Possessed by the Fallen

by Sharon Ashwood

  “Let Kenyon pave the way with the police captain. You and I are dead, remember? Ghosts don’t have much authority when it comes to official crime scenes. Ghosts are better at the sneaking and spying part.”

  “Speak for yourself, dead man.”

  “Ouch. That’s a grave accusation.” Their banter, half-hearted bravado to cover their fears, faded to silence. Then Jack spoke again. “Where would they take the princess?”

  “To their turf. Somewhere they have control.”

  “Outside the capital, then.”

  Lark bit her lip. She had sources of information the Company didn’t know about. There were rules against sharing, but she mentally kicked them aside. This wasn’t the time to hold back. “The Light Fey have intelligence that servants of the Dark are setting up shop near the gates to the Dark Fey realm. I’d say that’s where we need to look first.”

  “In the mountains?” asked Jack, his voice surprised.

  “Yes.”

  “That’s a long way. Why go there when the wedding they’re trying to stop is here?”

  “I think it says something about their confidence. They don’t care so much about the wedding itself anymore.” Lark was already exhausted, her head pounding from Egon’s blow. “They think they can free the Dark Queen before the wedding takes place.”

  Jack swore. Lark agreed. So much depended on the wedding and the coronation that would follow, and so much on Amelie keeping her fey blood a secret.

  After a few minutes, Kenyon’s request to Valois bore fruit. Everyone but a handful of Captain Valois’s best detectives was cleared from the hallways outside the royal apartments. Immediately, Jack entered Amelie’s rooms to search for clues.

  Lark hunted for the invisible traces only a fey could hope to find. Ambulance attendants were bent over the guards who were slumped outside the princess’s door. One of the unconscious guards was in his middle years, but she recognized the younger one as the guard who’d loaned her his backup weapon. She put a hand to the young man’s throat, feeling for a pulse. It was there, but it was faint and slow.

  But that wasn’t all she felt. There was an oily film of Dark Fey magic clinging to his skin. “He’s still alive, but you should get him to a hospital right away.”

  “What’s wrong?” Jack asked, emerging from Amelie’s rooms.

  “We call it a Sleeping Beauty spell. It should wear off, but it’s hard to say whether it will be a matter of days or weeks.” In the old days, victims usually died of dehydration before the magic dissipated. At least now they could put the victim on an intravenous drip. She moved to check the other guard and found the same result.

  “Isn’t there any way to remove it?”

  “Not my kind of magic,” Lark replied. “And the thing about a kiss breaking the spell—it only works about half the time, even with royal blood involved.”

  “You can count Kyle out as a volunteer,” Kenyon announced, emerging from the direction of the prince’s rooms. “He’s gone, too. The place is trashed. There was definitely a struggle.”

  Lark rose to her feet. At her signal, the ambulance attendants brought stretchers for the fallen guards. “Why take Kyle?”

  “To ensure Amelie’s cooperation?” Kenyon suggested.

  “I’m not sure. She might have been drugged. I found this in the trash,” Jack said, holding up the empty bottle that had held the potion meant to disguise Amelie’s fey blood. He held it toward the light in his gloved hands, studying the dregs. “I can’t figure out what was in it. It doesn’t smell like alcohol.”

  Lark’s heart quailed, imagining the princess drinking the potion in an effort to protect herself. How frightened she must have been! And how smart. Light Fey blood doubled her value as a hostage, since the Light Court would be just as frantic as King Renault for her return. That made Amelie almost too valuable a prisoner to give up, no matter the amount of ransom.

  The potion would only last a few days, but that was a few days the Dark Fey couldn’t confirm the princess’s bloodline. Regardless of whether or not Drusella had seen Lark visit Amelie, that would create doubt until the potion wore off. Delay meant an opportunity for rescue—or so Lark hoped.

  “Smells herbal,” said Kenyon, sniffing the bottle. “Not cooking herbs, either. I don’t recognize these.”

  Lark took the bottle in her ungloved hands, all too aware she’d handled it before.

