by Amy Sumida
Sure enough, the rain seemed to revive them, and feathers started sprouting afresh from their wings. Harpy hair sprouted, and their skin started to heal. Soon, they were in fighting shape once more, and they cast their storm after us as they leapt into the sky.
Lightning struck the road ahead, and Desmond veered, then pulled off onto a wide shoulder. He shut off the engine just as Sanna parked beside us. The rainstorm hit, and the van rocked as water pelted the windows hard enough to blind. Everyone in the back of the van was drenched instantly—rain pouring through the open door—and Delli started to whimper. Then, suddenly, he was gone.
“Delli!” I growled. “What the fuck?”
“He's here,” Conri said as he picked up a pixie. “Just a little smaller.”
“Put him in the glove box,” I snapped as I jumped out of the open door.
We had just made it out of the van when the harpies started swooping. I cast burning vines at them while Killian battled their storm with his. Not with his Firestorm, just wind magic. It looked as if he were trying to blow the harpy storm away. Conri and Desmond growled as they batted at the Harpies with sharp claws as the rest of my Guard and Daxon's Elite launched their various magical attacks into the air. But Daxon simply went to stand beneath the flock.
Dax closed his eyes and lifted his glowing hands with grim intent. The air around him shimmered, and the rain paused for a second; hanging in the sky as if time had stopped. Then a blast of magic shot out from Daxon and sent the rain exploding in all directions. The harpies began to scream. Not shriek; scream as if their greatest fears had just manifested. Which they had; at least in their minds.
Tromlaighe meant “nightmares,” and that was Daxon's personal magic; his mór. It was powerful enough that his family had nearly made it to the Unseelie Throne. But if you're a strong fairy, you don't have a lot to fear, and therefore, no nightmares to exploit. So, the Tromlaighes took third place in the rank of Unseelie bad-asses; just beneath the dragon djinn and the Thorns. Still; it was damn impressive.
The storm dissipated as the Harpies were forced to focus on their greatest fears; whatever those may be. Frankly, I didn't want to know what made a harpy scream like that. I had enough bad memories to keep me up at night, as it was.
The Harpies tumbled through the air; clutching at each other in terror until finally, they fled. Just as they were flapping away, and the sun was coming out to warm us, a rumbling roar rolled our way.
We all turned—water dripping from our hair and clothes—to see a gaggle of gorgons on motorcycles. Leather jackets, mirrored sunglasses, big black boots, and bandannas holding back their dreadlocks; the Gorgons looked fierce enough to flatten anything in their path. And their path was clearly leading them to the Harpies.
They pulled up beside us; looking over our sodden selves, and then the lead biker yanked off her shades. It was Medea.
“Where are they?” She growled; not even bothering to comment on our drenched state.
I just pointed in the direction the Harpies had gone. I didn't have the energy or inclination to explain what had just happened. And the Gorgons didn't care. Medea focused on the sky, narrowed her eyes, and then put her sunglasses back in place with a satisfied air. She waved her ladies forward, and they roared away.
“Can I come out now?” A little voice came from the van's glove compartment.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
After the harpy attack, Delli refused to go back to Lana. I couldn't say that I blamed him, but Lana was still his best bet.
“I can't protect you if you don't at least try to contact Lana,” I said. “The Councils will want you returned for trial.”
Delli went white at the word “trial.” Witches weren't the only ones who hated that word. Delli had shifted back to his normal form; which I was grateful for. Seeing his fear was bad enough, having to watch it on the face of a pitiful pixie would have been too much to bear.
“I'm just a thief,” he whined. “I've never done anything really bad.”
“Unfortunately, your 'real bad' was teaming up with Lana Clach,” Killian said as he pat the man's shoulder.
“Okay, why don't we change the scenario?” I suggested. “We'll make a public display of letting you go in LA, but we'll continue to watch over you until you make contact with Lana or her people. Then we'll follow you, and as soon as we confirm Lana's whereabouts, we'll engage and get you out of there.”
