“We could fly,” I suggest, still buzzed from tampering with the weather.
“Not unless you want to draw the lightning straight to you,” Arthur retorts, as we pass by the Research Center.
Debris from shattered windows crunch beneath our pounding boots as we near the thick of the battle. Shouts and cries resound across the Headquarters, drowning out the sound of my pounding heart. Metal hisses and clangs as it connects with claws and fangs. Another detonation rips out somewhere close, throwing us into the Research Center wall. Bodies fly to land at odd angles on the trampled grounds.
I shake my head, eardrums ringing. But Arthur’s already helping me back up.
“That way,” he shouts, pointing at the Armory’s burning warehouses.
I can tell it’s costing him not to join the fight. But I’ve made us waste too much time already.
We plunge between the long buildings, eyes stinging, and coughing on the acrid smoke. The walls on both sides of us seem to pulse with life as the heat of the flames makes them expand and contract. My sweat evaporates, leaving me parched. My uniform feels heavy, and growing hotter, almost burning.
We come out the other side, and I gasp in mouthfuls of fresh air, shivering in the sudden cold. But my relief is short-lived.
Straight ahead is the black cube that denotes the prison’s entrance, stark and solitary within its separate enclosure. And, rising from it, dark plumes of smoke.
We’re too late.
“Morgan!”
I duck instinctively at the sudden shout, and Arthur wheels around, unsheathing Excalibur in one smooth movement. There’s a surprised cuss, and Arthur tries to pull his swing back before he can cut the knight in two.
“Sir Cade?” he calls out.
My uncle halts in front of us, two knights flanking him, Emmerich, and some woman I’ve never seen before. All three of them look like they’ve been run over by a tank. But they’re alive, and the tightness in my chest eases a fraction.
“Where are the others?” Sir Cade asks.
“They should be here already,” Arthur says with a frown. “Sir Boris is leading them. Haven’t you seen them?”
Sir Cade’s face falls. “I was hoping that was just the front line.”
“Afraid not,” Arthur says through clenched teeth. He points at the prison with his stubbly chin. “Seen anyone come out of there?”
“Too many, but not Carman herself, if that’s what you’re asking,” Emmerich answers.
“So be it,” I say.
My uncle’s brow creases in a severe frown as his eyes bore into me, his jaw tensing. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am,” I find myself saying. “I have no choice.”
“Of course, you do!” Sir Cade exclaims. “You and Arthur should both leave and let us—”
“Handle things here?” I ask with a pointed look at the war raging on around us.
Sir Cade’s face closes again.
“Carman’s here for Sir Joseph,” Arthur butts in. “The two apparently used to be lovers before she got put away. It’s what we wanted to discuss with you earlier.”
My uncle blanches. “You can’t be serious.”
All three of them look at the prison, understanding dawning on their faces.
“Hurry,” the woman says, already taking off.
We sprint the last few hundred meters that separate us from the prison block, past its torn-up fence. The front of the building looks like it’s been melted through with a giant blowtorch, a large hole where the secret entrance had once been. I take a deep breath, the thick smoke tickling the back of my throat. I blink droplets of mist from my eyes. This is it.
“Wait for my signal,” Sir Cade says, already motioning the other two knights inside.
I stare intently inside the hole where my uncle and his knights have gone. One breath. Two. Everything inside is silent, save for the whistling of the wind. Three. Four. Five.
Still nothing.
My nerves twitch. Carman’s in there, I know it.
Arthur’s hand finds mine, and squeezes it briefly. “Wait a little longer,” he says, inching towards the gaping hole, Excalibur flashing in his hand.
A bloodcurdling cry arises from the depths of the prison.
“It’s him!” I shout in anguish.
Without waiting for Arthur, I dash inside the prison, springing down the staircase as quickly as my legs can take me. The smoke is thick, blinding, burning down my lungs. But I don’t slow down.
“Ansuz!” I hear Arthur say behind me.
There’s a green flash and the air clears up as Arthur’s sylph holds us inside its protective bubble.
“There,” I say, pointing at a small puddle of black tar on one of the steps leading further down.
