“Oh, just shut up, all of you,” I say, exasperated, moving closer to Barrons again, reclaiming a little personal space.
We continue walking in silence toward the abbey.
“So, do we have a plan?” I say again after a few moments.
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“Walk up to the front door and go inside,” Barrons replies.
“That’s not a plan. That’s a suicide mission. ”
“We’re a little hard to kill,” Fade says.
“Some more than others,” I say pointedly. “I’m not so sure the Keltar get back up quite as easily as—” I bite that one off myself when all four Keltar shoot me looks of death.
Clearly, I impugned their virility, when all I was trying to do is remind my team that the other team doesn’t have the same Get Out of Death Free card.
“Why did you bring her again?” Dageus says.
“Because once she gets with the plan, she’s as useful as the rest of us,” Barrons says.
“It’d help if I knew what the bloody plan was,” I grumble.
“Besides, we can use her Unseelie as body shields,” he adds.
Well darn, that was one I hadn’t thought of.
The front door, which was once slats of wood reinforced by steel, now looms black as polished obsidian, covered with ancient runes I’ve seen before.
Below the abbey, in the chamber that houses Cruce.
It swings silently open.
I move forward and pause on the threshold, looking in to get the lay of the land before I inadvertently plant a foot on a mine.
Seven men march past me, boots echoing on the stone floor.
I hurry to catch up. Well, I mostly hurry. I linger a moment, absorbing the raw fearlessness of their stride, the determination to never quit that squares their shoulders, and it fortifies my resolve. I will match the bar these men set so high. They all have their inner demons. And they manage them.
I will, too.
The entry hall is large and rectangular, with a ceiling that soars to open roof rafters. On three walls, fireplaces that could serve as small bedrooms blast more heat into the already warm room.
The sofas are faded and worn, dotted with handmade pillows and crocheted throws, the floors warmed by century-old rugs, the walls hung with antique tapestries. Chairs perch near tables that hold open books and perspiring glasses of iced drinks.
The room is empty.
“Where the bloody hell is everyone?” Dageus growls.
“Quiet. Someone’s coming,” Barrons says.
Several seconds pass before I hear the sound of people approaching. I envy his preternatural senses, rue that my monster has no such benefits.
I offer benefits with which you could retire from this paltry planet and rule galaxies. You refuse them. Embrace your destiny and we will destroy the prince before we leave this world. It will be our parting gift.
Right. As if either Sinsar Dubh would leave my planet intact. Criminy, I can’t even think about it without it stirring. I mutter Poe beneath my breath and watch as four women enter the room. I’m relieved to see they’re ours. I sat at a table with these women not so long ago.
Leading the group is Josie, a skinny dark-eyed girl with platinum hair and goth makeup, followed by Shauna, a petite brunette with hazel eyes and a quick smile, and the twins, Clare and Sorcha MacSweeney. They are the women Kat brought to our clandestine meeting in a pub, after Rowena instructed a group of them to ambush me and try to take my spear. They failed. I accidentally killed a sidhe-seer in the process. Moira. I never forget the names of humans I’ve slain. I catch myself reaching protectively for my spear but stop, unwilling to invite more of the Book’s unwanted commentary so near another copy of itself plus so many vulnerable humans.
“Why have you brought Unseelie inside our walls, Mac?” Shauna says grimly.
I sigh. “I didn’t. They, I—” Shit, how do I explain this one? I blurt, “I was trying to do a spell and it backfired and they’ve been stuck to me like glue ever since. ” I practically roll my own eyes. It’s the weakest lie I’ve ever heard myself tell.
Dageus gives me a look.
Ryodan laughs.
“They’re harmless,” I add. “They don’t even kill anything. They just stalk me. ”
“The Unseelie doesn’t exist that doesn’t kill,” Josie says coolly.
Sorcha moves past me, inspecting them from a cautious distance. Then she surprises me by saying, “I’m not certain they’re Unseelie, Mac. ”
I frown. “What else could they be?”
