We couldn’t let things get that far. The walls had to stay up.
Maybe having the Orb in advance would help Rowena perfect the ritual she planned to perform. Between the sidheseers, Barrons, and the MacKeltars, surely they could get the ritual right one more time, and buy me until next Halloween—an entire year—to figure things out. I swallowed my pride. Again. I was really beginning to resent the greater good.
Besides, there was an abbey full of sidhe-seers as worried as I was. I wanted them to know I was firmly on their side. Just not their leader’s. ”I’ll drop it by PHI sometime tomorrow, Kat,” I said finally. “But you guys owe me. A big one. Several big ones. And tell Rowena it’s a darn good thing one of us is grown-up enough to do the right thing.”
_____
At seven o’clock Saturday evening, I was sitting in the front conversation area of the bookstore, legs crossed, foot kicking air impatiently, waiting for Barrons.
Your problem, Ms. Lane, he’d said last night, after he’d handed me the Orb, is you’re still being passive. Sitting around, waiting for phone calls. Although Jayne wasn’t an entirely bad idea—
Jayne was a brilliant idea and you know it.
— time is not on our side. You must be aggressive. You promised me a sighting. I want it.
What do you suggest?
Tomorrow we hunt. Sleep late. I’ll be keeping you up all night.
I’d shrugged off a thrill of unwanted sexual awareness at his words. No doubt Barrons could keep a woman up all night. Why night? Why not hunt the Book during the day? Where did he go? What did he do?
I’ve been tracking crimes in the dailies. Night is its time. Has Jayne ever called you during the day?
There was that. He hadn’t.
Seven o’clock, Ms. Lane. You’ll have an hour of Voice first.
I stood up, stretched, caught sight of my reflection in the window, and admired the picture. My new jeans were French and fit like a dream, my sweater was pink and soft, my boots were Dolce & Gabbana, my jacket was Andrew Marc, made of the supplest black leather I’d ever seen, and I’d woven a brilliant pink, yellow, and purple silk scarf through my hair and taken my time with my makeup. I looked and felt great.
Barrons was still apologizing, or maybe just trying to get on my good side. This morning when I’d awakened there’d been four shopping totes and two hanging garment bags outside my bedroom door, full of new clothes. It wigged me out that Barrons had shopped for me. Especially considering what was in some of those bags. The man had exceptional taste and an eye for detail. Everything fit. That wigged me out, too.
The bell over the door tinkled and Barrons stepped in. He was night in an Armani suit, silver-toed boots, black shirt, and dark eyes.
“Not bothering with the mirror tonight?” I said breezily, “Or have you forgotten I know you walk around in it?”
“Kneel before me, Ms. Lane.”
His words surrounded me, infiltrated me, drove me to my knees, like a human before a Fae.
“Doesn’t that just burn?” He gave me one of his scarier smiles. “Kneeling to me must offend every ounce of your perky little being.”
I’d show him perky. Jaw clenched, I tried to rise. I tried to scratch my nose. I couldn’t even do that. I was as locked in place as a person in a body-encompassing straitjacket. “Why does your command lock down my whole body?” At least my vocal cords were working.
“It doesn’t. My order only holds you on your knees. The rest of you is free to move. You’re overmuscling yourself, struggling so hard you’re locking up. When someone uses Voice on you, they’ve got you only to the letter of their command. Remember that. Close your eyes, Ms. Lane.”
It wasn’t an order, but I did it anyway. I managed to wiggle my fingers then my entire hands. I poked around inside my head. The sidhe-seer place burned hot but everything else was dark. The sidhe-seer place didn’t have a thing to do with resisting Voice.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
What an odd question. Didn’t he know everything about me? I’d like to be able to Voice him on that one. “I’m Mac. MacKayla Lane.” Perhaps O’Connor in my blood, but Lane in my heart.
“Strip away the name. Who are you?”
I shrugged. Ha—now only my knees were rooted. The rest of me was moving freely. I swung my arms, to make sure he knew it. “A girl. Twenty-two. A sidhe-seer. A daught—”
“Labels,” he said impatiently. “Who the fuck are you, Ms. Lane?”
