“And as soon as she stops tearing shit up, the veil will start healing,” Odette added. “It’ll be fine.”
For some reason, the cop trio didn’t look convinced.
“All right,” Saoirse said. “Let’s drop that topic for now. If we’re going to go on another joyride through Tír na nÓg, I assume we’ll need to be prepared.”
“Another?” Granger whispered.
Ignoring him, I said to Saoirse, “There won’t be much in the way of hostiles in the Divide, unless there are dark elves stationed outside the entrance to the cavern. But once we get inside, all bets are off. The prisoners are being guarded by at least ten elves, and there’s probably more patrolling the paths that cut across the various vault locks. The banshee might still be on kidnapping duty—she let slip she had a list of targets she was working from—but she could grab a new victim and show up to the party at any time. We need to be ready to take her down.”
“How?” Saoirse asked. “Not to downplay your skills, but she owned you earlier.”
“That’s because I didn’t know what she was,” I said, more defensively than I wanted. “I can cook up counterspells and defensive charms to put a damper on her voice. It’s her arm conduit we need to be worried about. If we can get it off her, she’ll only be as strong as a regular banshee, and I can take one of those in a fight no problem.”
“Arm conduit?” Odette scrunched her nose. “You mean she’s got a conduit strapped to her arm?”
“No, I mean she has the silver arm of King Nuada of the Tuatha Dé Danann. The whole arm is a conduit. She used it to supercharge her banshee shriek earlier.”
Saoirse frowned. “I’m guessing that was a ‘gift’ from Abarta?”
“Or part of her payment for playing his merc,” I said. “Either way, that thing needs to go. She can harness too much juice with it.”
Odette was shaking her head. “This is a joke, right?” she asked Saoirse. “You want me to join a strike team that’s going to sneak into a death trap in Tír na nÓg to fight a bunch of svartálfar and a super-powered banshee who are working for an old god that wants to topple the reign of the fae by waking up their oldest and most dangerous enemies?”
Saoirse nodded firmly.
“You honestly think that’s equal to what you did for me? That is not an even trade, Daly.”
Saoirse’s look darkened. A lot. “Patterson, Wright, and Armstrong.”
Odette froze. “I…uh…Oh, come on!”
Saoirse’s eyebrow arched.
Odette sighed. “Fine, I’ll go on your damn suicide run. But if I die, you’re paying for my funeral.”
Man, I really need to learn that story.
Saoirse, wearing a satisfied smirk, turned to me and said, “Back to the preparations. What do we need to bring? And how long do we have before your charms and such are ready to go?”
“You should bring lots of guns. And armor. The strongest armor you have.” I considered how many spells I could prep in a reasonable amount of time to reduce our likelihood of losing miserably. “Give me two hours,” I added after some quick calculations. “That should be enough time for me to increase our odds of winning by a good ten percent.”
“Yay,” Odette said. “Then we’ll only have a ninety percent chance of dying.”
Chapter Nine
We met at midnight in an abandoned warehouse. The place hadn’t seen any action since I tangled with Bismarck’s goons three weeks earlier, though the smuggled merchandise in the crates had been moved elsewhere. The floor was clear save for the cracks and scuff marks from the rampaging half-trolls who’d tried their hardest to crush me. And the neighborhood was almost totally empty, not a soul for a quarter mile in any direction. That’s why I chose the building as the launch point for our little incursion into Tír na nÓg.
I arrived first, packing every weapon and defensive measure I could prepare with a few hours’ notice. Two bracelets with shield charms I could activate on the fly. A pocketful of small Christmas ornaments with explosive spells stuffed inside and ready to ignite on contact with the ground. Or an unlucky dark elf. Two switchblades on my belt with homing spells etched into the blades, that could target whoever I chose like heat-seeking missiles. Two more knives, one strapped to each shin, with pain spells built in—I’d taken a cue from the banshee—so that even the shallowest cut would feel like a gunshot wound. And finally, the tour de force: five pairs of foam earplugs, each charmed to dampen a banshee shriek.
