A deafening BANG echoes down the empty staircase followed by a loud scream.
A moment later, I hear the rapid patter of shoes hitting the marble floor, then a figure bursts out from around the corner, rushing towards me.
“Inspector Bossart?” I ask, recognizing the man’s weaselly features.
“Run!” he yells, the whites of his eyes showing, a gun in his hand.
The inspector grabs my arm as he passes by, forcing me to run with him.
“What’s going on?” I ask, as weird grunts follow in our wake, getting closer.
I look over my shoulder, but the inspector yanks me harder and all I can see are a couple of figures running jerkily at the end of the dark hallway before we round another corner and they disappear from sight.
“Who are they?” I ask.
“Those were the Beaumont children,” the inspector says, panting heavily.
“Were?” I ask.
We burst through a door into a small courtyard. Flurries of snow greet us, whipping every inch of exposed skin like thousands of needles. I shiver in Arthur’s jacket, but keep running on the Inspector’s heels, the hem of my dress sticking to my legs like slimy algae.
“I don’t know what you people are up to,” I hear him mutter, “but this is all highly irregular. Once I’m out of here, I’m going straight for the authorities!”
“Aren’t you the authority?” I ask as he stops along a wall, looking for an exit.
“Shut up, girl,” the inspector snaps, “I need to think.”
“Think about what?” I ask, getting more and more nervous. “Who to shoot next?”
I hear the doors slam open behind us then someone lets out an eerie, hair-raising howl.
“What was that?” I ask, my voice pitching higher with fright.
But the inspector is no longer next to me.
“Inspector?” I call out again, running along the wall in search of the weaselly man.
My foot slips on a patch of ice and I fall sprawling into the snow, losing one of my shoes. The grunts keep getting closer as I struggle to get back up. Then the hairs at the back of my neck stand up and I suddenly roll over onto my back in time to see a shadow lunge at me.
There’s a loud bang, and the creature collapses to the ground, the force of the impact sending it rolling away from me. Then someone grabs me by the scruff of my neck and pulls me up.
“Bloody hell, girl!” the inspector shouts. “There’s no time to be fooling around!”
“Wh-what’s going on?” I ask through chattering teeth.
“I should be asking you that question,” Inspector Bossart mutters. “I came here to collect two bodies, and instead I’ve got these—”
Something dives into him and another shot goes off before they both fall to the ground, shouting and growling. There’s a loud snarl and the inspector screams.
I drop to the ground, feeling around for a weapon, when my hands close around something thick and heavy.
The inspector’s gun!
I grab the weapon, aiming at the flailing bodies, and pause, unable to distinguish one from the other. If only there was some light! A wave of warmth washes through me at the thought, and a large globe of fire erupts in the air above, reflecting brightly off the snow.
One of the two struggling shapes freeze momentarily at the sudden light and, with a grunt, the inspector flings his assailant off. I swing the gun towards the attacker as he straightens up again, and my finger releases the trigger in shock.
“A child?” I gasp, taking in the boy’s half-naked body, a large Y-incision poorly sutured showing stark black against the grey pallor of his skin.
“Monsters,” the inspector spits. “Get out of here, girl!”
“Would love to,” I say, keeping the gun pointed at the resurrected corpse, “but I don’t think it will let me.”
The boy’s glassy eyes are fixed upon me, unblinking.
“How about we get you back to the nice, dry morgue, huh?” I ask the dead boy. “It’ll be nice and cozy on the operating table, and….” I pause. “Inspector?”
“What?” the older man asks, shuffling over on the icy ground.
“Didn’t you say you came for two bodies?” I ask, glancing over at the man just as the second child jumps onto his back.
I see the girl’s mouth open wide, displaying two rows of pearly-white teeth, before they clamp down on the inspector’s neck and tear out a large chunk of flesh.
With a scream of pain, the inspector crumples to the ground, his blood turning the snow around him scarlet.
“Stop!” I scream at the girl.
My fingers squeeze the trigger and the gun fires with a deafening bang. The firearm recoils in my hands and I lose my grip on it as the bullet hits the girl’s shoulder. But the dead child doesn’t seem to feel a thing and dives onto the inspector for another strike.
