“You should not have come here,” he says, his voice soft. “You’re putting everyone here in danger.”
I flare up. “I’m not the one who started this whole invasion thingy,” I say, lifting my chin in defiance, even if he can’t see me.
The man’s lips quirk up. “I suppose you may be right about that.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Wait, haven’t I seen you somewhere before?”
The man stares at me with his blank eyes, motionless.
“You were there,” I breathe, bringing a hand to my mouth in shock. “The day Owen died, you were there, I saw you!”
The man nods. “My role is to observe and pay homage to the Almighty.”
“A Watcher?” I swallow back the tears that threaten to pour forth, then rub my blackened hands on my skirt. Take a deep breath, I remind myself, and think about the most pressing thing right now.
“Do you know where Puck went to then?” I ask.
The man raises a long-fingered hand and points to the back of the apple tree.
“Choose your path wisely, daughter of the Gibborim,” the man says, casting his eyes upward once more, “for the stones are being raised, and the gates shall soon be opened.”
“Will do,” I mumble, backing away. The guy is obviously batshit crazy to think of himself as a Watcher when he’s blind.
When I’m certain the man’s no longer paying attention to me, I turn around and hurry to the make-out hedge, where the wall of tree roots and branches rises up to meet me.
“Puck?” I call out, ducking under a low-lying bough.
The tree seems to recognize me, and a narrow passage opens up in the hedge of roots, leading into the ground. After a moment’s hesitation, I follow the twisted steps down until I reach the small chamber. The niche in which I’d found the strange bowl is now empty, and I feel a strange sense of loss at its disappearance.
“What are you doing?”
I flinch at the harsh tone before I realize it’s coming from beyond the door to the cellar, still ajar. Maybe Puck’s gotten caught causing some mischief or other.
I tiptoe to the door and peer through. All I can see is the first line of wine and beer casks that crosses the chamber.
“You shouldn’t even be down here!” the man continues, still angry.
I let out the breath I’d been holding. Whatever Puck’s doing, it doesn’t sound like he’s with Vivian right now—which means I’m back to square one.
“I wouldn’t if I didn’t have to,” another man answers derisively, his voice strangely familiar. “But circumstances, you know…”
I don’t know what pushes me to do it, but instead of going back up into the courtyard, I creep into the cellar.
“You’re not going to succeed,” the first man says. “You don’t even have all the ingredients.” A low laugh erupts.
I pause and peep between two casks. Ahead of me are two figures, the closest one with his back to me. The air between them seems to spark.
I squint at the man facing me, and my jaw drops open when I recognize him as Vivian’s lover.
I see him tense up, and, for a moment, I wonder if he’s heard me. But the man continues, “You should get out while you still can. The Board’s on its way, and your troops are already retreating. There’s nothing more you can accomplish here.”
“You’re wrong on that point, Myrdwinn,” the stranger says.
Myrdwinn? As in the school’s director? Impossible, this man’s young. Maybe it’s Myrdwinn Junior…
The stranger lifts his hand, and a black wave envelops the other man until he’s gone from sight. When the clouds of darkness finally dissipate, Vivian’s man is lying on the floor, immobile.
A tiny, furry hand grasps mine, and I almost squeal in terror. Heart racing, I realize it’s only Puck. He’s pulling me away from the scene, looking agitated. I start to follow him, but cannot stop myself from looking back at the two men.
I jerk back when I see a dark eye peering at me through the hole between the vats. I trip and hit my head on a draining valve.
With a muffled gasp, I sink to the floor as more and more of the man’s face comes into view, a face that’s been familiar to me all my life.
“There you are, Morgan,” Dean says. “I’ve been looking all over for you!”
Chapter 32
“Come, Morgan. It’s time.”
“Y-You can speak,” I whisper, too terrified to move, let alone run away.
“Of course I can speak,” Dean says. “It’s fascinating how much people will say in your presence when they think you’re mute. As if not speaking means your mind’s defective.”
