by S A Archer
He was going into the cave. Into the nest. Into the mouth of terror.
And he was going to bring the pain. He would scream it out of his soul until it shredded everyone around him as much as it had him.
Especially Rand. This time he wasn’t getting away.
Malcolm teleported across the ravine. He kicked the pile of the dead out of the way, clearing the entrance. Crossing through the Glamour he slipped into the low light of the cave. Luminescent fungus grew along the walls, giving him a weak light to see by. He didn’t need light to see what he was after down here, though. He didn’t need light to see magic. The rotten green hue of the innate magic of the goblins flickered down the throat of the cave, and was visible even through the rock. Magic threads had collected around the tunnel walls like spider silk. Each thread tangled and mingled with the next, all throughout the cave system. He could feel the vibrations along it, complimenting his magical sight. So many threads, so thickly laden. The goblins must have lived in these caves for hundreds of years to shed such a thick layer of magical essence.
The rancid stench of goblin would have made him choke if he were not on a rush from the adrenaline. His personal magic, the aspect of the bloodhound, surged within him. And with the magic came the instincts.
Staring into the darkness at the glow of goblin magic before him, Malcolm started forward. He was almost on him when the goblin noticed him coming. An angry, high pitch scream answered the attack, but ended as Malcolm jammed his fingers through the fibers of magic at his throat and tore it out.
But the scream echoed on throughout the tunnels. Vicious, high pitched cries boiled up from the depths in response.
Here they come again, he thought. The horde flooded up towards Malcolm, screaming and scuttling. Their toe claws clicked on the stone floor. In seconds, they would be upon him.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The dead bodies still had Kieran’s adrenaline pumping, even half an hour later when he parked the car off the side of the road. With his GPS Joe had been navigator while Kieran drove, following his directions. “It’s just around the bend. Satellite imagery shows a farmhouse.”
From the backseat Riley asked, “Do you know what to expect? What are we getting ready to walk into?”
“It’s usually been wizards intercepting the shipments, but normally inside the Veil we’ve not had any trouble.” Joe got out of the car and the others followed.
Kieran had heard about the Great Veil, and knew it kept the wizards out of Ireland. But that still left a lot of potential suspects. He’d been used to following Donovan’s lead and having other Sidhe backing him up. Tough as these humans were, werewolves and vampires were fast and vicious. If they lost the advantage, or if they were outnumbered, things could turn sour real fast. His team might be new to him but they were his team, his responsibility.
This time Kieran led the way. His careful fey steps didn’t even make the gravel crunch under his feet. He used his power to dampen down the rustling noise from the others. Drawing a shimmer of Glamour over himself Kieran slipped into invisibility, or the closest he could get to it. When he moved, the hint of his outline flickered, but it would only be noticeable close up and when someone was looking directly at him. He leaned around the bushes that created a ten-foot wall along the stretch of road where they parked. The farmhouse Joe had mentioned was just a few minutes’ walk. A dusty pickup truck and a nice-looking sedan were parked out front.
Kieran reached out with his magic and swept the entire area carefully. Speaking so that only his companions could hear him, he said, “The place is dead, acoustically speaking. No breathing. No heartbeat. No one rustling around. I think no one is home.”
“Could be vampires,” Joe said.
“If so, they’d be down for the day and not likely to notice us.” At least, that’s what Kieran hoped.
Joe leaned around the bushes to get a look for himself, and frowned. “Can your sharp eyes make out that plate on the sedan?” When Kieran read off the number, Joe winced. “Thought so.”
Riley leaned closer. “What?”
“Changeling.” Joe drew out his weapon. “Double check the area for me, Kieran? Not just around the house, but around us, too. As far as you can reach.”
He gave a listen one more time, and shook his head again. “No heart beats. Not another bigger than a rodent.” He leveled his invisible stare at Joe. “How do you know it’s a Changeling?”
“We all got a past,” was all the more explanation he gave. “Wanna do a recon for us, Kieran?”
Glancing back at the house Kieran teleported. He checked through several windows, before spotting anyone. And what he saw nearly brought his lunch back up. Kieran twisted away from the sight, wiping the back of his hand over his lips and swallowing down the urge to be sick. He stared away from the house for several breaths, glad no one could see him taking his time to compose himself. From the front window he couldn’t see his crew on the other side of the bushes, but he knew they watched the house.
When he teleported back Kieran let his Glamour fall. “Looks like someone got here first.”
“What do you mean?” Joe asked.
“See for yourself. I found your changeling. What’s left of him that is.”
Kieran hung back and let Joe and Riley lead the way to the house, still tense as if not quite believing Kieran that the place was empty of life. But he’d seen the carnage. None of those guys were getting back up again.
When they reached the site of the slaughter, Kieran stayed outside the doorway and fixed his attention on Joe and Riley to avoid looking at the body parts.
“Who could of done this?” Riley stayed along the perimeter of the room to avoid stepping in the blood.
