Shadowfever f-5

by Karen Marie Moning

  He gave me a look that said, Are you crazy? Of course I could.

  You would ask me to live that way?

  Key word there being: live.

  Don’t put me in a cage. I expect better from you.

  He smiled faintly. Touché.

  “We could see if it works for Dageus. He’s inhabited, too, or so they say.”

  “Funny girl, aren’t you? Over my dead body.”

  “Then stop tilting at windmills. You can’t use the amulet. That leaves me, with you at my side. It’s the only choice. You can’t die—I mean, you can, but you’ll always come back. And we know it won’t kill me. We’re perfect for this.”

  “Nobody’s perfect for battling evil. It’s seductive. When we find it, it’s going to come at you with everything it’s got.”

  I was braced for it. I knew it would. I took a deep, slow breath, filling my lungs, squaring my shoulders. “Jericho, I feel like my whole life has been pushing me toward this moment.”

  “That’s it. Fate’s a fickle whore. We’re not going. Take your clothes off and get back in my bed.”

  I laughed. “Come on, Barrons. When have you ever run from a fight?”

  “Never. And others paid for it. I won’t have the same happen to you.”

  “I don’t believe this,” I said with mock horror. “Jericho Barrons is vacillating. Will wonders never cease?”

  The rattle moved in his chest. “I’m not vacillating. I’m … ah, fuck.”

  Barrons doesn’t lie to himself. He was vacillating and he knew it.

  “The moment I laid eyes on you, I knew you were trouble.”

  “Ditto.”

  “I wanted to drag you between the shelves, fuck you senseless, and send you home.”

  “If you’d done that, I never would have left.”

  “You’re still here anyway.”

  “You don’t have to sound so sour about it.”

  “You’re upsetting my entire existence.”

  “Fine, I’ll leave.”

  “Try and I’ll chain you up.” He glowered at me. “That’s vacillating.” He sighed.

  After a moment, he held out his hand.

  I slipped mine into his.

  The Silver in Barrons’ study belched me out. I went flying across the room and slammed into the wall.

  I was tired of the mirrors not liking me. When this was over, I wanted Cruce’s curse lifted. In my free time, I might like exploring the White Mansion.

  I frowned. But then again, I might not. Maybe I needed to cut all my ties with my past.

  Barrons glided out behind me, looking urbane and unruffled as usual, dark hair and brows frosted, skin icy. “Stop,” he ordered instantly.

  My feet rooted to the floor. “What?”

  “People on the roof. Talking.” He stood still so long that the frost began to slide in droplets down his cheeks and neck. “Ryodan and others. The Keltar are near. They’re waiting for—what the hell was that noise?” He strode past me and stalked from the study.

  He pushed through the door that joined the rear, private residence part of the bookstore to the public portion.

  I followed, hot on his heels. It was dark outside, drizzly with a light fog beyond the tall windows, and the interior was lit only by the soft amber glow of the recessed lights I left on all the time so the store would never be fully dark.

  “Jericho Barrons,” an elegantly cultured voice said.

  “Who the fuck are you?” Barrons demanded.

  I caught up with Barrons just in time to see a man step from the shadows in the rear conversation area.

  He walked toward us, offering his hand. “I am Pieter Van de Meer.”

  Long and lean, with the impeccable posture of a man trained in martial arts, he was in his mid to late forties. Blond hair framed a Nordic face with deep-set pale-green eyes. He had the quietly watchful air of a snake, coiled but not about to strike unless he had to.

  “Take one more step and I’ll kill you,” Barrons said.

  The man paused, looking surprised and impatient. “Mr. Barrons, we don’t have time for this.”

  “I’ll decide what we have time for. What are you doing here?”

  “I’m with the Triton Group.”

  “So?”

  “Let us not play games. You know who we are,” the man chided.

  “You own the abbey, among other things. I don’t like your kind.”

  “Our kind?” Pieter Van de Meer afforded a small smile. “We have watched you for centuries, Mr. Barrons. We are not a ‘kind.’ You are.”

