Dark and Stormy: Phantom Queen Book 4 - A Temple Verse Series (The Phantom Queen Diaries)

by Shayne Silvers

  Where the fuck was he?

  I gasped suddenly as tentacles—as big and thick around as giant sequoias and covered in glistening silver scales—exploded up from the water like rockets.

  And…

  Began decimating Balor’s army in great, big, berserker swings.

  I blinked, trying to take in the screams, explosive geysers, and thunderous booms as the Kraken’s tentacles pummeled anything in its vicinity—which was a big fucking vicinity.

  This was…Whac-A-Mole on steroids.

  The difference in scope made the Fomorians—giants themselves—look like nothing more than ants scurrying from the wrath of a malevolent child. They tried to escape, but the waters of the Fae seas suddenly seemed to refuse to move as quickly, thickening just enough to make the Fomorians incredibly easy targets. Oberon, standing beside me, looked appropriately smug. I couldn’t blame him; he’d manipulated the situation perfectly.

  We watched the carnage for a solid minute, both speechless.

  But then it was Balor’s turn to wield the mallet.

  Oberon’s smirk vanished, replaced by open-mouthed horror as a deceptively thin beam of blue light shot out across the water, flitting across each of the Kraken’s tentacles, severing them one-by-one.

  The Kraken screamed—a sound so piteous and uncanny it threatened to drive us all to our knees.

  The severed limbs toppled into the water like calving glaciers, causing immediate forty-foot swells before the dismembered calamari slowly floated back up to the surface, the silver scales alone worth a king’s ransom. The Kraken fled, drawing its remaining limbs back under the water, trailing golden ichor that altered the surrounding waters and now left them looking as though they’d been made of molten gold.

  Combined with the broken pirate ships, dead sailors, and dismembered silver tentacles, it looked like a treasure hunter’s wet dream.

  Pun intended.

  “Damnit!” Oberon cursed, slamming his fist—suddenly much larger, claws clenched tight against his palm—down on the railing, splintering the wood. “What in Fae is that infernal light?”

  “Balor’s eye,” I replied, realizing Oberon had yet to see the leader of the Fomorians up close.

  The Goblin King, nearly as tall as I was now—taller if you counted the wicked-looking rack of antlers that had emerged from his head—flicked his gaze to the box in my hand.

  “No,” I replied. “He found a replacement. No idea where or how, but it’s powerful.” I didn’t bother explaining beyond that; I really had no idea what the eye was capable of at this point, other than what I’d seen. Regardless, it seemed as though Oberon’s strategy—clever though it had been—had failed.

  “How are we supposed to defeat something like that?” Oberon asked, his voice tinged with despair.

  I grunted. The Goblin King was right; no matter what the Fae tried—between his magic and the power of his bejeweled eye—Balor’s might far exceeded their own. Frankly, I knew exactly how that felt. But then, that’s why I’d made a deal for the real thing; it was time to fight Balor with Balor.

  I sniffed, once, then marched off.

  “Where are you going?” Oberon yelled.

  “To do what I should have done the moment I got here,” I called back, holding the box up in the air for him to see.

  A string of goblin curses erupted behind me. “That’s suicide!” he shouted, finally.

  I glanced back over my shoulder. “And?”

  The Goblin King had balled up his fists, eyes blazing. “And…we’ll cover you,” he snarled.

  I winked. “Who’s a good goblin?” I muttered, under my breath. “Ye are, aye ye are, Obie.”

  Hook helped me across to the deck of his ship, which hovered in the air alongside the USS Cyclops. “Took you long enough,” he quipped. “For a minute there I thought we’d miss out on the fighting altogether. Anyway, did you get it?” he asked.

  I held up the box, still swaddled in cloth. “Aye.”

  “You know, after seeing what happened to that monster, not to mention those ships,” Hook said, glancing out at the gilded sea, now cluttered with the shattered remains of ships and the glimmering limbs of a wounded Kraken, “I’d rather not see the Jolly Roger join the festivities.”

  I frowned. “Does that mean ye want to back out?” I asked.