I opened my eyes. “I don’t get it.”
“Close your eyes.” Voice ricocheted from wall to wall. My eyes closed as if they were his. “You exist only inside yourself,” he said. “No one sees you. You see no one. You are without censure, beyond judgment. There is no law. No right or wrong. How did you feel when you saw your sister’s body?”
Rage filled me. Rage at what had been done to her. Rage at him for bringing it up. The thought that no one could see or judge me was liberating. I swelled with grief and anger.
“Now tell me who you are.”
“Vengeance,” I said in a cold voice.
“Better, Ms. Lane. But try again. And when you speak to me, bow your head.”
I was bleeding by the time the night’s lesson was over. In several places. They were self-inflicted wounds.
I understood why he’d done it. This was tough, well, not love, but tough life lessons. I had to learn this. And I would do whatever it took.
When he’d made me pick up the knife and cut myself, I’d seen a glimmer of light in the darkness inside my skull. I’d still cut myself, but something deep inside me had stirred. It was there, somewhere, if I could just dig deep enough to get to it. I wondered who I’d be by the time I got there. Was this why Barrons was the way he was? Who had put Jericho Barrons on his knees? I could hardly even picture it.
“Did you hurt yourself when you learned?” I asked.
“Many times.”
“How long did it take you?”
He smiled faintly. “Years.”
“That’s unacceptable. I need this now. At least to be able to resist, or I’ll never be able to get near the LM.”
I thought he was going to argue with me about getting near the LM but he said only, “That’s why I’m skipping years of training, taking you far ahead into difficult territory. Tonight was only the beginning of. pain. If you’re not okay with where it’s going, tell me here, and now. I won’t ask again. I’ll push you as far as I think you can go.”
I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I’m okay with it.”
“Go bandage yourself, Ms. Lane. Use this.” He withdrew a small bottle of ointment from his pocket.
“What is it?”
“It will speed the healing.”
When I returned, he held open the door, and ushered me into the night.
I glanced instinctively to the right. My gargantuan Shade was a dark cloud on top of the building next door. It loomed menacingly, and began to slither down the brick façade.
Barrons stepped out behind me.
The Shade retreated. “What are you?” I said irritably.
“In the Serengeti, Ms. Lane, I would be the cheetah. I’m stronger, smarter, faster, and hungrier than everything else out there. And I don’t apologize to the gazelle when I take it down.”
Sighing, I moved for the bike but he turned left. “We’re walking?” I was surprised.
“For a few hours. I want a look at the city, then we’ll come back for a car.”
Unseelie were everywhere in the damp, cobbled streets. The ever-increasing crime rate didn’t seem to be keeping anyone at home. The juxtaposition of the two worlds—carefree humans, some half drunk, others only beginning their night on the town, laughing and talking, mingling with the predatory, grimly focused Unseelie draped loosely in glamour that I now had to work to see, as opposed to having to work to see past—painted the night with the slick menace of a traveling carnival.
There were Rhino-boys, and those creepy-looking st
reet vendors with the huge eyes and no mouths; there were winged things, and things that scampered. Some were in high glamour, walking down the sidewalk with human companions. Others perched on buildings, birds of prey, selecting a kill. I half-expected one of them to recognize us, sound the alarm, and descend in force.
“They’re self-serving,” Barrons said, when I mentioned it. “They obey a master as long as he’s in their face. But an Unseelie’s true master is its hunger, and this city is a banquet. They’ve been trapped for hundreds of thousands of years. There is little left of them but hunger at this point. It’s consuming to feel so empty, so. hollow. It blinds them to all else.”
I looked at him sharply. He’d sounded strange there at the end, almost as if he felt. sorry for them.
“When did you last kill one of them, Ms. Lane?” he said suddenly.
“Yesterday.”
“Was there trouble you didn’t tell me about?”
“No. I just cut him up for parts.”
“What?” Barrons stopped and looked down at me.
