The Zorah from two years ago would have been appalled by the idea of someone being murdered. And the prospect of murdering someone herself? Unthinkable.
Now, violent death dogged all of their footsteps. Len had seen vampires and demons and Fae snuff out lives like candles. Some of those people had probably deserved it, as Zorah had said. But Len wasn’t ready to be the kind of person who made value judgments like that.
“Someone hand me the brownie pan,” he demanded.
Zorah gave a disapproving sigh, but she handed it down to him nonetheless. Len dug out one more brownie and ate it, then struggled to his feet and shuffled over to Albigard, who was still draped along a section of the wall as though it was an opulent chaise longue rather than a narrow shelf made of unforgiving concrete. He plopped the pan down on the Fae’s lean-muscled stomach, meeting his disgruntled green glare in the light from the glass doorway.
“Seriously, don’t eat all these,” he said. “This pan is supposed to be enough for, like, ten people.”
The Fae ran a jaundiced eye over him. “Ten humans, perhaps.”
Len turned to the vampires, swaying a bit when he accidentally moved too fast. “I’m going to go pass out now and pretend tomorrow’s not happening.”
“’Night, Len,” Zorah said, sounding troubled.
“Sleep well, mate,” Rans said. “We’ll stay out here and keep an eye on Tinkerbell.”
“You do that,” Len told him, and made his way carefully toward the door.
SEVENTEEN
HOURS LATER, LEN lay in the barely familiar guest bedroom, his heart racing as he stared into the darkness above him. He cursed himself for not having timed things better. He’d gone to bed too early; he should have nursed his mellow for another few hours instead of bailing the moment the conversation got too uncomfortable.
Now, instead of remaining happily unconscious until morning, he was wide awake at oh-dark-thirty with no chance whatsoever of getting back to sleep. And... yeah. This time around, he felt kind of like shit on top of everything else.
Dry-eye, check.
Cotton mouth, check.
Sleep-deprivation, double-check.
Poor life choices for the win.
“Fuck,” he told the ceiling, even though it was invisible in the darkness. Staying in bed was utterly pointless, not to mention a recipe for another panic attack as his brain poked at the morning’s proposed itinerary.
Step one. Get up.
Step two. Have breakfast.
Step three. Reassemble the cut-rate Justice League even though most of them wanted to go to war with each other more than they wanted to cooperate.
Step four. Head back to St. Louis for a potential rendezvous with a raging death monster in the same neighborhood where he’d nearly died a few days ago.
He rolled out of bed abruptly, swallowing a curse as his elbow hit the bedside table in the dark, rattling it and sending a jolt of pain up his arm. Unwilling to sit still and wait for his autonomic nervous system to start screwing with him any more than it already was, he felt his way to the door and turned on the light so he could grab some clothes and go take a shower.
Just like he had the previous morning, he took great pains with his hair—not because having his brightly dyed fauxhawk teased into aggressive spikes would make any difference whatsoever to the outcome of today’s insane excuse for a plan, but because it made him feel slightly more confident when it came to facing down a room full of demons and shape-shifting Fae.
When he was satisfied with his appearance, he went downstairs. The house was mostly dark, but someone had left the light on in the kitchen. It was probably for his benefit, since vampires didn’t exactly need a nightlight and he doubted Fae did either. There were faint sounds coming from the far wing of the house, which Len identified as two people trying and failing to be quiet while having wild, bed-shaking sex.
He rolled his eyes ceilingward, but to be fair, it wasn’t as though sex was exactly optional for a succubus hybrid, vampire or otherwise. Len remembered Zorah from before—underweight and with dark circles under her eyes, slogging through her waitressing shifts powered by kale smoothies and scary amounts of ibuprofen. Starvation, she’d told him later. Every boyfriend she’d ever dated had run for the hills after the first time they had sex... sensing on some level that she was draining them, even if they had no clue how.