Joe pulled a tracker out of one of the boxes. “Someone not interested in the shipment.” Snatching up a set of keys from the coffee table Joe tossed them to Riley. “See if any of these fit the truck. If they do start loading up the boxes.”
Riley left with the keys and without any comment.
Kieran wanted to lean against the door frame but didn’t want to leave any fingerprints, just in case. “You said you knew this changeling. Does he have any enemies that would do this kind of thing?”
“This isn’t the changeling I know. Must be one of his men.” Joe gestured to the changeling on the floor. Then he nodded towards the other bodies. “These others were enchanted humans. I recognize them. They were decently skilled, but something tore right through them. Looks like a bladed weapon was used on these two.”
Kieran forced himself to look. “So we’re probably talking about a fey?” Werewolves would have used their claws and teeth. Vampires would’ve drained the bodies and not been so brutal. Not many humans used bladed weapons these days.
“That would have been my guess. The changeling these guys worked for made a lot of enemies. Especially among the fey.”
Kieran’s focus slid away from the bodies again, looking at anything else but them. His focus fixed on a hint of brown peeking out from beneath the sofa. For a moment, he couldn’t swallow. The markings on the bit of leather were familiar. He knelt down and pinched the corner of it, lifting it out from the shadows beneath the furniture.
A leather wristband about two inches wide with two snaps and the thorned Celtic design of the Elite. One of the pair that Donovan had given Malcolm.
Kieran slipped it into his pocket. Once before he’d witnessed the scene of the bloodhound’s fury. It had been a bloody mess that time, too. And Malcolm was better trained with his blade now than he’d been back then.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Using his magic required no strength in his hands, just his strength of will. All the fey, even these beastlings, were as much creatures of magic as flesh. Their threads of magic laced through them like fibers, keeping their bodies
whole and functioning. As a bloodhound, Malcolm could manipulate those threads like no other could.
When the first goblin rushed at him, its lumpy club raised to strike, Malcolm jammed his fingers into its chest as if it were a doll made of yarn. He twisted and yanked, ripping a chunk out of its chest. The beast dropped dead onto the floor, blood splattering everywhere.
The other goblins didn’t know or didn’t care what happened. They just kept coming. Malcolm tore through them, reaching in and ripping out. Each wound he caused was more deadly than his blade, more devastating than the gunshots.
Twisting and dodging, he avoided the blunt weapons most of the goblins used. All it took was one blow, one swipe, one kick, and he tore through another beast like it was nothing more than string and lint. Blood and gore covered everything. It dripped from the stalactites and oozed down the walls. It pooled in the depressions to splash when more bodies fell into it.
Malcolm raged. Screaming his hatred above the cries of the goblins, he lost himself into the violence. Racing forward over the fallen, he rushed for more. More blood. More death. More release of the horrors that he’d carried inside him.
Until no one else came for him and the dead littered the tunnels and rooms through which he’d torn.
Killing them was easy. Ridiculously easy. These creatures were the things that gave him nightmares? The things he’d feared for so long? They were nothing but target practice now. Malcolm had cleared the chambers one by one. Killing every goblin within. Their diseased green glow flickered and dimmed now as their lives and their magic drained away.
In one of the deepest holes, Malcolm found a different magic. A different glow. Not goblin. He knew what he would find before he even turned the corner. Part of him had been aware of this since the beginning. In a way, it would be harder to face that than the hordes of goblins.
Slick with blood and dirt, Malcolm entered the chamber and saw what he’d anticipated.
Kids.
Kids in cages.
Mostly humans. A few fey. One Sidhe. They cowered back and huddled close at the sight of Malcolm. This was how the goblins worked. They took the young. That was how they’d taken him. Inexperience and youth made him an easy victim. He was no one’s victim now.
Malcolm took the huge iron ring of keys from one of the dead goblins and opened the cage doors. The kids didn’t move. Just whimpered and cried, fearing the Sidhe covered in blood and death. Malcolm backed away. “Sink or swim, mates. Up to you. My advice is to haul ass out of here while you can.”
He left them to do what they would. Malcolm was not here for them. He was here for himself.
All too familiar laughter, edged with contempt, echoed about him. Malcolm slowly turned. Rand hadn’t run while he’d had the chance. Instead, he clapped with wicked mirth. “Look at you,” he grinned, coming a step closer, “killing indiscriminately. So like a changeling.”
“I am nothing like you.” Malcolm gave a sweep of his arm at the children, shooing them off. They didn’t need any more encouragement to scramble out of the wide cave room where they’d been captive for who-knew-how-long.
Rand ignored the kids. All his attention fixed on Malcolm. “Do you think killing me will stop anything?” He lifted his chin and shook his head. “Think again. This is much bigger than me.”
Malcolm’s fist flexed over the handle of his blade, itching to plunge it right into Rand’s heart. As the changeling moved closer, Malcolm side stepped so they circled each other. “Nothing you say means anything.”
Shaking his head, Rand placed a hand over his heart. “I’m just a small cog in a bigger engine. If you want to know about what’s really going on, you can’t kill me.” He shrugged. “Because then, you’ll never know.”