  “Fingerprints!” Jack took it back with a dark look for her amateur mistake. “Do you know what it is?”

  Lark just shook her head and Jack dropped the bottle into an evidence bag. “I need to keep looking,” he said as he disappeared back into Amelie’s quarters.

  Lark followed Kenyon to the prince’s apartment, where Kyle was staying until the wedding. It was a mess. Even the heavy drapes were torn from their moorings.

  “I don’t get it,” said the werewolf. “Something like this should have caused a racket. How come no one noticed?”

  “A cloaking spell,” Lark replied. “The place stinks of it. They must have taken both the prince and princess at the same time and covered their tracks with a glamour that made everything look and sound normal. I’ve used that kind of spell myself.”

  “Huh.” Kenyon kicked a velvet throw cushion out of his path. “Something doesn’t sit right. I’m still not sure why they’d take the prince.”

  “I have one theory,” Lark said. “The rubies hold the spell to open the gates, like a container. The Haven family of the Light Court wove the magic, which is why their blood is used in the rituals. But to activate the spell, you need a token or representative from each of the major races. That way no one race can decide the fate of the Dark Fey. They all have to agree.”

  “Which means what?”

  “To open the gates, the Blackthorns will need a vampire, a werewolf, a Light Fey of the Haven line and a mortal prince. Not a princess—the spell was written with the original kings of Marcari and Vidon in mind. So I think they need Kyle for the spell.”

  “That makes sense,” Kenyon agreed in gloomy tones. “They had Kyle’s brother the last time they tried the gates. Too bad they didn’t keep him. The guy is a goof.”

  Lark bent and picked up a framed photograph that had smashed on the floor. It was a picture of the princess leaning against a bright red Porsche, a wide smile on her face as she preened for the camera. That look was meant for Kyle, not a casual observer. An inexpressible sadness lodged in Lark’s chest. She set the photo facedown on the end table, careful of the shattered glass.

  Jack appeared in the doorway. “Look at this.” He had a bundle of white fluff in his arms. “I found this little guy in the back of the princess’s shoe cupboard.”

  “That’s Lancelot,” Lark said. “Amelie’s dog.”

  “Lancelot?” Kenyon said in mortification. “I bet he gets teased at doggy day care.”

  The poor thing was shivering in fright, giving it the look of a hysterical bedroom slipper. “Check out his collar,” said Jack.

  “Hey, little brother. Everything’s going to be okay.” Kenyon drew near, rubbing the dog’s ears until the creature stopped shaking. Then he unbuckled the thin strip of jewel-studded leather and held it up. “The princess knew Lance here would be smart enough to run and hide.”

  Lark’s jaw dropped. The ruby wedding ring was hooked around the collar. It was a stroke of brilliance, and it changed the game entirely. “She’s left us a bargaining chip.”

  But their momentary elation didn’t last long. “This means the kidnappers wrote the note to Valois after they took the princess. The captain just told me that he got the note two hours ago. That means they have at least that much of a head start.”

  “They’ll get to their stronghold before making any more demands,” Lark said. “We need to intercept them before they get there.”

 
“We’re only assuming they’re heading toward the hidden gates,” Jack said. “I’d like more proof, but if we wait any longer, we’ll lose the chance to catch them on the road.”

  “Which road, exactly?” Kenyon asked. “Does anyone know how to get to the Dark Fey kingdom?”

  “The entrance is in a lake at the heart of the Derrondine Pass,” said Jack. “I was there when the original spell was cast to lock the Dark Fey inside.”

  Kenyon gave a low whistle. “That’s deep in the mountains and as remote as it gets.”

  “Which is why we have to catch them. No doubt the Dark Fey are counting on that isolation to work the ritual in secret.” Jack’s eyes seemed to burn, for once his anger barely banked. “We may be all that’s left of the Company in Marcari, but guarding the princess remains our duty. We leave at once.”

