Motor City Witch (9 page)

No answer. That could mean any number of things, but it worried her. When the line switched to voicemail, she disconnected and tried again.

Outside the limo, Aidan nodded, before he opened the door again and spoke to Elise. “They want you to get out.”

She shoved Aidan’s phone in the front pocket of her jeans and slid across the seat. Her other hand rested on the open zipper of her oversized shoulder bag.

“Welcome, Miss Sutton.” The Fae who confronted them was so blond his hair was almost white, much like the queen’s. His expression was every bit as icy, but there was a glint of zealotry in his pale blue eyes that was even more frightening than the queen’s impassionate glare. “Please keep your hands where we can see them. In fact, both of you, lace your fingers on the tops of your heads, please. Then you may proceed into the cairn.”

“Move.” The djinni grunted, waving his assault rifle in their direction. Elise had never met one in the flesh before, but Des had told her about the distinct purple cast to their magical aura. A man with that aura and clearly Middle Eastern features really couldn’t be anything else. While the elf wore a black suit with a blue dress shirt open at the collar, the djinni wore jeans, a hoodie and combat boots.

Elise was forced to take the lead, walking into the cairn first, with Aidan right behind her. Blocking her if bullets started flying, she suspected. The man was chivalrous to the bone. As she stepped through the rough-hewn stone doorway, she blinked to allow her eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness. The sun had started to drop and the doorway was on the eastern slope of the hill, so only a trickle of light made its way into the tomb. She followed a short hallway into the heart of the hill.

The cairn wasn’t simply a mound of packed earth as she’d expected. Stone walls had been erected and rough timbers, which looked surprisingly undamaged by rot or insects given their age, supported the dome of a chamber perhaps twenty feet in diameter. Three piles of basketball-sized rocks marked the compass points other than the door to the east. Each mound was the right size to be a human—or elven—grave. In the center, smaller stones marked a
circle about four feet across. A third man, another elf, waited inside, right by the ring of stones, but Dina was nowhere to be seen.

“Where is my daughter?” The question burst out of her mouth before she could stop to consider the wisdom of antagonizing their captors.

“Oh, you’ll see her soon enough.” The djinni gave a nasty laugh. He and the elf, who seemed to be in charge, filed in behind Aidan and kept their weapons pointed at Elise. “Just step into the circle, Miss Sutton. Piers there will take you to your daughter.” The man waiting by the ring stepped inside it.

“There’s something wrong,” Aidan whispered. “No heather in the ring. Ric and the others didn’t make it to the other side of the portal.” He raised his voice. “Le Faire, where’s the girl?”

So this was Oswald Le Faire.
Shit, shit, shit!
Elise opened her mouth to say something when she heard Dina’s voice.

“Mommy, come get me!” It seemed to be coming from the circle in front of her feet, but there was so much magic swirling in the air, she couldn’t be sure it wasn’t a trick.

“You heard the girl,” Le Faire said. “You, witch, stand in the circle. Once you’ve gone through, Piers will activate it again, so you can bring the girl back and leave. Everybody wins.” The second elf stepped into the circle and smirked.

“No,” Elise said. “You said she’d be here. I want to see her.”

“If she’s going to be difficult, shoot her.” Le Faire shrugged and turned to the djinni, who raised his weapon and sighted down the barrel.

“No,” Aidan yelled, stepping between Elise and the djinni. His movement pushed her into the circle, just as she felt the portal activate. There was that falling sensation, at the same time as a burst of gunfire rang in her ears. Frantic, she reached out a hand to Aidan, but he slipped like mist through her grasp. He’d been outside the stones. She pulled back her hand which was sticky with hot, thick blood.

No. Don’t let him be dead.
In that moment, she realized that she’d never stopped loving Aidan—and she never would.

The mist of the portal cleared, leaving them in a spot that looked exactly the same as where they’d left, but the cairn was empty.

The elf raised his gun. “Well, lady, it’s been fun, but you’re staying here.”

“Where the hell is my daughter, you bastard?” Elise slid her hands up under her sweater to one of the pouches and palmed a throwing star.

“Oh, please, you didn’t really believe they’d give her back, did you?” He took a moment to sneer before sighting down the barrel of the gun.

That gave Elise enough time to bring up her hand and throw the star.