“I don’t know but they’re … different. ”
That would explain why I can’t Null them, but not why my sidhe-seer senses seem to pick up on them as Unseelie. Or do they? Is that yet one more preconception I accepted without bothering to consider simply because they looked like Unseelie, and what else would they be? I realize I’ve never listened past their incessant chittering for their caste’s dark melody. But I will, in the near future. At the moment I want no distractions.
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Barrons says impatiently, “Who the fuck cares. They follow her. Where is the one that holds you hostage?”
Josie laughs, a brittle sound. “That’s what you think? We’re being held hostage? The woman saved us!”
“Saved?” I echo.
“Aye, saved. And we’ve no need of your army, Mac. We’re just fine. The lot of you can be leaving now. With your Unseelie. ”
“I’m telling you,” Sorcha says, “they’re not Unseelie. ”
“We’d be finer if we knew Kat was all right,” Clare says.
“And Dani,” Shauna adds. “Two of our best have gone missing. ”
“Dani isn’t one of our best,” Josie says sharply. “She’s a liability, a hotheaded child. And Kat, well … you see where her plans got us. ”
Josie doesn’t look much older than Dani herself. And Kat’s plans kept them alive this long.
Clare disagrees, “How can you say that when it was Dani and Ryodan that saved us from the Hoar Frost King?”
“They didn’t save us from Cruce,” Josie says hotly. “Jada did. ”
I narrow my eyes. “Who’s Jada?” Was this the name of the supposedly mystical fighter that was leading them now? “And what do you mean you’re ‘fine’? This place is a mess. It’s obviously been taken over by—”
“No, it hasn’t. Not anymore,” Josie cuts me off. “Not since she came. ”
“Jada?” I guess dryly.
The skinny goth folds her arms over her chest and tosses her head, looking down her thin nose at me. “Aye, she freed us from our prison. When Kat went missing, the changes to our abbey escalated. The doors and windows closed, trapping us inside. But Jada understands his runes. She was able to open them. Since her arrival the changes have stopped. Completely. ”
I mock, “Gee, let’s see, your lights glow without bulbs, your fireplaces burn with no wood or visible source of fuel, and there are Fae flowers and monuments scattered all over your land. Inside a stone wall that wasn’t there three weeks ago. ”
“I said she stopped the changes. Not undid them. Yet,” she adds with the fervent faith of a recent convert.
“Where’s Colleen?” Christopher demands.
Clare says, “You must be her father. She’s the look of you. She said you would be coming if she didn’t send word soon. She’s with a group of women in the Red Library, searching our oldest books. Unseelie Prince or not, your son sacrificed himself for us, and we will help you get Christian back. Jada has agreed to make it a priority. ”
Her last words rub me a thousand kinds of wrong. “One of your women escaped and told us the abbey was taken hostage and three of your women killed. ” They’ve accepted their conqueror, permitted her to choose their priorities. How quickly they’ve abandoned Kat.
Shauna says, “At first we didn’t know what was going on, and aye, we batt
led, that’s true. There were losses on both sides. But we swiftly realized the asset Jada is. ”
“She’s a born leader,” Josie says proudly. “She fears nothing and I’ve never seen anyone with such unobstructed vision. She makes plans and takes action and her plans yield immediate, concrete results. Have you any idea how long we’ve been floundering out here? Hammered by one threat after the next! I’ll fall in behind her any day. You wouldn’t believe what she’s accomplished in the short time she’s been here. ”
Sorcha nods agreement. “We aren’t the first group of sidhe-seers to join her. The ones she arrived at the abbey with told us they lost their own leader a few weeks ago. Jada found them wandering Dublin, thinking of returning home. She talked them out of it. ”
“Do any of you even know where she came from?” I demand.
Josie slants me a scornful look. “Who cares? She’s the most powerful sidhe-seer we’ve ever seen. Not even you possess such skills. In fact, she should have the spear, not you. They’re training us. Teaching us to fight. Martial arts and weapons. ”
I refuse to reach for it. My spear is beneath my arm and there it will remain.