The skylight I’d busted had been covered with a tarp, so the interior of the warehouse was pitch black. I switched on a couple flashlights I’d brought along and placed them on the floor about ten feet apart, giving me enough light on either side to see what I was doing as I got out my chalk to draw a large and difficult magic circle. I could’ve formed the circle with frost, like I did when I was in a hurry, but it wouldn’t be as stable. And I didn’t want anyone to get lost in transit to the Otherworld due to a misshapen line or malformed symbol.
Because if they did, they’d probably be lost forever.
As I was wrapping up the circle construction, the side door creaked open behind me. Odette entered. She wore a tight-fitting black outfit, and her hands were covered with what looked like green boxing hand wraps. I recalled Saoirse’s comment about Odette being adept at combat, and wondered if the witch was some kind of street fighter, or part of an underground boxing ring. She certainly had the attitude for it. When I waved in greeting, she scowled at me and swore in Chinese.
She trudged on over and took a hard look at my circle. Searching for mistakes. When she found none, she scoffed. “Eh, not too bad. A little different from the one I use.”
“My magic is different from the kind you use,” I said.
“Suppose that’s true,” she grumbled. “Don’t see a specific destination in there though. You’re not going to get us lost, are you?”
“Given what I saw in Weatherby’s memories, I doubt you can breach the cavern with a portal. If you could, Abarta’s crew would’ve just jumped to their exact destination. Instead, they’re taking the long way through the cavern and tackling each obstacle they come across.”
“Warded against portal use.” She huffed. “What a pain.”
“Indeed.” I dug around in my pocket and produced a plastic bag, then removed a pair of earplugs from it and offered them to her. “Here.”
She plucked them from my palm. “For the banshee?”
“They’ll suppress her regular shriek by fifty percent, but they won’t be as effective against a shriek enhanced by the conduit. So if you have any spells in your repertoire that can block sound, I suggest you have them on hand the second we get to Tír na nÓg.”
She shoved the earplugs into her coat pocket. “So what’s the plan for the conduit arm? We rip it off her?”
“If that’s what it takes.” I slid my chalk back into its box and wiped my hands on my jeans.
“Do you think it’s attached like a regular arm? Or will it just pop off?”
“A regular arm will just pop off if you pull hard enough.”
She gave me a sideways glance. “You know this from experience?”
“I haven’t done it to someone, if that’s what you mean. But I have seen it done.”
Odette grimaced. “Of course you have.” She threw her attention on the rest of the warehouse. “What is this place anyway?”
“A stop on Agatha Bismarck’s smuggling route.” I scratched my nose. “Or at least it was.”
“Wait, do you know what happened to her?” She adjusted the strap on the small bag she was carrying, which I assume contained an assortment of weapons and spellcasting supplies. “Word on the street is she mysteriously dropped out of sight all of a sudden.”
“Saoirse didn’t say?”
“I know you and Daly had some dirty fight with that Abarta guy a few weeks back, which resulted in Kinsale’s new crater. But beyond that? I only have some sparse details. There was an old harp. An attempted counters
pell to wake up the Tuatha Dé Danann. Bismarck was there doing…something. Look, Daly generally doesn’t tell me shit. She just orders me around.”
“Right, because she’s got something on you.”
Odette frowned. “Drop it. It’s none of your business. Back to Bismarck. What’s the deal?”
“Bismarck was working for Abarta,” I explained. “She moved the harp of the Dagda into Kinsale through her smuggling route in exchange for a future boon from Abarta. When Saoirse and I faced off with Abarta at his base of operations—aka the house that went boom three weeks ago—Bismarck was there. She tried to kill me. So Saoirse shot her. Twice.”
“Did she die?” Odette asked, incredulous.
“Don’t know. She was still breathing when Saoirse and I bailed. Either Abarta grabbed her and took her with him before the explosion, or she’s nothing but ash in the air now. Fifty-fifty chance, considering Bismarck fucked up his plan by letting me get onto him. Hope it’s the latter though. She did serious damage with that hatpin.”
Odette’s gaze flicked to my shoulder. “The iron wound. How is that, by the way?”
“It’s better, but not great. Still a sore spot. In both senses.”
