by Michele Hauf
Now Lyric wasn’t sure they’d ever go there again. Not unless she could make things right.
“I’m sorry. I wish I could do something to make things right between you and Constantine,” she said. “I had asked Rhys.”
“You what?”
“When you fled after meeting your mother. I told him I’d give him the gown for information on Constantine.”
“He wouldn’t do that. The bastard has been lying to me.”
“He said you needed to bring the gown to him yourself because it would give you answers. And he was speaking the truth about not knowing where his brother was.” He’d specifically said Vail had believed himself unwanted by all, and she knew that belief had changed. He’d learned a lot about himself in the past few days. “I trust him, Vail. I wish you would, too.”
He sighed and pulled her to him, hugging her against his chest, which pattered rapidly from his angry heartbeats. “Forgive me. But there’s nothing you can do to make things right, because they’re not meant to be right between me and Constantine.”
“Perhaps not. Just because he is your blood doesn’t mean he deserves, or will ever earn, the title of father. But I have something that will make things better.” She slid her hand into his and led him toward the lockers. “At least, it may get those wicked sprites off our backs.”
* * *
VAIL WAS IN NO MOOD for anything other than doing damage to sprites right now, but he stalked after Lyric into the shadows between the aisles of lockers. She located a locker and punched in the digital security code. From inside she pulled out a case perfectly fitted to the locker’s dimensions.
It was so heavy she almost dropped it, but managed to heft it onto the wooden bench before the lockers.
“It’s iron,” he noted.
“Leo had it fashioned specially for this purpose,” she said.
“Smart brother. No wonder the Seelie weren’t aware it was missing, nor could the Unseelie track it. The iron acted as a shield of protection.”
“That’s Leo.”
Looking around first to check for mortals, she didn’t worry about the woman snoozing in the corner not ten feet away with a half cup of coffee near to tipping over onto her pants. Lyric pulled the digital combination lock around and punched in a few numbers, then slapped her palms on the face of the box and looked at her lover.
Vail remained stoic, arms crossed, legs straddling the bench. “Five seconds,” he offered. “What?”
“Remember you asked me for a five-second head start after I get the gown?”
“Oh.” But it didn’t matter now that Charish was dead and that Vail knew where to find his father. Did it? “I don’t want to run away from you, Vail. I meant it when I said I love you,” she told him, her clear blue eyes nailing him with a truth so deep it softened his raging heart. “Can this work?”
“Us? Yes,” he answered from his heart, steering clear of reaction. “I love you, too, Lyric. We can work.”
He cupped her head and bent to kiss her, not realizing he’d needed this kiss until it happened. Here was home, at her lips. His fingers tangling in her soft hair. Their breaths coexisting. Their heartbeats synching. It was all home.
They’d taken blood from each other. They shared a piece of one another’s soul. They were a part of the other now. And he did want it to work, to last, and to be real.
Dragging his tooth across her lip, the skin opened and blood dripped into his mouth. A sweet taste. It infused his system with courage.
“Forever mine,” he said against her mouth. “Promise me you’ll never run away from me.”
“I promise. I can’t imagine being without you. We can start our own family?”
“I’d like that.”
“I want you to talk to your father. To hear him out, before…”
She knew what drove him, and he wasn’t proud of it. “I want you to be there when I do finally talk to him. So open the box?”
She punched in a few more numbers, released the lock and opened the hinged lid.
Vail felt the hum of Faery permeate his pores. It was the glimmering, the knowing when one was in the presence of Faery.
The faery diamonds shimmered and caught light that did not exist on the mortal plane. Lyric drew out the gown slowly, reverently, lifting her arms parallel to her head to let the skirt sweep down. It moved as if blown by a breeze, but Vail knew the gown was literally alive with faery glamour. It was fit for royalty or one who wielded great sidhe power with skill, grace and knowledge.
He dared not touch it. Not because he worried about getting faery dust in his pores, but because of what it meant. It was power.
