Bastion of Magic (The Sidhe (Urban Fantasy Series) Book 4)

by S A Archer

  “You know, you’re right.” Kieran rose. “And I am hungry. But let’s go to the tavern on the Isle of Fey. Donovan can reach us there, too.” Which he knew to be true. Donovan had reached out to him all the way in Ireland once already. Besides, he needed to check on Riley and Joe and make sure Tiernan was right about where they’d ended up.

  “So it is decided then. Come along!” Willem started off.

  “Aren’t you afraid you’ll miss the naming of the realm?” Kieran’s long strides kept up easily with the Scribe’s faster, shorter steps.

  He waved the thought away like a fly. “The Beltane fires will be cinders before those three will agree on anything.”

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Trip pushed herself to standing, the shock still frozen on her face. The woman Cormac called ‘Rhiannon’ dripped with dark magic, her own and an enchantment as thick and putrid as tar. The Touch seeped from her flesh into Tiernan with a fume of madness. He’d recoiled, spun away from her, and fought to tear himself free until the Changeling kicked him off the cliff.

  “No!” Trip screamed, but it was too late. Tiernan dropped out of sight. She flung forth her arms, willing the sluagh to catch him.

  Rhiannon flicked at them, and the sluagh froze midair, arrested by her power. They managed to flap their leathery wings just enough to keep them aloft, but they couldn’t go any further. The dark Sidhe woman didn’t even spare them a glance, in unmarred confidence that they would obey her every whim. With long strides and the sensual roll of her hips, Rhiannon crossed toward her.

  Trip glanced down at herself, at the first hints of the same black tar of enchantment within herself. Then she glared at the Changeling, realizing his game. He’d meant for them to drink the dark enchantment. She and Cormac had done just that “Oh, you slime ball.”

  The Changeling laughed. He flexed open his hands. His fingers extended into long claws and ripped out of the tips of his gloves. His snarl dripped with satisfaction, “You know you liked it.”

  The metallic slide of Cormac drawing his sword rang with poignant intention. He aimed the point towards the Changeling.

  “What?” A beautifully evil smile drew up one side of Rhiannon’s red lips. Her thin, moon-pale fingers caressed the bald head of one of the sluagh. “We’re sisters.” She reached out to stroke Trip’s cheek.

  She blocked the arm with her wrist, knocking wide Rhiannon’s grasp. “Don’t count on it.”

  Rhiannon pouted, glancing at Cormac first, and then back to Trip. Her pout vanished into a wicked sneer. And then she flung herself at Trip, her fingernails aiming to rake down her face.

  Dropping back, Trip caught Rhiannon by the wrists. The momentum of the attack drove Trip back against the cliff wall beside the cave. Gritting her teeth, she fought to shove Rhiannon away, but the other woman pressed her fury and her weight into the effort.

  A cold dribble of the moon magic spilled over Trip’s hands like ice water. It soaked in and spread with a horrifying chill up her arms. The black enchantment, the darkness that had come from Crom’s well and had been twisted into something obscene, coiled up within Trip to rise up to meet the invading magic.

  And there was nothing Trip could do to stop it.

  A flurry of needling tingles ignited across her flesh as the magic rose to consume her.

  “You don’t need to rely on borrowed magic.” The voice was deep and familiar. Calm, as only someone with rock-solid conviction could be calm.

  Even as Trip struggled to keep Rhiannon from scratching out her eyes, she could see past her.

  Unseen by anyone else, Donovan stood there, as strong and as real as ever. “You’ve got the power. You just need to believe in it, and believe in yourself. Now use it!”

  He’d been telling her that since they’d met.

  And now she either needed to believe it or die.

  Drawing in a deep breath, Trip reached within herself. Down into the very heart of her magic. From within the shadowed depths, she called forth her magic. The power of the realm, channeling into her through her connection, rose like a black tidal wave. It boiled through the foreign enchantment infecting her, dissolving it beneath the purity of true shadow.