  “And why am I not killing you now?” Barrons purred.

  “Because ‘my kind’ is often useful, and you’ve long sought a way to infiltrate our ranks. You never succeeded. You are curious about us. I’ve brought something for the girl. It’s time for the truth.”

  “What would anyone in the Triton Group know of truth?”

  “If you will not hear me out with any degree of objectivity, perhaps you will listen to someone else.”

  “Get out of my store right now and I’ll let you live. This time. There won’t be another.”

  “We can’t do that. You’re on the cusp of making a grave mistake, and we have been forced to show our hand. It’s her choice. Not yours.”

  “Who is us?” I’d been alternately eyeing Pieter and peering into the dimly lit conversation area, keeping a careful watch on the other figure seated there. There wasn’t enough light to make out her features, but there was enough that I knew it was a woman. I had butterflies in my stomach and a strong sense of foreboding.

  Pieter’s pale-green eyes drifted from Barrons to me. His features softened.

  I was instantly uneasy. He was looking at me like he knew me. I didn’t know this man. I’d never seen him before in my life.

  “MacKayla,” he said gently. “How lovely you are. But I knew you would be. Letting you go was the hardest thing we ever did.”

  “Who the hell are you?” I didn’t like him. Not one bit.

  He extended a hand toward the person on the sofa.

  She rose and stepped into the light.

  I gaped.

  Although time had worked delicate changes on her face, softening the jaw, brushing creases at the corners of the eyes and mouth, and her hair was much shorter now, barely brushing her shoulders, there was no doubt who she was.

  Blond hair, blue eyes, beautiful. I’d seen her, twenty years younger, standing guard in a warded corridor at the abbey. She’d said: You do not belong here. You are not one of us.

  I was looking at the last known leader of the Haven, Alina’s mother.

  Isla O’Connor.

  “How—what—” I stammered.

  “Please forgive me.” The plea was soft in her words, anguished in her eyes. “You must know it was necessary. I had no choice.”

  Barrons said, “You died. I saw you. You were in a coma. I went to your funeral.”

  I jerked. He’d just confirmed it. She was Isla O’Connor. I didn’t know why I cared. She wasn’t my mother. Alina had been her only child. I was the Unseelie King.

  “It’s a long story,” she said.

  Barrons shook his head. “And one we’re not listening to.”

  “But you must. Or you’ll make a terrible mistake,” Pieter said grimly. “And MacKayla will pay for it.”

  “He’s right. We need to talk now, before it’s too late.” Isla didn’t seem to be able to take her eyes off me. “You want to hear it, don’t you?”

  I shook my head. I didn’t trust myself to speak. How did I keep getting so brutally blindsided by life? When we’d walked into the Silver, I’d fully expected to walk out the other side, get in a car, and go driving around, hunting for the Sinsar Dubh.

  Not for one moment had I entertained the possibility that Isla O’Connor might be waiting for us in the bookstore, long black limousine parked out front, a wide-shouldered chauffeur by the passenger doors, scanning the street up and down. I was willing to bet that beneath t
hat dark uniform I’d find a gun or two. What was the Triton Group, besides the company that owned the abbey? Why did Barrons dislike them so much? What was Isla—one more person who was supposed to be dead but wasn’t—doing here?

  Her fine-boned features crumpled and tears spilled down her cheeks. “Oh, darling, giving you up was the hardest thing I ever did. If you will hear nothing else from me, hear that. You were my baby. My sweet, helpless baby, and they said you were going to doom the world. They would have killed you if they’d known about you! Both my daughters were in danger. We all knew about the prophecy. Knew it had been foretold that sisters would be born to one of the most potent bloodlines. Rowena was watching me. She’d hated me since the day my talents began to manifest. She wanted her daughter, Kayleigh, to become Haven Mistress, wanted the O’Reillys to run the abbey forever. She never forgave Nana for turning her back on the order. She would have done anything to get rid of me. If she’d known I was pregnant again … I had no choice. I had to give you up and go away, pretend to be dead.”

  “You weren’t pregnant when I helped you leave the abbey,” Barrons said coolly.

