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

by S A Archer

  And Lugh nodded, as if he’d already known what it was.

  Donovan backed a step away, gesturing for Kieran to step forward. “Go with him.”

  He stared at Donovan, who didn’t even look at him. And then at Lugh, who bid Kieran to follow with the flick of his fingers. No one else seemed to have a clue what was in store for him. They all just stared as he followed Lugh back through the portal.

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  London saw Malcolm jerk as the bullet slammed into his chest and burst out of his back in a spray of blood. It lifted him off his feet and tossed him into the inches of water flooding the floor.

  Even as the Tac Commander fired at Malcolm, London shot at him. Her shot nicked across his neck, spinning him. As he fell, she rushed up on him.

  He looked up at her as she stepped on his rifle, keeping it pinned to the ground next to him. “No one hurts the Sidhe!” She kicked his helmet, flipping the blast shield up. Then she emptied her clip into his face.

  “Less than a minute!” Peyton screamed over the com, and then it crackled and broke off.

  London ripped the ear piece out and tossed it as she grabbed up the Commander’s high powered rifle. She leveled it at the window, shooting it out with a spray of bullets and shattered glass.

  As she ran back to Malcolm, she tossed the weapon aside.

  Protect the Sidhe.

  She couldn’t leave him behind. Even if he was dead already.

  Another explosion rocket through the building and it began to tilt, cascading the water towards the broken out window and pitching it out in a waterfall towards the ground far below.

  She grabbed Malcolm by the collar of his vest and hauled him for the window. They were both heavy with the drenching downpour.

  As the building leaned heavily, everything around them crashed over and slid towards the one open window, caught up in the water flow.

  London fell, but slid even faster as she and Malcolm shot out of the window, carried on the arc of the waterfall, and pitching into space.

  Falling, she grabbed him tighter to her, and spun to try and take the brunt of the impact.

  The force of it would probably kill her. And if it didn’t, then the building falling on them surely would. “Lugh!”

  Malcolm’s arms curled around London, embracing her back.

  In the next second, everything shifted.

  London hit the ground, but not as hard as a fall from the seventh floor should have been. Malcolm landed on top of her, but without much weight behind the impact. Even soaking wet and wearing body armor, he might only weight sixty pounds. Light, even for the hollow-boned fey.

  Rolling over, she struggled to get her bearings. The rumble of the building crashing to the ground a few blocks away reoriented her. They were on a grassy patch near the dock where the wizards’ boat was moored. Malcolm had teleported them.

  London rolled him to his back and his head lolled to the side. His bangs stuck in wet strands to his forehead and she brushed them from his closed eyes. He still breathed, shallow and ragged.

  “Alive?” She tore open the body armor, and then ripped open the t-shirt where the bullet had torn through it. Her fingertips hesitated over the wound, not wanting to touch it.

  Especially as it seemed to be closing up on its own.

  “What?” She looked up at his face. Into his barely opened dark eyes.

  He whispered through a haze of pain, “I told you Donovan wouldn’t let us die.”

  “Ah!” Relieved laughter broke from her. “You are a brat.”

  Behind her, the building that had smashed down exploded.

  London threw herself across Malcolm as a rain of debris reached them even this far away. Then she pulled his arm around her shoulder. “Come on. We’re taking this boat and getting the bloody hell out of here.”

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  The sky was appropriately gloomy for the occasion. Lugh led a cadre of five other fey, each wearing a cloak of a mournful black and lined with regal purple. Three Seelie and three Unseelie. The dark court was represented by Kieran, Tiernan, and Bryce, and the light court by Lugh, King Mckenna of the wood elves, and the Scribe, Willem.

  They appeared as one on the ridge outside of Jonathan’s cave. Lugh, carrying a glittery white shroud of pure woven enchantment, led the procession. The dragon, in his more human-like form, escorted the fey into his lair. The room where Danu’s glass coffin rested was empty of anything else, save the single eternity torch that had been burning since he’d brought her body here for safe keeping. Lugh bent to examine the coffin’s enchantment, which had perfectly preserved the body from any evidence of Fading.