His eyes bugged out as the sharpened steel lodged in his throat, heavy arterial blood spraying everywhere. His finger tightened reflexively around the trigger, but the bullet bounced off the ceiling.

“Elise!” Desmond ran into the tunnel and caught her by the waist. “Not safe here, go back if you can.” There were sounds of gunfire from outside.

As Elise picked up the fallen elf’s gun, another man—or creature—stood silhouetted against the dying daylight at the mouth of the cairn. “Too late. Time to blow this place.” His chuckle was low and hoarse, not elf and not human. The nastiness of it made Elise twitch. “Hope you had a nice trip. It’s a long walk home.” With casual ease, he tossed a baseball-sized object into the ring of stones. With one last laugh, he fled the tunnel.

“Grenade! Run!” Des pushed Elise ahead of him and they ran toward the exit. The moment she emerged from the tunnel, the cairn exploded behind her.

“Desmond!” She fell forward, one cheek hitting the hard, graveled earth. Sharp shards of gravel cut through her jeans into her knees and lacerated the palms of her hands. Rocks landed on her legs and back, and blood seeped from her cheekbone and temple into the gravel. The blast had deafened her—she couldn’t hear anything but a dull roar and the throb of her own racing heart. Forcing herself to overcome the pain, she pushed up onto her elbows and turned her head. “Desmond?” she croaked.

“Oh, he’s dead,” said the ugly, blue-skinned creature, who was still pointing a gun at her. His voice came to her as if he was underwater, but at least her hearing had begun to return. She turned her head to look at him as he shrugged. “Or he will be soon. Now it’s your turn.” He raised his pistol.

The gun she’d taken was still in her hand. She levered her arm up a few inches and fired, striking him in the knee. He went down, but his weapon was still aimed at her as he hurled curses in both English and another, guttural language.

Before he could fire, a large, snarling wolf leapt out of the yew hedge that encircled the hill. The wolf landed with all four paws on his target and knocked the bastard off his feet. His pistol skittered uselessly off into the bushes.

This had to be Greg—he was darker hued and even bigger than George. Patches of his fur were bloody and singed, but he bore the screaming creature to the ground and without further ado, bared his fangs and ripped out its throat.

Once the creature stopped moving, the wolf staggered off his victim to spit out the blood and skin with a wretching cough. Moments later, his shape seemed to swirl and blur, then it was a battered and naked Greg kneeling on the jagged limestone chips, still gagging and spitting blood.

“Fucking orcs,” he choked out. “You okay? Aidan?”

“Aidan’s on the other side of the portal.” She blinked back tears and wheezed as she pushed herself to her knees. “Desmond…” she gestured back at the collapsed entry as she wiggled to shift the rubble off her back and legs.

“I’m on it.” Lana, wearing her jeans and red T-shirt, dragged herself from between a gap in the bushes, breathing raggedly. “Sorry I was too slow to help. Fucking explosives actually knocked me out.” Falling heavily to her knees by the rubble, she dug out a limp hand. “He’s got a pulse—fairly steady. Greg, can you get some pants on and give me a hand?”

“Yeah, just give me a second.” Greg wiped his mouth with his forearm. “If Elise can dig that last piece of silver shrapnel out of my shoulder, I should be able to change once more and heal myself.”

“Silver?” Elise didn’t bother getting to her feet—she simply crawled over to the kneeling werewolf. “How’d you get silver in there?”

“Like I said.” Lana began tossing aside rocks from the pile atop Des. “Fucking explosives. The area was littered with dirty bombs, masked by magic and triggered by that asshole over there. They sprayed silver and cold iron scraps everywhere.”

Greg growled his agreement. “One of Aidan’s guards is dead, can’t find the other one, or Toby. George is doing as much first aid as he can. Jase is unconscious and bleeding pretty heavily. Ric…Oh, honey, I don’t know if even you can save him.”

“What about you and George?”

Greg shrugged. “Don’t worry about us. We can heal ourselves when we shift, though the silver slows it down. Sorry I couldn’t get to that asshole before he threw the grenade.”

Elise reached Greg’s side and saw the jagged shard of metal sticking out of his left shoulder blade. That would be painful, even for someone who wasn’t allergic to the stuff. Since werewolves were, Greg had to be in agony. “This is going to sting.”

“Just yank the sucker out,” he muttered. “I’ll heal. Do it.”