  “Nearly five months. I carried well and dressed to hide it. It was a miracle my baby wasn’t injured when I escaped. I was so afraid I would lose her.” More tears spilled.

  I was still shaking my head. I didn’t seem to be able to stop.

  “Oh, MacKayla! It was torture every day, knowing you were out there, being raised by someone else, knowing that I could never see you or Alina again without putting you in danger. But you’re here now, and you’re about to do something that would have terrible consequences. It’s time for the lies to stop. You need to know the truth.”

  I shoved my fists in my pockets and turned away.

  “Don’t turn your back on me,” she cried. “I’m your mother!”

  “Rainey Lane is my mother.”

  “Unkind and unfair,” Pieter said. “You aren’t even giving her a chance.”

  “Why do you care?” I said irritably.

  “Because I’m her husband, MacKayla. And your father.”

  46

  I had brothers: Pieter, Jr., who was nineteen, and Michael—everyone called him Mick—who was sixteen. They showed me pictures. We looked alike. Even Barrons seemed rattled.

  “We staged your mother’s death, cremated a Jane Doe, and smuggled the two of you from the country. Took you to the States and did our best to find you a good home far from danger.” Pieter took Isla’s hand and clasped it between his own. “Your mother nearly didn’t survive it. She didn’t speak for months afterward.”

  “Oh, Pieter, I knew it had to be done. It was just—”

  “Hell,” he said flatly. “It was absolute hell giving them up.”

  I jerked. They were saying all the things I wanted to hear. It was breaking my heart. I had parents. Brothers. I’d been born. I belonged. I only wished Alina had lived to see this day. It would have been perfect.

  “You said you had something important to tell her. Say it and get out,” Barrons ordered.

  I looked at Barrons, torn. Part of me wanted to tell him to be quiet so I could hear more, and part of me wanted them to go away and never come back. I’d just gotten my head wrapped around one reality. Now they wanted me to abandon that reality and embrace a new one. How many times was I supposed to decide who I knew and what I was, only to learn I was wrong? I was no longer feeling bipolar, I was feeling schizophrenic, with multiple personalities.

  “If I’m your daughter, then why do I have memories that belong to the Unseelie King?”

  Isla gasped. “You do?”

  I nodded.

  “I told you she might do it,” Pieter reminded.

  “Who?” I demanded. “Do what?”

  “The Seelie Queen came to see us shortly after the Book escaped, before we left Dublin. She said she would do everything in her power to help recover it,” Pieter said.

  “She was very interested in you,” Isla said grimly. “You were barely three months old. I remember like it was yesterday. You had on a pink dress with tiny flowers and a rainbow hair ribbon. You couldn’t stop looking at her. You kept cooing and reaching for her. The two of you seemed fascinated by each other.”

  “We were afraid then that the queen had meddled with you. She’s notorious for that. She looks to the future and tries to adjust minuscule events, nudging here and there to achieve her ends,” Pieter said. “A few times I was almost certain someone had been in your nursery moments before I walked in.”

  “And you think she planted memories of the Unseelie King? How would she have any to plant? I thought she drank from the cauldron. It would have erased everything she knew.”

  “Who could say with her?” Isla shrugged. “Perhaps they were false memories, cleverly crafted, or lifted from another. Perhaps she never truly drank from cauldron. Some say she pretends.”

  “Who gives a fuck? What did you come here for?” Barrons said impatiently.

  Isla looked at him as if he must be crazy. “You’ve been taking care of her, and for that we can’t thank you enough, but we’ve come to take her home.”

  “She is home. And she’s got a world to save.”

  “We’ll take care of that,” Pieter said. “It’s what we do.”

  “Bang-up job you’ve been doing so far.”

  Pieter gave him a look of rebuke. “Not as if you’ve been doing any better. We’ve been directing the majority of our efforts to hunting the amulet. The true one.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Why?”