My brain balks at what his presence here means. “But you hate water,” I say.
A chuckle shakes Dean’s shoulders. “A great way to easily keep my cover all these years, don’t you think? Now come on, let’s get out of here.”
Ignoring his order, I stare up at Dean’s long face. Our family lawyer, my own knight in shining armor, has been a fake all along?
I swallow with difficulty, my throat dry and raw as sandpaper. “And you can manipulate elements.”
“Please,” Dean says sarcastically, striding around the barrels of wine until he’s feet away from me. “Have you ever seen me wear one of your paltry devices?”
My eyes widen. “F-Fey?” I whisper, almost too scared to let the word out.
“Bingo. I always told Irene you could be quite bright when you chose to. Well, ‘told’ isn’t the exact word, but you know what I mean.”
“You can’t be,” I say, the shock still impeding my neurons. “Fey can’t withstand the touch of iron…You couldn’t have been able to live with us, drive…take a plane.”
“It’s called a seal, Morgan,” Dean says. “I thought you knew all about those.”
“But you saved me,” I say, louder, still trying to make sense in a world that’s disintegrating before my very eyes.
All those memories of my time growing up in Europe, being shuffled from one boarding school to the next. But Dean had always been there to pick up the broken pieces and set them right again, to tell me that everything was going to be all right, that I had nothing to worry about.
“You even got me out of jail!”
Dean’s eyebrows rise high over his dark eyes. “Of course I did,” he says. “How else would I bring you here? Now enough with all the questions, and get up.”
A terrifying thought strikes me like a well-sharpened ax. I bite hard on my lip to stop it from trembling.
“The murders…was that you?”
“Not directly, no,” Dean says with an exasperated sigh. “Now get the hell up and follow me.”
“No.” I sink farther into the wine barrel behind me, as if it’s going to swallow me up.
His hand strikes out, tiny dark bolts of lightning firing out. I scream and raise my arms over my face. Pain shoots down from my shoulder to the tip of my fingers, and I hear Dean curse. Breathing hard, I slowly lower my arms to palpate my body, looking for any hole or missing limb. Instead, I find Dean leaning heavily against the wooden casks behind him.
“You will come with me,” he says, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth. “Whether you like it or not.”
“Or else?”
“There is no else,” Dean says, grabbing me by the arm and forcing me to my feet.
“Let. Me. Go,” I say, struggling against his hold.
My shoulder, still aching from my fight with the banshee, hurts like I’ve been stabbed with a red-hot poker. A spasm sends goose bumps down my arm, and, to my surprise, I see Dean wince.
“I said to come along nicely,” he mutters.
Without letting me go, he raises his other fist and clocks me in the face. My vision goes momentarily dark. I feel Dean catch me before I collapse on the floor, then fling me over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes.
I try to move, resist some more, but my whole body feels like someone’s pulled my plug. As if through foggy lenses, I see Puck
scutter away behind Myrdwinn Junior’s prone body, and I remember I have yet to give Vivian the message. Then Dean makes a sharp turn, and I lose them both from sight.
My body swings back and forth with every step Dean takes, sending sparks of pain down my left arm. I hear Dean’s labored breathing as we make our way slowly up the stairs. The noises of battle greet us before we even reach the ground floor. My heart lurches inside my rib cage—what is going to happen to all these people?
“Morgan?”
I blink and look sideways at the indistinct shapes moving toward us from a side hallway. Though I can’t distinguish anyone’s face, Bri’s voice is unmistakable.
“Who are you, and what are you doing to Morgan?” Bri asks.
I want to tell her to stay away, warn her to take cover, but only manage a half-choked gasp.
I feel more than see Dean strike Bri down, the hairs on my body rising from the blast’s aftermath. I want to punch his back, scream Bri’s name, but the air feels like it’s gotten as thick as cream, and my movements get sluggish.
