“You know as well as I do there’s no stopping this now.”
As much as he didn’t want to accept it, he knew Cyril’s words carried the truth. They were practically doomed from the moment the first lockstones were shattered and the Veil weakened. Already, he imagined, the Fae on the other side of the Veil were seeking ways to break through. It was only a matter of time.
“You won’t be around to reap the rewards,” Eoin said. And with that, he let loose another taste of his strength, his newfound power. He’d always been Cyril’s equal when it came to power. They’d jockeyed one another for control all their lives, even doing so when their friendship became something more and they became lovers for a brief time. Now, though, he intended to come out on top, to be the victor. He flung magic blasts at Cyril, one after the other, hand over hand.
But every one, Cyril strengthened himself and the shield he’d put around him until, finally, he came back with a strike of his own. It slammed into Eoin’s chest, buffeted by the dampening strength of his own shield. But his shield was not enough. He was knocked backwards and rolled to a stop in the tall grass.
Eoin was hurt, but not badly. The shield he had was enough to keep him from any serious injury. But his head was scrambled a bit.
He turned to the side and found himself staring into the face of a dead man. One of the tactical team members. He hadn’t been attacked by the fae-touched. His head was twisted at an odd angle, and, Eoin guessed, he’d broken his neck in the initial blowback from Cyril’s power. His gun was nearby. That would be useless.
But inside a pouch, Eoin saw what appeared to be some type of grenade. He pulled it free. A flashbang grenade. It wouldn’t do much damage to Cyril, but it might prove useful. He pocketed one and took the other one and held it in his hand.
He stood once again, ready for a blast from Cyril, this time, he put more of his strength into the shield he put around himself.
At first, he didn’t see him. He saw mayhem behind where Cyril had been standing. The fae-touched were moving in a frenzy, apparently chasing down members of the tactical team, which only made Eoin feel guilty. Those men were probably up here running to their deaths. But they weren’t his primary concern.
Eoin stepped from the grass into the depressed clearing, and immediately a blast of power came at him from off to the side. He managed to hunker down and shoulder the brunt of it, most of the strength of the hit deflected by the shield. Even so, it still stung against his skin, burned his shirt, and caused him to cry out in pain.
He pulled the pin on the flashbang grenade, and he took a split second to see where Cyril stood. The second he sighted him, he threw the grenade and whispered a spell that would make his aim true. Cyril braced himself for a magic hit. That’s what Eoin had counted on.
The grenade bounced on the ground once and landed at Cyril’s feet. Three seconds later, it exploded. Eoin was smart enough to turn away and slam his eyes shut. Cyril, it seemed, hadn’t been so lucky.
When Eoin turned around, he saw Cyril standing up, stumbling and blinking away the flash of light from his retinas. Part of his face was singed. His shields were equipped to handle magic thrown at him, but clearly he wasn’t expecting mundane mortal weaponry.
Eoin threw a blast at Cyril, and it hit him. This time, he hadn’t been ready. The blast hit him and left the robe he wore in tatters. His skin was bloodied from the blast.
Immediately, Eoin dove to the side. As expected, Cyril let loose a wild blast in Eoin’s direction. Once again, Eoin shot Cyril again, this time from a different direction. An unexpected direction. Cyril’s skin blackened from the power and heat of his hit.
Cyril stood straight. He bled from half a dozen wounds over his bare upper torso, yet he lifted his face to the sky. In an instant, the magic swirled around him, and when it cleared, Cyril was gone.
Eoin fell to his knees. He felt defeat.
Then he saw a different flash of light in front of him.
Zach retrieved a weapon. He was lost in the tall grass, grass that seemed to be growing even as all of this was happening. The gun he carried had belonged to one of the tactical team members. Where its original owner was, he didn’t have a clue.
“Glenda!” He searched the rooftop for her. He stood up, barely able to see over the tops of the grass. It was like standing in the middle of a cornfield. “Glenda!” he called again.
