Bedeviled (32 page)

The morning had started off all right, considering that Maggie had a headache the size of Oregon. But most of the storm was gone, leaving only a cold wind and a few black clouds behind as a reminder.

Bezel, of course, was in top form, ordering her around, making her practice until her fingertips were singed from the thousands of lightning bolts she threw. She’d run what felt like hundreds of miles, doing circles around the yard. She’d punched and flipped and kicked until every square inch of her body was pleading for rest.

And that was when all hell broke loose.

“Oh, let her sit down for a moment, you ugly pixie,” Claire demanded from the sidelines.

“I don’t hear witches,” Bezel retorted, covering his big ears as he made a
la-la-la-la-la
sound to illustrate.

“But if Maggie’s tired, how can she fight?” Eileen asked, enjoying her unofficial break from school.

What with the Gray man showing up the night before, Maggie was too nervous about her niece’s safety to have Eileen anywhere but home. Although maybe she’d be better off away from Maggie completely. But Maggie couldn’t stand the thought of that, so until this mess was over one way or the other, as far as the school knew, the girl had the flu.

“You think Mab’s gonna give her a time-out?” Bezel countered. “Culhane’s gonna owe me big for this. Kids and witches and part-Fae pains in my butt. My life sucks.”

“
Yours
sucks?” Maggie asked between gasping breaths.

“Fifty-five percent of all heart attacks in women are caused by overexertion,” Eileen said.

“Huh?” Maggie looked at her and slapped one hand to her chest, as if she could stop a heart attack before it started.

“She’s not having a heart attack,” Claire soothed.

“Let’s see some fire bolts,” Bezel ordered.

“Twenty-seven percent of all heart attacks go unnoticed. Until it’s too late.”

“HUH?” Maggie was wheezing now and seriously rethinking the whole keep-Eileen-at-home thing.

“It was
you
.”

A new voice. From behind her. Deep. Dark. Gravelly and filled with menace. Maggie’s blood turned to ice in an instant, and the chatter in the yard dropped away as if it had never been. She so didn’t want to turn around.

“Ah, crap.” Bezel scuttled closer to Maggie. “It’s a demon. A big one, too. Don’t go nutso on me now. Just kill it so we can get back to training.”

“Get away, pixie,” the big voice said. “This is between me and the bitch who killed my mate.”

“Oh, fabulous,” Claire muttered.

“He’s a
demon
?” Eileen asked.

“It wasn’t my fault,” Maggie said, and turned to face an absolute giant of a guy lumbering toward her. Seriously big. Seriously mean-looking. And seriously pissed.
Just perfect.

“You killed her,” he said, and as he came closer he allowed his human mask to slip a fraction.

Maggie had the sense of gray skin, yellow teeth, and claws that looked as sharp as razor blades. He was big, and he was determined to kill her. Her life just kept on sucking.

“I had to. She was eating my ex-boyfriend and about to eat me.”

“She stops on her way home for some fast food and dies for it?” He shook his head and bunched his fists together, slamming them against each other at the knuckles. “I don’t think so. I gave her that Fae power for our anniversary. You took it; now I’m gonna get it back.”

Good God.

He charged. Maggie pushed off the ground, floated high enough to clear his head, then landed again.
Excellent.

“You’ve learned to use it,” he said. “Good. Makes this more interesting.” Then he pulled a gold ball from one of his pockets and flipped open the catch. “I’ll trap the power here when I’m done with you.”

When she was dead, he meant.
Well, hell.
No way was she going to die in her backyard in front of Eileen, for God’s sake. Hadn’t she just blasted a bad Fae the night before? Hadn’t she stood there, proud and triumphant, basking in her own sense of pride and Culhane’s admiration? She was Maggie, hear her roar.

But just in case, she sent a quick, silent prayer to whatever gods might be listening. Never hurts to cover all your bases.

The demon smirked at her, then sent a quick look at everyone else in the yard. “Stay out of this, all of you, and you might not die.” Pausing, he tasted the air and smiled grimly. “I can smell power that isn’t the pixie. . . .” He focused on Claire for a long moment, then sneered. “Witch. Pixies and witches and wannabe Fae. This’ll be easier than I thought. You bunch stay put, and I’ll let you live.”