“I did what I could, but I’m no master healer, and all my best healing magic is meant for humans. Your weakness to iron is a tough nut to crack.”
“It’s a spiritual weakness, that’s why.” I absently rubbed my shoulder. It ached. “Iron hurts the soul, and that damage manifests physically as slow healing and significant scarring.”
“Yikes.” She drew her lips into a thin line. “That sucks.”
“Yes, it does. But that’s how it goes. Everything’s got a weakness. Even with the iron issue, I’m a lot hardier than a human. Hell, that banshee shriek from earlier completely blew my eardrums.”
“And they’re already healed?” She gawped at me. “Damn. I could use some of that. Especially where we’re going.”
“You know, you don’t have to come. I’m sure you could trade a favor now for a favor later. Saoirse’s not unreasonable.”
Odette laughed, rough and dry. “Oh, man. You wouldn’t be saying that if you knew what I did to piss her off. She’s got me on a short leash. And as crazy as this strike team plan of yours is, if we manage to pull it off and I don’t die in the process, then the reward of being released from the lieutenant’s grip will be more than enough to satisfy me.”
“Seriously,” I said, “what did you do?”
“Nah, we’re not going there. It—”
The door swung open again. Odette and I swiveled around to see Mallory and Granger entering. Mallory had a narrow black bag hung over one shoulder, while Granger had his belt strapped with two pistols and numerous extra magazines. They were both wearing the best body armor that the Kinsale PD had to offer, minus helmets, but despite the degree of preparation, they appeared cowed. Faces pensive. Eyes glancing back at the door.
I found out why a second later.
Saoirse stormed in, dressed similarly, and hot on her heels was Nolan Kennedy.
“Oh, hell,” I muttered.
“Who’s that?” Odette asked.
“A thorn in my side.”
Saoirse looked like she was on the verge of having an aneurysm. Her cheeks were red, eyes alight with ire, jaw clenched hard. She adamantly refused to spare Kennedy a glance as they crossed the room. Kennedy, of course, was wearing a smirk of triumph. I put two and two together and figured he’d caught on that Saoirse and the detectives were raiding the armory for mysterious reasons. He’d confronted Saoirse and demanded she let him in on her plans—or else he’d go bitching to his parents and put Saoirse’s job on the chopping block again.
I wasn’t having it.
“You’re not coming,” I said as Kennedy sauntered up to the circle.
“Yes, I am,” he started, only to stop short when he noticed the full breadth of my chalk drawing. “What the fuck is that?”
“It’s our mode of transportation. Into Tír na nÓg. And you’re not coming.”
“It’s not your decision, Whelan.” He pointed at Saoirse. “She’s in charge of the investigation, remember? And I’m in charge of making a determination about whether or not a case belongs on the PCD’s table, so I have carte blanche to tag along on this joyride and observe everything you punks do.” He eyed the circle with disdain. “By the way, I already know who this case belongs to, but I’ll be nice and play dumb for the time being, so Daly doesn’t get in trouble for—”
“You mean so you can ride our coattails,” Odette interrupted, “and take all the glory for rescuing the abduction victims by claiming you were in charge of the investigation the whole time.”
“I don’t care who you are,” Kennedy spat, “and if you’re smart, you’ll shut up and keep it that way.”
“Don’t you have a concussion?” I said to draw his attention away from Odette. “That cell door whacked you pretty hard in the head.”
“I admit I was out of it for a few hours.” He straightened his armored chest plate, pretending to be more balanced than he really was. I could see the slight wobble as he shifted his weight from side to side. “But I’m fine now. Cleared for duty by the doctors.”
“You seriously think I’m going to bring you along, don’t you?” I took a step toward him.
He was too dumb to step back. “You are. Because you won’t risk Daly’s job.”
Saoirse gave me an apologetic look, one that said I was free to make the choice. She was willing to take the heat if I knocked Kennedy down another peg. But that wasn’t fair to her. She’d earned her position. She’d done the heavy lifting, stayed the course. She deserved to be a lieutenant. Most of all, she loved being a cop. More than I ever did. I wasn’t going to ruin the career she’d spent twenty years building, brick by painstaking brick.
