Feverborn (7 page)

While showering I’d realized something I’d overlooked when reading the
Dublin Daily
earlier: Today was August third—exactly one year to the day I’d first set foot on Irish soil. So much had happened. So much had changed. It was still hard to process the existence-altering vagaries of my life. Now that I was visible again I wanted to talk to Mom about some of my problems, get swallowed in one of my daddy’s big bear hugs, but our family reunion would have to wait.

I shivered in the chilly damp air. My hair was still wet, blond streaked with crimson. The lemon oil I’d used to break down the spray paint had softened and separated the matted areas but hadn’t eradicated the scarlet stain. Just another bad hair day in Dublin.

My wet hair wasn’t the only reason I was shivering. An
icy Hunter crouched in the back alley, restrained by symbols Barrons had etched on its wings and the back of its head. It was the same Hunter I’d ridden the day we tried to track the
Sinsar Dubh
and were deceived by the Book, scattered like frightened mice. The day the ancient Hunter, K’Vruck, had sailed alongside me, admonishing me for not flying on him and warming me with his “old friend” greeting.

I have an enormous sappy-sweet spot for the largest, most ancient Hunter whose name is synonymous with death and kiss so final it eradicates the very essence of the soul. No poodle girl here. Not even a pit bull. My chosen beast is the happy odd finality that is K’Vruck. I wondered where he was and if he might join us again in the sky tonight.

I shuddered at the thought. If so, I’d drive him away. I didn’t want him near Barrons. Ever.

He wasn’t my only problem in the skies. Now that I was visible, I wondered how long I had before I was smothered in noxious ghouls. It seemed like all I ever did was swap one complication for another.

This evening’s conveyance was a fifth the size of its gargantuan brother. I wondered why we weren’t taking one of Barrons’s cars; they’d certainly outrun anything else on the road. The Hunter’s leathery skin was the absence of all color, inkier than midnight in a dark grotto, swallowing what light hit it as if it had ducked into a cosmic bathroom and powdered itself with black-hole dust. Wings at rest by whatever charm Barrons used that could control such creatures, its body steamed like dry ice in the drizzly night.

I shivered again. Riding one of these great beasts was like stretching yourself across a glacier. And if you’re damp anywhere
and touch it with bare skin, you stick like a tongue to a metal post on an icy morning. I’d gotten conned into accepting such a dare on a rare wintry morning in Georgia, waiting for the school bus with friends. “I need to grab more—”

Barrons silenced me by tossing me a bundle of clothing: gloves, a scarf, and a thick, lined bomber jacket. The man is always prepared.

The Hunter chuffed irritably in my mind,
Remove his marks. They chafe
.

I was startled to hear its voice in my head. Eating Unseelie flesh deadens all my
sidhe
-seer senses until the high wears off. I’d assumed I’d be unable to mentally communicate with it.

Not you that possesses power to hear. I possess power to be heard
, it rumbled.
Wipe off
.

I’ll consider it
, I lied, tucking my gloves into my sleeves and wrapping my scarf securely around my neck.

Its amusement tickled the inside of my head, and I suddenly knew two things: it knew I was lying and the Hunter was not restrained in any way. It was pretending.

Were you ever?

Unrestrainable. All is choice. Stop your kind from shooting at us in the skies. We are benign. The marks chafe. Remove them
.

It shifted its enormous hind flanks ponderously, impatience evident.

If they do nothing, why do they chafe?
I asked.

Do you
like
those red streaks in your hair?

A snort of laughter escaped me, and Barrons gave me a look.

Vain much?

Interfere with my vision. Do not trinket us. We will trinket you and you will not like it
.

I had no desire to know how a Hunter might trinket a human.

“One must mount in order to ride, Ms. Lane,” Barrons said dryly.

“I think I just demonstrated my understanding of that sequence of events back in the bookstore,” I said just as dryly. “It’s talking to me. Don’t you hear it?”

Not even I communicate with that one
, the Hunter murmured in my mind.
There are doors. He has none
.

What do you mean?

I said
.

Huh?