Delli looked uncertain, but he finally nodded. “Okay; I guess I'm left without a choice again.”
“Delli, I will do my absolute best to ensure your safety,” I promised solemnly.
He stared at me steadily and then nodded again. “All right, Your Majesty; I'll trust you.”
“Thank you,” I said. “If you help us get Lana, I will personally see to your relocation in Unseelie. You may even have a place at Court if you wish.”
Delli's eyes widened. “That would be amazing. If I live, of course.”
“Hey; hold on,” Killian said. “We're missing a prime opportunity here.”
“What opportunity?” Delli narrowed his eyes at Killian.
“You,” Killian said. “You have the perfect spy magic. We don't have to convince Lana that you're not compromised.”
“We don't?” Delli asked.
“We don't,” I said with revelation. “Damn it, Kill; you're getting way to good at showing us up.”
Killian smirked and shrugged. “It's a gift.”
“Delli, all you have to do is make yourself look like someone Lana wants to find but who she doesn't want to kill,” I explained. “Now, who would Lana love to get her hands on?”
Delli frowned. Not too bright, that one.
“Delun,” Daxon whispered. “Perfect!”
“Oh!” Delli blinked in surprise. “But if I pretend to be Delun, she'll want me to make another box.”
“Yeah, but that won't matter,” I explained. “We'll follow you and get you out before you have to perform.”
“This is a better plan,” Delli agreed. “I especially like the part where she won't hurt me.”
“I thought you might.” Killian nudged the brag with his shoulder. “Don't worry, dude; we got your back.”
Delli blinked at us. “I can't remember the last time someone looked out for me.”
“Again, that goes back to your decision to follow Lana,” Killian said. “Good news is; you get new choices every day, which means you get lots of chances to make good ones.”
“What the fuck, Kill?” Conri asked. “When did you become the llama guy?”
We all stared at Conri in confusion.
“The llama guy?” Killian asked.
“Yeah; that human who spouts all the profound stuff,” Conri said. “I don't know why they call him a llama. Are llamas smart?”
“Do you mean the Dalai Lama?” I asked.
“Yeah; him,” Conri said with a flippant wave of his hand.
“Her Highness is right; you need to learn the art of shutting the hell up.” Torquil shook his head at Conri.
When Conri started to growl at Torquil, I pointed out, “That lama has one L, not two. The opposite of Delli here.”
“What's the difference?” Conri huffed.
“It's the difference between an adorable animal and a Tibetan spiritual leader,” Daxon said dryly.
“Yeah; fair enough,” Conri conceded. “But in my defense, I've seen the recent lama guy, and he's pretty adorable. In that respect, a double-L, llama title makes sense.”
“Llamas are from entirely different continents, dude,” Killian said. “There's no way they'd be connected to a Tibetan guy.”
“Really?” Conri asked. “When did I become the dumb-ass and you the genius?”
“It's always been that way,” Killian said sagely. “You were just too stupid to see it.”
“I'm going to see my fist down your throat,” Conri threatened half-heartedly.
“Hold on; the recent one?” Ro interrupted the male banter. “How many
lama men are there?”
“Dalai Lama is a title; like the Pope,” I explained. “There have been several, and most have been adorable. There's something about happy, old, Asian monks that makes them as cute as little girls with pigtails.”
“Thank you.” Conri waved a hand my way. “You understand me, at least.”
“Oh, hell no,” I said. “I ain't copping to understanding your insanity. You're on your own, Con.”
Chapter Thirty
Since we didn't have to make a big show of releasing Delli, we stopped at a mall to regroup. We were standing in the parking lot—in an open spot between our vans—running through ideas on how to guard Delli without getting noticed by Lana and her people when Sanna suggested that we use a glamour to make ourselves appear to be unattractive humans.
“Why unattractive?” Ainsley asked.
“The easiest way to go unnoticed is to be someone people don't want to look at,” she said softly.
“As if you'd know anything about that,” Ainsley teased.