“Big talk from a walking dust bunny,” Bezel called out.

“Way to go, you little tree rat,” Maggie told him. “Piss him off some more, why don’t you?”

“Kill it already,” Bezel shot back.

Claire didn’t say a word, just pulled Eileen behind her and gave the demon a glare to match his own. Then she glanced at Maggie. “Do it, Mags. For all the worlds. For yourself. Prove you can do it.”

Easier said than done. But what choice did she have, really?

He ran at her again, and she dipped out of his reach, but she wasn’t fast enough to avoid the scrape of his claws across her shoulder and upper back. Pain erupted just beneath her skin and fed the flames of anger building within. “Damn it, that hurt!”

He grinned at her, a broad smile that held no humor but plenty of malice.

“And my shirt’s torn!” The soft cotton fabric was flapping in the wind, and she waved her arm to demonstrate. The scrape on her back stung, her shirt was ruined, and Eileen was probably terrified. Anger churned through her, and Maggie let it build.
Use what you’ve got, Maggie,
she told herself,
and take this creep out.

So she focused. She concentrated. She dredged up everything she’d used the night before and reached for more. Then she threw herself into the fight.

Dropping into a crouch, Maggie swung out her leg, knocked his out from under him and felt the earth shake when he landed on his back. But he was fast as well as big, and in an instant he was back on his feet, looking a little less cocky. Then his eyes narrowed on her, sparks of red jittered in their centers and he growled as he reached for her.

Maggie let him get close enough that he thought he was going to win. She could see it in his eyes. He was already doing a private victory dance, thinking he had her. He was going to turn her around so she couldn’t breathe on him; then he was going to kill her and steal the Fae power. Or, at least, she guessed that was the plan.

But while he was celebrating she ducked under his beefy arms, slashed out with her left hand and sent blue-and-white bolts of energy flashing at him. He shrieked as flames tickled his shirt, burned into his skin, and while he worried about the fire Maggie came in even closer, drew on everything she had inside her and sent a stream of Faery dust at his eyes.

The demon knew what was coming in the instant before those golden flecks of power reached him. He made a last-minute grab for the receptacle, wanting to hold it up, to catch the dust and save himself, but he was way too slow. Way too late.

His eyes went wide and horrified and he pulled in one last breath before releasing it in a scream that scraped the air like knives on metal. Then he burst into a cloud of dust that the wind picked up and carried out of the yard in a gritty haze. He was gone. She was alive.

Good times.

“Oh, my God!” Claire was the first to reach her, and wrapped Maggie in a hard hug as she jumped up and down in excitement. “You did it. You killed him. And you’re not even hurt!” She checked Maggie’s shoulders and winced. “Well, all right, some scratches, but I can heal those for you. Maggie, you were wonderful.”

She was still reeling. Still feeling the adrenaline coursing through her, mingling with the Fae power, making her a trembling bundle of Maggie. But Claire was right: She’d done it. Actually done it. Yes, she’d fought a couple of demons before this, but she’d won those matches as much through luck as skill.

The Gray man had been different, too, she told herself. Culhane had been there, and despite the fact that she’d fought the Fae on her own, a part of her had known that the warrior was close enough to depend on if things went badly.

But here she’d truly been standing on her own two feet. She’d had to face the fact that those she cared about were in danger and still manage to keep her head. She’d had to remember, to concentrate, to think and feel her way through powers that she hadn’t had nearly enough time to get used to yet. And she’d done it. Despite Bezel’s doubts. Despite her own doubts—Maggie had proven herself.

“You really were great, Aunt Maggie.” Eileen’s eyes were shining with pride and admiration. “It was
awesome
.”

“I did it,” Maggie muttered, breathing hard but smiling. She could look into the faces she loved and realize that she had saved them. Protected them from the things her nightmares had been showing her. She’d faced the beast and she’d survived again. On her own. Because of what
she
could do, she’d saved them all.

“Yeah, yeah.” Bezel interrupted and pushed both Claire and Eileen aside. When he was in front of Maggie he looked up at her, his gaze hard and clear. “Big deal. You beat a pissed-off demon.”

“Here, now,” Claire argued. “Give her her due, at least, you miserable little troll. She won.”