But he realized calling out for her was a mistake.
A big mistake.
The screeches of those creatures, the fae-touched, sounded all around him. He couldn’t see where they were, so he turned and ran through the grass.
Hands grabbed him and pulled him down. He tried to fight back, but a hand gripped over his mouth.
He caught glimpse of dark-brown hair. “Shh!”
Glenda.
Around them, the grass erupted in movement. The both of them huddled together in an effort to make themselves as small as possible.
Zach concentrated hard as if he could make them both invisible as the movements of at least ten or more people—or what used to be people—swarmed around them. When it took the fae-touched longer to find them, he almost allowed himself to believe it worked.
A twisted face entered their small clearing. It hovered above them, the monstrous hands of the creature grabbing the tall grass to shove it aside in a part big enough for the monster to see. It lifted its head and sniffed.
Glenda flinched and covered her head with her hands. Zach thought it was over. He thought it would grab him and Glenda both, and they would both be torn apart.
But the thing looked directly at them. Zach lifted his gaze enough that he could look into the monster’s black eyes. They couldn’t be any more than a foot apart.
And the thing didn’t register that it saw them.
When gunfire rang out in another section of the rooftop, the creature pulled back and ran on through the grass in the direction of the sound.
Both he and Glenda remained where they were, both of them afraid to even move.
“What just happened?” Glenda finally managed in a quiet, trembling voice.
“I don’t know,” Zach whispered. He wasn’t about to question it. “Let’s go.”
He pulled Glenda by the arm, and she got to her feet. She wasn’t one to give up. She was shaken. He was too, for that matter. Both had been lifted up by unseen forces. They were at the whims of someone else, and he considered it a miracle that they weren’t dead.
“Where are we going?” Glenda asked.
Zach was merely pushing through the grass in a direction away from the sounds of the others. He heard the screams of a man caught up in an attack, and he could only guess who it was. Someone who’d come up there with them and who’d succumbed to the claws of one or more of those things. “I don’t know.”
As he said that, his foot hit up against something, and he almost tripped. In a second, he hung in open space, staring down at a drop off the side of the building. Glenda grabbed him by the arm and threw her weight back enough to pull him down and to keep him from falling to his death. He was afraid to look. He thought maybe he’d pissed his pants. His heart thudded in his ears, and he lay on his back, looking up into the dark night sky.
“Maybe I oughta lead the way,” she said.
As she spoke, a massive bang happened not far from their position. From where they were, Zach could see movement through the tall stalks of grass.
“That’s Eoin,” he said. He got to his hands and knees, still woozy from almost falling, and he crawled over to peer through. He saw the man, Cyril, stumbling around as if blind and Eoin hitting him with power that Zach could never have imagined before. Even from where he was, he could feel the heat of each discharge of energy.
And then, Cyril disappeared.
Zach pushed through the grass and made himself stand. “Eoin,” he called, but not too loudly. He lifted the assault rifle up above his head.
Before Eoin could make a move, Zach was able to see the dark mon
ster, the demon as that’s the only thing it could be, slam through a pillar of the dome, causing it to tilt.
They needed to get off this roof.
Liam’s body ached with the influx of power. But it wasn’t a pain in the traditional sense. This was due to power filling down to his bones, to his very core. He burned inside. If he didn’t let go now, it would consume him. He pulled his hand free of the power radiating from the orb—the winds of Tir na Nog. He stumbled backward and managed to catch himself as he came to a rest on the floor of the cathedral.
Even disconnected from the orb, he could still feel the power inside him. It was like he’d touched an electric wire and came away fully charged. If that was even possible.
As soon as he was free, the rest of the world came into focus again. He heard the muffled cries of Nina nearby, still lashed to the post with her arms above her head. He needed to free her, and he got to his feet.
But before he could move, a slam of sound hit Liam and caused him to flinch. He turned to see a looming black shape.
With Cyril gone, all that was left was the fomoire, the empty spirit of The Dagda. And with Cyril’s concentration broken, the demonic creature was free. It bent down low to the ground with a grumble from somewhere deep down.
The beast’s attention was not on Liam. It was on the stone that had fallen to the ground. Just as Cyril said, it was a soulless creature on an eternal search for the one thing that would make it whole again. The soul of its fae.
And that soul was trapped in the Lockstone, only able to be opened by Liam’s blood.
Liam didn’t need to think long on what would happen if the fomoire got ahold of the lockstone.
He lunged forward and grabbed the stone.
Instantly the fomoire’s dark, empty gaze landed on Liam, and it let out a growl that reverberated through the floor of the cathedral. The demonic creature moved as if it was going to pounce.
Gunfire erupted inside the dome, and sparks hit on the fomoire. Patrick ran, an assault rifle at his side and firing shot after shot into the dark beast and drawing its attention. The bullets seemed to have little effect other than to make the monster mad. Apparently, even if it was supposedly a spirit, it was still able to be hit by bullets.
Liam took this as his chance. Using the power he still wielded from the portal, he focused a burst of energy at the creature. It hit the fomoire, and the force of the magic knocked the beast backwards. That got its attention back on Liam.
Liam looked to Patrick. “Save Nina,” he shouted.
Patrick nodded and made for Nina tied to the post.
With the stone still in hand, Liam turned and ran out of the cathedral. He didn’t need to turn around to see if the fomoire had taken up pursuit. He heard the crunch of more stone as the beast slammed into one of the support columns. How much more could the dome take before it crumbled? That worry caused Liam to look back just as one side of the dome leaned downward.
The fomoire, though, filled Liam’s view, and Liam had to course correct as quickly as he could or risk being overtaken by the beast. He dove to the side and into a tall tuft of grass as the beast landed and rolled with the force of its own weight.
As he ran, Liam tried to aim another shot of magic at the creature, but his bolt went wide and slammed into a high-rise building across the canyon. He turned and continued running through the grass.
It wasn’t long, though, until he found himself cornered. The end of the rooftop. He turned just in time to see the fomoire rise above the tall grass and tower over Liam.
Liam had nowhere else to run. He tried to mount a powerful blast, but the fomoire was too quick this time, and he leapt to the side. Not enough for Liam to escape.
This was it. Nowhere else to go. Everything in his life led up to this moment, the moment when he stood at the precipice between this world and the one about to come open.
So, Liam did the only thing he was able to do, his last-ditch effort. He stepped up onto the edge of the building. He held the stone above his head.
“You want to sacrifice me?” Liam shouted. “Not this time, asshole!”
And Liam stepped backward into oblivion.
After Patrick freed Nina, he ran after Liam. He couldn’t miss the large form of the creature as it rose in a corner of the rooftop.
He sprinted through the grass and emerged on the other side just as Liam stepped up onto the edge of the building.
He aimed his weapon, and he fired, but the clip was empty.
And he saw the moment when Liam stepped off the edge.
“NO!” Patrick tried to get there. He tried to dive. But there was no way. He was too far away. Panic and fear mixed in his gut, almost too much for him as he dropped to his knees.
The dark creature, the fomoire, jumped over the edge after Liam.
“Patrick!”
He didn’t turn to the sound of his name. He only stared at the spot where, only moments ago, Liam had stood. The spot where Patrick had been unable to stop him from leaping off the side of the building to his death.
“Patrick, we have to go!”
Hands were on him. He turned then to see Brodie grab him by the shoulders. Katina was with him. They had the girl, Nina, in tow too.
The fae-touched were organizing, it seemed. They’d chased the last of the tactical team down, many of them piled in spots where Patrick assumed the dead men now lay, almost as if they were feeding on them. And now, those no longer spending time with tactical team members were looking to them as their next targets.
At least that’s what Patrick thought until he saw one of the creatures dressed in a tactical outfit.
“Where’s Liam?” Katina shouted.
Wordlessly, Patrick pointed to the edge. Gone. He couldn’t bring himself to say it. The sadness on their faces said they understood.
“Let’s go.” Brodie gave Patrick a solid pull, and Patrick was on his feet. On their way, Brodie moved at an impossible speed to punch into the chest of a fae-touched who got in their way. The chest of the creature caved inward from the blow, and it tumbled back several feet. Brodie’s special power, apparently. It made Patrick think back to their almost-fight. He was lucky Brodie pulled his punches back then, it seemed.
They went to one of the roof access points, a bulkhead that rose above the grassy ground.
Just as they fae-touched leapt at them, they made it to the door and pulled it open, and they ran inside.
Brodie was the last to enter. He turned just before running in and fired a blast of magic at the first of the creatures near enough to them to make a grab. The creature was blown back into the crowd of other fae-touched, allowing enough confusion for them to slam the door shut behind them.
As before, in the house in Wilmette, Katina worked a similar spell on the door. The door lit around the edges and sealed itself shut.
“Where’s Eoin?” Brodie shouted.
“I didn’t see him,” Katina said.
The girl, Nina, stared up at them. “And Liam?”
Patrick turned to her. He saw the fear in her face, the tears streaking her cheeks. “He jumped,” Patrick managed. A cry choked in his throat. “I think he jumped to save us.”
Thirty-Seven
Chicago, IL - The Loop
It was silent as Liam fell. The wind whipped at his ears and drowned out all other sound. And it was oddly serene. He knew what was to come. He fell fast toward the ground, and in seconds, it would all be over. There would be no sacrifice, no way to bring down the tenth Lockstone and open the portals. He was the last descendant of Fionn mac Cumhaill.
This was right. This was what he was meant to do. All things led to this moment.
He saw the fomoire above him, flying down toward him. And Liam only smiled.
“You’ll never make it,” Liam said or he thought he said. Either way, the message got through as the demon creature rumbled an angry sound.
Until a flicker of brightness caught Liam’s attention. The second stretched out, and his des
cent slowed until he was nearly stopped in midair. Above him, the fomoire was stopped too. The only one who seemed unaffected by the warp in time was Liam—more specifically, Liam’s consciousness. He could see and think as if it was normal, but the world around him crawled nearly to a stop.
“Not yet,” the voice said to him.
He turned to see the figure of the woman. Apocalypse Annie. She floated in the air next to him, much clearer than Liam had seen her prior to this, and her beauty was breathtaking—that is, if falling to his assured death wasn’t the thing that stole his breath more.
“Brighid,” she said. “My name. Though I do find your name for me amusing.”
“I can hear you,” Liam said. Strangely enough, he wasn’t surprised. On either account, being able to hear her and his halted descent to death. He should freak out, comment on how impossible it all was. But, in a way only clear in that moment, he expected this.
She glanced up above them. “The opening makes it easier. I’m able to reach you better, to communicate with you as I’ve been trying to since all of this began and you came in possession of the Lockstone.”
“You’re Fae,” Liam said. It wasn’t a question. “In Tir na Nog?”
“Yes.”
“Are you part of all this? Trying to bring down the Veil?”
She shrugged. “I have my reasons, but they’re not what you’re thinking.”
“Are you with that?” Liam referred to the beast frozen in the air above them.
“The Dagda?” She shook her head. “No. He is of the Unseelie Fae. I come from the Seelie Fae.”
Liam understood now. His eyes widened. “The good guys.”
She smiled. “We like to think so.” Her expression changed to one of near sorrow. “You can’t pass yet,” she said.
“But I have to,” Liam said. “It’s the only way.”
“No, there are other ways,” she said. “You have to trust me. This is just the beginning, and the only way to go back is through.”
Liam’s brow furrowed. “What does that mean?”
The Stone (Lockstone Book 1) Page 42