  Mckenna and Willem, knowing the ceremony, helped Lugh to shroud the glass coffin and secure the enchanted cloth at the corners. Then with quiet reverence, they instructed the younger pallbearers in the proper manner of lifting and carrying the coffin. It wasn’t terribly heavy, but to preserve grace of movement they needed to move fluidly, and as one.

  Allowing Jonathan a moment to rest his large hand on the shroud and recite a short memorial in his native tongue was proper, given his time as the guardian of the All-Mother’s remains.

  When they were ready Lugh guided the procession out of the dragon’s cave and back onto the ridge. On his mark, the pallbearers teleported their burden as one. They reappeared by the beach on the Isle of Fey that was next to Lugh’s house. The fey of all races lined the path from the beach, through the fey town, and up the rise to the portal. A trio of fairies walked before Lugh, each playing a flute in a melancholy yet beautiful melody.

  Keeping a sedate pace, the procession took nearly an hour to finally reach the portal. All along the way the fey threw flowers, so thickly at times that it carpeted the path and they needed to step gracefully. Many of the Fey wept openly, and though it touched Lugh deeply he kept a stoic expression.

  Lugh saw Danu’s body safely through the portal, and into the new fey realm. Here, too, the fey lined the way up the hill to the temple of the ancients, where Donovan awaited them. Lugh guided the way to the head of the platform where they carefully laid out the coffin. Again, Mckenna and Willem assisted him with the shroud. They passed the fabric off to the Brownies who spirited it away. And then the pallbearers each unlatched one of the locks, and then raised the glass covering and set it aside.

  Lugh paused a moment, glancing at the All-Mother’s beautiful and ageless face, before joining the rest of the fey in the congregation.

  He watched as Donovan lifted the silver dagger from where it rested on Danu’s chest. The All-Father carried it to the statue of Danu. An enchanted leather belt encircled the statue’s narrow waist. Donovan slid the dagger into the waiting sheath by the statue’s hip. A golden hue illuminated the moment, as the magic of the ancients themselves sealed the dagger into its final resting place.

  It would be kept forever in remembrance of Danu, and all those lost in the Collapse.

  Solemnly, Donovan returned to bend over the corpse. He gathered both of Danu’s hands in his. Lugh recognized only a few words of the ancient Elven tongue, a language he knew that Donovan had never been taught. It was the language of the ancients. And Donovan was welcoming Danu among them.

  As he spoke, the strands that had been the magic within her body unraveled. They lifted into the air like butterfly silk, guided by the grace of Donovan’s Touch. The body dissolved as the threads reformed into the golden shape of Danu’s spirit. Her ghostly form rose from the platform, still holding to Donovan’s hands. Silently, she faced him. A soft smile lit upon her lips before she vanished completely.

  Bringing her here had been more than just a ceremony. It had been more than the opportunity to mourn her passing. It’d been about returning her spirit and her magic to the source. It was about bringing her home.

 
Chapter Sixty-Six

  Malcolm curled on his side, rocking back and forth with the waves as London started out of the port. Probably, he shouldn’t keep prodding at the wound, but he could feel the magic sucking up from his connection to the realm and stitching back and forth across the hole to fix it up. Even through the body armor vest, he could see the light weaving inside his body. He wasn’t making it happen at all. It was Donovan, he could tell. It was the exact same feeling as when Donovan had given Malcolm his Touch after the Seelie tied his magic up into knots. He’d fixed him then, just like he was fixing him now.

  You are not alone.

  Did he just actually hear that? Or just remember it from a dream?

  Donovan was everywhere in the realm, but he was everywhere he was connected, too. Even to Malcolm when he was far away from the Isle of Fey and the portal to the realm.