“No!” I yell, throwing my hands forward.
Another surge of energy blazes through me and a sizzling bolt of lightning catches the Beaumont girl square in the chest, flinging her off the inspector’s body to land heavily a few yards away.
“Inspector!” I shout, rushing towards the fallen man.
But before I can reach him, cold fingers wrap themselves around my leg and pull me down. I twist around as I hit the ground, my dress ripping apart, and throw my hands up defensively. A blaze of fire catches the dead boy’s stony face, turning him into a live match, the flesh of his face bubbling and sizzling like steak on a grill. I squirm around to get a foot in between us, then kick as hard as I can. The boy falls rolling into the snow, his whole body now engulfed in white-hot fire. Then, with a last twitch, the boy finally stops moving.
I turn away, feeling sick to my stomach, when I hear a gurgling gasp.
“Inspector Bossart?” I call out, crawling over to the man’s side.
Another whimper comes from the unconscious man and I lean down to examine his wound. His chest rises and falls in shallow gasps, blood pulsing slowly out of his torn neck to the beating of his heart. I take my gloves off and use them to staunch the blood flow, pressing down hard, but the thin satin cloth quickly gets soaked through.
“It’s gonna be OK,” I say in a shaky breath. “Just stay with me.”
Closing my eyes, I try to calm down and concentrate on healing the man. All I need to do is patch up his jugular, somehow reform his scalene and trapezius muscles, then regrow his skin over it all. Piece of cake, really.
Heat builds in my hands before passing into the injured inspector, and I slowly feel the outflow of blood decrease. The man shifts under my touch, a soft moan escaping his lips.
“Just a moment longer,” I say, cold sweat pooling in the small of my back.
An explosion rends the air, momentarily turning the falling snow to sleet and sending me sprawling onto the inspector’s body.
Screams and shouts erupt in the distance as the low whine of a siren blares into the night. A second later, the sky lights up with gigantic flames that rise above the courtyard’s enclosing walls and I feel my gut knot up in fear as I realize one of the compound’s buildings is on fire.
“Saint George’s balls, this is not good!” I say through gritted teeth, peeling myself away from the unconscious inspector.
I bend over the man’s neck to quickly inspect my work. Though his flesh is still open, the bleeding’s stopped and the muscles have reformed themselves.
“That’ll have to do,” I mutter, pushing myself up on shaky legs.
I grab the inspector’s arms then slowly drag him back to the building, his boots leaving deep, twin trails in the snow. Panting from the effort, I leave the inspector propped up against a wall before heading back up to the ballroom for help, my feet silent on the marble steps. But when I enter the massive suite of rooms, I find them deserted except for a few straggling staff members.
“Where is everyone?” I ask.
One of the Fey servants stares at me, mutely, then slowly lifts its hand to point outsi
de.
I turn around as the building shakes with another explosion. The chandeliers above swing wildly, their crystal finials clinking together like castanets. Heart thumping, I pause by the open French doors, snow and smoke drifting in to form dark puddles on the parquet floor, and my blood runs cold at the sight before me. The gardens light up in bursts of colored flares as knights battle Fey in disorganized clumps, the security hall at the other end ablaze.
My hand clenches around the door frame as a creature twice the size of a man stomps its way in my direction, a tail the thickness of a trunk swishing angrily behind it. Its long, flat head sweeps back and forth, as if in search of a juicy prey. Suddenly, it stops moving and a large, dirty green eyeball comes to fix its stare upon me. Target found.
I shudder as it lets out a massive roar that makes my bones vibrate, then charges. Three knights jump in its way to try to stop it, pummeling it with blasts of air and water. But their frenzied attack doesn’t seem to affect the great beast and it tears down through the knights like they’re nothing more than a bunch of bowling pins.
“There she is!” a strident voice rings out. “The traitor!”
A crowd of angry knights still dressed to the nines appears at the foot of the patio stairs, their outlines glowing in the orange blaze of the fires. Another boom shakes the floor beneath my bare feet and a heat wave washes over us a short moment later.
I lift my arm to shield my eyes, coughing.