  Gritting her teeth, Trip pressed her Touch into Rhiannon’s flesh. The black rush of power seared through the layers and layers of thickened tar of enchantment. Even what dark nature was native to Rhiannon, it wasn’t as powerful or as pure as the shadows. As her magic penetrated into the woman, the sluagh shook free of her influence and Cormac rushed forward. Trip grinned as the dark power surged within her. “Only one can be queen of this hill, and it isn’t you!”

  With a scream, Rhiannon recoiled. She snatched her hands away from Trip and teleported away in a shimmer of moonlight.

  It was only then that Trip noticed that the vision of Donovan was gone.

  The Changeling laughed at them, his toothy grin wide with evil mirth. He clapped his hands. “This is going to be delicious!” And with that, he leapt off the cliff and vanished in teleportation.

  She rushed to the edge and glanced down the mountain to the dark forest below. Even with the approaching dawn, it was pitch black down there.

  Cormac joined her, his hand to the small of her back. “Changelings,” he said. “A bunch of them.”

  “I feel them.”

  Trip pulled out her cell phone from her pocket and crossed to the other side of the ridge where she could see the slight shimmer of light from the portal. Her awareness of dark magic reached out across the isle, in search of Rhiannon.

  Bryce’s answering voice from the call reached her first. “Get to the portal and guard it. The Changelings are attacking. Tiernan’s down. Watch out for a crazy Sidhe lady. Her Touch will drive you mad.”

  “Great.” Bryce replied without any humor and clicked off.

  “Trip!” The blue of Cormac’s third eyelid slid aside as he looked back at her.

  She followed his gesture with her gaze. The forest wasn’t so dark now. Flickering red and yellow danced between the branches, spreading. “They didn’t!”

  “The Changelings have set fire to the groves!”

  “Get down there and find Tiernan! I’ll lead the Wild Hunt after the Changelings!” Trip stepped back and reached out her hand to the sluagh. The flight of fey beasts soared out and dive bombed for the forest below.

  Cormac didn’t argue. When she cast out a tendril of shadow, he hooked his fingers into it and rode it down into the woods.

  Summoning the dark elves of the Wild Hunt, Trip caught them up in her power once more and led the charge into the blazing battle.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  London watched the progression of lights on the elevator as it carried them higher. She reached into her thigh pocket and pulled out the silencer. As she screwed it on, she noticed Peyton doing the same.

  They’d dressed the same. The black uniforms matched those of the Tactical Teams that acted as security for the wizards. Tough clothing that was close fitting enough not to get hung up on things, and loose enough to move with them. Peyton filled out his black T-shirt beneath his bulletproof vest with the material clinging close to the bulk of his muscled shoulders and arms.

  When the elevator door opened they both spun out. With the sharp puffs of silenced gunfire, they each made a neck shot that parted between the protection of the body armor and the helmets the Tac guys wore.

  Across the narrow entryway, a bulletproof glass wall barricaded the Sidhe inside the otherwise expensive loft apartment. Malcolm rushed to the door and pounded the side of his fist against it. His muffled voice reached them through the intercom. “Get me out of here!”

  The Unseelie managed to fake calm since Lugh pulled whatever Seelie trick he’d used on him. It suited London just fine that Malcolm quit trying to kill he
r every time he laid eyes on her. But now he was ready to explode into action. And the rangy youth had the moves to do it, too.

  Lugh had given London two directives. End the wizards. Protect the Sidhe.

  Even if it cost her life, she’d do just that.

  First, she stripped the bullet proof vest off one of the fallen Tac guys. Then she gripped the handle of the door, and said, “Unseal.” It popped open and Malcolm rushed out. She shoved the vest against his chest. “Put that on.”

  By the time he’d fastened the Velcro straps London had one of the combat helmets, complete with blast shield faceplate, and pressed it into his hands. “That, too.”

  She’d thought about giving him one of the assault rifles, but doubted that he’d know what to do with it.