The cool air whips around me the moment Dean pushes the outside door, carrying with it the acrid smell of smoke coming from the burning forge and wharf. Without hesitation, he marches forward into the fray. Even in the midst of battle, the sounds of steel hitting sharpened bones, and of rattling explosions, seem dim.
I hear someone call my name, someone who sounds strangely like Arthur. I strain to lift my head. I think I see a gleam, hear the distinct though oddly distant sound of someone battering furiously at something, but then my head falls back against Dean’s dorsum, and I pass out.
◆◆◆
I wake up the moment I’m dropped into snow’s freezing embrace. I roll over and heave, my whole body shaking with the effort. Once I think I’m safe from fainting again, I sit up to see where we are.
I know we’ve reached the surface—the snow, bright sunlight, and the distant rumbling of cars make it obvious—but it’s not until I see Dean sitting against a tall stone that I realize where exactly.
“Island Park,” I croak. I blink as the sun’s reflection makes my eyes water. “Why are we here?”
But Dean won’t answer. He doesn’t move from his sitting position, and, upon closer inspection, I note the sweat beading on his pale features. His eyes are closed and his breathing labored. Could he be ill?
My first instinct is to go to him, like he’s always come to me in times of trouble. Then I recall the nightmare that’s still unfolding down below, and I decide against it.
Slowly, I get to my feet, my knees creaking, then take a long step away from the cairn and toward the shore, leaving deep imprints in the thick blanket of white. No boats can come here in this season, but perhaps the ice is strong enough that I can walk on the lake back to the city’s safety.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
The low voice sends shivers down my spine. I look over my shoulder; Dean’s eyes are open. He jerks his chin toward me, and I feel something brush against my legs before I hear the chilling laugh.
“Massster,” the banshee hisses, prostrating herself at his feet.
I nearly fall back down into the snow.
“Master?” I repeat. Dean is that creature’s master?
Using the standing stone behind him for support, Dean slowly gets up. It all starts to make sense now—that night I ended up fighting the banshee on this island, the reason he’d been the one to save me…
“You were here that night, weren’t you?” I ask, anger boiling in the pit of my stomach.
“Now you realize,” Dean says, avoiding my eyes.
I reel back. This isn’t possible. Dean—my Dean—in league with the banshee who’s been killing all these people? But pieces of the puzzle finally come together—how Ella tried to warn me, and then disappeared in the process…
“Ella,” I say, recalling the hunched-over shape in the yard. “You killed her too, didn’t you?”
“A necessary sacrifice for the freedom of a great one,” he says.
“You mean a degenerate man killer,” I say and have the pleasure of seeing anger flare on his otherwise expressionless face.
“You killed my father,” I murmur, feeling my eyes go wet.
Impassive, Dean looks at me for a long moment. He sways as he pushes himself away from the stone, toward me. The banshee rushes to his aid, but Dean shoves her away.
“You’re the one who got those Fomori in?” I ask, hating how my voice trembles.
“I needed a diversion,” Dean says. “And with the Board safely away, the plan seems to have worked, don’t you think?”
“A diversion?” I repeat. “To get all those people killed?”
Dean shrugs. “Nothing more than what they’re doing to us,” he says. “At least their deaths are quick. Much better than spending eons as a slave until your powers are so depleted you cease to exist.”
“And me? You tried to poison me!” I exclaim. “That’s why that cat was asleep when you brought me back inside, wasn’t it?”
The spilled bowl of milk, the insistence I drink that stupid hot cocoa of his…For some reason, this hurts me even more.
“Why me?” I whisper.
“You’re the missing ingredient,” Dean says simply. His dark eyes come to rest on my face, then slide down to my left shoulder.
He stumbles toward me, and I back away. “Stay away from me,” I say, looking between him and the dark cowl that covers the banshee’s deathlike look, “you and your gofer.”
“Trust me,” Dean says, “if there was a way around this, I would have found it.”