  Hook snorted and looked me full in the eye. “Please. No, it means I’d rather we end this without my ship in pieces.”

  I grinned. “Ye know, for a villain, you’re alright.”

  Hook frowned. “Who says I’m a villain?”

  Thankfully, my aunts approached before I had to comment, strutting across the deck as if they owned the place. I turned at their arrival, wondering what they’d been up to while I was away, but was too surprised to ask once they stopped in their tracks, staring at me like I had something on my face. “What is it?” I asked, reaching up to brush my cheeks.

  “Somethin’ is wrong with ye,” Badb replied.

  “She means somethin’ is different,” Macha said, choosing the more diplomatic adjective.

  I frowned, wondering what they meant. Did it have something to do with why Oberon had refused to look me in the eyes? With the strange face I’d seen reflected back at me in the Winter Queen’s throne room? I shook my head, realizing it ultimately didn’t matter. Soon, Balor would be close enough to turn his attention to the skies, and I didn’t want to see what that replacement jewel of his could do to a pair of ships moored in the sky like sitting ducks. We needed to move.

  “I got the eye,” I said, changing the subject entirely.

  The sisters took a healthy step back.

  “That’s…nice,” Macha said.

  “Good luck with that,” Badb replied.

  I turned from one to the other, blinking in confusion. “Seriously? I need your help if I’m goin’ to use it,” I snapped, exasperated. “I have no idea what this t’ing can do, or how to wield it.”

  “Unleashed, his eye will kill everythin’ in its line of sight,” Badb said.

  Macha shrugged and nodded, as if Badb had told me all I needed to know.

  “Aye, but I need specifics,” I said, testily. “Like what’s its range? Its area of effect?”

  The two looked at me like I was speaking a different language.

  “I need to know how close I need to get,” I replied, speaking slowly, as if I were talking to someone hard of hearing.

  “Oh. Close,” Badb replied.

  “Aye,” Macha said. “The closer the better, I’d say.”

  I fought the urge to strangle my dear old aunties, the only family I had left.

  “Don’t worry,” Hook said, resting his good hand on my shoulder and squeezing. “I can get you close enough to count the teeth in his mouth. Just don’t blame me if he uses them to chew you up and spit you out.”

  “I hate all of ye,” I ground out. “I hope ye know that.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” Hook replied. “All hands! Let’s go!” he barked suddenly, standing so close his command made me jump. I stared daggers at his back as he headed towards the helm.

  “Ye seriously plan to go through with this?” Macha asked.

  “Ye know dyin’ won’t bring her back?” Badb said, after a moment’s silence. “The woman you mourn, I mean.”

  I hung my head. Jesus, where had that comment come from? As if I needed any more emotional baggage right now.

  “We were inside your head, too, ye know,” Macha said, reaching out to lift my chin. “We knew from the beginnin’ what ye were hopin’ might happen. That ye sought vengeance, but also oblivion.”

  I looked away, my face flushed. Not from embarrassment, but from exposure; the idea that they’d been privy to my innermost thoughts made me feel incredibly vulnerable. But—after taking a moment to collect myself—I turned back. “T’ings have changed,” I admitted.

  And it was true.

  I still felt like my heart had been torn out of my chest, but now that I’d ha
d a little time to process, I realized I had too much to live for to throw it all away. I had promises to keep, answers to find, and friends to save.

  Dying now would be incredibly inconvenient.

  Besides—on the off-chance Dez was waiting there on the other side—I couldn’t risk it.

  She’d fucking murder me.

  The sisters studied my face, then nodded as one—the symmetry of it still creepy as hell. “Alright, then we’ll help you,” Macha said.

  “Although I still t’ink this is a monumentally stupid idea,” Badb added.

  I scowled. “T’anks, I t’ink.”

  “Don’t mention it,” Badb said, with a wave of her hand.

  I sighed.

  Ain’t family grand?

