Soul Kissed (25 page)

“I’ll give you double its worth,” Cari said.

No, he’d own this for himself. The Alexandria Bay island was his and Fletcher’s. Even though only one of them was left.

“I don’t want to sell it.” Liv looked around the room, as if remembering good times. “The house is beside the point anyway.”

Not beside the point. Never beside the point, after what he’d done to get the place.

“Just say it,” Cari said.

Mason glanced at Cari, whose jaw was twitching. How did she know what Liv was up to? Dolan and Walker were ally Houses, but still—Cari hadn’t said a word about Liv to him. Until this moment, he’d thought they didn’t interact much. But maybe they connected occasionally. Or maybe they were friends.

Liv smirked as if she’d won something. “It’s what we always wanted, Mason. Walker House is claiming you and Fletcher as our own.”

 

 

Bitch stole my line. Cari was going to kill her. She was going to wrap her hands around Liv’s neck and squeeze until her eyeballs popped out of her skull.

Cari slid her gaze over to Mason. His face was flushed, veins standing out on his forehead. His hands had migrated up to his hips in a fake gesture of calm when every line of his body had gone taut. “I’m not interested.”

“Oh, come on,” Liv said. “Not a month ago you were begging Walker to take Fletcher.”

Her words were like a blast of heat. Cari burned at the thought of Mason begging. Mages hiding behind their wards. A child exposed. Who could he have turned to? Walker. He’d appealed to the mother, no pride for himself. For his son, he’d do anything.

It was now official: Walker and Dolan were no longer friends. No great loss.

“Your House can take its claim and screw itself,” Mason said. He blew out his breath and the tension in his neck and shoulders seemed to morph into a loose and ready strength.

“I’m Fletcher’s mother.”

“He has no mother.”

“He doesn’t miss me? He doesn’t want to know me? He doesn’t want to be with his true family? To know his
House
?”

Cari’s throat locked. Walker was Fletcher’s true family. Liv, his mother. Cari knew that under no circumstances would she be able to deny her family; she couldn’t expect Fletcher not to want his or Mason to deny his son’s place. And where Fletcher went . . .

“Fletcher has a House now,” Mason said.

Webb. Cari almost groaned aloud. It wasn’t the same thing. Not at all. Liv knew that, too, and the only reason Mason didn’t was because he hadn’t been raised in one. House was blood. House defined a mage on a visceral level—it was a mage’s hope for immortality, grounded by the ward stones.

The confidence of her position showed in Liv’s smile. “My father is petitioning the Council to dissolve the fosterage contract.”

“It was endorsed by the High Seat herself,” Mason said.

“But you have no standing in the Council,” Liv said. “You are
stray
, so your name on the contract means nothing, and Brand had no grounds on her own to act on Fletcher’s behalf.”

“You abandoned him.”

“I chose to live in the safety of my House. I begged my father for Fletcher to be able to come with me.”

“Your father wouldn’t even open your wards to him during the plague.”

“He could’ve been a carrier. We’d already lost family.”

“And you were a-okay with losing him, too.”

The frustration in Mason’s voice was making Cari shake with anger. How dare Liv come now? Nine years ago Liv had taken Mason away from her. And now she was trying to do the same again. This was not going to happen.

“I’ll fight you,” Mason said.

Cari flexed her hands in frustration. Then fisted them in a refusal of this new turn of events. This time—finally!—she didn’t have to watch Mason walk out of her life for the sake of his child.

“There’s no need to fight her, Mason.” Cari was surprised at the calm in her own voice. But then she was all grown up now. “Livia Walker will be very cooperative; her father will see to it. Fletcher can know his House, even bear its name, but he doesn’t have to live there. You’ll have your pick of where you want to raise him.”

Liv wouldn’t step down. “Dolan, like that Brand bitch, has nothing to do with Fletcher.”

Cari shrugged. “Well, either you’ll be petitioning Brand, or you’ll be petitioning
me
in that very same Seat.”

Liv’s stance changed. Her boobs weren’t so far out anymore. She was leaning into the argument with her shoulders. “You can’t take my son away from me.”

“I’m not. I’m backing Mason. Whatever he chooses.”

“You’d choose a stray over an ally? Walker will oppose Dolan House. We’ll break Dolan.”

“You think you can break my House?” Cari wanted to laugh, but saved Liv the humiliation. She was having a bad enough day.

“Cari.” Mason pulled her close to his side. He was looking around the room, lines of tension coming back into his body.

“Dolan is a
royal
House,” a new voice intoned. Sounded like her own.

Maeve.
Shit.
Liv must have ticked her off.