“Around what?” I ask, confused by his tone. Could he actually be sad about this? A spark of hope flickers in my chest; if Dean doesn’t truly want to hurt me, maybe I still have a chance to get away. I take another step back, feeling the ground slope gently down. “Why did you bring me here?”
“To fulfill your destiny,” Dean says.
And with a sudden burst of speed, he jumps to my side and grabs my arm, his thin fingers digging into my flesh. He jerks me after him.
“You’re hurting me,” I say, feeling woozy once more.
“It’ll be over soon,” Dean says through gritted teeth.
The banshee hovers around us, one moment pacing ahead of us, the next pushing me in the back to make me move faster.
“Are you going to kill me?” I ask.
Dean has us hurry toward the circle of stones until we’re standing in its center beside a small, oblong knoll that wasn’t here the last time I was on this cursed island.
“I have ffffinished the circle,” the banshee rasps.
I see that, where there had been seven stones before, there are now eleven of them forming a circle around us like a rough draft of Stonehenge. Dean lets go of my arm and strides to a wide gap in the circle.
“I see,” he says, his crisp voice reaching me over the whistling wind. The banshee’s gray form moves about Dean like a will-o’-the-wisp, excited.
“I did everything Massster asssked,” she says.
“Yes,” Dean says, reaching behind him, “but you missed a spot.”
I see something glint in his hands before it gets buried in the banshee’s tattered robe. A keening wail arises from the Fey. Her clawed hands reach out for Dean as she sinks slowly into the cover of snow in a gray heap.
“You’ve served me well,” Dean says before pulling his hand away.
If I had any food left in my stomach, I’d be throwing up right now. I know how horrible the banshee is, how she’s attacked me and those knights, how she’s left Percy on the brink of death. Yet…a small part of me can’t help but feel pity for the creature and the way she was used. Had it not been for Dean, would she still have committed all those atrocities?
Small tremors that rapidly increase in intensity shake the ground. As the wail turns into a howl of pain, I realize that the banshee’s struggling to dig out of a growing hole in the ground, her cla
ws raking through the snow uselessly.
“Massster!” she pleads.
A poem comes back to me from the depths of my memory, one Jack recited in the library before an ancient stele.
Four men to raise the stones their blood did shed…
A frisson runs down my neck—all those people reported disappeared, four in all.
Four Fey their essence over the cairn did spread…
And now this banshee, a Fey, is being fed to the earth to complete the circle—the circle that’s supposed to be a prison—thereby reversing the process…
My mind loses track of my surroundings, and, next thing I know, I’m lying in the snow next to the churning earth, pulling on the banshee’s bony arms. There’s a strange resistance, as if the ground’s sucking away at the banshee’s body, inexorably dragging her farther and farther down.
Dean’s hand grabs the back of my jacket and tries to haul me away.
“Stop it!” I yell, anger flaring through me.
Again, I feel that numbing pain shoot down my left arm from my shoulder. Dean lets me go with a curse.
“Come on,” I say, gritting my teeth as I pull harder at the creature’s arms.
With a sickening crunch, the banshee’s suddenly released, and we both tumble backward. The earthquake continues for a while longer, then slowly fades away.
Shaking my head, I look about for the creature. I find the banshee stretched out in her tattered cloak a foot away from me.
“Are you all right?” I ask, half crawling, half walking over to her.
The creature whimpers as I try to feel for a pulse, then snaps at me. I jerk my hand away, but not fast enough, as she claws down my side, tearing my jacket from collar to sleeve, nearly ripping my arm off in the process. The banshee then quickly pushes herself toward the lake, leaving a dark path of blood in the snow behind. Then, with a final gasp, she rolls over onto the frozen water, shatters the ice with one long talon, and sinks into the dark waters.
“You fool,” Dean says, panting.
He’s holding his right side like something’s bothering him, and for the first time in my life, I hope he’s in intense pain.
“What, did I foil your plans?” I ask, a self-satisfied smirk on my face.
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