But I wasn’t going to let Kennedy have his way either.
So I peeled a piece of my mask off—not my glamour, just my mask—and gave Kennedy a taste of my real feelings on this matter. In the form of a glare dark enough to send him stumbling sideways. Before he could recover his bravado and throw another insult at me, my hand shot out and wrapped around his throat. I yanked him forward, held him close to my face, lifting him to my eye level so that his toes scraped helplessly against the concrete and his breath came in short spurts.
He wheezed for help.
No one came running.
I bored my gaze into his own, now drenched with terror, and said, “You can come along, Lieutenant, on one condition. If you fuck up this operation and get a single one of those people hurt or killed, a single one, I will leave you in Tír na nÓg. I will leave you for the wild things to find. I will leave you for the monsters with big teeth and claws to rip apart. I will leave you to have your skin flayed off, your bones stripped clean, the chewed-up remains of your body strewn so far and wide across the land that no one will ever be able to find them all. I will make sure you are left as nothing but another name on a missing persons list, another faded picture pinned to a corkboard, doomed to be forgotten.”
I breathed out ice, and it seared Kennedy’s cheeks. “Do you understand?”
Kennedy was on the verge of blubbering now, and I could see he wanted to back out. Desperately. He wanted to run away pissing himself and go hide in a closet, wrapped in a blanket, crying his eyes out and calling for Mommy. But his pride ran so deep and so damaged, a gaping chasm longing to be filled, his entitlement burned so bright, required so much fuel, that he just couldn’t listen to his own sense of self-preservation. He stammered out, “I…I understand. Let’s go.”
I dropped him. He staggered away, clutching his neck, trying to blink away his unshed tears before anyone else saw them. When he threw an angry look my way, trying to recover a scrap of his false superiority, he was met with my thousand-yard stare, drilling into his soul. He immediately turned away and started muttering to himself. Calling me crazy. Pretending he was the rational one. Reframing the narrative. Deluding h
imself into believing my threat was bunk.
It wasn’t. And he’d find out just how much it wasn’t if he failed to toe the line.
“All right, everyone,” I said, scrounging the rest of the earplugs from my pocket. “Take these and keep them handy. If you see the banshee—she has bright red hair and a metal arm, so you can’t miss her—put them in and don’t take them out until she’s gone or dead.” I walked around and handed them out to each member of the group, including Kennedy. Which left me with no earplugs for myself, because I’d been anticipating five people, not six. But whatever. My ears would heal, unlike theirs. So I’d just have to deal with being deaf if the banshee caught me again.
“Now,” I continued, “check your gear. Make sure everything is ready to go. We could run into hostiles the second we arrive, so have your safeties off and your trigger fingers on standby.”
Mallory unzipped her black bag to reveal a fully assembled sniper rifle. “All set.”
“You have sniper training?” I asked.
“Got a sharpshooter award at my old department,” she said. “I have a knack for it.”
“Awesome. You’ll bring up the rear then. I want you on the high ground as often as possible, eye on that scope. If you locate any hostiles, alert us immediately. You know some good signals?”
She tested out a few sequences of whistles, each clear and distinct. “First one for a single enemy, second for multiple, and third if I see anything that looks like a trap. Will that work?”
“Sounds good.” I clapped my hands to get everyone’s attention. “Commit those whistles to memory, guys.”
Everyone nodded, except Kennedy, who rolled his eyes.
“Mallory’s got a solitary position set, but as for the rest of you,” I continued, “let’s make an organized group approach. I’ll take the front, since I’m the least likely to get killed in a first strike. Granger and Kennedy, you two stay behind me, and lay down cover fire if I get into a jam.” Kennedy opened his mouth to complain, but I didn’t let him. “Saoirse and Odette, since you two are somewhat familiar with fighting paranormal enemies, you’ll be the ‘second wave.’ Stay a short distance behind Granger and Kennedy. If I engage in combat, take a moment to examine the situation and come up with a strategy before you attack. I don’t want us all to end up in a confusing melee situation.”
What Man Defies Page 8