“Okay.” She pushed down with one hand and yanked with the other. The four-inch-long, serrated triangle pulled free of his flesh with a sickening squelch.

Greg howled and instantly shifted to wolf form beneath her hand. A heartbeat later, he was human again, the gaping bloody wound now reduced to a shallow cut. He jerked his head toward the bushes. “I’ll help Lana with your brother. You get back there and see if you can save Ric.”

“On it.” Why the hell had Meagan insisted on life-bonding with her elf? She could have at least waited until after the baby was born before risking her life. Elise wiped her blood-soaked hands on her jeans and struggled to her feet. She took a quick look at her palms as she hobbled toward the gap in the hedgerow and decided the cuts weren’t bad enough to worry about. Her healing magic wasn’t unlimited and saving lives was far more important.

Her heart plummeted at the sight and smells that met her eyes as she rounded the end of the hedge. One of the horses lay in the middle of the nearby field, missing its two front legs. Clearly it was already dead. Another lay still, its neck bent at an impossible angle. Closer to the hedge, three men had been laid out in a row. One of them, in a chain mail tunic, had Greg’s sweatshirt draped over his face. Next to him, Jase lay still, but breathing, with Ric beside him.

“That’s Daffyd.” George, wearing nothing but a pair of bloody and torn jeans, knelt between the two patients, applying pressure to a wound on Ric’s chest. “We have no idea where Eamon or Toby are.”

They’d left the enemies where they lay, obviously. Elise saw at least three dead elves and maybe four or five bodies that were…various other species. Goblins, the smaller ones, maybe. A couple were orcs, if that’s what Greg had just killed. The others, possibly trolls or ogres.

“Who’s closest to critical?” Her mind and body automatically kicked into triage mode. One of her occasional duties as a
Wyndewin
had been disaster response. She was a trained paramedic as well as a witch, even if she hadn’t worked on this scale in years.

“Ric. Jase has some heavy bleeding from the thigh, but it’s not the femoral artery,” George didn’t look up. His tone was thick with pain of his own. “What I’m worried about with him is the head injury, but his condition isn’t deteriorating. Ric’s got a punctured lung and gods know what else. His horse took the full brunt of the first bomb.”

Ouch—probably the legless horse lying out in the field. Not good. Elise knelt on the other side of Ric and laid her hands on his chest. One of the werewolves had torn Ric’s chain mail shirt open down the front, so she could get at the wound. Willing her consciousness into his inert form—he was barely breathing—she searched out the damage.

“Spleen,” she muttered. “Vertebral fractures. Crushed ribcage. Liver lacerations. Goddess, did his horse land on top of him?”

“Yeah.”

“Has he been conscious at all?”

“On and off. When he was, he was lucid.”

“No skull fractures or brain injury.” She said as she finished her inventory and pulled a cold iron roofing nail out of his calf and another from his forearm—those would have seriously impeded healing for an elf. The pain of his injuries soaked into her own body, making it hard for her to stay vertical. Empathic healing wasn’t without its cost on the healer. “It’s going to be close.”
Please, Goddess, don’t let me fail my own brother.

She started by sending him into a deep, almost coma-like sleep, so he wouldn’t wake and jerk while she tried to heal him. Instead of the punctured lung, she concentrated first on the elf’s crushed ribs. Once she’d knitted those back into place, she could work on the damage beneath without the shards causing fresh injuries. Warmth spread out from her fingertips into his skin as she visualized each fragment of bone reforming into its natural position and fusing together, piece by piece. Once that was done, she inhaled deeply and channeled the pain that had been gripping her own chest down into the earth beneath her feet and drew what power she could from the ley lines, the magical arteries that laced the planet. Next she found the puncture in Ric’s right lung and healed that, again grounding herself out when she was done. In the same manner, she repaired his liver, his spleen, followed by the spinal fractures, the severed veins, nerves and arteries that crisscrossed his torso.

After grounding out a final time, she checked to see that the chest wound was free of debris—she didn’t want to heal it with foreign matter inside. Assured that it was clean, she used one last push of energy to take care of tendons, ligaments, muscles and finally the skin over his chest wound. He still had a broken arm and a zillion bruises and cuts, but those could wait for later.

Exhausted, Elise fell back onto her butt on the gravel, barely remembering to wake him from his magically induced slumber.