“Yeah,” Maggie said, offended that Bezel couldn’t take one stupid minute to give her a damn pat on the back. “Don’t I get a little time to ‘whoopee’ a little? ‘Yay, me’ and all that? Isn’t this what I’ve been working my ass off for? Hell, Bezel, you’ve been training me night and day; aren’t you at least glad I was listening?”

“You don’t get it, do you?” He shook his head viciously, and his long silver hair flew in wild wisps. Bending down, he grabbed a handful of dirt from the edge of the garden and stood up again. “See this?” He let the soil drift from his hand as he said, “
This
is what you fought.” Then he pointed to the mountains in the distance. “
That
is what you face.”

The glow of victory inside Maggie flickered and died as she stared at the mountains. He was right, blast him to his own version of hell and back. She hated that he was right. Hated that she’d lost the certainty in her own abilities that she’d had just a second ago. Hated that fear was creeping back in.

This demon, though big and horrifying, was nothing compared to the battle still waiting for her. She hadn’t learned enough to match powers with a Faery queen, for God’s sake. She was the one who was going to be slapping at licks of flame rippling across her shirt when she faced Mab. If she was
lucky
that was all Mab would do to her.

The queen had centuries of practice dealing with her powers. She no doubt had
more
power than Maggie, too. There was just no way this was going to turn out well.

“You think Mab’s gonna be taken care of with a few energy bolts?” He snorted in disgust. “What?
She
doesn’t have ’em? Come on!”

“She’ll do it,” Claire sniped. “I’ve
seen
it.”

“Oooh.” Bezel shuddered. “The witch speaks. I’m so scared. Save me.”

Maggie glared at him. “Thanks for the pep talk, Coach.” Then she hobbled toward the house, looking for some aspirin.

The dreams came again that night, moving through Maggie’s mind at lightning speed. The images changed, distorted, shifted and swirled, blending together, then drifting apart again.

She saw Nora happy, and in the next instant her sister was dead. Before she could so much as scream, though, the dream changed again, and Maggie saw herself as queen of the Fae, with warriors bowing to her—then she saw herself dead at Culhane’s feet.

She twisted anxiously in her sleep, trying to escape. Trying to find a way out of what was coming. When she woke with a start, gasping for air, she knew, bone deep, that there was no way out. No way to avoid the confrontation that was headed at her with the single-mindedness of fate.

Pushing her sweat-dampened hair back from her face, Maggie sat alone in the dark and replayed all of the disturbing images in her mind again. Which future was real? Were any of them? Was the future set in stone already, and all of this nothing more than an exercise in futility? Or could the future be rewritten?

“Even if I can rewrite it,” she murmured, needing to hear a voice, if only her own, “how do I do it? And if I die, what happens to Nora and Eileen?”

God, she wasn’t ready to die yet. There was way too much she wanted to do. She wanted to see Europe. Wanted to walk down quiet streets in Paris or sit in a café and look out at the Alps. She wanted to taste wine in Tuscany and go back to Ireland and paint all the magic she’d seen there as a kid.

“But none of that’s going to happen until you get through this, Maggie,” she told herself firmly, despite the quaver in her voice. “Because like it or not, destiny’s in charge here. So get on board already. Because anybody standing in the way is going to get crushed.”

Culhane and the warriors were as ready as they could be. There was really nothing more they could do until Maggie finally faced Mab.

The rumbles of Otherworld were louder, he thought, stalking down a long silver road leading from the palace to the closest village. There were fights among the Fae now, as people chose sides and declared their loyalties. Male Fae were already beginning to rebel against their women, which was making for even more trouble, as females suddenly were faced with mates who were no longer willing to take orders.

The scent of flowers hung in the air, and he narrowed his gaze, squinting into the glare of the suns. Light flashed off the crystal and silver, shimmered on the leaves of the trees, slanted off windowpanes with a beauty that was familiar. Still, he felt the undercurrent of an ugliness that had been building for centuries.

Mab, though, didn’t see it. Or chose not to. He’d left her only moments ago and he could still hear her.

“Why haven’t you found the stolen Fae power yet? It’s mine by right,” she said, giving him a haughty look that she’d perfected over the centuries. “I am your queen, and I expect better from my warriors.”