“It’s so beautiful,” she whispered.
Beautiful was a lacking word for it. “Vast,” he tried. “All-knowing. Can you feel the glamour?”
She looked at the gown she still held high. “I don’t think so.”
“Did you wear it?”
“I did try it on. But only for ten minutes.”
“I would have loved to see it on you. But I also would have feared what the gown would do to you.”
“It didn’t do anything. I’m the same.”
Maybe. He was surprised she hadn’t gotten an ichor high from it. Hmm…perhaps it had made her more susceptible to the high when she’d been nursing him? It was very probable.
A mortal teenager wandered up to a locker not far from the one from which Lyric had taken the gown. He didn’t acknowledge Vail and Lyric.
“Can he see the gown?”
“I—he should be able to. It’s got glamour, but has no need for protection from mortal eyes. Unless…”
Vail squinted and peered across the vast stadium-like building. And then he realized the glimmering had increased.
He batted at an insect that buzzed his ear—then noticed the stir of violet wings. Dodging, he avoided the zooming sprite that dive-bombed toward the gown.
“Bloody Herne.”
“What?”
He noticed the vibrations now. A rumble in the floor as if from a minor earthquake. The walls shivered, yet the mortals rushing about gave it no notice. An ominous foreboding darkened his blood and he spun about to spy the first wave of soldiers marching in rank on the ceiling above.
“They’re here.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
LYRIC STEPPED AROUND the bench to clasp Vail’s hand. He squeezed, hard. Feeling his anxiety increased her worries. No longer did a mere cloud of sprites linger before them, but instead, a band of faeries in all shapes, sizes and colors marched toward them.
“Unseelie,” Vail whispered to explain.
They wore silks and gossamers, carapaces and horns, thorns and petals. Some wobbled close to the floor, others stretched to thin heights, many soared on tiny wings, and a few hovered on large sails. Myriad shades and tints of wings clattered like a hive of deadly insects.
That Lyric could see them was startling. They’d dropped their glamour. Yet did that mean the mortals walking through the station could see them, as well? The man huddled near the men’s bathroom door at the opposite end of the arrivals platform didn’t even look when a faery walked right before him.
“I can see them,” she whispered. “Is it your coat?” She still wore his jacket inside out.
“No. They want you to see them now. Don’t worry, the mortals are oblivious.”
Lyric suddenly recognized the leader, heading the crew of oddities, clad in jade armor strapped to his shoulders and knees and wearing a studded gold faceplate—she knew it was the Lord of Midsummer Dark. He had killed her mother.
Lyric clasped Vail’s hand harder and leaned against him in case her knees should bend. “Keep him away from me.”
“Shh,” he cooed. “No one is going to harm you.”
Mortals unaware of the sidhe invasion moved in slow motion through the train station. It was as if time had slowed, and likely it had. Though Lyric’s movement had not changed.
“They’re controlling time,” she whispered. “H
ave to be.”
“It is glamour,” Vail said. “There.”
She followed his gaze upward to the curved train station ceiling. A crowd of faeries clad in red walked the ceiling, avoiding the iron rafters with a determined regal manner. When the female in the lead swept a hand through the air, they all followed her, descending upside down, wings fluttering, until they were but five feet from the floor, then turned in midair and gracefully landed on their feet.
The aisle between two trains wasn’t very wide, and was delineated down the center with globed streetlights that flickered now the faeries had landed. Two trains departed within minutes of each other, leaving the rails open. The Unseelies stood in rank down one side of the lights, the Seelies down the other. Each troop was headed by an armored leader.
The female who led the Seelies must be their queen, Lyric decided, for the interesting crown of roses and horns upon her bold red hair.
“The Summer Queen,” Vail whispered to confirm.
What Lyric had first thought was armor wrapping the queen’s arms and torso in articulated red leather was actually some kind of fabric that corseted her figure, which was so narrow even death would look away.