At least, that had been the case until Rans came along. Apparently, undead stamina in the sack was really something to behold. Princess Bride quotes and furniture-breaking sex aside, Len thought the pair might well have the healthiest relationship he’d ever come across. Rans and Zorah, the vampire power couple—Twilight, eat your heart out.
The door of the other bedroom on the ground floor was firmly shut; no light came from within. Len marched past it and didn’t allow himself to wonder if Albigard was also staring into the darkness with bloodshot eyes, contemplating his own mortality.
When a rummage around the kitchen failed to unearth a functioning toaster, Len was reduced to heating his Pop-Tarts in a skillet on the stovetop like a heathen. Zorah had shaken her head at him when he’d added them to the list yesterday, but comfort food was comfort food. Pop-Tarts were one of the few remnants of his childhood that hadn’t been sullied, and if he was charging into deadly danger in a few hours, this was his last meal request, damn it.
A toaster would have been good, though.
In another pan, the water for the coffee came to a simmer and he added it to the grounds to steep. A few minutes later, he sat down with his feast and nearly spilled the scalding coffee in his lap as a portal opened up without warning and the black cat trotted through.
“Uh... hi,” he said, when the sidhe showed no immediate inclination to change into human form. “Sorry... everyone else is either asleep or having sex right now. I was just about to eat breakfast, and maybe go for a walk afterward, if the sun’s up.”
The cat hopped up on the table and sat, its long tail curled primly around its toes. It stared at him with unblinking green eyes, but made no other move. After a long moment, Len shrugged and went back to his breakfast, trying to ignore the heinously awkward feeling of being watched by a sentient animal while he ate.
When he was finished, he went to the sink and washed last night’s and this morning’s dishes. Someone had put the empty brownie pan in to soak. He tried not to think about how difficult it would be to explain if Albigard were still passed out when the others showed up, ready to leave. Or, for that matter, if he were draped over a toilet, puking his guts out.
Oh, well. Len had tried to warn him about overdoing it with the brownies.
Twice.
The cat jumped onto the counter to watch with interest as he rinsed and dried the bowls and pans.
“So,” he began, for lack of any other conversational gambits. “What’s your opinion on this whole thing? Is the plan going to work, or are those of us who aren’t immortal going to end up as really ugly yard decorations in the middle of a dead neighborhood?”
The air twisted, and the sidhe sat on the edge of the countertop, lower legs swinging idly like a bored child. “I would not have agreed to the plan if I didn’t believe it to have a decent chance of success, human.”
“Okay,” Len said, threading the damp dishtowel through the door handle of the fridge to dry. “Well, that’s... good. Right?”
The sidhe shrugged.
When no other reassurance was forthcoming, Len grabbed a fresh water bottle from the fridge and went outside. The sky was lightening in the east, and while it was still pretty dark out, he was confident he wouldn’t trip on the trail and break a leg as long as he was careful.
There was a tiny nip to the air this morning—a hint of autumn to come. Would the forest still be full of green leaves and chirping birds at this time next year? Or would North America be a blackened wasteland, devoid of life?
He’d seen the Hunt’s abattoir in St. Louis with his own eyes, and yet he still couldn’t truly
wrap his brain around the idea. Since it’s gotten a taste of the easy pickings on Earth, it will keep coming back, Zorah had said. And every time it feeds, it will get stronger. It will get bigger.
Nigellus had gone even further. Life in the human realm dies too easily. As it grows stronger, the Hunt will transform Earth into a mirror of Dhuinne—one realm with life multiplying out of control... the other with death creeping across the land until it swallows everything in its path.
Len couldn’t accept that prediction. They would fix things somehow; trap the Hunt back in Dhuinne where it belonged. There would still be squirrels scampering and chittering in this random section of forest in Illinois come next spring. The alternative was too big—too horrible—to contemplate.
He followed the same trails as before, taking in his surroundings with a gaze more attuned to the beauty around him than it might otherwise have been. The sun rose, painting the eastern sky in Disney-esque pastel shades so brilliant they hurt his eyes. Birds tweeted. Insects buzzed. Once he got to the public hiking trails, he met a few early joggers and dog-walkers out getting some exercise before work.