I do not clarify, expound, or elaborate. Open your puny mind. If you cannot see, you do not deserve to
.

I rolled my eyes thinking it was no wonder the Unseelie king had a special fondness for these creatures. They communicated in a similar fashion.

Barrons sliced his head once to the left, dark eyes glittering, brilliant. He’d fed while out and his big body was thrumming with electric energy. I was looking forward to leaning back into him, astride the Hunter’s back.

Since I couldn’t use my
sidhe
-seer senses to determine if the Hunter was speaking truth, I listened to my gut instead, stepped forward and smudged my gloved hand against its icy hide, wiping the shimmering symbol from its skin.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Barrons snarled.

“It chooses to be here. It won’t harm us.”

“You know that because it told you? And you believed it?”

I knew more than that. I knew if I wiped off its symbols, it would cooperate far more fully than if I didn’t. Perhaps even tantalize me with an ancient secret of the universe or two, and I’m insatiably curious about what might be out there in the great beyond. Ever since I wandered the White Mansion, that infinite abode of endless wonders, I’ve suspected I have a bit of Gypsy in my blood. If—no, when—our problems are finally over, I plan to go exploring with Jericho Barrons. Everywhere.

This Hunter was proud, aloof, and accustomed to being utterly without authority. It didn’t comprehend the meaning of the word, had to break things down in its mind like the Unseelie king had to split himself into many skins to walk among humans. I wasn’t sure it was even alive in the sense we think of things being alive, unless blazing icy meteors or stars are alive. The symbols didn’t constrain it. They were pesky flies on its hide and offended it to its core.

“Trust me.”

He stared at me, not moving at all except for a tiny muscle in his jaw, which is a full-blown hissy fit for that man.

After a long moment of silence he ground out, “Your call, Ms. Lane.”

I circled the Hunter and wiped the other one off its wing. Barrons boosted me when it crouched and I clambered up its icy back, crawled forward onto its enormous head and smudged away the final mark.

As Barrons leapt up behind me and we settled behind its wings, it purred,
Ahhhhh, now we fly
.

The Hunter lunged forward, and when it reached the wide intersection of streets at the edge of the Dark Zone, flapped its leathery sails, churning black ice into a small storm around us. We rose up and up.

I hated leaving the bookstore behind for who knew how long to God knew what fate. I glanced down to watch it grow tiny beneath us and assure myself attackers weren’t at this very moment raiding my home, and realized why Barrons wasn’t worried.

Black and turbulent, whirling with debris, a tornado encompassed eight full blocks, with BB&B nestled snugly in its eye. We soared straight up from the epicenter. A small mob was stalking a good distance from the perimeter but there was no way in without getting caught up by the cyclone that stretched into the sky.

I glanced back at him over my shoulder. Icy beast beneath me, hot man behind me. “And you did that how?” I said disbelievingly.

“Called in a Fae favor. Climate is one of their specialties.”

It was a huge “favor.” “Who among the Fae likes you enough to do that favor?” I knew the answer to that. No one.

“The one I didn’t kill when I demanded it. After I killed the other two.”

I smiled faintly. One word: badass.

I want to be Jericho Barrons when I grow up.

W
hen we landed in a field not far from the abbey to meet Ryodan, who was standing near the Hummer in which I’d spent far too much time recently, I resolved to say nothing of what I’d seen on the monitors at the club, curious to discover if Barrons or Ryodan would volunteer information.

I wanted to know if I was “Mac,” a trusted member of our tenuous confederacy, or “Ms. Lane,” still on the outskirts of the inner circle. Plus, knowledge was power, and I liked harboring secrets no one knew I knew. Such as Kat training beneath Chester’s with Kasteo, Papa Roach serving as Ryodan’s spy network, Jada and Ryodan kissing, and Lor carrying some kind of caveman torch for Jo, perfectly willing to piss off his boss to pursue it. Lor, who was indebted to me for a favor no one knew about either. A wise woman indiscriminately picked up all the tools others left lying around.
You never knew what kind of wrench or knife you might need, or when.