And yet, she was gorgeous, her violet eyes luminous and seeing all through the red and golden leaf mask that conformed to her face. A crown of lush roses danced gallantly about her red hair and two stag horns were placed at the pinnacle. Whether the horns were for decoration or real, Lyric did not know. Her arms swayed with her movement, her hands curving and gesticulating with a flamenco dancer’s grace. All over she shimmered.
Lyric swallowed. There was so much faery dust in this place, it was a wonder the mortals did not fall to their knees in supplication. Yet the sidhe expended little energy in cloaking themselves from mortal eyes. What mortals did not believe in they could not see.
The two factions exchanged words Lyric couldn’t hear and when she asked Vail he again shushed her.
“She has it!” Zett pointed to Lyric and, for the first time, the two faery courts noticed she and Vail standing off by the lockers. “The vampiress is the thief.”
“Only because you ordered the gown stolen in the first place.” Vail stepped forward, pushing her gently to remain behind him.
“You don’t know that,” Zett defied.
“Zett plots to own the gown so he may become the Unseelie king, isn’t that so?”
“The king is lost. We need a king,” the Unseelie lord insisted.
“And what respectable sidhe king would mark a vampiress as his own?”
Zett blanched, as did the entire ranks flanking him. A hum of whispers silvered the air.
“You marked her,” Vail continued. “To take her as your wife.”
“Abominable!” cried Zett’s closest officer.
Vail stretched back an arm and gestured Lyric join him. She remained, defying her lover’s command. Would he throw her to the lions? He’d promised no harm would come to her. This didn’t feel right.
And in that moment, the scales shifted, as Zett realized his secret could not be proved unless Lyric showed her mark.
The Seelie queen tutted, and tilted her horned head regally. “This is of no concern to me. I simply need to know who shall be punished for thievery?”
“No one.” Lyric stepped forward and dragged the iron case along with her. “Because you can have the gown back.”
“She does not—” Zett started.
Vail stepped in front of Zett, keeping him from Lyric. With a nod to her, Vail gave her leave to do as she must.
Lyric pulled the heavy gown from the case. The faery diamonds flashed and danced upon the high ceiling where some Seelie court minions remained at post. They dodged the glimmer as if they were lasers that might burn them.
Most of the factions stepped back until they stood at the edge where the rails tracked, yet the queen and Zett stepped forward as Lyric held it to display.
“It is mine,” Zett said forcefully, and Lyric thought she felt something akin to persuasion tickle her brain. The gown did belong to Zett, the faery who had given her her first kiss….
Vail clasped her shoulder and the seductive thoughts dissipated. She focused on his eyes, sure and strong, and felt his strength enter her. He was on her side. He’d never stopped being on her side.
“Give it to me, vampire!”
“It belongs to the Seelie court,” the queen’s second in command stated calmly. The thin squire’s sleeves dusted the air with hawk’s feathers as he made a gesture toward the gown. “Yet it has been tainted by the vampires.”
“Exactly,” Zett said, and then to the Summer Queen, “You would not touch the thing now.”
“Apparently you would, eh?” Vail volleyed, not about to let Zett off the hook with the faery mark. “Ah, Cressida, so nice you could join the vile festivities.”
The white-haired faery fluttered down in violet silks, yet her feet did not land on the concrete. She must have been tucked among the few remaining on the ceiling. With a wave of her hand, the air took on an icy chill.
“Your favorite wants to steal the Seelie gown and claim a vampire as his wife,” Vail said.
“I do not wish to marry her, but render her breathless ever after!” Zett announced.
One would expect a stunned silence to follow that announcement. Instead, Zett’s Unseelie troops snickered and nodded approvingly. Even the Seelie troops nodded, accepting it was the only method to do away with the Unseelie lord’s mistake.
“You will not lay a hand on her,” Vail announced.
“That will be decided in good time,” Cressida said, taking command of the exchange.