  “Ready to go back home?” London asked him. She’d shucked out of her own body armor and left it propped next to the wheel where she steered. Probably because those heavy black fatigue trousers and the suede leather of the fingerless elbow length gloves were hot in the sunlight. With the black tank top and the sea breezes, maybe it wasn’t too bad.

  Malcolm sat up, a little sore but getting better. As he pulled off his own body armor and let it clank down onto the floor, the wince wasn’t just for the physical pain. “I don’t have a home.”

  That’s not true.

  A prickling came to Malcolm’s eyes and he closed them as he slumped down on his back across the seat.

  Now that had been Donovan. Malcolm was sure of it. He choked a little on the words when he said, “You can take me to the Isle of Fey.” Even if it hurt to be there, it was still home. As close to Donovan as he could tolerate, even if he had to use silver to be there long.

  Rolling back up to sitting, Malcolm glanced around. This boat belonged to the wizards. They’d have some silver somewhere, he figured. Rummaging, he started to search for it.

  London focused on steering past the other water traffic. After a bit, she pulled out her cell and turned it to speaker phone so she could keep using both hands.

  Malcolm recognized Peyton’s voice when he answered. “So you got out of there in one piece? You bounce London, I gotta give you that.”

  “I’ve splatted more times than I can tell you,” she replied. “I take it you and the dwarves made it out safely.”

  “Relatively unscathed.” Peyton replied, sounding sarcastic.

  “You’ve redeemed yourself today.”

  Now Peyton did chuckle, but it was dry and lacked humor. “Don’t count on it. One of the dwarves punched me in the gut before they left and promised to finish me off if they lay eyes on me again.” He paused. “Apparently, all is not forgiven.”

  “It’s a start.” She told him. “Without the wizards and their Changelings to hunt you down.”

  “I’m not counting on that either.” He paused so long, Malcolm thought he’d hung up, but then he added, “I’ll be getting rid of this phone. Take care of yourself and that Sidhe.”

  “Good luck to you, Peyton.” London punched the phone and it beeped off before she dropped it into her hip pocket.

  None of the cubby holes had any silver. Malcolm huffed, lifting the cushions to see if a chain or coin or anything dropped down into them.

  “What are you looking for?” London glanced back at him. They’d reached open water and headed south.

  “Silver.” He swiped his hands down along the edges, finding nothing useful.

  London patted her thigh pocket and then dug out a clip for a gun. She flicked the top bullet into her palm. “Here,” she offered it.

  Malcolm picked it from her hand. The second his flesh pressed to it the magic of the world silenced. “You have silver bullets?”

  “In case of Changelings.”

  That made sense. “Thanks.” Malcolm tucked the bullet into the pocket of his jeans for now and the magic returned in an instant. He leaned back against the control panel, careful not to rest his hands on any buttons or gizmos.

  London avoided eye contact, focusing out at the distance. When he kept on looking at her, she shifted with discomfort. “Do you want to sit down?”

  “I’m fine.” His gaze slid down over her, studying the pattern of the threads of magic within her body. Most were glowing with trapped sunlight. He was searching for the bit that was from Donovan. So far, he’d not found it.

  She shifted again. “Have you ever done something that you couldn’t take back, but that you’ll regret forever?”

  The eyes of the human child, pleading up at him in the cave, looked at Malcolm again in his memory. “Yeah.”

  Still, she didn’t look at him, seeing something in the distance instead. Her voice became distant, too. “It haunts me. The memory of you in that goblin cave. I didn’t know enough then to get you out. Your eyes. That is what follows me.”

  He nodded looking down. The eyes never really went away.

  She sucked in a breath. “But now that I know better, I want to do better.” London finally looked at him. “If you’ll let me.”

  The snorted laughter he gave her surprised her. “You can’t do any different. Donovan made you help me. He enchanted you, so you had to.”