Barrons and I hadn’t spoken since the Hunter had taken flight. Barrons—because he doesn’t—and me because I’d been lost in the pleasure of the moment, gliding through a velvety night sky luminous with stars, leaning back against the raw, electric carnality behind me while pondering the intriguingly unfathomable emotions/thoughts/images in the head of the ancient beast between my legs. Thanks to my high, I’d been more attuned to the kiss of the breeze, the beauty all around me, and less attuned to physical discomfort, like the ice beneath my ass.

On the back of a Hunter with Jericho Barrons, I’m free. I’m uncomplicated. Life is good.

It ended much too soon.

Ryodan was walking across the pasture toward us, and despite that I actually like him, my hackles went up. He wanted me to open the
Sinsar Dubh
, he ruthlessly pursued whatever he wanted, and it was never going to happen. That made us adversaries. The Unseelie flesh in my blood might have been amplifying my bristling a bit. It was nice to know if push came to shove, I was currently capable of pushing back.

He didn’t say a word. Like Barrons, not a, “Gee Mac, you’re visible again,” or, “How did you do it?” Or even, “Where are your carrion stalkers?” a thing I was wondering myself, telling myself maybe they’d found some other person to persecute.

Nor did I say, “Gee, who’s watching Dageus? Did you leave him to suffer his horrendous transformation alone?”

Ryodan thrust a paper into Barrons’s hand.

Cripes, not another paper! What was I being accused of now? I glanced over his arm and read as he shined his cellphone on the words:

 

The Dublin Daily

 

August 3 AWC

EMERGENCY ALERT!

BREAKING NEWS GOOD PEOPLE OF NEW DUBLIN!

BEWARE THE NINE!

Nine immortals walk our city in human guise. They are SAVAGES and we have it from trusted sources they plot to seize control of our city, withhold food and MEDICINE necessary for YOU and YOUR CHILDREN, and ENSLAVE US ALL!

They FEED on HUMAN FLESH and BONES and prefer to eat small CHILDREN. They frequent Chester’s nightclub but do not engage them there. They are too powerful on their own turf.

Shoot from a distance if you have the opportunity!

See photos below!

Jericho Barrons

Ryodan

Lor

Fade

Kasteo

Daku

(Further names forthcoming)

RETRACTION: JADA is NOT under control of the
Sinsar Dubh
.

Only
MACKAYLA LANE
is.

 

I bit back a laugh, certain it wouldn’t go over well, but really, I was tired of being singled out for persecution and at least now I wasn’t the only one. I looked up at Ryodan, arched a brow. “Children? Really?” I said sweetly.

“You fucking believe everything you read.”

It wasn’t a question but things from him rarely are. “The paper was partly right about me.”

“Ditto. Partly.”

“Who the bloody fuck,” Barrons growled, “is printing these bloody things?”

“Well, now at least we’re all outed,” I said, “and I’m not feeling so personally persecuted anymore.”

“Jada,” Ryodan said.

I defended instantly, “I thought so, too, at first but I don’t think so anymore.”

“There are no contractions in this one, the grammar’s superior, and Jada’s the only one exonerated,” Ryodan said.

Barrons inclined his head in agreement. “And there’s no mention of Dani. Jada considers her dead.”

Viewed that way, even I was tempted to concur. I couldn’t see whoever was behind WeCare retracting the accusation against her, and she certainly had the hyperspeed to get a paper printed and distributed quickly.

“Dani’s not dead.” A dark head popped out from behind Ryodan’s large frame. I hadn’t seen him approaching in the twilight.

Apparently, Ryodan wasn’t wasting any time getting his “crew” to work on the problem of the rapidly atrophying muscles of the Nine’s vagina.

“And I don’t believe she printed it. The Mega is massively more colorful and entertaining.”

Oh, honey, I thought, are you ever in for a surprise. Jada was icy white and colorless as they came. I narrowed my eyes, studying the young man standing next to Ryodan, and wondered if he wasn’t the only one that was going to be shocked when the two met for the first time since Dani had returned.