Sanna's face—the picture of Finnish beauty—remained blank.
“You don't think people want to look at you?” Ainsley asked with shock.
“I'm an Ajata,” she said. “It isn't about my physical appearance.”
Ainsley flinched a little around the eyes, and after seeing Sanna in action, I had an idea of why. She could cause illness; even to inanimate objects. Her touch could turn things to dust. But as far as I was concerned, there were much more horrible things that fairies could do. And when you were as beautiful as Sanna was, people would overlook a lot.
“There is more to a fairy than their magic,” Ainsley recovered quickly and smiled brightly at Sanna.
Sanna didn't smile back.
“Oh, please. So you can make people sick,” I huffed. “I don't see why it would disgust other fairies.”
“Look at me, Your Majesty,” Sanna said. “Truly look; with your other sight.”
I frowned and brought up my clairvoyance as I stared at Sanna. She remained beautiful, but her aura was a sludgy mix of sickly umber, bruised indigo, and slime green. It kept close to her body, but as I watched, it seemed to drip and run onto the floor. All Unseelie fairies had darker auras, but they were usually jewel-tones; this was a new one for me.
“Whoa,” I whispered. “That looks uncomfortable.”
“Exactly,” she said. “Fairies can't see me as you do, Queen Seren, but they can feel it. My sickness repels immortals; their regenerating natures are offended by the death I carry.”
“No one is offended by you, Sanna,” Daxon said firmly.
“Maybe not consciously,” she said. “But on a deeper level, you are. All of you are.”
“I'm not,” Ainsley chirped. “I've been attracted to you from the moment we met.”
Everyone went quiet, and Sanna gaped at Ainsley.
“What?” She whispered.
“I think you're lovely,” Ainsley said in his open, honest way. “It's your magic, Sana; you have full control over it. It's not like you'll accidentally make me sick. And even if you did,” he leaned in toward her to whisper, “I think it'd be worth it.”
Sanna's eyes widened, and she looked at Ainsley as if she were seeing him for the first time. She carefully perused the way his long, blond hair was pulled back in a braid, and then the angles of his stunning, sidhe face before moving down to his fit physique and the way his sturdy hand rested on his sword hilt with casual competence. Then Sanna's lips slowly lifted into a strange smile; as if she weren't sure how to go about the process of being happy or attracted to someone.
“Maybe you would be,” she whispered back.
“Holy fuck!” Rodaidh declared. “Sanna, you're smiling! I don't think I've ever seen you smile.” He cocked his head and peered at her. “Is that a smile?”
Sanna glared at Ro.
“It looks good on you; you should smile more often,” Ainsley said as he took Sanna's hand and kissed it gallantly.
“Ainsley got game,” Conri whispered with wonder. “Who knew?”
“I did,” Gradh said.
Conri slowly shifted horrified eyes to his girlfriend.
“I didn't say that I slept with him.” She laughed at Conri. “I just said that I was aware he could be a true knight.”
And that was exactly what Ainsley was. It was why he was so likable and at times appeared naive. Ainsley was a knight in the old, Camelot tradition. He was a Lancelot; courtly, honorable, and a ladies man in the most swoon-worthy way. He simply spoke the truth, and women responded to his open, easy respect. How could they not? I just hoped that Ainsley had a better ending to his love story than old Lance did.
“All right.” Daxon cleared his throat. “Ugly humans it is. Now that we've decided on how we will go unnoticed, it's time to figure out how to get Delli noticed.”
“Delun wouldn't just be walking the streets of LA,” I said. “So, where would he be?”
“Delun has a contact in Solvang,” Delli offered. “I know that Lana is having her watched.”
“Perfect!” Daxon exclaimed. “And it's even on the way to LA.”
“Solvang?” I asked. “That tourist town?”
“It's a Danish community,” Sanna said with a half-smile—baby steps.
“You should feel right at home,” Ro said to her.
“My people lived in Finland,” Sanna corrected Rodaidh. “But yes; the cultures are similar enough to make me feel nostalgic.”