  “The Triton Group has been searching for it for centuries for various reasons. But recently it became critical that we find it, because we’ve discovered it’s the only way to re-inter the Book,” Pieter said. “A representative from our company heard—too late—about the auction where it was sold. We arrived at the Welshman’s castle shortly after Johnstone’s massacre. But the Goth punk seemed to vanish into thin air.”

  “Thick rock,” I muttered. I would never forget my hellish incarceration beneath the Burren.

  “We had no idea where it was for months. We suspected Darroc had it but couldn’t get any of our people close enough. He had no tolerance for humans. Then we received reports that MacKayla had infiltrated his camp and was at his right hand.” His gaze glowed with pride. “Well done, darling! You are as brilliant and resourceful as your mother.”

  “You said ‘the true one,’ ” I said.

  “According to legend, the king made many amulets,” Isla replied. “All capable of sustaining varying degrees of illusion. Used together, they are formidable. But only the last one he made can deceive the king himself. The Book has grown too powerful to be stopped by any other means. Illusion is the only weapon that will work against it.”

  “We were right!” I exclaimed, looking at Barrons.

  “The prophecy is clear. The one who was inhabited must use the amulet to seal it away.”

  “Already on it,” Barrons said coolly.

  “It’s not your fight,” Pieter said gently. “We started this. We will end it.”

  I sat forward on the edge of the sofa, elbows on my knees. “What are you saying?”

  “Your mother is the one who has to do it. Although if you’re anything like her, darling, you think it’s your problem. That’s what we were worried about, why we rushed here tonight. Isla is ‘the inhabited.’ Twenty-three years ago, when the Book escaped, it possessed her, inhabited her. She knows it. She has been it. She understands it. And she’s the only one who can lay it to rest.”

  “It never leaves a human alive,” Barrons said flatly.

  “It left Fiona alive,” I reminded.

  “She’d been eating Unseelie. She was different.”

  “Isla was able to wrest it from her body,” Pieter said. “She is the only one we know of that has ever been able to resist to the point where it jumped from her while she was still alive and took another, more complacent host.”

  Barrons didn’t look remotely co
nvinced. “But not before it made her kill most of the Haven.”

  “I never said it was easy,” Isla said softly, eyes dark with remembered grief. “I despise what it made me do. I live with it every day.”

  “But it’s been tracking me,” I protested.

  “Sensing your bloodline, looking for me,” Isla said.

  “But I’m epic,” I said numbly. Wasn’t I? I was so tired of not knowing my place in things.

  Was I going to doom the world? Was I the concubine? Was I the Unseelie King? Was I even human? Was I the person who was supposed to re-inter the Book?

  The answer was no to all of the above. I was just Mac Lane, bumbling around, getting in the way a lot, and making stupid decisions.

  “You are, darling,” Isla said. “But this isn’t your battle.”

  “Your destiny is another day,” Pieter said. “This is only the first of many battles we’ll be called upon to fight. There are dark times ahead. Even with the Book contained, there’s still the matter of the walls between realms. They can’t be rebuilt without the Song of Making. We have our work cut out for us.” He smiled. “Your brothers have their talents, too. They can’t wait to meet you.”

  “Oh, MacKayla, we’ll be a family again!” Isla said, and began to cry. “It’s all I ever wanted.”

  I looked at Barrons. He wore a grim expression. I looked back at Pieter and Isla. It was all I’d ever wanted, too. I wasn’t the king. I’d been born. I was a person with a family. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. But my heart was already trying.

  Family reconciliations aside, Barrons didn’t like the change in the game plan, and neither did I.

  We’d spent months building to this moment, and now, on the eve of battle, in walked my biological parents, telling us we were no longer necessary. They would fight the war and finish it.

  It chafed.

  “Can you track it?” Barrons demanded.

  Pieter answered. “Isla can. But it can sense her, as well, which made it too dangerous for her to be in Dublin until we were certain MacKayla had the amulet.”

  “How did you know I had it?” I said.

  “Your mother said she felt you connect with it tonight. We came at once.”

  “I thought I felt you connect with it once before, at the beginning of October last year,” Isla said, “but the feeling was gone almost as suddenly as it came.”