by S A Archer
“I doubt you can count on the goblins.” Tiernan dug out his cell phone. “Or the Changelings.”
“Do what you can. We’ll want a good variety at the very least.” Turning to Malcolm, Donovan asked, “Have you seen what’s to come?”
The young man shook his head. “I didn’t even see this, really.” He lifted his chin toward the enchantment. “I just followed where the magic wanted to go.”
When Malcolm initially encountered one of the artifacts, he’d said that the magic had chosen him. That it sung to him. And the magic of the ancients had needed the lad’s abilities to manifest into the enchantment that it had become. A seed for a realm, ready to burst forth into life. For this, the bloodhound had been the perfect tool.
Now that the creation of the realm was upon them, the magic had chosen another to stand at its heart. To be the Creator, as Danu had been the Creatrix of the Mounds.
The Mounds, formed from just a fraction of the matrix required for a true realm, hadn’t destroyed Danu. In the aftermath, she’d been much as she had been before. A Sidhe, with all the flaws of their race.
This time, it would be different.
This time, the Creator wouldn’t survive.
Focusing on what yet lay before them, Donovan told Malcolm. “The fey we gather will stand upon the platforms at the ends of those branches. The enchantment will require an abundance of power. No unconnected fey will survive the draw on their magic.” He directed the young man’s attention to the ground below them. “Do you see the ley lines? See how the fey magic reaches right up beneath your feet?”
Malcolm glanced down. “Yeah.”
“Anyone who is not yet connected will need to be linked to the ley lines. Check everyone. Got it?”
“What about me?” Willem piped up. His large, expressive eyes glinted with worry.
Malcolm scrunched his face at the Scribe like he thought the lesser fey wasn’t all that bright. “You’re already connected.”
“No.” Willem shook his head adamantly. “No, I’ve never done any ritual. Not ever.”
With a gesture towards the ground, Malcolm insisted, “You have a thread to the ley lines. A strong one. You’ll be fine.”
“What? What?” The Scribe’s eyes grew even wider. “How?”
Donovan interrupted, “How long have you lived outside the Mounds?”
“I served in Danu’s temple for three centuries.” Willem puffed out his chest.
“Yeah,” Malcolm said. “You’ve been connected to the ley lines for ages then.”
Willem blinked. “You mean… I wasn’t in danger of Fading?”
“Nope.”
“You mean… I could have been using magic all along?”
“Yep.”
The Scribe made an incredulous squeak.
Forming a circle between his forefinger and his thumb, Malcolm added, “Like this big around. But that’s nothing like the pipeline of power Donovan has. He’s hung like a mule.”
“What?” Donovan twisted around.
Malcolm blushed. “I mean, magically speaking.”
Chapter Fifty-Three
Kieran could have been posing for a photo shoot with his casual manner and his brilliant good looks. He wore those jeans and polo like they’d been designed for him, accentuating the width of his shoulders and the length of his legs. Somehow his short brown hair looked both professionally styled and finger-combed at the same time. Kieran’s hard gaze leveled against London without mercy, making her heart race. And not in a good, hot-guy-is-watching-me kind of way. More like a caught-in-the-act way.
Blast. No way London could get past him without starting a scene.
Ignoring him in the hopes that he’d return the courtesy, London munched on her scone. With the casual pace of a window-shopper, she wandered down the street and glanced at everyone and everything but the Sidhe whose attention she felt like a prickling over the back of her neck.
“What did you want with Kaitlin?” Kieran’s deep and musical voice rolled over her senses like a purr.
Firming up her resolve, London faced Kieran. Yeah, he was dead-sexy, but then, all of the Sidhe were. They wore their beauty like a Glamour, making it a challenge to see past to the real person within. Manannan was flat gorgeous, too, and yet London knew something slippery and venomous lay beneath. When she looked beyond Kieran’s pretty face, she saw someone determined and protective. The way he glared at her she knew he wasn’t going to buy into any of her excuses. Not after everything they’d been through. “I just wanted to chat with her.”
“She wasn’t at the hostel last night.” Kieran said.
And she wasn’t sure she could believe him. “When you see her again, can you let her know I’m looking for her?” Dismissively, she turned from him, heading for the tent where she might find Willem.
Kieran’s hand caught her elbow. The Sidhe towered over her, but London lifted her chin as if not intimidated by his height. Lugh was taller yet than Kieran, and she didn’t back down from him either. “Were those the same wolves?”
He didn’t need to clarify. London knew what he asked. Even still, she hesitated, anticipating his anger. “Yes,” she said simply, remembering the night when she and Kieran had run from the werewolves. They’d saved each other from death that time. Just like they’d protected each other last night at the club. Funny how that kept happening. How they helped each other when the chips were down, but couldn’t have a conversation without fingernails-on-a-chalkboard tension.
Kieran didn’t respond, but a muscle twitched in his jaw.
After a moment, London twisted from him. If she couldn’t speak with Kaitlin, she at least wanted to chat with Willem before Lugh caught up with her.
But as she walked, the feeling of Kieran so close beside her warmed against her. She cut a look back. Yeah, he was just a pace or so behind her. “Are you chaperoning me?”