We follow Carman’s poisonous trace, taking the stairs three at a time, eyes roving for any sign of Sir Cade and his team.
“Which floor is Sir Joseph on?” I ask, jumping over another patch of tar.
“Don’t know,” Arthur says, his eyes darting down each corridor we cross, each baring signs of forced entry, trying to count the number of Fey Carman may have freed on her way to Caim.
“Here,” Arthur says, skidding to a stop on the twelfth floor down.
Breathing hard, I peer into the dark hallway ahead, trying to make out what’s happening inside. Another scream resounds, making the hairs at the back of my neck stand up.
I rush blindly ahead, cold sweat drenching my sides. But before I can get very far, something barrels into me, knocking me down. My head hits the floor, and blood floods my mouth as I bite my tongue.
“Morgan!” Arthur cries out.
I feel the creature shift on top of me, then light flares as it blasts Arthur away.
“No!” I shout, fear making me lash out.
A wave of angry energy bursts out of me as I punch my attacker. I feel its weight lift from me, then hear it slam into the ceiling. I roll and push to my feet, disoriented in the semi darkness. Then pain explodes in my chest as the creature crashes into me, pinning me to the floor, before its cold hand slaps over my mouth.
“Shhhhh,” the demon whispers in my ear.
Mordred? I whimper against his calloused fingers.
“The witch is almost done,” he says in my ear. “Wouldn’t want to interrupt her now, would we?”
I try to move, but Mordred’s grip only tightens.
“Listen to me, sis,” he continues more urgently. “I’m gonna let you go, but only if you promise to get out of here quietly. Got it? She can’t find you here.”
Smoke swirls around us, allowing the light from a baby salamander trapped inside one of the wall sconces to illuminate Mordred’s tattooed face for a brief instant. And in that second, I see the fear in his eyes.
I nod at last.
“You can’t go back on your word now,” he says, suddenly releasing me. “So take your boyfriend and go.”
Arthur. I scramble back the way I came, mind alight with panic, and find him lying motionless on the landing.
“Arthur,” I whisper, feeling around his head for injuries.
He grunts as my fingers graze his bleeding wound, but doesn’t open his eyes.
“Out. Now.” Mordred urges me, looking in alarm down the corridor as the salamander’s light winks out again, plunging the hallway back into obscurity.
Carman must be done with Sir Joseph, and I couldn’t stop her. Nor could my uncle. I cradle Arthur in my lap. I won’t let her take him from me too.
“Help me carry him,” I tell my brother, struggling under Arthur’s weight as I pick his sword up with my other hand, its responding glow enough to light our immediate surroundings.
Mordred throws me a disgusted look. Then, seeing I’m not going to move otherwise, he shoulders Arthur on his free side.
“Hold on tight,” he says.
And Mordred taps his foot on the floor, propelling us over the railing and down the stairwell.
“Shouldn’t we be going up?” I squ
eak out as landing after landing whizzes past.
“Shut up,” Mordred snarls.
I click my mouth shut and resolve to trust my brother, despite all my instincts screaming at me not to. At last, Mordred slows down, and our feet hit the bottom of the prison staircase.
“Don’t go back up there until we’re long gone,” Mordred says, dumping Arthur on the floor.
“But—”
“Carman’s too powerful for you. Especially when you’ve chosen to give yourself a human handicap.” I feel Mordred’s breath brush my forehead as he leans in. “Remember, sis, you now owe me three times over,” he adds before launching himself straight back up the stairwell.
I crouch down, my fingers grazing Arthur’s back. He lets out a slight moan of protest at the touch, and I jerk my hand back. Try as he might to hide the injuries Dub gave him, there’s no doubt he’s weaker than he used to be.
“—seems to me you were speaking to someone.”
My insides squirm at the sound of Carman’s voice.
“Ran into a couple of stragglers,” I hear Mordred say, his voice strangely distorted.
Carman’s choking him.
A hole opens in my stomach. Sweat coats the palms of my hands. Any resolve I had left to face her evaporates as my body remembers the pain she inflicted upon me.