Some of them gave him wary looks and a wide berth—this six-foot-tall stranger with dyed hair and tattoos encircling his arms, metal rings glinting in his face. But one grandmotherly sort walking an elderly spaniel stopped to let him pet her dog when the old beast tugged on its leash to approach him.
“Good morning, dear!” the woman said cheerfully, reminding Len with a sharp pang of Betty who’d lived across the street. “This is Bono. He has the best taste in people. Say hello, Bono!”
Len smiled up at her and rubbed Bono’s silky ears as the dog slobbered and pawed at him, trying not to think about a pair of brown and black furry lumps lying dead on the sidewalk next to their owner.
He returned to the house before the sun climbed too high, feeling an unpleasant mix of dread and determination curling in his stomach. All of the others except Nigellus were assembled in the kitchen, even though it was barely a quarter after eight according to the old clock hanging on the wall.
Much to Len’s disgust, Albigard was there as well, speaking quietly with Teague. He looked as haughty and perfect as ever, even after polishing off enough pot brownies to tranquilize a horse last night. Len came to a halt, staring at the Fae through his own bleary, bloodshot eyes.
“Dude,” he said. “That’s just wrong.”
Rans glanced between them and raised an eyebrow. “Non-human metabolism. Don’t take it personally.”
Len shook his head, dismissing the small piece of universal unfairness in the face of the much more important things they had to deal with today. The cat-sidhe was once more a cat, but the cu-sidhe were both in human form. He couldn’t help noticing that the one he’d pepper-sprayed the previous day had managed to get the dye off their face. He’d been right, too—without that visual marker for identification, Len had no idea which one of them was which.
Nigellus materialized into existence before the silence in the room could grow unbearably awkward, a duffel bag held in one elegant hand. The demon looked around, making a quick head count. “Ah, it appears I’m holding up the party. Apologies.” He lifted up the bag, meeting Len’s eyes. “Mr. Grayson. Since your journey here was an unplanned one that did not allow you to pack first, I took the liberty of assembling a basic first aid kit for the day’s endeavors.”
Len felt an unpleasant jolt at being addressed as Mr. Grayson, and had to stifle the urge to look behind him for his father. Nigellus tossed the bag to him—a welcome distraction. He caught it out of the air and unzipped it, rifling through the contents. Inside, he found gauze, cotton roll, tourniquets, elastic bandages, scissors, gloves, and adhesive tape.
“Thanks,” he said uncertainly. When he looked up, it was to find Rans wearing an odd expression.
“A first aid kit? Really?” The vampire asked Nigellus, his tone pointed.
The demon quirked an eyebrow in response. “Fae are still susceptible to physical weakness brought on by blood loss, if only temporarily. Since we have someone trained in the medical arts, it only seems logical to outfit him with the proper tools.”
Len frowned. “We’re trying to trap a fog monster that sucks people’s life force into the Void,” he pointed out. “Are we expecting any bleeding injuries this morning?”
Nigellus gave him a bland smile. “One certainly hopes not. Now... are we ready to depart?”
“Not even remotely,” Zorah said. “Come on, let’s head to St. Louis and get this over with anyway.”
EIGHTEEN
LEN STEPPED THROUGH a portal cast by Teague, and found himself in a quiet area located behind a collection of temporary trailers. The place had a quickly assembled military feel to it, reminiscent of news footage covering emergency camps or detention centers. The trailers were stark white and rectangular; the area surrounded by six-foot chainlink fence topped with looped razor wire.
A feeling of surreality struck him as he turned a slow three-sixty and recognized an intersection he’d driven past practically every day on the way to work at the Brown Fox. They’d arrived perhaps half a mile from his house, and the entire area was now a military base.
The others had preceded Len through the flaming oval, which snapped abruptly shut once he was clear of it. Teague strode past him, sparing Len the sort of glance you might give a spider crawling up the wall of a shower stall while you were trying to bathe.
