by Ann Gimpel
“Shield us.”
Fionn cast a ward to encompass all of them. Their magic worked within the stone walls of their prison, but they’d been unable to project it outside. It was almost as if someone had woven heavy iron bands into more than just the portcullis. His body had grazed it on the way in, leaving a burn across his shoulders. At the time, he’d thought it a shade too easy to sneak into the dark gods’ lair.
Aye, and now I know why. They’d barely gotten inside the room when the portcullis dropped like a boulder, shaking the stones in the walls. Fionn had spun and called magic to halt the gate, but it hadn’t helped. He’d grasped it with his hands, and the iron had seared his palms. It had taken precious time and magic to Heal them.
Arawn drew an arm across Fionn’s back and pulled him close. “Thicken the ward. I doona wish to be overheard.”
“The dark ones had no problem penetrating Aislinn’s warding.”
Arawn made a sound between a snort and a grunt. “Mayhap because she used her body as a lure in the past and they learned the pattern of her energy. I will use mind speech. Betwixt that and your ward, we should be able to converse. Besides, the iron that dampens our magic should be a two-way street.”
“How so? If it weren’t so thick, we could blast past it.”
“Aye.” Arawn set his lips in a hard line. “Because ’tis so dense, ’twill help keep our conversation private.” He placed a hand on Bran’s cylinder. It flickered and brightened. “Afore I describe what is a verra chancy escape route, bear with me. What do we know about where we are?”
“When we try to cast magic beyond here to escape, it bounces back at us,” Fionn said.
“Aught else?”
“Even if you are successful freeing yourselves,” Gwydion said, “there is still the problem of breaking the enchantment that holds us within these cylinders.”
“One thing at a time,” Fionn muttered. His brow creased. “Would freeing you sever the enchantment and allow you to return to your bodies? Or is there something we’ve overlooked?”
“What do ye mean?” Arawn asked.
Fionn locked gazed with him. “Will breaking the enchantment free their astral selves from the glass chambers, or do we need to do something additional? I doona wish to miss anything.”
“If this were Earth, simply freeing us would fix things,” Bran said.
“I believe it is worth a shot,” Gwydion cut in. “I have a feeling I know what Arawn has in mind. You will do best unburdened with our essences.”
Fionn hadn’t stopped staring into Arawn’s dark eyes, but reading his thoughts was difficult. “What think ye?”
The god of the dead tightened his jaw. “If we pull enough magic to free them, we will surely alert Perrikus and D’Chel.”
“I’ve been wondering why we haven’t seen them yet,” Fionn muttered darkly.
“If ye work a spell atop another, it just might work,” Bran said. “That would free us at the same moment the two of you make a run for it.”
Fionn nudged Arawn. “Spill it. Once I know what ye have in mind, I’ll be better able to assess if we could pull both magics off.”
Dark hair fell across Arawn’s face as he leaned forward over both glass chambers. Even his mind voice was the barest whisper. “If ’tis only Fionn’s and my magic—”
“Nay.” Gwydion interrupted. “Ye need all our minds to ensure our best chance. Once we are free, Bran and I will return to our bodies—assuming they havena died and can still pull us back to them.”
“Right as usual.” Arawn sucked in a breath. “My plan was to use the paths of the dead. ’Tis my realm. They accept me.”
Fionn tightened his muscles until they threatened to cramp. He’d walked the halls of the dead—and more than once. They gave him the creeps. “How will we get there from here?”
“The dead are not of the Earth, as ye may think.”
Fionn clamped a hand around Arawn’s wrist. They were wasting precious minutes. “Then where?”
“The realm of the dead is everywhere. It knows no boundaries.”
Fionn pushed his tongue against his teeth in frustration. “That isna helpful.”
“The risk,” Arawn continued as if Fionn hadn’t said anything, “will be getting from here to there. I am not certain how the architecture of this particular border world fits with the country of the dead.”
“The risk,” Gwydion murmured, “is you would be trapped in an airless void until it squeezed the life out of you and forced you into the Dreaming forever.”