“You wouldn’t be lying to me now, would you my pet?”
My heart feels like it’s about to burst out of my chest.
“Did…hear…interesting…,” Mordred wheezes out, “…bones…grange.”
“And you’re only telling me that now?” Carman shouts.
Darkness erupts far above me. I lean over Arthur’s body protectively as black feathers plummet to the ground, burning through everything they touch, leaving behind little pools of fuming slime. I bite back a scream. Mordred!
And then she’s gone, the pressure I didn’t realize was there suddenly lifted.
Arthur shifts against me. “Morgan?” he calls out tentatively.
“I’m OK,” I say, helping him sit up. “Just…stay here for a moment.”
I throw myself into the air, flying straight up until I reach Sir Joseph’s floor, almost hoping to find Mordred there. I tell myself it’s a good thing, that he must have left with Carman, for all I find on the landing are two tar-free patches.
I shake my head to clear it of the fumes still suffusing the air, then dive into the hallway where Mordred intercepted me.
“Uncle?” I call out. “Sir Joseph?”
A strangled whimper comes from the other end of the corridor, and I press forward. I find Sir Cade inside a dank cell that smells of mold and decay, a twinkling orb showing him holding an old man in his arms, no sign of Emmerich or the female knight that went in with him.
“You’re alive,” I say, a knot of worry loosening in my chest.
“He hasn’t got much longer,” my uncle says, looking up at me, and I’m surprised to find his eyes moist with unshed tears.
“Is that…young…Morgan?” Sir Joseph wheezes.
I drop down next to them and gently take the old man’s spotted hand into my own, a hand that once helped my father. Now, his paper-thin skin shows every one of his veins as Carman’s poison travels through his body, snuffing his life out.
“I-I could try to heal you,” I stutter.
Sir Joseph’s fingers twitch around mine, and his eyes crack open, amber irises reminding me that he is also Caim, the Fey who once was Carman’s partner.
“Do not cry…over me,” Sir Joseph says. “It was meant…happen.” He attempts a small smile. “Did a lot I regret…but s-saving you was not one…”
He coughs violently, his frail body shaking in Sir Cade’s arms, and I finally see the hole in his chest where Carman ripped his ogham free. Not something I could heal, even if I still had the ability to.
Sir Joseph’s hand contracts around mine, and he pulls me closer to him. “Remember…anger…not the…answer…”
“The answer to what?” I ask hoarsely.
“She doesn’t…understand,” Sir Joseph wheezes, eyes staring at a spot above me.
“Carman?” I ask. “What doesn’t she understand?”
“Feeding hate…hell…,” Sir Joseph whispers, the poison now reaching up to his jaw.
I look at my uncle helplessly, but he seems as lost as I am.
“Sir,” I say, shaking the dying Fey by his shoulders, “we know Carman wants to free Balor, but—”
A wet laugh escapes Sir Joseph’s parched lips. “Blood can’t lie…”—his amber eyes alight on my face again—“true…to both…parents…like hers…”
His hand suddenly unclenches from around mine, the last of his strength used up.
“Like hers?” I repeat dumbly.
But the golden glow has faded from his eyes, and only Sir Cade’s floating orb is left to light the prison cell. Another death on my hands.
“He’s gone,” I say, feeling numb.
“But didn’t you hear?” my uncle says urgently. “He’s given us what we need to stop Carman.”
“What is it?” Arthur asks, stumbling inside.
Sir Cade looks up, grinning widely despite the tears now flowing freely down his cheeks. “Carman’s half human too.”
Chapter 26
Silence stretches between us as my uncle’s words sink in—Caim’s final revelation is huge, and I simply can’t fathom it.
Carman’s a halfie.
Like me.
And that means the odds of beating her have ever so slightly increased.
“It is as I suspected,” my uncle says.
“The bones in Newgrange?” Arthur asks.
Sir Cade nods with a slight wince.
“What are you talking about?” I ask. “You guys already knew she wasn’t a full Fey?”
“Just Emmerich, since he was manning the Northern European mirrors the night we received the news,” my uncle says. “Then there’s myself, and a couple of the more trustworthy knights.”
