Tisante by the elbow and led her across the room to his bedchamber door. “You can rest in there or you can make some tea for yourself in the kitchen. I’ll just be across the hall. Do as his lordship says, don’t disturb my girl. I’ll be back in a little while, sweetheart.”
Miss Tisante nodded shyly, and looked at Adrian with big cow eyes. She seemed to have suddenly realized she owed him a certain respect due to his title. Well, it wasn’t too long ago that he’d been accustomed to such deference from those about him. It reminded Adrian that he did have a rightful place in this world, despite their current setback regarding funds. He nodded to her and left them.
Once in the hallway, he lingered, waiting for Dan to join him there. He wanted to know what was going on with the pair of them. More importantly, he wanted to know why Dan brought her upstairs when her apartment was perfectly convenient for their trysts.