Fionn inhaled raggedly. “The odds?” he barked before realizing he’d spoken aloud.
Arawn shrugged. “I doona know. I have never tried to do this afore.” He spread his hands in front of him. “Surely at least fifty-fifty.”
Fionn wanted to scream that wasn’t good enough. He had Aislinn to consider. He owed her an apology—and a lifetime together.
Bran’s cylinder flickered. “Ye must decide quickly. I feel them closing on us.”
Arawn faced Fionn and clasped his forearms. “I wouldna have suggested it if I dinna believe it was almost our only chance. Otherwise, we sit like tethered pigs, awaiting the pleasure of the dark ones.”
“We could hold them off for a long time—”
“Aye, but not forever. ’Tis their world. We will weaken here over time.”
Fionn projected magic to search for Perrikus and D’Chel, but came up dry. It was a wonder Bran could feel them through the iron in the walls. Maybe it had to do with not being burdened with a body. He balled his hands into fists. Any chance was better than none. “All right. I’m in. Let us decide who will do what.”
“No decision to be made. We lay hands on the glass chambers so Gwydion and Bran can help. Ye must free them while I open a pathway for us. Is everyone ready?”
Fionn nodded.
“We begin now. Doona tarry. I canna feel beyond these walls, but I trust Bran.”
Fionn called earth and fire. Earth was sluggish, but fire responded with alacrity. Once he held a mix he was certain would be more than sufficient, he inundated Bran’s glass chamber. It shattered. The room brightened and Fionn did the same to Gwydion’s prison. Magic flashed so bright, Fionn shielded his eyes. The air sizzled, smelling like ozone.
“Say a prayer for them,” Arawn murmured. “They are off. Come on. Perrikus and D’Chel are nearly—”
“No nearly about it, Celt,” Perrikus snarled. “I am here. Whatever you have planned—”
“Is accomplished,” Arawn shrieked. He grabbed Fionn’s arm. A rush of magic buffeted his body and roared loud in his ears. Perrikus grabbed his other arm. For a long, awful moment, Fionn felt as if he were being ripped in half. Dark magic bombarded his body like a sledgehammer.
Wards. I need wards. Fionn poured fire into a shield to stymie Perrikus before D’Chel turned up to help.
“What are ye doing?” Arawn screeched into his mind. “I need your magic to get us out of here.”
“Trying to stay alive long enough to escape.” Fionn didn’t bother with mind speech. He didn’t have the power to spare.
Smoke rose from beneath Perrikus’s hand; the stench of burning flesh thickened. The dark god jumped back, nursing singed fingers. “Fucking Celt,” he growled and lunged for Fionn again.
“Now.” Fionn redirected everything he had into Arawn’s casting. A boom rocked him. The walls wavered and disappeared. “Christ, but that was close.”
Arawn’s hand clutching his arm tightened. “Och aye, we are just at the beginning. ’Tis a long journey from here to Earth. Link your mind to mine.”
A loud thunk jarred Aislinn from sleep. Disoriented, she bolted upright, eyes wide and staring, and gathered her wits. Rune was nowhere in sight. A glance at the window told her it was night, but she had no idea how long she’d been asleep. Was it the same day, or had she slept the clock round and then some? Her mouth was dry, her eyes gritty. She untangled herself from sheets and blankets and traveled the few steps to the bathroom,
where she stuck her hands under the tap and splashed cold water on her face. Cupping her hands, she drank some, too, and then powered her mage light so she could see.
Head a little clearer, she turned off the water and straightened. She was just about to pull magic to scan for what had wakened her when Rune burst into the room with Bella right behind him. The raven fluttered to the top of the door and curved her talons around it. “You need to come,” Rune said.
“Yes, and quickly,” the bird added.
“Why? What’s happened?” Aislinn’s heart sped up. She hoped her magic had replenished itself, since it was looking as if she’d need it. She grabbed her pants from off the floor, ignoring that they reeked of blood.