I shrugged. “A woman died the other day. She wouldn’t have, if I’d had it handy. I won’t make that mistake again.” I was secure in my conviction that I was doing the right thing.
“The woman in my store?” When I nodded, he said, “And just where are you keeping these. parts, Ms. Lane?”
“In my purse.”
“Do you think that’s wise?”
”I think I just said I did,” I said coolly.
“You do realize if you eat it again, you won’t be able to sense the one thing we need?”
“I’ve got it under control, Barrons.” I hadn’t even looked at the jars since lunch.
“One never has an addiction under control. If you eat it again, I will personally kick your ass. Got it?”
“If I eat it again, you can try to personally kick my ass.” Being able to hold my own with Barrons had been one of the many upsides to eating Unseelie. I often craved it for that reason alone.
“I’ll wait till it wears off,” he growled.
“What fun would that be?” I would never forget the night we’d fought, the unexpected lust.
We looked at each other and for a moment those clouds of distrust lifted and I saw his thoughts in his eyes.
You were something to see, he didn’t say.
You were something to feel, I didn’t reply.
His gaze shuttered.
I looked away.
We walked briskly down the sidewalk. Abruptly, he grabbed my arm and detoured me down a side alley. Two dark Fae were doing something near a trash can. I really didn’t want to know what.
“Let’s see how good your fighting skills are, Ms. Lane, when you’re not pumped up on Unseelie steroids.”
But before I could lose myself in the bliss of killing a few of the bastards, my cell phone rang.
It was Inspector Jayne.
Chapter 13
The next few days settled into a strange routine, and sped by with me mostly in a daze.
Barrons came each night and taught me Voice. And each night, unable to find my backbone, I came away with fresh wounds.
Then we hunted the Sinsar Dubh.
Or rather he hunted the Sinsar Dubh, and I continued taking great pains to avoid it, as I had the other night when Jayne had called to tip me off, steering Barrons in the opposite direction, keeping us far enough away that I wouldn’t betray subtle signs of its proximity, like flailing in a puddle, clutching my head, or foaming at the mouth.
At some point, each day, V’lane appeared to question me about the fruits of my labors. I made sure I had no fruits. He began bringing me gifts. One day he brought me chocolate that wouldn’t make me gain weight, no matter how much I ate. Another day he brought me dusky, spicy-smelling flowers from Faery that would bloom immortally. After he left, I threw them both out. Chocolate should make you fat and flowers should die. Those were things you could count on. I needed things to count on.
When I wasn’t busy being yo-yoed back and forth between the two of them, I tended the bookstore, badgered Kat and Dani for information, and continued pushing my way through stacks of books about the Fae, having exhausted my Internet search for anything of use. There was so much role-playing and fanfic online that it was impossible to distinguish fact from fiction.
I was getting nowhere, a car spinning its tires in the mud, all too aware that, even if I got out of the mud, I didn’t know where to go.
The tension and indecision in my life became unbearable. I was edgy, and snapped at everyone, including my dad when he called to tell me Mom finally seemed to be getting better. They were decreasing her Valium, and increasing her antidepressants. She’d cooked breakfast Sunday: cheese grits (how I missed those!), pork chops, and eggs. She’d even made fresh yeast bread. I pondered that breakfast after I hung up. Tried to place it somewhere in my life, while I munched a power bar.
Home was a gazillion miles away.
Halloween was ten days away.
Soon, the sidhe-seers would be doing their thing at the abbey. Barrons and the MacKeltars would be doing theirs, in Scotland. I hadn’t yet decided where I would be. Barrons had asked me to accompany him, no doubt to OOP-detect the MacKeltar estate while we were there. I was considering crashing the abbey. I wanted to be somewhere, doing my part, whatever that might be, even if my part was only keeping Barrons and the MacKeltars from killing each other. Christian had phoned yesterday to tell me things were moving ahead, but if they survived the ritual, they might not survive each other.
Come All Hallows’ Eve, the walls would stand or fall.
