Bedeviled (16 page)

Closer.

Maggie saw her own death in his eyes and knew no one was coming to help. Culhane . . . where the hell was he? And why wasn’t Bezel around? Didn’t they say they were going to keep an eye on her? Well, where the hell were her stalkers when she needed them?

Wasn’t it just like a man?

The demon made a grab for her, but Maggie dropped like a stone, avoiding his grasp; then she rolled over the asphalt and winced as some broken glass bit into her thigh. But she was up again a moment later, really wishing she’d taken some self-defense courses. First thing tomorrow, she promised herself. If she survived, she was going to make
somebody
teach her how to kick some ass.

“Just hold still, will ya?” He sounded irritated. “I don’t have all day.”

“Fine,” she said, suddenly realizing that what she needed to do was get close to the knife-wielding whatever-he-was. It was a risk, because, hello?
Knife.
But what choice did she have? She couldn’t run all the way home with this guy on her heels. In the first place she’d never make it. She was way too out of shape. In the second place she wasn’t about to take this freak back to her house, where he could get a shot at Nora and Eileen.

So she stood her ground despite the fact that her knees were knocking. Lifting her chin, she stared into those blank black eyes and said, “Here I am. Come and get me.”

He smiled. “Wise decision. Don’t worry. I’ll make it quick.”

He would, too. She didn’t have much time, but she used what she had to concentrate as furiously as she ever had before. Maggie drew a deep breath and gathered her power, her focus, what was left of her strength. As the smiling demon stepped in and pulled his arm back to deliver a killing blow, she concentrated with everything she had and blew a stream of gold Faery dust into his face.

His scream sliced as deeply as the knife might have if it hadn’t fallen from his fist to clatter on the asphalt. Maggie lurched backward, slapped her hands to her ears and hunched into herself as the demon dropped to the dirty ground. Mouth open in a shriek, eyes wide, he stared unbelieving up at her as his body exploded into dust and the wind carried what was left of him down the alley.

The back door of the diner opened and Carrie’s chef stuck his head out. “Maggie? Did I hear somebody screaming out here? You okay?”

Now
the cavalry shows up.
“Um, I think it was a cat.”

“Big cat.”

“You have no idea.”

“You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, Frank,” she said, taking a long, deep breath to steady herself. “I’m fine. Thanks for checking.”

“Hey, that’s what we do around here. Look out for each other, right?”

“Right,” she murmured as he ducked back into the kitchen and shut the door.

Gathering up her paint cans, Maggie noticed her hands were shaking. Probably not a good sign. The great chosen one all nervous over fighting a demon? What was going to happen to her when she had to fight Mab?

Would
she
be the one to end up a pile of dust blowing in the wind?

“Do it again!”

Maggie did as instructed. She dropped into a crouch on the back lawn, swung one leg out and around, then jumped to her feet and punched both arms out in rapid succession.

“Congratulations,” Bezel called out, and popped another chocolate bar into his big mouth. “First time you didn’t land on your ass.”

“What does Faery breath do to pixies, I wonder,” Maggie mused, giving the ugly little man a dark look.

“Makes me uglier.” He hooted.

“Hard to imagine.”

“You’re doing really well, Maggie.” Nora applauded from the sidelines in the backyard. She was perched in a lawn chair with a glass of wine and a plate of cheese and crackers beside her. “Wasn’t it wonderful of Quinn to offer to teach you to fight?”

“Yeah.” Maggie glanced over at her newest teacher and noted in disgust that the Viking wasn’t even breathing heavily. While she, on the other hand, wanted to ice her entire body. Her bruises had bruises. She had so never been meant to be a fighter. An eater, yes. A fighter, no.

But since her narrowly escaped fiasco with the alley demon yesterday, she’d made good on her vow to herself. She was learning how to defend herself. What good it would do her against Mab, who the hell knew? As mean as Bezel was, he just wasn’t big enough to teach her any kind of defensive moves, so when Quinn volunteered she’d taken him up on it.

“Not bad,” the Viking told her, coming closer. He kicked her feet wider apart, lifted her fisted hands and turned her body until she was standing at an angle to him. Funny, but for a stock market trader, he sure seemed to be good at this hand-to-hand stuff. “Don’t open yourself to attack. Protect your body. Tuck your chin in. And remember, you can fly.”