  Chapter 42

  Together, we soared over the wreckage in the Jolly Roger, dodging the desperate attempts to bring us down by the small faction of Balor’s remaining army—their coral spears whistling past as the Jolly Roger flew by. Tired of sliding all over the deck, I’d tied a rope around my waist and attached myself to the rear mast near the helm. It wasn’t ideal, considering it limited my mobility, but at this point I was more focused on finding Balor than helping out the crew; since severing the Kraken’s limbs, the light emitted by his jeweled eye had been conspicuously absent. Did the damned thing need to recharge, or was he simply content for us to come to him before making his next move?

  A glance behind was all I needed to reassure myself that the USS Cyclops still trailed us—a steel titan in the skies, approaching like a dark cloud. I wondered, idly, why none of the other ships in Oberon’s fleet had been able to fly as these two could. Was it the pixies? As far as I’d seen, only the Goblin King’s ship had them onboard. And I knew that’s what powered the Jolly Roger—at least according to the story. Still, it seemed a little miserly on Oberon’s part, hoarding the power of flight for himself. But then, given the Goblin King’s unscrupulous nature, it made sense; it was easier to rule from a position of strength. Delegation was a double-edged sword like that, after all.

  “There he is!” Badb pointed, bringing me back to the task at hand.

  I swung around, following the line of her arm, and finally spotted the bastard. He stood at the threshold between the mortal realm and Fae, arms casually at his sides as if waiting for us to approach. I gripped the railing, wondering what the hell he was playing at—but then I saw it. Beyond the Gateway, perhaps a mile out to sea, a wave was coming. And not just any wave. This was a wave so large it would pour through the Gateway like a flood, wiping out everything before it, including us.

  I watched as Balor raised his arms and saw the breaker climb even higher behind him, the tip of the swell now well out of sight beyond the arch of the Gateway. Too late, I realized his plan. He’d drawn us close for this very reason; the USS Cyclops was far too bulky to climb fast enough to avoid it, and the Jolly Roger—which was even closer—would only survive if we took immediately to the clouds, but by then it wouldn’t matter. We’d be the only ones left, and Balor would have little trouble blowing us out of the sky the moment we descended.

  “What’s the plan?” Hook yelled, clearly coming to the same conclusion. We had to decide now, before the wave got any closer, whether to climb or run. Badb and Macha exchanged looks, while I desperately tried to find a third option.

  “Head straight for the wave,” Macha yelled.

  “Do suicidal tendencies run in your family?” Hook asked, gaping at me with wide eyes.

  “Wouldn’t know,” I replied. “I only met ‘em today.”

  Hook’s eyes widened still further. Then he cursed. “I really hope you know what you’re doing,” he muttered, spinning the wheel, angling us straight for the fast-approaching wave.

  Macha ignored the conversation and strode forward, her hair and dress whipping about in the wind.

  Except…neither were blowing the direction they should have been. It was like she stood in a pocket of air all her own, a bubble that swirled about her like a personal whirlwind.

  “Showoff,” Badb said, folding her arms over her chest.

  “What’s she doin’?” I asked.

  “Clearin’ the way,” Badb replied, jerking a thumb towards the wall of water looming before us.

  The wave reached the Gateway at the same exact moment we did. I cringed and braced for impact, but…

  There wasn’t one.

  Instead, the wave collided with the edges of the Gateway and we—the Jolly Roger and its crew—flew right through it, surrounded by a tunnel of water that corkscrewed around us as though we were the tip of a power drill. I stared up in fascination at the revolving water, then back down at Macha, who was rotating her hands in slow motion, clearly manipulating the air with enough force to forge a path for us to fly through.

  The crew, realizing we weren’t going to die, began cheering.

  And then, so suddenly I gasped, we were out. Hook, clearly having expected instant annihilation as well, jerkily spun us around, instinctively banking us towards Balor from behind, like a skidding car.

  Fast and Furious: Neverland Drift.

  I held tight to the rail, the shift in momentum threatening to throw me overboard, despite the safety rope tying me to the ship.

  “My turn,” Badb said, cracking her neck, somehow perfectly balanced. She stepped out onto the deck and patted Macha—whose shoulders now drooped from exhaustion—on the back. I frowned, wondering what Badb intended to do now that we were past the wave. But, before I could ask, she raised her arms towards the sky, her fingers curled like claws.