Trustworthy knights like Arthur. I throw them both a scathing look. They knew of this, and yet they didn’t even mention a thing. Not even to me, after all I’ve been through to get them crucial information about Carman’s activities.
Anger, deep and wild, boils inside me, making my hands shake. The thick iron door that Carman punched in flies across the cell and hits the far wall with a deafening crash.
“There have been some pretty bad information leaks,” Arthur explains, eyeing me with barely veiled surprise. “We didn’t want this to get into the wrong hands until our suspicions were proven correct.”
“And why did that take you so long?” I ask Sir Cade, breathing deeply through my nostrils to calm myself down. “You and Caim were best buddies, weren’t you?”
“I didn’t know,” my uncle says quietly. He folds Caim’s arms over his chest to hide the blackened hole left there by Carman. “I think…I think he didn’t breathe a word of it before to protect me, knowing I was under constant surveillance. Then after…I’ve been too busy to keep up with him like I should have…”
I sneer at the two of them in disgust. If it weren’t for all these little secrets everyone likes to keep, we’d have had the solution ages ago. Worse, if Mordred hadn’t distracted her away from us, no one would’ve known the truth.
Fear prickles the back of my neck. Newgrange. That’s what Mordred was talking about, the piece of news that had Carman bolting.
“She knows you’re aware of the truth,” I say, springing to my feet. “We’ve gotta stop her!” Before she can unleash her fury on everyone else.
I go up the prison staircase as fast as I can, ignoring Arthur’s shouts, and burst through the melted entryway into the violent storm outside. Sleet pelts down on me as I throw myself into the air, drenching me to the bone before I even make it past the prison’s torn gates.
I fly low over the battle, eyes scouring the skies and grounds for a sign of Carman. But all I see are masses of demons and draugar fighting Fe
y and knights, bodies tangling and untangling in a deathly dance, blood and ichor spilling over the churned earth. I pause at the sound of a distant rattle, wondering if that could be her, when pain rips through my side.
I let out a surprised gasp as a second bullet tears through my thigh, then feel myself drop, gravity taking over, and I’m falling straight into a mass of snarling demons. I try to slow myself down, regain control. But my thoughts are muddled, body going into shock. I barely register the webbed claws of a Fomori reaching for me before something stops my fall with a bone-jarring jolt.
“Couldn’t just wait, now, could you,” Arthur growls against me, his sylph enveloping us in its protective bubble.
With a shaky laugh, I let my head fall against his metallic jacket.
“I have to stop her,” I say into his neck, using the strong wind as an excuse to cling closer to him. The feel of his arms around me is enough to make me feel safe, even in the middle of a battle.
“Don’t be a fool,” Arthur says. “Do you really think knowing Carman’s half-Fey is somehow going to magically make her any easier to take down? On your own?”
He lands us in the middle of the small courtyard wedged between the Ops Center and the dorms where Inspector Bossart and I encountered our first draugar. The enclosure has somehow managed to remain untouched, both from the fighting and from Carman’s blood rain, and when Arthur sets me down on the snow-covered bench, even the sounds of battle seem dimmed.
“Let me see,” Arthur says, gently forcing me against the bench’s backrest.
I grimace as the movement pulls at torn muscles in my side and leg. “I’ll be fine,” I mutter, teeth chattering. “I’ll heal.”
“Probably best if there’s no bullet in you, though,” Arthur says. “Now stop fidgeting.”
I wince as he prods my injuries, and to avoid feeling faint at the sight of my own blood seeping through Arthur’s fingers, I stare instead at the statue of a stoic Charlemagne. The man’s alabaster face is stern, devoid of any mirth, and according to our Lore teacher, Sir Lincoln, it was under this Emperor’s reign that our Order started to incorporate Elemental Manipulation as a basic requirement for knighthood. It was also, as Keva added, when the Errant Companions formed, breaking away from what they called a heathen practice.
Curse of the Fey: A Modern Arthurian Legend (Morgana Trilogy Book 3) Page 23