Deep inside me the Book sends out a dark, cold draft of brimstone and damnation, offering all kinds of power.
I don’t need it. I am enough.
Shauna says, “Kat did a fine job keeping us together in the present. But Jada can lead us into the future. ”
I glance at Barrons. He’s motionless, processing, assessing. We came here to roust a conqueror and received instead an unarmed welcome coupled with news that the abbey has embraced their conqueror.
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Wants to keep her.
Likes her better than Kat.
Whoever this Jada is, I don’t trust her one bit.
“You will bring her to us now,” Barrons says.
Josie tips her head back and says down her nose to him, “We will inform Jada you’ve requested an audience. After Mac and her Unseelie leave our home. ”
Seven men blast past her so fast her short platinum hair flies straight up in the air, and one of them must have caught her with his elbow or fist—I’d bet blood it was Barrons—because she crashes back into a couch, goes tumbling over the side, and slams into the floor.
Grimly, me and my cavalcade of whatever they are follow the men.
By the time we reach the wing that houses Rowena’s chambers—I have no doubt that’s where “Jada” has decided to squat, like the Oval Office, mere occupancy confers power—our group has dwindled to Barrons, Ryodan, and me.
The Highlanders insisted on going underground to check on Cruce’s prison after first making a detour to the Red Library to collect Colleen. Ryodan, who trusts no one, insisted Fade accompany them. Clare and Sorcha, who’d caught up with us by then, insisted we ask Jada before going beneath the abbey, and when the men stalked past them, looked impossibly torn before storming off after them. I remained silent the entire time, prepared to lie through my teeth about anything and everything if they tried to make me go down there where I might get caught in the sticky spiderweb of the powers that hold or are failing to hold Cruce.
As we approach Rowena’s chambers, the stone floor changes from pale gray to stone that glitters faintly, as if sprinkled by silver dust, to solid gold etched with elaborate symbols, inlaid near the walls with glittering gems that wink with dark fire.
Ryodan stops abruptly.
“What is it?”
“Getting a read on anything, Mac. ”
I expand my sidhe-seer senses, reaching, searching. “Like what?”
“I feel the same thing I felt at the club the night you were supposed to kill the Unseelie Princess. ”
“You didn’t expressly tell me to kill her,” I remind crossly. “And you’re not a sidhe-seer, so how could you possibly be feeling anything?” I glance up at Barrons. “Do you feel something?”
He slices his head once to the left and looks at Ryodan, who stands motionless a long moment then says, “It’s nothing. Forget it. ”
But he doesn’t look like he’s forgotten it. He looks deeply disturbed by something. I expand my senses again, searching, but still get nothing. I cock my head thoughtfully and eye my stalkers, crowded close, left, right, and behind.
Absolutely nothing. In any direction, with the exception of what’s beneath the abbey. So what the hell are they, then?
Rowena’s chambers are composed of half a dozen rooms: a bedroom, an ornate, regal study, two libraries, an enormous, lovely bathroom with a huge old claw-foot tub, and a stark, uncomfortable waiting room similar to one at a doctor’s office. I snooped through her suite once, but not as thoroughly as I’d like. I suspect there are more secrets tucked away in there, behind warded panels and floorboards, than grains of sand in an hourglass. More than once Dani and I burst through twin sets of French doors and forced our way into her chambers only to find the scowling headmistress had anticipated our arrival.
No such luck making an unannounced entrance today. As we turn the final corner, four armed women stand at the end of the hall, outside the closed doors.
They’re impressive. I can see why our abbey embraced them; it was that or die. Rowena didn’t train her sidhe-seers. She suppressed them, deliberately kept them weak and needy. Jada’s women are draped in ammo, clutch automatic weapons, and stare stonily at us as we approach, military training apparent in their strong bodies and stronger expressions.
I’d like them if I met them on the street. I’d like them a lot. I have enormous respect for our military men and women, the everyday heroes who provide the security the rest of us enjoy.
I don’t like them in front of that door.
Kat belongs inside those chambers, not some outsider whose loyalty and objectives are uncertain.