  Peyton kept his gun aimed downward, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “What’s the plan?”

  Running past him, and pulling the helmet on at the same time, Malcolm said, “Destroy the wards. Release the fey.”

  London chased after him as he slammed into the stairwell and charged up them two at a time. Peyton followed right on her heels. He shouted up at Malcolm. “If you deactivate the wards the alarms will sound. The whole building will go on lock down.”

  “Lock down is what we want,” London said.

  “You don’t want a bunch of wizards and their gunmen hunting you! Trust me on this!”

  Malcolm passed the ninth floor and rose up the narrow, spiraling stairwell into the spire. At the top he slammed against the door. He grabbed the handle and shook it with frustration. “Just through here!”

  London reached past him. “Unseal.” When he tried to rush through, she grabbed him by the shoulder and jerked him back. She went through first, gun leading the way.

  She snapped off two shots, exploding the heads of two apprentices. A third flicked his wand at her, slicing the air with a bolt of lightning. Only Malcolm tackling her prevented her from getting fried.

  Rolling, Malcolm hurried deeper into the chamber and right next to a massive white globe that stood as tall as he.

  Peyton swung into the chamber, taking out the last apprentice with three rapid shots. Then he reached down a hand to London. When she accepted it, he pulled her up to standing. And then closer still. So close she felt the press of his body against hers. His green eyes searched hers. For a second, they just stared at each other. Finally, he asked, “Is this a suicide mission?”

  “Not if you are as good as you claim to be.” She pushed herself away from him. She crossed to the globe, which looked like a massive, frosted snowball.

  Malcolm glanced over his shoulder at them. “Shoot it.”

  “Shoot it?” Her brows furrowed. “You’re sure?”

  “Yes.” Malcolm backed away.

  She glanced over to Peyton. He gave a shrug and raised his gun. She did the same. They each fired a few times, and the globe burst apart. It smashed down from the air onto the ground in a sparkling mountain of a mess. London hopped backwards before any of it could get onto her boots.

  The overhead lights dimmed and the red emergency lights cast everything in a blood reflection. A low alarm began to pulse through the building.

  “I warned you.” Peyton backed away from the ruined enchantment and looked down the open doorway to the stairwell. “Here they come.”

  London traded out her cartridge with a full one. She slammed the door to the stairwell. “Seal.”

  They backed away from it. Peyton changed out his cartridge, too. “That’s the only exit. Hope you know what you’re doing.”

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Pain parted and the tumbling disconnected thoughts spilled back in. Tiernan wiped at his face. His hand came away slick with blood. The gash in his forehead poured the metallic scent of his blood painting his skin and clothes.

  Tiernan pried his hand beneath him, dislodging his back from the jagged rocks digging into his body. Glancing down at himself to see if anything were broken, the creeping movement of small things crawling over him propelled him to sitting. What he thought were beetles clinging and climbing over him… wasn’t. The inch long creepers giggling and gnashing at him were tiny goblins.

  Screaming wildly, Tiernan smacked at them. No amount of slapping knocked them away. More and more rushed forth from tiny holes in the craggy rock and streamed over him. Their tiny claws dug in as he flung himself to standing. Fighting to brush them away in a panic, Tiernan missed his footing and dropped again. He tumbled and bounced the rest of the way down the hill, rolling to a stop at the foot of the mountain as the slippery gravel graded off into the grass at the tree line.

  Bashed and aching, Tiernan jumped up again and smacked at his body.

  The goblin bugs hadn’t clung to him through the fall. Even still, he danced around with his frantic shaking and wiping, making sure none of the buggers still clung to his hair or clothing. He ripped off his leather jacket and threw it down, just in case any of the beasts burrowed into the pockets. He stomped on the jacket, again and again, until any goblin bugs inside had to be squashed into a gritty green slime.