“God, I’m an
idiot
.” Her hands dropped to her sides as her jaw fell open. “For chrissakes, I
did
forget I could fly. Or float. Whatever. When that guy came at me I should have just tried to take off.”

Nora took a sip of her wine. “Wouldn’t that have been something to see? It’s a shame Quinn can’t teach you to fly, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Bezel chimed in. “But males can’t fly—and he’s not a Faery, so, hey.”

Maggie stared at the pixie, then shifted a hard look to Quinn, who was ignoring all of them.

“Use your opponent’s weight against them,” he said. “Most won’t expect it, and you can use surprise to your advantage.” Demonstrating, he braced himself for an attack, thick arm muscles rippling. “Rush me.”

“Hah! Right.”

“Oh, Maggie, don’t be a spoilsport; do it,” Nora encouraged with a soft sigh and a smile for her lover. “He’s only trying to help.”

Looking at Quinn’s tall, thick body, Maggie couldn’t figure out why anyone in his right mind would ever attack him. But she’d asked for this, right? So with the setting sun blasting into her eyes, Maggie charged at Quinn. She didn’t get far. Instantly he grabbed her arms, rolled backward and tossed her over his head to land on her back with a thud that jarred every bone in her body.

“Ooooh, that looked painful. . . .” Nora hurried to her.

“Wine,” Maggie said faintly, holding up one limp hand.

Bezel’s sharp laughter sliced at the air.

Sheba barked at the new game.

And Culhane stood in the shadows, shaking his head and watching.

“Why don’t
you
teach her?”

Irritation raced up his throat as he turned to face the girl who’d crept up behind him. Again. Either Maggie was splintering his attention drastically, or Eileen Donovan was sneaky enough to be Fae herself.

He took a patient breath and noticed that here, near the flowers and bushes lining Maggie’s yard, the air didn’t taste quite as bad as it usually did. Eileen was staring up at him, small in her T-shirt and jeans, and the laces on one of her shoes were undone. She looked harmless—but he’d already learned that Donovan women were anything but.

“You move as quietly as the Fae,” he told her.

She shrugged and gave him a smile. “You were busy watching Aunt Maggie. So how come you’re not the one teaching her how to do all this stuff?”

“Because it’s better for her to learn from someone else.”

“Why?”

“Because she doesn’t trust me.”

“Why?”

He blew out a breath, gave her a fierce frown that had been known to startle Fae children into howls of despair and said, “Enough questions. You shouldn’t be talking to me, anyway. I don’t want the others to know I’m here.”

“Why?”

Culhane’s head dropped in resignation. A small laugh shot from his throat in spite of his best efforts. “If you had been the chosen one, little warrior, the battle would already be won.”

Eileen grinned, clearly delighted, then walked closer and stood beside him in the shadows to watch everyone else trying to get Maggie back on her feet. Maggie staggered a little, took a sip of Nora’s wine, then turned, tripped over Sheba and sprawled face-first on the grass.

“It’s not going well, then,” Culhane muttered to no one in particular.

“It would be if you were the one teaching her.”

“Is that right, now?” Culhane was still watching the sad show on the lawn.

“Really . . .” Eileen’s voice came out thoughtful now, and quiet. “I think you’d be better, because you’re a much better Faery warrior than Quinn is. He spends way too much time kissing my mom.”

Chapter Eight

H
er words slammed into Culhane, shaking him down to his bones. How had she . . . ? He dropped to one knee beside her and studied those suddenly solemn Donovan eyes. Was she a seer? Did she have magic of her own? And what the bloody devil was he supposed to do about this new situation? Best to start slow. Find out what she knew and what she was guessing.

“What makes you think Quinn is Fae?”

She sighed, a patient sound and one that sent another ripple of annoyance through Culhane. Could it get worse than a mortal child pitying a Fae warrior?

“Grown-ups are all alike, Fae and human. Did you know that sixty percent of all adults don’t pay attention to kids? Not even their
own
?” She shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “Kids see a lot more than you think we do. Sometimes we even see stuff you guys miss completely.”

Culhane shifted a look at the yard and couldn’t help smiling as Maggie’s worthless dog sat itself down on her behind. Maggie yelped, Bezel fell to the ground, rolling and laughing in that awful voice of his, and true to Eileen’s description, Quinn was pulling Nora in for a kiss.