Even in the pale light of the moon, I could see Dancer was different. He seemed taller, and he’d been tall to begin with at a good six-foot-four. My gaze swept down to his feet. Gone were the usual tennis shoes, replaced by boots similar to those Ryodan and Barrons wore, adding an inch or so of height. Gone was the zip-up sweatshirt, traded for a rugged black military field jacket. His jeans were faded, his shirt a concert tee, but the overall impression he gave was several years older than the last time I’d seen him. The biggest difference
was something about his face. I cocked my head, trying to figure it out. Thick, wavy dark hair fell forward, brushing his jaw in a sexy college poet kind of way.

He felt me staring at him and flashed me a grin. “Contacts. Dude, whole world for the taking. Don’t know why I didn’t do it before. Would’ve rather had Lasik but haven’t found myself a surgeon I trust yet.”

That was it! He had gorgeous aqua eyes fringed by thick dark lashes. Before, I’d only seen them through lenses. He looked more athletic without them, more rough-and-tumble masculine.

I smiled faintly. He’d heard Dani was back, older, so he’d stepped up his game, made his intentions clear. Said, “I’m a man and you have choices, Dani.” Good for him. Their relationship was the most normal of any she’d had, and Dani had experienced precious little normalcy. I preferred him to the other liabilities she’d once told me she might give her virginity to; Barrons, and V’lane before we’d learned he was Cruce.

She’d been so determined that the loss of her virginity be epic, and while Dancer might not be epic, I wasn’t so sure her first time needed to be as much as it needed to be good, caring, honest, and real.

I winced as I realized I was thinking of Dani not Jada, and as if she was still fourteen, innocent in that one remaining way. It was highly doubtful Jada’s virginity was an issue. Especially not after the kiss I saw her give Ryodan. Jada was a woman who knew her sexual power. Five and a half years was a long time. Five birthdays. Had anyone celebrated them with her? Or like Barrons, had she come to despise cakes? I
wanted to ask Jada if the loss of her virginity had been as stellar as she’d hoped.

Jada would never tell me.

Dancer was watching me, intuited some of my emotion. “She’s still Dani,” he said.

No she’s not, I didn’t say. Because I wanted so much for his words to be true.

“Even if, as he says,” Dancer jerked a thumb at Ryodan, “she has an alter ego, so what? Some people have too much going on inside to be limited to one mode of being. What was Batman but Bruce Wayne’s alter, and the Bat was faster, stronger, smarter, and way cooler. In fact, the case can be successfully argued that Batman wasn’t the alter. Wayne was. Batman had evolved, toughened, become superior in every way and occasionally donned the mask of the man to navigate society. Look at Wonder Woman, aka Princess Diana or Diana Prince, different in each situation. Superman became Clark Kent—”

“We get the fucking point,” Ryodan cut him off.

“I thought Kent became Superman,” I said.

Dancer shot me a derisive look. “Don’t you watch TV? You need to read up on your superheroes. He was born Kal-El on Krypton.”

“Life isn’t a bloody comic strip, kid,” Ryodan said coolly.

“Yes it is,” he said, “and we get to write our own script, so be epic or vacate the page. You’re all taking this way too seriously. Leave it to the Mega to create an alter ego to deal with tough times. Be impressed. Don’t rip it. I’ve got no problem with anyone she wants to be.”

“Say that once you’ve seen her,” Ryodan said.

“I will,” Dancer said. “She wants to be Jada, I’m fine with it. She wants to be Dani, I’m fine with it. Quit looking at it like Jada killed Dani. Figure out how to appreciate both sides of her personality. Christ, you people have to put everything in neat little boxes, don’t you? And if they don’t fit, you get your panties in a twist until you pound things back into the shape you want them. News flash: life doesn’t work that way.”

I blinked, disarmed by his words. Appreciate them both? I might be able to consider that if I’d caught even the tiniest glimpse of Dani since she’d returned.

“Something happened to all your ‘dudes,’ kid,” Ryodan said. “And your clothes. You think Jada might like you more grown-up. News flash: Jada doesn’t like anyone.”