  The raise of one of her eyebrow said ‘oh really?’ Then she smiled at him like he just didn’t even know the truth of it. “Donovan didn’t make me do anything.”

  “I can see magic.” He told her, crossing his arms over his chest. “You can’t lie to me.”

  Softly, she asked, “And do you see any of Donovan’s magic on me?”

  Malcolm frowned, looking again. He really didn’t.

  “I helped you, because it was what I wanted to do.”

  Carefully, Malcolm reached up. His fingertips brushed against the strands of magic looping around her necklace and into her flesh. She shivered, but didn’t stop him even when his skin glided against her collarbone. “I really don’t understand humans.” He traced the lines of magic beneath her skin. Besides the strong network of Lugh’s magic, there were a few strands that lingered inside her that had almost faded. A few of Malcolm’s own. Kieran’s. One other that had a cool Unseelie feel. “How did you… you know… get enchanted?” He looked in her eyes. Malcolm hadn’t realized how close he’d leaned while inspecting her magic. “The first time, I mean.”

  London hesitated, looking into his eyes a long time before glancing back at the water before them. She blinked a few times, as if bringing that to memory hit an emotion. Which emotion, Malcolm wasn’t entirely sure. “I was attacked by an Unseelie who wanted me to work for him.” She shrugged, as if playing it off, but the stiff way she held herself proved it wasn’t something easily shrugged off.

  “Who?”

  “It doesn’t matter. He’s dead. The Changelings killed him before he could even Touch me a second time.”

  Malcolm could tell she was being truthful, even if it hurt. “I bet you hated him.” Like he’d hated Rand for the things he’d done. They weren’t so different, he and London. And this surprised him. Malcolm followed a strand with his finger, gliding it over her shoulder and down her arm. She let him, so he didn’t stop. “I’ve hated humans for so long, I don’t know if I can stop.”

  A soft smile hinted on her lips. “I did hate him for a long time. I was angry at all the Sidhe, for what was done to me.” Her dark eyes, very Unseelie-like, found his again. “But I’m not angry any more. The past, even the bad things, brought me to where I am now. It made me who I am. It made me the type of person to care about getting a bunch of fey away from the wizards, and bring a Sidhe back home to his people.”

  It made sense. He felt that about himself, too. Everything that happened made him who he was. What he did with it now, was up to him.

  Malcol
m watched his fingers caress down over her covered forearm, her wrist, and into her hand.

  She whispered, “Are you going to Touch me?”

  He gave a little bit of a laugh, and then realized it wasn’t so funny. “Maybe.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “I know.” His hand curled around hers and lifted it. “Only, maybe I do.” Malcolm placed her palm over his heart, the place where his regrets lived. With his fingers covering her, his Touch came out with slow uncertainty. Then grew until he felt it sliding out of him and into this human. He closed his eyes, only to see the eyes of that human child looking up at him. I’m sorry, he whispered to the boy.

  It didn’t make him go away, but somehow, Malcolm thought he still heard him. Like maybe even if the child couldn’t forgive him, like maybe… he understood.

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Malcolm hadn’t seen the little wooden dock before, that someone had built down by the shore just north of the town on the Isle of Fey. Even from here, even down the beach from the town, he could hear the magic thumping and singing like a loud party. A brilliance of light flickered from the town, like fireworks whizzing now and again into the air. People just didn’t even know how much magic they put off. It was too much. It really was. Like a deaf guy banging around on the drums, with no idea about the sounds he was making.

  When London pulled the boat up to the dock he hopped over the side and tied it to the post for her. He didn’t know the right kind of knots to use, but he figured a few square knots would keep the boat from floating away on the tide.

  She was next to him when he straightened. Everything at the wizards’ place seemed unreal and far away now. They’d worked together then, because Donovan had told him to. It was over now, but he wasn’t sure just how over it was, really. London helped him out of there, when he was shot and the building was coming down. Probably, he couldn’t have gotten his act together to get out on his own, just at that moment.