A mortal walked through her and the Mistress of Winter’s Edge flinched, while the mortal suddenly shivered and clasped her hands to her arms as if a brisk wind had blown under her T-shirt.
“Your Highness, please, if you will?” Cressida gestured toward the gown.
All fell silent as the Seelie queen looked over the gown, her violet eyes unkind and cold. Lyric thrust it forward for her to take. She wanted nothing to do with the thing. Leo should have never stolen it. Yet she corrected her wish. He’d only wanted to help Charish. As well, if he had not taken the gown, then she would have never met Vail. And that was all she wanted to take away from this fiasco.
In a flutter of wings, the queen moved toward Lyric, through the gown. The red raiment she wore dissolved and the diamonds shivered until the gown fit her body perfectly and glittered madly with her graceful movements.
“No!” Zett struggled against Cressida’s remarkable hold, yet she but held him by the wrist with one hand. “She has tainted it! A common vampire!”
“Indeed,” the Seelie queen said, closing her eyes as if to take in the essence of the gown through her skin, “it is lesser now.” Tilting her head, the stag horns glittered under the artificial streetlights. She flashed her bright gaze onto Lyric, but it wasn’t kind or even calm. Lyric felt the Seelie queen’s disappointment crackle through her veins like trapped lightning. “You will be punished, thief.”
“No, I didn’t—”
The queen’s second in command took Lyric in hand, while five red-coated guards held Vail back with halberds as he struggled to protect her. It was plain he was outnumbered and outpowered. A vampire could not battle a faery and expect to win. Vail had no faery ichor in his system now. He had no skills or advantages, such as weapons, to help him win the fight.
“No!” Vail put up his hands in surrender, but his captors did not step from the tight circle they maintained around him. “The gown has been returned,” he said to the Seelie queen. “If it feels lesser it is only because you are in the mortal realm. No faery garment, weapon or sidhe of any breed is as strong in this realm as they can be in Faery.”
“Perhaps,” the queen provided. “You think me lesser, vampire?”
Without waiting for the answer, the Summer Queen thrust out her hand, sending a direct current of faery dust toward Vail. It circled his throat and tightened, a
s if a noose.
Lyric fought to get free, but her captor held her with strong and sharp fingers, much like a hawk’s talons. Vail was lifted from his feet by the rope of dust, and then dropped abruptly to stagger against one of the guards, who shoved him off.
“I do not think you lesser,” Vail croaked, rubbing his bleeding neck. The dust had cut through his skin as if a blade. “You are supreme, Your Highness. Your beauty warms the mortal realm.”
“Just so. But I still want to punish someone.”
“You cannot take her,” Vail said. “I beg of you, leave Lyric Santiago alone.”
“Because you love her?” Cressida interjected.
The ground began to rumble beneath Lyric’s feet. Another train was pulling into the station.
Vail bowed his head. From what Lyric knew of Faery, they did not know how to love, and so how could they accept it as a viable reason for protecting someone? If Vail confessed his love for her, it would mean little to the factions holding them in peril.
“Love is a precious thing. It comes in so many forms, a man might never live long enough to experience it fully. What can I do for you, Queen of Summer, to forgive Lyric Santiago the crime of theft?” Vail asked. “It was not she who stole the gown, but her brother, in an attempt to stifle Zett’s threats against the Santiago family.”
“I did no such thing!”
“You plotted to have Lyric delivered to you so you could murder her,” Vail countered.
The queen flashed a malevolent gaze at Zett, who noticeably shrank. “You marked her as your bride?”
Zett’s face whitened. The luminescent tattoos on his neck darkened. “I had no idea she was vampire.”
The queen looked over Lyric, her eyes not missing a portion of her anatomy. Her hair blew away from her face as if a summer wind stirred through the silent building. And when the faery queen’s eyes fell to Lyric’s heart, it felt like corpse worms moving within the rapidly pounding muscle.
“You should be forced to marry her for the mistake,” she said to Zett. “That would teach you a lesson in caution.”