They scan us, taking in the Unseelie at my back but making no comment. If they crossed continents to get here, they’ve seen stranger things. Criminy, if they served overseas, they’ve seen a small slice of hell.
They raise their rifles in sleek unison, targeting us.
“She’s not taking visitors,” clips a tall woman with short black hair tipped blond at the ends.
I fall back into my hive of Unseelie, a protected queen bee. The body shield idea works for me. I practically cuddle the smelly things. I may be tough to kill, even survived having my throat ripped out, but I don’t need to experience a spray of automatic bullets to know it would hurt like a bitch.
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Barrons and Ryodan are suddenly gone. I sometimes forget they can do that, become virtually invisible, melt into the current terrain, and reappear without warning.
Shots go off, guns fly and smash into walls, and ducking the whine of dangerous ricochets, I nestle into my worker bees. Between their hooded heads I watch a brief brawl that ends with four women unconscious on the floor and Barrons pushing the door open.
As I step over them, the black-haired woman uncoils cobra-fast, grabs my leg and yanks it out from under me.
Barrons is on her instantly but I go down backward, hard.
The strangest thing happens as I fall. I get a sudden weird flash of my room at the Clarin House, time slows to a snail’s crawl and I’m suddenly living two different events superimposed.
I’m falling backward at the abbey.
Yet I’m also falling forward in my cramped room at the inn.
Barrons is looking down at me here, subduing my attacker and trying to catch me.
But at the same time we’re at the inn, and he’s the one who just dumped me on the floor.
I’m clothed here.
At the Clarin House I’m missing my jeans, the air is cool on my skin and I’m butt-ass naked.
I hit the abbey floor hard enough to make my teeth clack, and blink, shaking my head.
WTF?
Reality rearranges itself into a single vision.
I’m in the abbey, only t
he abbey.
Frowning, I push myself up and watch Barrons and Ryodan drag the women down the hall and dump them into a room.
“Time to meet Jada. ” Barrons growls her name the same way I feel it, irritably and accompanied by a death wish.
I stand up, eyeing him uneasily, trying to decide what just happened. The only time Barrons was ever in my room at the Clarin House was that night he came to bully me into going home. We’d argued, he grabbed me at one point and got physical, but then he left. The next day I’d hurt from head to toe.
My frown deepens.
I recall thinking the bruises were odd, more around the sides of my rib cage than across my front where he’d actually had his arm banded beneath my breasts. I didn’t wear a bra for days. And I’d hurt all over, not just my ribs. My thighs had ached, the muscles deep in my butt had been sore. I’d just figured the interminable flight over had taken a toll. I’d never flown that far before, or sat so long in between flights on hard airport benches. I scratch my head, staring at him, feeling like I’m trying to put together a puzzle minus half the pieces, with no picture on the box to guide me.
He gives me a look. “Are you hurt? What is it?”
I search his face, searching my memory, trying to reconcile what I just saw with some version of reality I recall.
There is none.
“Get a fucking move on, Mac,” Ryodan snaps.
At a complete loss to explain what just happened, for a novel change, I silently obey him. “Don’t get used to it,” I mutter.
We enter the spartan waiting room, move to the second set of double doors, and I’m on the verge of proposing we pause and listen a few seconds to get a feel for what’s on the other side when Barrons kicks the door open so hard it flies back, slams into the wall, and splits down the middle.
Women shout in alarm but I can’t see past Barrons’s and Ryodan’s backs.
I shut my mouth and step into the room, feeling uncomfortably … obsolete. I may have unique sidhe-seer gifts and there’s no question that without my wraiths hemming me in I’m a seriously badass street fighter, but Barrons and his men are faster, stronger, and more ruthless.
Before, one of my most valuable assets was that I could sense the Sinsar Dubh, but that skill is no longer in demand. Before, I could slay Unseelie better than the best, but now I’m afraid to draw my spear and give my inner demon the opportunity to manifest. Which begs the questions: what makes me any more special than the average sidhe-seer? Enforced passivity has me pondering that question too much of late.