  Chapter 13

  Jack commandeered an armored Land Rover Defender from the palace garage and Captain Valois offered enough supplies and weapons to equip an invasion—which wasn’t far from their goal. Jack had done battle with Selena, Queen of the Dark Fey, back in the day. Sometimes more was better.

  “I should be going with you,” said the police captain. He was somewhere in his forties, with nondescript brown hair and worry lines that matched the creases in his uniform.

  “You’re understaffed and under attack.” Jack might have added that the police were out of their depth, but he could tell Valois already knew it. “Keep the palace and its guests safe. We’ll get the bride and groom back here in time for the wedding.”

  Valois gave him a shrewd look. “You are very confident, vampire.”

  “You’ve seen us in action,” Jack said, gesturing to where Kenyon was loading supplies into the vehicle. “The Horsemen always come through.”

  Valois nodded. “True. Kenyon was hellish messy and kept turning up naked on the palace lawn—but he got results.”

  Nevertheless, the police captain produced a piece of paper from his jacket pocket and handed it to Jack. “Here’s what we know so far. There was a late-model black Chevrolet Suburban seen leaving the west palace entrance at exactly the time our kidnappers would have left. What caught the interest of our patrol was that the drivers of the vehicle appeared to be loading large bags of laundry. Not the usual laundry company. The patrol wrote down the plate number and went to confront them.”

  “What happened?” asked Jack.

  “He just remembered the incident five minutes ago. Can’t remember actually speaking to anyone or what they looked like.”

  “Fey mind tricks.” Jack took the paper with the plate number from Valois. “Leave pursuit to the Company. This type of situation is what we’re good at.”

  “Ah, but the enemy got to your headquarters first, didn’t they? It seems not even the vampires are invulnerable this time.”

  Jack had no reply to that.

  Valois folded his arms. “There is one thing I don’t understand. Why would Dark Fey need a regular vehicle? Isn’t there a spell they could use to travel faster?”

  “That seldom works with human passengers,” Jack replied. “The risk would be too great.”

  “Good to know they have limits. Is there anything else you need?”

  Jack needed the drones and choppers and everything else that had been destroyed at HQ, but there was no point in saying so—the locals didn’t have anything close to that level of tech because the Company had always provided that. Valois was doing what he could. His most trusted team had already taken on the forensic work involved in processing the HQ crime scene.

  “Keep this mission under wraps,” Jack said. “If no one knows we were here, and if no one knows the prince and princess are missing, we have a far better chance of success. The last thing we need to deal with is news hounds and public panic.”

  “Understood.” Valois frowned. “I know the Night World likes its secrecy, but I have to say that burning arch was hardly discreet.”

  “If this group wins, the whole world will know about the Dark Queen. I don’t think they care.”

  The police captain grew pale. “Good luck, Jack. Do what you do best.”

  Jack flashed him a feral smile. “The Company gets justice. It’s what we’ve always done.”

  * * *

  Lark bolted upright from a light doze, her head pounding from the merciless bouncing of the vehicle. The Land Rover was climbing a steep road toward the foothills of the mountains. Jack had driven for the rest of the night, trading off with Kenyon hours ago. Rough terrain made the ETA at the Derrondine Pass hard to guess, and they had no sense of how likely they were to overtake the kidnappers. Kenyon was barreling along right at the edge of safety...and a bit beyond.

  Lark straightened up, fumbling with the seat belt that was threatening to strangle her. She was in the back of the Land Rover, chilled by air-conditioning and sheltered by the murky glow of tinted windows. The tinted glass privacy panel behind the driver’s seat was shut. Faintly, she could hear music pounding through the sound system with Kenyon accompanying in a surprisingly good singing voice.

  She’d been dreaming about the time she’d gone riding with her uncle Soran’s sons. Her cousins were everything fey warriors were supposed to be—strong, fleet and fearless. She’d tried to keep up with them, fallen off her horse and broken her arm. Lark wondered why she’d had that dream now. Maybe the out-of-control situation had reminded her of that wild ride. Or maybe it was the fear she would fail.