“Never mind those. Follow me.” Rune loped out the door and turned hard left and up the risers to the attic.
“Daughter.” Dewi’s voice sounded in her mind. “Gwydion and Bran are returned, but they are very weak. Link with me once you are next to them. I will do what I can to help.”
She may have brought me back from the border world, but it’ll be a cold day in hell before I link with her again. Aislinn vaulted up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Her mage light floated ahead of her to brighten the way. “Where are Fionn and Arawn?”
“I do not know the answer to that. Mayhap, if the other two do not slip into the Dreaming, they will have answers.”
“What’s wrong with Gwydion and Bran?”
“You’re wasting time. Hurry.” The dragon’s old, imperious tone was back in force.
Aislinn bit her bottom lip so hard it hurt. She catapulted through the door and took in a scene from hell. Fionn hadn’t described how the attic looked after the hybrids escaped, so she had no way of knowing what damage had happened then and which was new. Furniture was tossed about like wooden toothpicks. The walls had holes in them, and yellow ocher smeared the floor and open caskets. The stench was reminiscent of a charnel pit; she gagged and clapped a hand over her mouth. Fionn’s warding must have kept the smell from permeating the rest of the house. Thank God she’d only dismantled enough to get the door open for the animals. If the rest of the house smelled like this, there’d be no living in it.
Gwydion and Bran lay on the floor. Their faces were gray, eyes closed. Rune licked frantically at Gwydion. Bella pecked Bran’s head, but softly. Aislinn closed the distance and dropped to her knees. She laid her hands on Gwydion, sent her Healer gift into him, and ran into the same wall she’d found in Fionn when he lay unconscious beneath the Arizona prison where they’d found Slototh. She moved her hands to Bran and found the same barrier.
“They are closed to me,” she told Dewi and then mentioned that they felt the same way Fionn had when he’d retreated to the Dreaming, a last retreat for the Celtic gods. Once they barricaded themselves in, it took more magic than she possessed to get them out again.
“Damn it. I feared as much.” There was a long pause. “Um, would you trust me to link my mind to yours?”
At least she’s asking. Aislinn remembered the last time the dragon had linked with her. Dewi had used her body as a conduit so she could have sex with the Minotaur. A shudder ran down her back, right along with a tongue of flame. It had been the darkest, kinkiest sex she’d ever had, but it had eroded her faith in Dewi almost beyond repair. If Aislinn were totally honest, she hadn’t exactly forgiven the dragon for that particular betrayal.
“Daughter. Time is wasting. They sink farther from us with each passing moment.”
“I am standing by,” an unfamiliar voice said. “I will see that my mate doesn’t get out of line.”
Nidhogg.
“I hope I get a chance to know you better,” she told the Norse dragon. “I think I’d like you.”
“The MacLochlainn belongs to me,” Dewi protested.
“You’re wasting time,” Nidhogg pointed out.
“Daughter?”
“Oh, all right. But if you fuck me this time, Dewi, it will be the last time. MacLochlainn or no, you and I will be done.”
The dragon didn’t bother answering. She slammed into Aislinn’s mind, leaving her reeling from the impact. She blinked and tried to catch her breath. The dragon had such a rich bevy of memories from her thousands of years of life, it was hard not to get lost in her complex mind. Last time, she’d been inside Dewi’s body. This time, Dewi was in hers.
“Relax, child. Give me control of your body. If I have to fight you, it will dilute my magic.”
“Done.”
Aislinn unclenched her jaw and watched from the sidelines as her hands moved to Gwydion’s face. Magic blasted through her. Dewi’s power even brightened her mage light so it looked like a small sun. Her hands moved slowly down the Celtic god’s sides. More magic jolted through her at intervals. Color returned to the mage’s face, but so slowly that it was hard to notice at first. Aislinn thought she heard Dewi give a small phuff of satisfaction, and then her hands shifted to Bran.
It’s like being a conduit for a lightning rod. Because she hadn’t fought Dewi or used any of her own power, Aislinn wasn’t drained when the dragon abruptly withdrew.