Clearly the other warrior was being distracted. Distracted enough that he’d allowed a child to see through his disguise.

But how had this one small human girl identified what was supposed to be a secret plan? What were her too-shrewd-for-her-age eyes noticing? “Tell me then, what do you see when you look, little one?”

She was staring at him when he turned his gaze back to hers. “I see the way Quinn watches Maggie. Just like you do. Like you’re hoping she can do what you want her to do, and worried that she can’t. Plus, he’s big like you, and moves around as quiet as you. And I saw him breathe Faery dust once, too.”

Ifreann
take him, Culhane thought. A careful plan set in motion, only to be shattered by a bright child. “And have you told your mother or your aunt what you noticed?”

“Nah.” She shrugged and stuck out her bottom lip for a brief pout. “They wouldn’t believe me, anyway. They think I’m just a kid.”

“We know better, don’t we?” Culhane said softly.

“Yeah, we do.”

She stood before him, proud and sure of herself, and so she should be. She’d seen what he and Quinn had hoped to keep hidden. And now Culhane had another problem: what to do with the child he both admired and resented.

“You, too, are part Fae,” he reminded her, his voice hardly more than a whisper on the wind.

“I know,” she said with a smile. “Very cool.”

“And so, Eileen Donovan of the Fae . . .” He faced her solemnly, his gaze locking with hers. “Will you keep the secrets of the Fae warriors?”

“Why should I?”

A question for a question.

Clever and tricky child.

“For the sake of Otherworld. And for your own. It’s important, Eileen. A task that you alone can accomplish.”

“Are you going to hurt Aunt Maggie?”

“I’ve no intention of causing her harm.”

Her lip curled. “That’s not really an answer.”

“It’s the best I have for you.”

“And my mom?”

He blew out a breath, and a sparkle of Faery dust shone briefly in the shadows. “Your mother’s in no danger from me.”

She studied him for a long moment or two, then apparently approved of what she saw.

“Okay, then. I’ll keep your secret.” Eileen held out one small hand to him.

Culhane took it in a firm shake, according her the respect he would any other brave soul, then released her. “You would make a fine Fae warrior.”

Eileen grinned. “Thanks, but I’d rather fly.”

That night when the phone rang, Maggie lurched for it, caught her legs in a twist of sheet and slid to the floor. Her already-bruised hip banged into the old hardwood, and she could have sworn she saw stars glittering in the darkness.

“For God’s sake—”

It was pitch-black outside her room and in. The middle of the night. The phone rang again, and this time her stomach slammed into her backbone and did a quick turn. Phone calls in the middle of the night were rarely good news.

She yanked and pulled at the sheet to set herself free, even as she wondered frantically who could be calling. If there was an emergency at Nora’s her sister would have simply run across the yard and through the back door.

The shrill scream of the phone sounded again. Free at last, Maggie staggered to her feet, snatched up the phone and plopped onto the bed. “Hello. What?”

“Hello to you too, Mags.”

“Claire?” Blinking like a blind woman turned loose in traffic, Maggie reached for the bedside clock, stared at the bright red numbers and yelped, “It’s one thirty in the morning. What’s wrong? Are you dead?”

“Crap. Sorry about the time. Forgot all about the difference. It’s nine thirty in Scotland.”

“Oh, well, then, that’s okay.” Maggie dropped onto the bed, phone still clutched in her hand. “Is everything all right? You? Your parents?”

“We’re all fine.”

Maggie’s gaze shifted to the window and the night beyond the glass. The wind was howling, and the bare branches of the oak where Bezel insisted on sleeping were dancing like pagans at a festival. Across the yard a single light burned in Nora’s house, and from the foot of Maggie’s bed came Sheba’s insistent snore. Everything was good. Quiet. Peaceful.

So she relaxed. Knowing that Claire was fine, too, she could, if she forced her eyes to stay open, enjoy talking to the friend she missed so much. “I think I’m awake now, so tell me everything.” She tugged the quilt her grandmother had made higher on her chest and pushed the pillow behind her back. “Start with, When are you coming home?”

Claire laughed a little. “According to my mother, I
am
home. But,” she added, “I’ll be back in Castle Bay in a week or so.”