  Looking back up the height of the mountain he’d fallen down, Tiernan’s gaze traveled further upward to the dead moon. The coming light made it fade like a dream against the sky. And yet, she haunted him. The voice of the moon... Her Touch… Her terrible beauty…

  She’d shattered him.

  The sounds of broken glass tinkling to the ground chimed with musical disarray. Tiernan cast his gaze downward.

  The bits and shards of his mind glittered around him. Tiernan crouched to look at them, so many fragments. Each time he reached to reclaim them, the razor edge cut his fingers until the blood made his grasp too slick to catch even one. Choking torment caught in his throat with tears of loss and frustration.

  With trembling hands, he covered his face. The moon had done this to him. She’d stricken him with her madness. The insanity claimed him as it would a bloodhound. Just as it had with Malcolm.

  Tiernan hated Malcolm for losing himself into the mouth of madness.

  Control.

  Tiernan’s life had been entirely about control. Controlling himself. His business. His circumstances. His world.

  Even through the Collapse, he’d kept it all under control. Helping Donovan made it so. They’d taken control.

  “Control… Control… Control…” He chanted, as if that could bring the pieces back together.

  “All the king’s horses…” A voice sang.

  Tiernan lifted his face towards the dark of the woods. In the shadows, the singer continued, “And all the king’s men…”

  Scrubbing his knuckles over his eyes, Tiernan battled to focus at the figure moving closer to him.

  “Couldn’t put Humpty Dumpty back together again.” Malcolm stepped from the clinging darkness beneath the trees. His scruffy dark hair half hid his face, but not the gleam in his eye. His wrinkled t-shirt hung loosely over the narrow hips of his torn jeans. The bloodhound grinned at him, twisting the knife in his hand to catch the glints of light. “Welcome to my world.”

  “No!” Tiernan lunged for the bloodhound. “I won’t take this!”

  The bloodhound bolted into the woods. His laughter echoing through the trees to buffet against Tiernan like the wind. Fleet-footed, Malcolm leapt over downed branches and splashed through a stream.

  Tiernan plucked the throwing blades from his pants pocket and snapped them out. The three blades shot across the distance between them, impacting Malcolm in the back of his legs. The bloodhound tumbled, still laughing with his insanity.

  Flinging himself into the air, Tiernan’s magic caught the metal in his clothes and carried him through the air in a great arch. He jumped down and smashed into Malcolm, driving him to the mossy ground.

  Tierna
n snatched him by his shirt and flung him to his back. Laughing and grinning, the bloodhound gripped Tiernan’s wrists. “Someone should leash you!” Malcolm shouted with gleeful spite.

  “No!” Tiernan grabbed Malcolm’s throat and squeezed. “No! Bloodhounds get leashed! You get leashed!” Lifting him up and slamming his head down, Tiernan screamed his fury. His hands closed tighter. Tighter. Crushing. Crushing the life from the crazy boy.

  “Get off her!” Someone shouted into Tiernan’s ear. He’d not seen or heard anyone coming, but they surrounded him now. Hands wrenched Tiernan away from Malcolm’s throat. Arms lifted him into the air.

  Tiernan kicked at Malcolm, but was flung backward too fast to impact the bloodhound. “Leash him! Leash the bloodhound!”

  “Are you mad?” The elf hooked his arms under Tiernan’s. He locked his hands behind Tiernan’s head, keeping his arms immobilized out to the sides.

  Others rushed in, blocking Tiernan’s view of Malcolm, but when they backed away again it was an elf woman, battered and dirty, that they helped to standing. What had been evil laughter transformed into hiccupping cries and frightened screaming.

  “It’s a lie!” Tiernan jumped, fighting to wrench himself free. “A Glamour! It’s the bloodhound! Catch him! Stop him! He’s feral!”

  “You’re the only feral thing here!” The elf holding him snapped at Tiernan.

  One of the wood elves spun towards him. “You monster!” His fist smashed into Tiernan’s jaw, snapping his head to the side and flinging him into darkness.