“Someone has to keep an eye on you.” Kieran replied without any humor.
“Why?” She turned, walking backwards and shrugging.
“Because you’re still dangerous.” And the bloke meant it, by the scowl on his face. “Malcolm is in that tent.” He dropped that like a bomb.
London halted. Her determination faltered. The young man wanted to kill her. Donovan had lifted his death sentence on her, and even granted her protection during the treaty with Lugh. She wasn’t altogether sure Malcolm would honor that.
“You hurt him,” Kieran hissed, leaning closer and jabbing his finger at her. “I don’t know how. He can’t even talk about it. But you hurt him. I can’t let you go on hurting him. It’s bad enough he has to put up with you being around.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt him.” London refused to back down. She blurted, “I didn’t even know I was hurting him. I didn’t understand anything back then. It was all new to me. All I knew was that I hurt so bad inside and his Touch made the hurt stop. Like your Touch made it stop. Even if for just a little while.” Kieran didn’t say anything to that, so she barreled forth. “It kills me sometimes, what I became when I was cursed and alone. But I am not that person any more. If somebody… anybody… would have helped me, none of that would have happened. Malcolm… the temple… you… none of it.”
“And so you hooked up with that Seelie?” He said it like an accusation. “He’s psycho!”
“He wouldn’t have gone all nuts if Malcolm had not poisoned him with dark magic. He’s free of that now.” None of that was secret, so she wasn’t betraying Lugh to admit it. It was true enough, even if she omitted certain details. London flicked a hand back toward the beach house from where she’d come. “Lugh saw my potential. Saw that I was more than the sum of my mistakes. And just like you’d do anything for Donovan, because he saved you, I’d do anything for Lugh, because he saved me.”
That hit home. Kieran even flinched a little. “You’re serious?”
“I am the shield at his back and the staff by his side, and I will defend my patron, right or wrong, until my death.” Recalling the words of her oath warmed the enchantment within her soul and made the golden sun symbol, Lugh’s symbol, glow on her necklace. The feel of him welled within her, filling her once more by the invocation of his bond. The purity of his light, of the sun on the most perfect summer day, of the warmth of compassion and bravery that she knew was the true essence of Lugh filled her. London’s hand covered the charm. The power of the pendant renewed her conviction and reminded her of the man Lugh really was.
At least… who he had been, before Manannan got his claws into him.
She didn’t need to speak with Kaitlin or Willem to know her patron. She carried a piece of him with her, always.
“You really believe that?” Kieran snapped her out of her revelation.
“It’s in the handbook.” London slapped it against Kieran’s chest and his hands curled around it. He could have it, since she’d already memorized everything inside. Besides, maybe he’d learn something. Maybe, some day, he’d cut her some slack.
“Detaining my druidess?” Lugh’s amused voice wasn’t completely friendly, but London wasn’t sure Kieran caught the inflection of threat in the Seelie’s carefully crafted manner. His strong arm slipped around her middle, drawing her back against his torso in that possessive way of his. The flat of his hand rested over her stomach, claiming her without show of force. His personal scent of heather on a hot, summer day surrounded her as he embraced her.
Kieran got the message and backed off. “Just chaperoning.”
“Then perhaps you can see your way clear to escorting us to this artifact puzzle?” Lugh mused, challenging the younger man to deny him with the most pleasant and courtly of tones.
Dawn, the young Sidhe woman Lugh had entertained the night before, slipped between the men. “Donovan asked that Lugh meet him there. It’s ok. I’ll show them the way.” She dismissed Kieran with a reassuring grip on his wrist, though Kieran didn’t look the least soothed by it. He let them pass though, and came into step behind them as Lugh collected London’s hand and followed Dawn into the great tent.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Escorted by Dawn, Lugh entered the canvas cathedral with reverence. His steps slowed to allow each second to be consumed with the fullness of the discovery. Nothing in the building itself bore any decoration that denoted the importance of this place. Had the Seelie created such a monumental construction as the so-called ‘artifact puzzle’ they would have commissioned artisans to gild the hall that housed it. Statues and filigree and garlands and murals would have festooned the hall. But lacking such lush decor, he could fully appreciate the magical construct without extraneous distractions.
And right now, he wanted nothing more than to absorb this moment and fix it forever in his memory.
Slowly, the magicraft rotated about its center. Light streamed from it, painting everything with a golden hue. Lugh felt enraptured in the presence of the magic, like it might raise him from the ground with its power. He caught glimpses of the artifacts in the magical construct, but only just barely. The magic itself was like a giant mechanism, but organic in its construction. And in the very center a singular void.
That was where Manannan would stand, bringing this construct to fruition, spawning a realm from his very self.
When the timing was auspicious, he would bring the god of magic here to claim his rightful place in the heart of the new fey realm.
Lugh reached out a hand toward the magic, desiring to caress it more than the sleek fur of a panther or the silk of Rhiannon’s skin.
“No!” The feral perceiver leapt before him, his knife out and brandished sideways like a barrier and a threat. “Don’t you touch it!”