“See.” Her tone was smug. “I didn’t harm so much as a cell in your body.”
Aislinn stared at Gwydion and Bran. They still weren’t moving, but at least she could see the rise and fall of their chests. “What do I do now?”
“They are back on this side of the Dreaming. Now you can Heal them.”
Aislinn thought she heard the dragon mutter about the MacLochlainn being brain-damaged, but didn’t rise to the bait. Rune and Bella had switched positions, with Rune licking Bran. She placed a hand on each of the Celts and sent magic spinning into them. Bran seemed slightly better, so she turned her attentions to Gwydion. Her Healer gift didn’t find anything particularly wrong within him, beyond scrapes and bruises. His mind had gone deep, though. It took a great deal of coaxing to persuade him to return.
Finally, his blue eyes—eyes so like Fionn’s they nearly stopped her heart—fluttered open. “Och aye, lass. Had I but known ’twas you…”
“Save it.” She turned to Bran.
It didn’t take nearly as long to lure him back to the surface. His coppery eyes crinkled in the corners as he smiled at her.
Aislinn rocked back on her heels. She was too anxious to be subtle. “Where’s Fionn?”
“Somewhere betwixt the border world, the halls of the dead, and here,” Bran replied.
Aislinn rolled her eyes. “That tells me less than nothing.”
“Sorry, lass. ’Tis all we know,” Gwydion said.
Rune padded over and licked her. Bella flapped to one of the caskets and perched on it.
Aislinn pushed to her feet and paced from one end of the attic to the other. Her feet were bare, so she watched where she walked. “Can we go after them?”
“I doona see where we will have much of a choice if they doona return fairly soon.” Gwydion flowed to his feet in one graceful, catlike motion. His tattered robes settled around him. He picked his staff up off the floor and turned for the stairs.
“Where are you going?”
“Downstairs to get something to eat.” The master enchanter looked over one shoulder and eyed her shrewdly. “Unless I miss my guess, ye could do with a spot of Healing as well.”
Bran shoved his blond hair over his shoulders and groaned as he pushed to his feet. “By the goddess, my entire body hurts. Is there any food made, lass?”
“When would I have had time?”
Dragon laughter shook the house. “That’s my Maclochlainn. Feisty as ever. Bet your eyes are on fire, child.”
“Stay out of my head, goddammit.”
“Lass.” Bran looked at her with an odd expression on his face. “It sounded like there were two dragons out there.”
She snorted. “There are. Dewi rescued Nidhogg from the border world.”
“Excellent news.” Gwydion clattered down the spiral stairs.
“Indeed.” Bran sprang after him.
“Why? What difference does it make?” Aislinn glanced down at herself and realized all she had on was a filthy shirt and blood-stained panties. She blew out an exasperated breath and followed the men and animals down the stairs. Her mage light looked dim now that Dewi wasn’t powering it.
She thought about trailing after them to the kitchen, but decided on a bath and clean clothes first. Gwydion and Bran could keep watch. It was obvious none of them were going anywhere until after they’d eaten. She had lots of questions, like what had happened to them in the first place and how the hybrids had escaped. Gwydion’s enthusiasm for Nidhogg’s freedom seemed a bit overboard, too.
Maybe, if I give them a few minutes, they’ll actually cook something. I can ask all the questions I want while I’m eating. She shut the bathroom door and turned on the water. Her heart and arms ached for Fionn. Her womb ached for the child that would never be. If it hadn’t been for her foolishness trying to take on D’Chel, she wouldn’t have been injured, she and Fionn would never have separated, and the baby would still be safe within her body.
Why couldn’t Fionn have been one of the ones to return? I need him.
She pushed her panties down her hips and rinsed out the blood-spotted rag she’d placed between her legs. If Fionn were lost to her, having his child would have been—
Stop! Just stop. I will never give up on finding him. Not until I know he’s beyond my reach.
She stepped into the half-full tub and pulled magic to warm the water.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN