by Eric Asher
“A bit dramatic,” Edgar said, “but yes. Her name is Heather. And she has long worked alongside the Unseelie Court. When they first started rebuilding Falias, Ward feared it might have been her help that allowed them to rebuild so much of it so fast. She can amplify some of the Fae’s energies. It’s a dangerous skill, and one Ward himself has not mastered.”
“I didn’t realize she is still alive,” Aideen said, hopping down onto the console beside Drake. “I thought she died in the basilisk attack? When Falias was in Faerie?”
“Seems like a lot of us aren’t as dead as you thought,” Drake said, smirking at Aideen.
“You cannot be who you say you are,” Aideen said, tilting her head. “Your powers would have fled long ago.”
Drake rested his hand on a dagger in his belt. “Make of it what you will.”
“Can we stop arguing about that now?” Vicky asked.
“The girl’s right,” Edgar said. “If it’s Heather who warded the bunkers beneath Falias, then we have a great many challenges ahead.”
The door creaked open behind us. Sam stood there, an exhausted-looking Foster on her shoulder, and an exasperated Casper standing behind her.
“Happy now?” Casper said. “I told you, they’re all fine.”
Sam nodded. She walked over to me and gave me a brief hug before turning to the rest of the room.
“You have a ride home?” I asked.
“Vik’s on his way,” Sam said. “But thanks.”
I nodded. “Just get some rest. We might need you before this is all over.”
“You always need me.”
I exchanged a grin with Sam, but her smile didn’t hide the circles under her eyes, or the rippled flesh, still healing where she’d been burned by the lights.
“There’s an old story,” Foster said, his voice cracking with exhaustion as he tried to raise it. “An old legend. They say it was a mage gifted in the art of wards who crafted the Mad King’s hand of glory. It’s just a story, maybe, but you need to understand the kind of power that Ward can wield. The power his apprentice probably can, too.”
“And?” I asked.
Foster’s gaze trailed to Drake, and he stopped speaking for a time.
“And those are lost arts,” Aideen said, answering for him. “Koda knows of some of them. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was him who planted the idea of the ghost circles in Zola’s brain, or Ward’s.”
“There are too many things we thought dead and buried,” Foster said. “Relics from wars long forgotten. And Fae thought to be dead for a thousand years.”
“You’re getting paranoid in your old age,” Drake said. “I’d heard the new Demon Sword was a fierce fighter, nigh unkillable.”
“Everything is killable,” Foster said, baring his teeth. “You just have to try hard enough. But tell me, Demon Sword, what will you do if they come for the girl?” Foster turned his gaze to Vicky, and I caught some reaction in Drake.
I wouldn’t call it anger, or fear, but whatever it was left in a flash.
“My only oath was to a king who was lost long ago.” Drake slowly unsheathed his sword and turned the blade over on his palm. “Pray that is the worst you endure.”
“The worst?” Foster snarled. Whatever exhaustion had practically pinned him to Sam’s shoulder evaporated as he surged to his feet. “I lost my king, a fairy I looked to as a father, and he murdered my mother. What do you know of loss, imposter?”
Drake pinched the tip of his sword, gave a small smile directed no one, then lashed out, leaving a red wound in the air before him. He looked down at Vicky. “We will meet again. Stay with your friends, little one. For they are fools, and fools protect their own.”
Vicky crossed her arms as Drake stepped into the portal. The light dimmed, and the room held one less fairy.
“Stand down,” Park said.
I wasn’t sure who he was talking to, until I caught a glimpse of the gun barrels just outside the door. A small squad of soldiers had flanked Casper, and even the sniper had a hand on her sidearm.
“Perhaps it would be best if we took our leave,” Edgar said.
Park nodded. “If your mages turn up anything else that’s been tampered with, I’d appreciate a copy.”
“Of course,” Edgar said. “An old alliance must be cared for, but a tentative one, even more so.”
“Walk with us, Edgar,” Zola said. “I’d like to hear more of Ward and his apprentice.”
“Foster,” Casper said.
The fairy looked back over his shoulder, flexing his wings so he could see the sniper.
“Your sword,” she said.
He nodded, and took the small weapon from between her pinched fingers. “Thank you.”
“Debrief in ten,” Park said. “Gather your squad.”
“Yes, sir,” Casper said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
I watched the black SUV bump its way down the cobblestone street, ferrying Sam back to the Pit. She’d be safe there, and I was glad of it. Now I just had to worry about Vicky, our little dragon rider.
“We could go after Nudd directly,” Aideen said as we walked down Main Street, drawing my attention to her perch on Zola’s shoulder. “Take him down before he has a chance to use the bombs.”
Edgar stepped around a missing cobblestone on the sidewalk, tipping his hat when he bumped into me. I almost laughed at the mundane gesture.
“That’s an aggressive plan.” Foster rubbed his chin. “We could do it.”
“No,” Zola said. “We must retrieve the bombs, or destroy them. Even if Nudd was incapacitated, who’s to say the next in line to the throne wouldn’t use them?”
“And they can set them off?” I asked. “Without a secret decoder ring?”
Zola snorted.
“Yes,” Foster said. “They’ve gone after reactors before. Meddled with tests in the deserts. They know what they’re doing.”
“Chernobyl,” Aideen said. “It was only one of many thefts. Perhaps the one that went most wrong. But rest assured, Nudd and his ilk can trigger those bombs with magic.”
“And they may have Heather,” Edgar said. “She has Ward’s power, but is somewhat unhinged. The thought gives me little comfort.”
I kicked a loose stone into the street. “To say the least.”
We walked in silence for a brief time until the sign for Death’s Door loomed large overhead.
“The Obsidian Inn is our best bet,” I said as the bell rattled on the front door. “They can keep Nudd distracted, and they’re going to know the catacombs beneath Falias as well as any opposition.”
“Perhaps better,” Aideen said, gliding into the storefront. The rest of us followed.
“Thank God you’re back,” Frank said, scooping a canvas backpack up off the counter. “I’m heading to the Pit to meet Sam. You mind locking up?”
He’d already sprinted through the saloon-style doors before I could respond. I heard Bubbles chuff once at the bald man running through the store, and then he was gone.
Aideen settled on the glass counter beside the register. “I guess Frank knows Sam’s out.”
I nodded. “And we have to get to Falias. Everything is there. I doubt Liam, Lochlan, and Enda have much more time.”
“I can distract the military,” Edgar said. “With the mage machina from the Society of Flame, we can, at the very least, keep the focus of those spies trained elsewhere.”
“Ah don’t know if that will be enough, Edgar.” Zola rubbed her wrist. “But, regardless, the boy is right. It is to Falias we must go.”
Vicky rolled her neck and eyed the clock on the wall. “Can we go now?” Jasper trilled on her shoulder, and I was pretty sure the furball was thinking the same thing I was thinking.
“Hell no. We need to plan. Foster needs a nap. And I need to make a phone call.”
* * *
A few hours later I was still awake, sitting in the reading nook on the second floor of Death’s Door. Manuscripts were pi
led around the ghost circle, some of which I hadn’t read in years, and I had little doubt that Koda had been here. The old ghost couldn’t affect things outside the circle, so Frank usually helped him pull down the volume he needed to study. But the book I’d been studying had a tendency to bleed.
I yawned and pinched the bridge of my nose. Zola was snoring like someone was trying to turn over a cold engine on a semi. I grinned at my master, sprawled out on the inflatable bed that her back could tolerate far better than mine. Vicky slept on one of the oversized stuffed leather chairs, a small ball of fur purring beside her. Jasper’s unblinking black eyes stayed ever-watchful for any threats. I glanced down at my phone. It was nearly one in the morning, and that’s when Caroline had told me to return her call. The first time I’d tried, she’d said she was too busy to talk. Despite my protests that I had some really important shit to say, she’d still hung up on me.
So Edgar left, and the fairies retreated to their clock for Foster to rest. Peanut flopped down in front of the clock, like a very lumpy rug, while Bubbles waited across the room, camped out beside the coffee table. I doubted they’d move much before Foster had recovered. That cell had made him sick, and I hoped Aideen could work her magic on getting him back to normal.
Whatever that meant.
I flipped through my contacts, and my thumb paused over the photo of Caroline. It was an old one she’d emailed me after we’d lost Carter. After we’d lost Carter again. He was in an old torn-up wool shirt, and she wore the uniform of the Irish Brigade. The photo had been taken during the Civil War, and the bloody clash at Antietam would be bearing down on them in a matter of weeks. Caroline knew war like most of us know breathing. Some days I felt sorry for the wolves. Their penchant for violence and pack rivalries were some of the worst in all of the supernatural communities. But I’d seen Caroline with her friends and family. They knew more than killing.
Caroline picked up on the second ring. “Sorry about that, Damian. We had a small emergency with the Obsidian Inn. Morrigan called us to help deal with a new company of dark-touched.”
My mind raced, delaying my immediate determination to spew out everything that was happening with the military, and the location of the bombs. Instead, I said, “More dark-touched?”
“A lot more,” she said, a small tremor in her voice. “And these are different, Damian. They’re smarter.” She hesitated, even after she took a deep breath as if she meant to speak.
“Why did Morrigan call you? Have you seen their training grounds?”
“I have, Damian, but they took a hit. Morrigan is still holding back the bulk of their forces, keeping them in reserve for the main campaign against Nudd. And she is right to do it.”
“For what?” I hissed, my voice low, trying not to wake up Zola or Vicky. “You don’t think the wolves would’ve made for a better surprise?”
“In a brigade of highly trained Fae?” Caroline asked. She didn’t say anything more after the rhetorical question. She didn’t need to. I knew damn well she was right. The wolves may have some serious muscle and durability, but there were Fae, especially the older Fae who were reserved and polite and proper, who hid titanic magicks behind their facades.
Caroline took a deep breath. “We almost lost Dell.”
“Is he okay?” I asked, my heart rate spiking.
“One of the dark-touched got its claws in him, and he didn’t exactly have a measured response. I’d be proud of the idiot if I wasn’t scared for him. He pulled one of those things out of the ground. One of the gravemakers. But I didn’t think it was going to let him go.”
“It attacked him?” I asked, my mind scrambling to remember when Dell had learned how to summon a gravemaker. I mean I supposed we had both always known, without realizing what we were doing. The things were naturally attracted to us, and if we were near one, it wasn’t likely to be far. It wasn’t too uncommon for it to make its presence known.
“No,” Caroline said. “He almost lost himself to it. His arms, they’re cut up pretty bad. I’m not certain what happened.”
But I was damn sure what had happened. Dell had lost control. He’d put everything he had into pulling that gravemaker out of the earth and turning it against the dark-touched that were attacking his friends. I’d done the same thing myself, but part of me always thought it was the mantle of Anubis that allowed me to do it. For Dell to do it without the mantle made me feel like he was lucky to be alive.
“Morrigan is more than capable of dealing with some dark-touched, though. She could have spared a few troops. It’s not like Nudd doesn’t know the Obsidian Inn exists. If we’re being honest, he probably has spies inside the Inn anyway.”
“You haven’t heard,” Caroline said.
It wasn’t a question, but it prompted one anyway.
“Heard what?”
“Nudd is going to execute Liam, Lachlan, and Enda,” Caroline said.
“I know.”
“Let me finish,” Caroline snapped. “They’ll be executed two days from now at dusk. It’ll be broadcast, Damian. A spectacle for the humans and the Fae alike.”
“We have to get them out.”
“I wish I would’ve thought of that,” Caroline said, “but the humans are already in a frenzy over their missing nuclear weapons. Do you know how many weapons the humans have that aren’t nuclear, Damian? You understand how much damage they can still do? To the Fae, and each other?”
I’d seen what men could do. The supernaturals were capable of horrible things, but there was a side of the commoners that was anything but human. I’d seen their dead. I’d heard stories of their murders, and I’d killed more than one for what they’d done. But with governments unhinged, and the military’s might decreased, the thought of what one might do to another was unsettling indeed.
“We know where the bombs are now. The green men and the forest gods told us. What if we could return them?”
Caroline cursed. “Of course you did. Since when would a forest god, supposedly allied with Nudd, help a necromancer? That’s insane, Damian.”
Beyond. “I helped them regrow part of their forest in Greenville. I think it saved one of their lives.”
The phone went silent. I pulled it away from my ear and looked down at the screen to make sure I hadn’t accidentally disconnected Caroline. “You there?”
“Damian, that’s not possible.”
“It is,” I said, drawing the word out. “Cara taught me, a long time ago.”
Caroline muttered a curse in a language I didn’t know. “It doesn’t matter right now. Where are the bombs?”
“They’re beneath Falias itself. From what I understand, it’s beneath Nudd’s palace.”
“Palace,” Caroline said, disgust plain in her voice. “More like a temple where that idiot can worship himself.”
“It’s in a bunker beneath the ground, and there are enough arms there to wipe most of humanity from the earth.”
“And if Nudd detonates those?” Caroline asked. “We’re just going to march in there and die. I don’t care how fast you can heal; there isn’t much that can survive a nuclear blast.”
“I doubt he’ll detonate them while he’s standing on top of them. But I don’t suppose you know any were-lichen?”
Caroline snorted a laugh. “Not the time.” She paused. “Hold on, I’m conferencing Morrigan in.”
“Morrigan has a phone?” I asked, but I was already on hold. “I can’t believe Morrigan has a phone.”
The line came back before I finished talking to myself.
“It’s not my phone,” Morrigan said. “We have a few, and our spies have several. We found that the commoners’ technology can be moderately more difficult to intercept than that of the old magicks. You’d be wise to use one with your queen.”
“You do understand people can still intercept those calls?” I asked.
“Of course,” Morrigan said. “But it is more likely to be the commoners than the Fae.”
“Caroline tells
me you learned the location of Nudd’s arsenal.”
“Beneath his palace in a large bunker. I don’t know exactly where, but that’s what the forest gods told me.”
Morrigan fell silent for a moment. “Very well. What do you intend to do with this knowledge?”
“I intend to get the bombs, or destroy the bombs, or hide the bombs, all while rescuing Liam, Lachlan, and Enda.”
“And this is the extent of your plan?” Morrigan asked.
“No, I asked Caroline to help. You were next on my list.”
Morrigan let out a humorless laugh. “I am mystified as to how you are not dead yet, Damian Vesik. While your intentions here are honorable, I do not know if the return of the commoners’ weapons will calm their military. But I do know that the bombs cannot stay in the hands of Gwynn Ap Nudd.”
Her voice had taken on a slow cadence and a dark timbre. The sound of her words sent a chill down my spine. Morrigan knew the kind of death magic I’d seen, she knew the kind of death magic I controlled, but she was talking about some kind of nuclear Fae magic. The very idea was insane. And terrifying.
“Are you seeing more of the elites yet?” Caroline asked.
“No,” Morrigan said. “But we have seen more of the dark-touched pawns.”
Morrigan’s words reminded me that they’d been using the term “elites” to refer to the dark-touched who were capable of speech. I rubbed at the stubble on my chin. “You think they’ll be guarding the bombs alongside Hern?”
“It’s possible,” Morrigan said. “My more immediate concern is the commoners. The military must be calm, or we will have a war in earnest on two fronts.”
“Edgar is working on it. He has the mage machina trying to root out Nudd’s spies in the military. In the meantime, he may be able to block some of the communication between countries that may be escalating things.”
“Whatever can be done, do it.”
“Drake has returned to the Obsidian Inn,” Morrigan said. “I’m curious as to why he did not relay all of this information to me. As I understand, he has spent time with you this past day.”