Lugh glanced down at the young man, knowing he could disarm him or fling him aside by magic.
But Donovan gripped Lugh’s shoulder in warning. “Don’t disturb the magic.”
Loathe to see the thing come crashing down by his greed for it, Lugh withdrew his outstretched hand.
Donovan steered Lugh away from the magic. “It will destroy you as you are.” He nodded to Malcolm.
The lad jammed his knife back into the sheath on his thigh. Then he crouched down and made a gathering motion with his hands.
Donovan continued. “You’ll need to connect first.”
“Connect?” Lugh’s brows furrowed, as he gestured to the grand magicraft towering over them. “When within this day I will be a part of a new fey realm? Why should I soil myself with this realm’s magic even for just a day?”
“It’ll eat you whole, elsewise.” Malcolm said, “Suck all your magic out and make you unravel into nothing.” And then the lad moved with speed and purpose, shoving his palm up from the ground and impacting Lugh dead in the chest.
The sudden impact of energy knocked Lugh off his feet. The ground caught him, driving his breath from him and making his head swim in a sea of stars. In a massive rush, the influx of magic needled every inch of Lugh’s body. Like a dried branch suddenly infused with life-giving sap, Lugh felt his very self, which had withered and cracked and found respite in poisonous magics, expand with fresh life.
It bloody hurt.
When the dizziness subsided, Lugh rolled up to his knee. He glared daggers at the boy.
Malcolm backed away a step, done with his violation and satisfied with it. “Now it will pull the magic through you, like a tube. And not suck you up.”
Lugh gripped at his heart, as if he might wrench the offense from his chest. He snarled at the perceiver. “Feral, Unseelie knave!” He lunged.
Donovan hooked his arm around Lugh’s in mid-swing, blocking him from the rogue he would have throttled. “You had to connect. You know it.”
“And you could have done this at anytime?” Lugh accused. “If it is so essential.”
“We wouldn’t have let you die.”
“But you kept me weak!” Lugh shivered with the disgust of the foreign magic invading him. “This is not fey!”
“It’s not pure fey, but it’ll do.”
Lugh pointed to the artifact puzzle. “The one who stands in the center should be pure fey!”
“You can’t stand there.” Malcolm snapped at him. “Would you kill us all? Make the new realm a sun that’ll burn us all up?”
As Lugh stood there, arm extended, Donovan clasped his hand around Lugh’s wrist with a metallic clicking sound. Lugh snatch back his hand at the familiar and instant burn of silver. “What are you playing at?”
“Did you think I didn’t notice you sidling up next to Dawn and Bryce?” Donovan’s molten glare flicked to the healer, who cringed, before aiming it back to Lugh. “Did you imagine that I didn’t notice you teleporting at the club?”
“I know you serve Manannan. I know your slippery Seelie ways.” Donovan snatched Lugh’s wrist and jerked it upward between them, so the silver glittered in the light. “It will take a few hours for your magic to adjust to the ley lines. During that time you won’t leave this island and you won’t speak with your king.”
Lugh snatched back his wrist. Should he deny his king? Should he deny his very purpose? “Do you think this waif can stand in the center? The magic will rip him apart, and destroy us all!”
“You will do as you are told. You will do as you agreed to do. This is not open to discussion nor debate.” Donovan dismissed him with a flick of his head, his stance threatening more.
Digging at his wrist, Lugh stormed away. The single silver cuff burned dully against his skin. Closed too tightly, he couldn’t slip it over his hand. A fury close to his darkness burned beneath the surface, but it wasn’t that. It wasn’t the beast. Something un
settled twisted within him, gnawing at him. Almost never in his life had Lugh felt so uncontained. So out of control. The Seelie disguise evaporated like mist, leaving him raw and vulnerable. Was it the polluted magic of the ley lines? He imagined the impurity of it like sludge sliming through his veins. All his life the magic of the Mounds, which flowed through Danu, sustained him. And Danu had been as Seelie as he. This magic in him now wasn’t Seelie. Wasn’t even fey. At least not purely fey, which was the only reason he could fathom that he should feel like this.
That Donovan had seen through his disguises and known his purpose infuriated Lugh. But that alone didn’t have him wanting to shred open his chest. Even the foreign magic of the earth realm shouldn’t cause his control to fray so completely. Whatever it was, he couldn’t control himself. Until he could, until he had his Seelie nature armored once more about him, he couldn’t trust himself around others.
Besides, he needed to find another way to contact Manannan.
Chapter Fifty-Five
As Lugh stormed away, his long legs covered ground quickly. He heard London race to catch up with him and he snapped back in her direction, “Infuriating Unseelie!”
London managed to stay only half a pace behind, breaking into a full jog to match his walk. He cut through the heavy fey pedestrian traffic and she stayed in his wake. “But isn’t this what you’ve wanted?”
He flung up a dismissive hand. “After all I did! After all I sacrificed!” He came to a sudden stop, swinging around so fast London would have bumped into him if she hadn’t buffered herself with her hands against his stomach. “And that boy! That child! Telling me what part I am to play in the creation. I was always prepared to give everything for the fey.”