“Upon realizing the nature of the incursion, I ordered a mandatory evacuation within a perimeter encompassing an area roughly four times the size of the original zone of destruction,” said the Fae. “I will meet with the human National Guard commander and ensure we will not be disturbed while we’re working. Then we can proceed to the location of the tear in the veil and begin.”
With that, the copper-haired Unseelie turned on his heel and marched toward the nearest structure. The others followed him. Len blinked and trailed along behind, painfully aware that nothing about their group screamed ‘We belong inside a secure military perimeter.’ Seemingly unconcerned, Teague threaded his way through black SUVs and Hummers, followed by two vampires in black leather, a demon in an Armani suit, four refugees from the set of Lord of the Rings, and Len, the random guy with blue hair and facial piercings.
Len winced as the severe-looking National Guard officer they were approaching took one glance at them and rested his hand on his sidearm.
“Lieutenant,” Teague said crisply.
The officer’s eyes snapped to the Fae and promptly grew dazed. He blinked, coming to attention, and focused on Teague as completely as though the rest of them no longer existed.
“Yes, sir. What can I do for you, sir?” he said, and Len felt a shudder of revulsion go through him at the tone of adoration.
“Have there been any disturbances within the perimeter since your last report?” Teague demanded.
“No, sir. All quiet,” said the lieutenant.
“Good,” Teague replied. “Recall any drones and cease all surveillance efforts until I order otherwise. Destroy any recorded images dating from this moment onward. No one goes in or out unless they’re with me. See to it.”
“Right away, sir,” said the officer, and hurried off as though he were carrying out the orders of a four-star general rather than a pale civvy with his long hair tied back in a ponytail.
“Am I the only one feeling seriously creeped out by that interaction?” Len asked, once the lieutenant disappeared into one of the command trailers.
“Nope,” Zorah said, popping the ‘p.’ “Welcome to my world, where the Fae control everything and free will is an illusion.”
Rans gave her a side-eyed look. “Perhaps a bit of an exaggeration, love.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” she muttered. “It’s not paranoia when they really are out to get you. Just sayin’.”
“If we might proceed,” Albigard said, in a tone that could strip paint. In contrast to the others, for whom this was apparently just
another day at the office, he looked as tense as a drawn bowstring. However much THC had been in those brownies last night, it clearly hadn’t been enough as far as he was concerned.
“Yes,” Nigellus agreed. “We should make haste. While there’s no reason to think that the Hunt will be drawn to the Flight Commander’s presence now that it’s gone feral, there’s also no point in dangling him as bait outside of the wards longer than is strictly necessary.”
“Quite,” agreed the cat-sidhe, and opened a portal.
Len looked around a bit wildly, expecting to see soldiers and police freaking out at the sudden appearance of a fiery ring hovering in the air, but the few people in evidence were ignoring them completely, almost as though they were invisible.
“Wait!” Zorah said. “How sure are we that this is going to be safe for Len? The last time he touched this dead zone, the results... weren’t good.”
The sidhe’s head tilted. “The portal will deposit us outside of the boundary. However, life is already returning to the area—albeit in an unpleasant capacity. It is merely an area of decay now, and this time the human will have a better idea what to expect.”
Len felt his throat tighten at the memory of the terrible pull he’d experienced last time, drawing him in like iron filings to a magnet.
“It’s okay, Z,” he managed. “I could tell something was wrong when I got close, even before I touched the dead area. If the same thing happens this time, just... grab me before I can reach it and toss me through a portal leading back to Chicago, I guess.”
“If you’re sure,” she said with reluctance, still looking unhappy.
Again, Len caught Rans directing a probing stare at Nigellus, whose face remained utterly unreadable. Before anyone else could raise another objection that further delayed things, Albigard stepped through the portal with the air of someone who would rather be going anywhere else, but knew ‘anywhere else’ wasn’t currently an option.
The others followed, until it was just Rans, Zorah, and Len.
Forsaken Fae: The Complete Series, Books 1-3 (Last Vampire World) Page 13