  A thunder clap ripped above us, so loud it shook my bones, like a bass beat at a rock concert. I had to shield my eyes as lightning tore down from the sky, heading right for us, changing paths at the last instant—channeled directly through Badb’s arms, which were now aimed at Balor’s unprotected back.

  It seemed we’d snuck past the warlord without his noticing.

  And now he was going to pay.

  Except the Fomorian warlord spun around at the last possible instant, his jeweled eye blazing as a shield of blue light materialized before him. The lightning crashed against the barrier in an explosive spiderweb as the errant arc sought a way through, so bright I couldn’t stand to look at it. But, even without looking, I knew it wouldn’t find an opening; we’d already tried hitting him with enough voltage to run a city block for a week, with no results. I frowned. Badb wasn’t stupid. Socially inept, maybe, but not stupid. She knew the lightning wouldn’t kill him…but it would blind him.

  If only I could get close enough.

  “I can give you one pass!” Hook yelled over the sound of crackling electricity, banking the ship in a slow circle.

  I shook my head. “It won’t work unless I can hit him from the side!” I called back. I wasn’t sure if Balor’s replacement eye was strong enough to defend against the power of the original, but I couldn’t risk wasting my chance. If I unleashed the power of the eye in my hand and it failed, Balor would have little trouble tearing our ship apart and retrieving his prize. Sadly, it didn’t look like we had a choice; Badb’s lightning was fading, fast.

  And, with it, our chances of distracting Balor.

  At least, that is, until I saw what was screaming through the skies towards us from Boston’s harbor—or, should I say, who. I rubbed at my eyes, not believing what I was seeing. But, no matter how inconceivable, I’d have recognized that fierce set of fiery wings anywhere.

  Alucard, my vamp in ragged armor.

  As he drew closer and Badb’s lighting died down completely, I realized there was something different about him. He appeared…wilder, somehow, more savage, with concentric golden rings spinning around his torso, jets of molten flame trailing from his eyes, his robes an even darker shade of red at the hem.

  Alucard rocketed forth, so fast the Fomorian warlord didn’t have a chance to turn, and hit Balor from behind with the force of a Mack Truck, sending the Fomorian skipping across the water’s surface like a chucke
d pebble.

  The gloriously vengeful Firefang hovered above the waves and glanced up at us imperiously, which was probably why he didn’t see the Fomorian warlord’s fist emerge from below the water at a hundred-miles per hour.

  I was pretty sure he felt it, though.

  Alucard was blasted back by the blow, soaring into the sky like a ball knocked out of the park by Big Papi in his prime.

  Balor, who seemed a little singed—at most—kept his glittering sapphire eye fixated on the tumbling vampire, his immediate attention riveted on the only threat who had, so far, managed to do more than merely annoy him.

  Which meant we had a chance. I gritted my teeth anxiously, calculating how best to sneak up on the Fomorian before my window closed.

  Hook, meanwhile, stared down at the combatants with the easy temper of a man who’d seen his fair share of pitched battles. He reached up and tugged on his hat, then bellowed, “Crew! Let’s show that blaggard what for! Prepare the cannons!” Before I could say anything, crew members began hurrying below deck, scurrying out of sight. Hook waved me over, steadying the ship long enough for me to meet him at the helm. “We’ll fire everything we have at him,” he said. “Give him a fight on two fronts. That should give you the time you need.”

  “To do what?” I asked, still trying to figure out how I was supposed to get close enough to hit the bastard from his blind side—because nothing about cannon fire struck me as particularly subtle.

  Hook grinned and pressed a bag into my hands. I frowned and opened it, then stared at its contents in total confusion. “Ye want me to throw glitter at him?” I asked, cocking an eyebrow.

  “What’s glitter?” Hook asked.

  “This!” I said, holding up the pouch full of twinkling, technicolor tinsel.

  “No,” Hook drawled, as if I were the one who was hard of hearing, “that’s pixie dust. I stole it, ages ago. Now, I suggest you pour it all over yourself, think some happy thoughts, and get your ass down there!”