Weirdly, I’d begun looking forward to Halloween, because at least my waiting would be over. Limbo would end. I’d know what I had to deal with. I’d know exactly how good or bad things were going to be. I’d know if I could be relieved—a year would buy me plenty of time to figure out what to do—or if I should be terrified. Either way, I’d have concretes.
I had no concretes where the Book (beast!) was concerned. I didn’t know how to get it or what to do with it.
I had no concretes where Barrons or V’lane were concerned. I didn’t trust either of them.
Making matters worse, each time I glanced out the window, or stepped outside, I had to battle the intense biological imperative to slay monsters. Or eat them.
Rhino-boys were everywhere, looking absurd in city employee uniforms, stumpy arms and legs popping buttons and straining seams. I felt a constant mild nausea from their presence. Reluctant to turn my “volume” down again, I’d begun taking Pepcid with my morning coffee. I’d even tried switching to decaf to calm my nerves. That had been a monumental mistake. I needed my caffeine. I made it one day.
Something had to give. I was a jumpy, broody, temperamental mess.
I can’t tell you how many times over those endless, angsty days, I decided to trust Barrons.
Then tossed him out in favor of V’lane.
I made my cases painstakingly, with lengthy lists of pros and cons neatly tabulated in my journal in three columns, tallying their “good” actions, “bad” actions, and those of “indeterminate nature.” The latter was by far the longest column for them both.
One day I even persuaded myself to throw in the towel, give Rowena my spear, and join up with the sidhe-seers. There was not only safety in numbers; I could pass off the crushing responsibility of decision-making, and hand it over to the Grand Mistress. If the world subsequently went to hell in a handbasket, at least I was off the hook. That was the Mac I knew. I never wanted to be in charge. I wanted to be taken care of. How had I gotten myself stuck in this mess where I was supposed to take care of everyone else?
Fortunately by the time Rowena returned my call, I was even grumpier, she was her usual pissy self, we’d swiftly gotten into one of our standoffs, and I’d come to my senses, pretending I’d only called to make sure she’d gotten the Orb, since she hadn’t been there when I’d dropped it by. If you called expecting thanks, you’ll be getting none f
rom me, she’d snapped and hung up, reminding me of all the many reasons I couldn’t stand her.
Each day, I made one more slash mark on my calendar, and October 31 marched closer.
I remembered past Halloweens, the friends, the parties, the fun, and wondered what it would bring this year.
Tricks? Or treats?
Oh, yeah, something had to give.
At noon on Wednesday, I was at a spa in St. Maarten, getting a massage—V’lane’s latest gift from whatever Human Dating Manual he was reading. Was it any wonder I was rapidly losing any sense of reality? Monsters and mayhem and massages, oh my.
When it was over, I dressed and was escorted to a private dining room in the hotel where V’lane met me on a terrace overlooking the ocean. He pulled back a chair and seated me before a table drenched with linen, fine crystal, and finer food. Mac 1.0 would have felt many things: flattered, flirtatious, in her element. I felt hungry. I picked up a knife, stabbed a strawberry, and ate it off the blade. I might have used my spear but, as usual, it vanished the moment he appeared. I felt more naked without it fully clothed than I did nude, and if given the choice, I would have walked through the resort bare as I’d been born, if it had meant keeping the spear.
For the past few days, V’lane had been in his most humanlike form when we’d met, heavily muted. He, too, was trying to get on my good side. Ironically, the more he and Barrons tried, the less I trusted them both. Heads turned when the Fae Prince moved through the public places he took me. Even turned off, women stared after him with voracious eyes.
I dug into the spread with gusto, piling a plate with strawberries, pineapple, lobster, crab cakes, crackers, and caviar. I’d been living on popcorn and ramen noodles too long. “What exactly is the Sinsar Dubh, V’lane, and why does everyone want it?”
V’lane’s eyelids lowered halfway and he looked to the side. It was a human look, secretive, contemplative, as if he were sorting through a wealth of information, trying to decide how much, if anything, to share. “What do you know of it, MacKayla?”
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