In the sunlight falling through the window, a gold profile appeared. Shadow swirled away from the fae face in cascades of magic. A hint of shimmer suggested her heavy gown. But it was her height that made Cari cringe inwardly. Mad Mab hulked in the space.

Liv had a clueless
what?
on her face.

“Livia Walker comes from a great House. She is allied with Dolan,” Cari said to Maeve, trying to save Liv.

Alien eyes, full black, found Cari. “Does she know that?”

“I’m teaching her.”

Liv scoffed. “Dolan will break—”

Dappled sunlight rushed across the room and whatever Liv had been going to say was cut off by Maeve’s hand around her throat.

 

 

The girl’s throat felt like satin under Maeve’s hand. She stroked her thumb up and down to relish the texture. Underneath the skin were the flutter pulse of a heart and the hidden crimson of lifeblood.

“Let her go,” Cari Dolan said across the room.

Maeve felt the command in a resonant echo from the Dolan stones that bound them.

“I want to see her smile first, and nicely, she who dared to mock my line.”

The girl’s face was turning purple. Weak thing. She had magic within her, but it was a middling power, a Walker’s trait. The girl lifted her mouth, but the smile wasn’t pleasing. It was ugly, and she smelled like stink flowers.

“I don’t like it,” Maeve said. The girl was grunting, swatting at Maeve’s hand.

“She is from an
ally
House.”

Maeve turned to Cari, holding out the girl by the neck. “You keep saying that. Ally.”

The human man had a toy in his hand—what was called a gun; people used them to kill each other—but Cari pushed it away, not wanting him to play with them.

Later, Maeve hoped.

“Ally means they
serve
Dolan,” Cari was saying.

Hmmm.
That’s not what it meant before, but words changed sometimes. And it had been quite a long time since she’d been in the world. The girl hadn’t spoken to Cari like a servant. It didn’t matter anyway—everyone would serve Dolan.

Maeve aimed the girl’s dangling legs at the floor and set her down. Something cracked in the neck, and the head bobbled forward. The body went loose. A mistake. Oh dear.

The human male lifted the toy again. He had a fierce look on his face. She wanted to see that face, just as fierce, looking down at her, his body above hers. But no, Cari had already said she wanted him. And what Cari wanted, she would have. And one young human man was very much like another.

Maeve pushed the girl’s chin up with her thumb. Her head still lolled a bit to the side. “She’s broken.” Ally.
Hmm.
“Do we shed tears of happiness, or do we weep?”

Liv was gone. Her body now dangled from the fae queen’s large, clawed hand.

Mason squeezed the trigger.
Bang!-Bang!-Bang!

It was the only thing to do. Not that he cared for Liv herself, not anymore, but she’d given him Fletcher, the meaning in his life, and he couldn’t let Fletcher’s mother go unavenged.

At the first bang, Cari tried to dive in front of him—“Mason, no!”—but his arm was already pushing her behind him. He’d die himself before that creature would hurt her.

Mad Mab gave him a smile that withered his guts. “I can’t have you.”

If the bullets had found their mark, the fae made no sign of it. The seething Shadow that came together in her form was like nothing he’d ever felt before. A sentient black hole was before him, drawing all Shadow to her, except this magic had no end and so she would only grow and grow until she swallowed everything and everyone in her wake.

How could she be destroyed?

Cari emerged quickly on his other side, a hand raised to keep the fae back. “You will not touch him.”

Maeve dropped Liv’s body. The skull hit the floor with a dull whump. “But he wants to play with me.”

There had to be a way. Even Xavier had given them one moment of possibility. Maeve could be beaten. Somehow.

But those black eyes shifted to him again, effortlessly seeing straight to his soul. His heartbeat accelerated to a frantic tremor. She licked her lips. “And I’m hungry.”

 

 

“He’s
mine,
” Cari said. There. She’d officially claimed him out loud.

Maeve’s head inclined slightly. “Share?”

“I’m greedy.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mason reaching for something. She didn’t know what it was, but his veins ran black, so she figured he was Making something.

“But he has such a pretty soul.” Maeve’s expression filled with longing. “And he wants me, too. Shall I not oblige him?”

“No.”
Cari put all her father’s authority into her voice. And the sound that came out of her mouth echoed with his power, resonating from somewhere distinctly Dolan—the ward stones. Her father had always said that was where each House drew its strength.

Maeve’s face went mean. “You’re not Caspar.”

Cari thought of her father’s journal. He’d said he had to become a man all at once—that or die. “I’m his heir and you will obey me as you obeyed him.”