“Anyone she’s seen so far,” Dancer replied. “Rule number one about the Mega: you take her as she is or you don’t get her at all. Try to cage her with boundaries and she’ll go into full battle mode. You of all people should know that.”

“What do you mean ‘him of all people’?” I said.

“He’s supposed to be so bloody smart. He’s blind as a bat where Dani’s concerned. You all are. Your rejection of Jada stems from how guilty you feel about what happened to her and that’s all about
your
hang-ups, not hers. Stop looking at it like it’s a bad thing and see what she has to offer. Most of all, give her time. We have no clue what she went through. Dani was gone five years plus change and she’s only been back a few weeks. Might take her a few minutes to acclimate. Rush much, folks?” Without another word, he turned and walked back toward the Hummer.

I snorted. “From the mouths of babes.”

Barrons laughed softly.

“I should’ve killed that kid in the alley when I had the chance,” Ryodan said.

Arlington Abbey. The place has never been an easy visit for me. The first time I was there, I’d just killed the
sidhe
-seer, Moira, and had a Fae prince at my side for protection and a show of power. Between V’lane and I, we’d pissed off pretty much everyone inside those walls.

I’d endured my second sojourn there in a hellish haze, Pri-ya, locked in a cell in the dungeon.

The third time I’d called on the Grand Mistress, I arrived armed to the teeth and inspired Dani to steal the sword and spear from Rowena, once again alienating my sister
sidhe
-seers.

Honestly, my only decent memory of the place was the night we’d interred the
Sinsar Dubh
, and even that had gone wrong. We’d merely swapped a bodiless Book for an Unseelie prince capable of nearly flawless illusion, adept at calculated, long-term sleight of hand. I didn’t think for a minute Cruce was as “inert” as the Book had once been. Nor did I believe the Unseelie king had taken adequate measures to keep him imprisoned. Now that I was wearing his cuff, I doubted it even more. Jada had taken the cuff off Cruce’s arm. Had she damaged the bars to do it? Was that why the doors were now closed? Had she managed to get the grid to work? Was he still in his prison or merely sealed in the cavernous room? What risks had she taken in her quest to accumulate weapons?
Had she weakened the cage enough that Cruce’s escape was only a matter of time?

My fingers curled at the thought, closing on nothing. I hated not having my spear, especially now that I was visible again. I consoled myself with the thought that I’d hated Dani not having her sword nearly as much. After all, she was sitting right on top of his cage. If he escaped, she’d do what she did best—kill. That’d make two Unseelie princes for her tally. The Mega would crow about the spectacular feat from the rooftops. Jada would probably never mention it. But then Jada had no doubt eclipsed Dani’s kill count years ago.

As we drove through the open gates, parked near the fountain, and got out of the Hummer, I stood a moment, blinking. The grounds so closely resembled the gardens outside the White Mansion, with the moonlight silvering lush fantastical flowers, illuminating inky megaliths, shimmering dark roses and vines that didn’t exist beyond Fae realms, that I had to focus on the gray stone walls of the abbey to convince myself I hadn’t somehow slipped inside the Silvers.

On my last visit here Josie had haughtily informed me that Jada was able to stop Cruce’s changes. Good thing, or the abbey might have been as lost as Sleeping Beauty’s castle, swallowed by a Fae forest of vines and thorns. I took hasty note of the megaliths—still uncapped. They’d not yet been turned into a dolmen, a Fae gate to another realm. I really wanted those stones destroyed or at least toppled.

Dancer let out a low whistle as he exited the Hummer. “Didn’t look like this last time I was here,” he said.

None of us bothered replying. I moved to a bush covered with enormous velvety flowers that smelled of night-blooming
jasmine, plucked a blossom the size of a grapefruit and played its petals through my fingers. It felt every bit as real as the illusion of my sister. I buried my nose in it. The scent was rich, intoxicating, amplified by the Unseelie in my blood. Did Cruce’s reach extend all the way to Dublin? Was it he who’d fabricated the illusion of Alina, not the Book? Just what the hell was my Book doing?