“Everyone get back in the vans,” Daxon ordered. “It's decided; we're heading to Solvang. We'll find a place to park and then turn ourselves into some ugly tourists to follow Delli to...” He turned to Delli. “Where in Solvang are we going?”
“Bad Moon Books,” Delli said. “Dora runs the bookstore and does fairy business out back.”
“What kind of fairy is she?” I asked as we got into the van.”
Delli cleared his throat. “She's an, uh, Nattmara.”
“Well, we have all kinds of connections going on,” I said into the sudden silence. “Another Nightmare magic.”
“A Nattmarra runs a bookstore?” Daxon asked dubiously.
“Bad Moon.” I laughed. “I get it; cause Nattmaras are she-wolves.”
“She-werewolves,” Desmond corrected me. “And they're vicious. I'm shocked that one of them is able to run a business on Earth.”
“Dora has a lot of connections in the old Undergrounds,” Delli said. “She doesn't deal with humans that much.”
“Ah,” Daxon said in epiphany. “Now, I know why the name sounded familiar; I've heard of her. She deals in fairy imports; herbs, resins, and powders you can't find here. I have a guy who brings in my stuff, so I've never gone through Dora.”
“Lana's certain that Delun will go to her to restock his supplies,” Delli said.
“That would be a dumb move,” I noted.
“Delun is addicted to his research,” Delli explained. “He may get desperate enough to attempt a visit.”
“He is,” Daxon said. “Today, in fact.”
Desmond chuckled as he started the van and angled us back onto the road.
Chapter Thirty-One
The town of Slovang, California was founded by a group of Danes who traveled West to escape the Midwest winters. They built the homes they were most familiar with, and so we drove down the main road through a collection of houses that looked straight out of Denmark. There was even a miniature Viking boat with the town's name carved into its hull.
“Is that a windmill?” Conri asked.
“Yep,” Gradh answered. “I don't think it's doing any milling, though.”
“Hey, there's a mermaid!” Ainsley said as he pointed out the window.
“Yeah; there's a replica of a famous statue of the Little Mermaid here,” Delli said. “That Hans guy was a Dane.”
“Hans Christian Andersen,” I supplied.
“Yeah; him,” Delli said. “They named a park here after him too. Humans love naming parks after d
ead people.”
“No; I mean there's an actual mermaid walking down the street,” Ainsley tried again. “I know that girl; she's from the Court of the Dragon Kings.”
“You know her, huh?” Conri said.
“She's very nice.” Ainsley nodded with innocent eyes.
“Damn, Ainsley.” Conri shook his head. “Now, everything you say is suspect.”
“Suspect of what?” Ainsley frowned.
“Lechery,” Conri said. “What else?”
“I am not a lecher,” Ainsley protested in a horrified tone.
I was ignoring them; staring out the window at a face I found familiar as well.
“Huh; what are the odds?” I mused.
“Pretty good,” Daxon said. “The sea folk visit the California coast a lot. Sometimes they venture further inland a bit. I'm not surprised to find a mermaid here.”
Ainsley waved at the mermaid, but we were already in our human glamours, and she only frowned at him and carried on.
“Ainsley, please don't draw any attention to us,” I said. “Any fairy here could be working with Lana.”
“A mermaid?” Ainsley scoffed. “No way.”
“You never know,” Daxon said grimly. “Best to keep to ourselves until this mission is over.”
We finally found a place to park—it was a popular town—and got out of the vans. Delli hurried away, so he wouldn't be spotted with us. He was shifted into his Delun guise; a short man with Asian features and straight, black hair down to his collar. Delli had a microphone concealed in that collar, and a tracker in his boot; both were already being monitored by a companion device in my pocket.
We let Delli get about fifty feet ahead of us before we spread out and began to follow him. He kept his head down but kept glancing around himself; doing a fabulous job of looking nervous—probably because it wasn't an act. And it didn't take long for Lana's people to come out of the Danish woodwork and start following Delli with us.