Shadowman’s counsel came back to her as well—how Dolan was a female line. Did that mean she had more or less power than her father over Maeve?

“Fine,” Mab said. “Have him. I’ll get my own.”

In a blast of temper, Shadow jetted out from the fae’s body. And when the darkness cleared, Maeve was gone.

“Nooo!” Cari screamed at the ceiling, the windows, the door. She put everything she was into the call, but the fae was gone. All that was left was Liv’s corpse.

Rick Vincent stood from where he’d gone down on one knee. He tugged the ring out and dropped the box to slide the sparkler on Ysenia’s finger. Her nails were done, though the black polish was a little more city than her usual style. She’d said she was surprised, but someone had to have tipped her off. His sister, probably, who’d approved the ring (after upgrading him from the seven-thousand-dollar princess-cut, to the twelve-thousand-dollar round-cut).

“It’s perfect.” She admired it on her hand for a second, then turned her gorgeous dark eyes on him. Her hair looked pretty tonight, too—she’d added deep red highlights to her natural black. Hair
and
nails? Yeah, she’d been tipped off for sure.

“You really like it?” Because those payments were going to go on forever.

“It’s exactly what I wanted.” Her hands went to his shoulders and slipped around his neck. The way her eyelids lowered made him think that stashing the blanket here earlier had been a brilliant idea. He might romance two yeses out of her tonight.

He kissed her again as he had a thousand times over the last three months. He’d known she was the one from their first date, though his sister was taking all the credit for setting them up. Which was okay as long as he had Ysenia in his life.

This time, though, her mouth moved harder against his, when she was usually so soft. Maybe she was trying something new here, too. One of her hands dropped to the center of his chest, and he covered it with his own. God, he loved her. Her fingers dug in—passion? It hurt and he tried to draw her hand away, but she was way too strong, and the bruisy feel turned sharp as her nails found his skin, even through his shirt.

He tilted his face down to break the kiss. “Honey—”

Her nails speared him, and he tried to push her away, but she kept him close. Except she wasn’t Ysenia anymore. Her eyes.

“We were just getting to the good part,” she said. “Hold still now.”

 

 

Maeve shuddered with the bright light inside her. It burned with the boy’s love—his hope, his terror. The best part was when his soul showed her life as only a human could perceive it. And for a flash in the stretch of long eternities, she was human, too.

She ached for the girl Ysenia, and the pain of it was a beautiful thing. And the fear that had propelled the two to accelerate their relationship? It was warm, with a fizz of hysteria that tickled. The broken love was so
wrong
. Murder and death.
Sin?
How wonderful. Not that it applied to her. There was no Hell for her. She’d had worse—everlasting darkness.

She wanted
this
—to feel
this
—devotion and passion, a willingness to tie one existence to another and make a shared life. To stand at each other’s side. It’s what the world was for.

Maeve went still. She was about to think.

The boy’s soul was showing her a design, and she focused on it with all the acuity of one great eye, taking in the symmetry. An idea came into her old mind: Love wasn’t just emotion—which came from Twilight. It was a Pattern, too—and that came from Order.

How could she have forgotten this bit of cunning?

She’d seen this pattern before.

And once again, she’d stamp it out. One soul at a time.

Next?

 

 

They’d had to leave Liv’s body behind, though Cari made a call to Walker House to let them know that she was dead, killed by a fae. They refused Cari’s offer to make arrangements, and were sending someone of their own to collect her. Mason admired the respectful detachment of Cari’s voice. It differed so much from the stricken expression that etched her face.

Even in death, Liv inspired complicated emotion. But the one that laced them all together was anger. He’d pushed her death into the dark corner of his heart where he’d hidden all things Liv and had laid her body out on the sofa, wrapped in a sheet.

When Cari got off the phone, she said, “They’ve withdrawn their claim on you and Fletcher.”

“I knew they would.” He’d hoped so, too. He didn’t want to fight them over Fletcher, with Walker House wielding Liv’s death like a weapon.

“I’m sorry he won’t know his House.”

“Fletcher knows his House. This house.” And it would have to be enough. “You ready to go?”

They took the boat to shore, where he had his garage. Kitt was still at Dolan House, but his GTO was ready. He’d rebuilt the engine and starter with Shadow, but it still wouldn’t turn over without the key in the ignition. Cari, who’d recuperated much more quickly than he had, insisted she drive, at least for the first shift, but he woke as they were crossing the New York state line into Massachusetts on I-95.

Waking up to her driving his car was okay, though. “How long was I out?”