Behind the changeling his other hand held something purple and undulating. He kept it behind him, as if Malcolm couldn’t see it right through him.
But then again, Rand couldn’t know that Malcolm was a bloodhound. He’d not learned that about himself until after Donovan had rescued him.
Malcolm lifted onto the balls of his feet, ready to move. Rand was a liar. Malcolm wasn’t buying into this excuse to keep him talking. “All I care about is seeing you dead.”
“You always were stupid.” Rand whipped his arm from behind him and flung the enchantment.
Malcolm sidestepped it, reached out a hand and caught the globe of woven magic like a snowball. Without slowing its momentum, Malcolm slung his arm around him as he spun. As he circled he pitched the enchantment side-armed.
It impacted Rand and knocked him into the air. The purple enchantment broke open and spread over Rand like a glob. When he slammed into the wall of the cave the magic pinned him there.
“Caught in your own trap?” Malcolm moved closer, tilting his head to examine how the enchantment looped around Rand and prevented him from teleporting. “Now who’s stupid?”
The changeling laughed again, like he wasn’t suspended in the goop. “What are you going to do now? Shoot me in cold blood? Cut my head off and lose your chance at revenge on those who set this all up?”
Malcolm strode towards Rand, neither gun nor knife in his hands. “You set this up.” He said, cold as the stones around them. “And you will pay.”
Spreading his fingers wide, Malcolm pressed his hand to the enchantment over Rand’s chest. With a shiver of his will, the threads of magic inside the changeling loosened.
“What?” Finally, fear possessed Rand. “Noooo—!”
Malcolm pushed the changeling slowly backward. The threads of his magic allowed the rock wall to pass between them like mist. And when Rand was fully inside the rock, Malcolm released him.
The moment Rand’s body re-solidified the glow of his life’s magic faded away.
Malcolm would walk out of this goblin hell. Rand never would.
Death came to Rand in under a minute. It might have been fast, but at least it had been painful.
Chapter Twenty-Five
When Riley returned, Kieran and Joe helped him load up the truck. They had what they came for in less than ten minutes and cleared out, leaving the bodies. They were back on the road a minute after that, Riley and Kieran in the pickup truck following Joe in the car.
On the way back Kieran didn’t say much. With his elbow propped against the window he rubbed his forehead with his hand. He’d only seen a bloodbath like that once before. Malcolm had lost control when they hunted an enchanted human. His friend had been brutal and merciless. But why would he rip through these guys? What had happened to him after leaving the Isle?
He pulled out his cell phone and thumbed in a text message. Checking up on you, mate. How’s it going?
The answer didn’t come by the time they’d reached Tiernan’s mansion. The silence didn’t fill Kieran with comfort.
He kept his disquiet to himself as Joe debriefed with Tiernan. He just stayed back, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and his eyes fixed on the ground. Not seeing anything but the memory of the bloody mess replaying in his mind’s eye. First the farmhouse. And then the witch Malcolm had skinned a few weeks ago. Malcolm had been after the magic inside the witch’s body when he ripped off her flesh. Whoever had killed the men at the farmhouse hadn’t been after the shipment. So what were they after?
“You sure it was Rand’s men?” Tiernan asked.
“No doubt.” Joe answered.
“Kieran,” Tiernan saying his name startled him out of his thoughts. “What’s on your mind?”
“Malcolm,” he admitted, and then pulled the wristband from his pocket. “He was there. But I can’t figure why. What’s he got to do with this?”
“Because Rand was the one who locked him in that goblin’s nest for a year and sold him to anyone with a Sidhe-fetish that wanted access to him.”
Kieran couldn’t even swallow.
Malcolm would never talk about what had happened to him. About where Donovan had found him, beaten and half-starved. About the scars. About why he freaked about enchanted humans. About why he was jumpy about sex.
I’m not a virgin, he’d say.
No bloody kidding.
Kieran knew what Tiernan meant. He couldn’t even begin to imagine the reality of it.
So many things clicked into place.
Something like that would mess with anyone’s mind, and for a bloodhound, it had to be so much worse.
Everyone said Malcolm was a psycho, kept on a short leash by Donovan.
And now Donovan was gone.
And Malcolm’s enemies were starting to turn up dead in a majorly sick way.
Could his friend have gone feral?
Chapter Twenty-Six
Malcolm’s body was tacky with the drying blood and sweat as he walked toward the entrance of the cave. Last time he was brought into a goblin lair against his will, and rescued by no effort of his own. This time he’d walked in of his own choice, and walked out with no one’s aid.
Malcolm stepped out of the stench and darkness into the light of day. He’d have thought he’d been down there much longer, but it was still light outside. Still just the afternoon. Malcolm stood outside the entrance, surrounded by the fallen goblin bodies that were already beginning to dissolve as their magic unraveled. He’d brought out the pain. At least some of it. A piece of it. He’d given it back to the ones who had beat it into him. It was a good thing. It had been a good day. The death and pain he’d given was good. He felt stronger than before. Purged of at least a part of the past.