  Jack was next to her, slumped against the door and inscrutable behind his sunglasses. She studied his face, admiring the clean lines of his features. She was tempted to trace them with a fingertip except he looked so grim, the set of his mouth an unhappy slash. His restless twitching suggested he was having bad dreams, too.

  “Jack!” she said.

  One hand went to his eyes, knocking his sunglasses askew. He sat up with a grunt.

  “Jack, wake up.”

  “I’m awake,” he snapped, then pulled off the glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Or now I am.”

  Lark watched him, wondering if he remembered fey could sometimes read a sleeper’s dreams. She’d never penetrated his, but she could sense them like a distant storm. She gripped the seat as the Land Rover hit a bump. “Nightmare?” she asked.

  He closed his eyes, his expression resigned. “Is there any other option, given the mission?”

  “Impossible odds don’t keep you up. You’re cool as a perfectly chilled chardonnay.”

  A crease formed between his brows. “How long have you been waiting to use that line?”

  “Don’t deflect. What’s up?”

  He grunted. “Some questions are on my mind.”

  “Like what?” Lark asked.

  He shot her a grumpy look. “For an isolated people determined never to get involved, the Light Fey know a lot—like the fact the Blackthorns are setting up shop near the gates. Just how deep in this situation are your people?”

  So they were back to playing spy on spy. “With the Dark Fey rising, we need to be vigilant. Our forces are ready for battle at the first sign of attack.”

  His expression softened slightly. “Good to know. You used to be the best fighters of anyone, but what numbers can you put in the field today if things go wrong?”

  “The council hasn’t shared that information with me.” Lark pushed her hair back, suddenly weary. “You know they’d never let me tell an outsider anyway. The Light Court is pathologically secretive.” Even a hint of their vulnerability would give someone like Drusella ideas.

  A lift of his eyebrows said he noticed her unusual bluntness. “Rumor has it your numbers are declining.”

  “We did ourselves a disservice by remaining isolated. That much is plain.”

  Few understood how that mattered—or how Amelie’s kidnapping was a disaster deeper than any
one but the Light Fey could know. The wedding and coronation had to happen, or they were in trouble beyond anything the Dark Fey could devise.

  Jack noticed her mood. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m afraid,” she said truthfully. “I’m afraid of the Dark Queen. I’m afraid of my own mistakes. I’m afraid the good guys can’t pull together in time to save each other.” I wish I could tell you everything, but Amelie’s secrets aren’t mine to tell. And the slightest hint about the princess’s bloodline would put Amelie and all her future children at risk. Lark wasn’t ready to do that, not even with Jack.

  He bowed his head. Even in the gloom of the car, it was easy to see his hair would have been streaked with gold if the sun ever shone on it. But too many years had passed in darkness, and now it was the brown of winter loam. Transfixed by the memory of its feel, Lark couldn’t help herself—she pushed aside the strands that fell across his forehead. His head jerked up, his expression wary.

  “The Light Fey are vulnerable,” she said, risking as much frankness as she dared. “You’re right, we’re deeply worried about the Dark Queen returning. The council has suspected this might be coming for a long time. And that’s exactly why they sent me to you.”

  “Did you join the Company just to get close to me?” he asked. Despite his light tone, she could hear the bitterness beneath.

  “Yes. I didn’t care why they sent me at first. I was beside myself with joy at getting picked for such an important mission.” Moral qualms about her role had struck her much later, when she’d finally met the fearsome leader of the Horsemen. “I broke every rule and wanted you for myself. Whatever happened in the past, or happens now, you have to believe that much.”

  Lark took a deep breath, waiting for his reaction, even if it was anger. She was glad to give him what truth she could. She owed him.

  He studied her from behind his dark glasses, his mouth turned down. “And now that you’ve had a glimpse of what I am?”

  “It was a shock,” she said bluntly. “But I don’t give myself lightly, Jack, and I won’t sever that bond until you show me I chose the wrong man. Whatever you are, you’ve never done that.” Even after she’d stabbed him, he’d covered her with a blanket.