“About five hours. We’ll be at Dolan House in another forty-five minutes. Kaye Brand is going to meet us there.”

“You spoke to her?” He reached for the drive-thru soda she had clenched between her legs and took a long drag on the straw.

“Briefly. She is convening a special meeting of the Council Houses. She wanted the quick answer on whether or not I’m going to challenge her.”

It had been a very important five hours. “And?”

“All things considered . . . I told her that she had Dolan’s support and that I would not be seeking her Seat.”

Mason tried to cover his relief. Cari was ambitious, but she could also see the bigger picture without imagining herself in the foreground. “This have anything to do with what happened to Liv?”

“Dolan is in no position to work for peace”—she cocked her head—“though I did tell Kaye that I had demands.”

Cari using Brand’s first name. Good sign. “And those are?”

She smiled. “You’ll have to wait an hour and hear for yourself.”

“Did you tell her about . . .” Names had power, and he didn’t want to use Maeve’s.

“No. Not yet. I don’t know how without fae repercussions.”

Cari was cautious of the same thing he was. She didn’t want to summon the queen without a plan in place.

“Did Kaye happen to mention Fletcher?” He’d only left ten messages.

Cari smiled, nodding. “She said she’d spoken to Webb already. That Fletcher was fine, and that you will see him soon.”

Relief did more than any amount of sleep could. “He’s fine,” Mason repeated.

“He’s fine.”

“Any other details?”

“Not that she said. It was a very quick call.”

“Forty-five minutes.” Then he could grill her himself. “Pull over and let me drive.”

Cari sighed, but she humored him and exited the freeway. Not that he could accelerate time, but he could alleviate his anxiety with speed. Plus, when they arrived at Dolan House, he wouldn’t mind hitting the Shadow protesters if they got in the way.

 

 

Stealth sneaked behind Bran and Mr. Webb down to the cellar, curious at how Mr. Webb thought he was going to catch him. Nobody could catch him if he didn’t want them to. Uh, hello—he would walk through
walls.

The whispers were louder down here—
follow follow follow us
—which had to be because of the ward stones. His dad had told him that all the great Houses put their ward stones in their foundations, and that’s where they got their strength. It was like a little bit of Twilight, just for Webb. Stealth got the tingly feeling that the fae were watching him. He couldn’t hide from
them.
No one could.

The cellar was a stone room full of darkness. Flashlights didn’t work so good here. But Mr. Webb’s candle did a lot better, throwing gold light all over the floor and walls. Which made Stealth remember another thing his dad said—that fire was better light than electricity. In the time to come, people would use candles again, or else they wouldn’t see what was coming.

“Have a seat, Bran,” Mr. Webb said. The candles made a campfire on the stones of the floor in the middle of the room.

Bran sat and crossed his legs. Mr. Webb, the spidery-man, sat and crossed his legs, too. Light filled their faces, but darkness leapt around them as if creatures danced around the circle. Smelled smoky, but good, too, like moss and woods and dirt.

“Remember the last time we did this?” the old man asked.

Bran nodded. “Someone was stealing things from you.”

“And did we find her?”

“She came out of the Shadows and told us herself. She just liked shiny things.”

“Some shiny things are worth more than others,” Mr. Webb grumbled.

Well, Stealth wasn’t coming out. He was going to keep peeing everywhere he could. In fact, he’d pee down here, too.

“And this is how we are going to find Fletcher Stray.”

“We tell a story,” Bran said.

Pshaw.
A story couldn’t make Stealth do anything. Stealth was an enigma.

“You begin,” Mr. Webb said. The candle fire leapt and stretched, as if it liked him.

Bran’s voice began uncertainly: “Once upon a time, there was a boy.”

“That’s fine. Keep it simple.”

“He came from Shadow and Light,” Bran continued.

“Did he?” wondered Mr. Webb aloud. “That means one of his parents was human. Very interesting. Do you see how the story can reveal him?”

Bran nodded, and Stealth frowned as meanly as he could. How did they know about his dad? No one knew about his dad. What kind of magic did Mr. Webb and Bran have?

He’d kill them, and then they’d be sorry.

“And the boy lived in darkness,” Bran continued in a weird voice. Something reached up from the candleflame, but Stealth couldn’t make out what it was. Probably just another one of Bran’s Shadow puppets, that he used to tell stories with. “And he welcomed the darkness, growing in magic to become, like his father, an assassin with no equal. The one called Stealth will be tempered only and ultimately by the pale hand of a lady. This is his stor—”

“No,” Mr. Webb said. “Do not let the story lead you. Do not be a mouthpiece.
You
tell the story.”