“She’s the one who called those monsters over!” Jennifer shouts, her beautiful blond hair now flapping in the wind around her face like that of a madwoman.
“What?” I ask, too stunned to react.
A woman next to her steps forward, dressed in the austere black and white habit of a nun.
“Seize her,” Sister Marie-Clémence barks.
Four knights surge forward, their faces set into deep scowls, their eyes gleaming with murder. I take a step back and bump against the patio railing.
“I didn’t do anything!” I shout, fear making my voice shake. “Why are you coming after me?”
“We’re putting down a threat like we should have from the very beginning,” Jennifer says, looking pleased.
“Threat?” I repeat stupidly as the knights inch towards me, their fists aglow.
Keeping my eyes on them, I edge towards the other end of the patio. “You’re making a mistake,” I say.
Jennifer’s smile broadens, dimpling her rosy cheek. “Oh, no,” she breathes. “This is definitely not a mistake.”
Something barrels from the ballroom into the nearest knight, bringing him crashing down, and I immediately recognize the Beaumont girl.
“Draugar!” someone yells in shock as the dead girl’s fingers rip the man’s clothes and flesh to pieces like tissue paper.
The knight screams in pain, desperately trying to push the girl away, and there’s an answering roar from the Fey beast down below.
A low buzz permeates the air as the knights call on their elementals, now facing enemies on two fronts. Using the diversion, I jump over the balustrade, into the snow-packed bushes below, and flee.
My bare feet pound the frozen ground as fast as they can carry me, around the main building and away from the battle.
Before I have time to think about where to go, the prison block’s grim walls rise ahead of me, another squad of knights guarding it, weapons drawn.
I skid to a stop, my eyes darting around for an escape route, but everywhere I look there are knights blocking me. I stomp my foot on the ground and feel myself lift off. But I’m barely three feet into the air when something strikes me in the back and I find myself careening off course. I hit the prison wall with a dull thud, bouncing off it before landing face first into a pile of snow.
A groan escapes my lips as I try to get back on my feet, only to slip down again, spots dancing in my vision.
Someone shouts overhead and, blinking, I look up to see two figures flying towards me, surrounded by an iridescent green glow. One of them swings his arm and a large flame arcs through the air, shooting towards me like a comet. I stare at the flaming projectile as it draws closer, crackling sharply as it burns its way through the falling snow. I need to move. Now.
But my body won’t respond, as if it’s turned into a block of ice.
There’s a snarl of fury and someone lands in front of me, throwing up a sylph shield in time for the ball of fire to burst against it in a shower of yellow and green sparks.
“Percy?” I ask, my throat constricting at the sight of the knight.
But Percy doesn’t seem to hear me and hurls himself into the air towards my attackers. At his sight, the two knights hesitate for a second—a second too long. Percy’s sword flashes between them, its movements blurrily quick. The two men try to retreat, using their elementals as cover, but Percy follows them mercilessly across the sky.
I peer through the hurtling snow, trying to detect what’s happening, when a sharp cry reaches my ears and I see one of the men plummet to the ground, snow exploding outward from the impact.
“Get up!” Blanchefleur says roughly, landing next to me. “We need to get you out of here.”
I lurch towards her, my vision doubling as a splitting headache threatens to make me go blind. I feel myself vacillate on the uneven ground, but strong arms suddenly catch me.
“Your boy has gone berserk,” Lugh says, his deep, soothing voice rumbling through his thin clothes against my cheek. “Unfortunately, though I am enjoying the sight, it might prove contrary to our plans now that we have decided to join the Gibborim.”
“Right on it,” Blanchefleur says crisply.
She bolts straight up into the sky, her crystal sword held before her like a beam of light.
Squinting against my migraine, I see Percy blast his opponent with a gust of wind, and the other knight cartwheels through the clouds before righting himself again. But Percy doesn’t give him an inch to recover and, sword already swinging down, speeds towards him.
But before he can fell the other knight in two, Blanchefleur’s blade darts in and the two weapons meet in a flash of blinding light. Transferring his rage onto the Fey warrior, Percy attacks Blanchefleur as if she were the devil himself, turning into a maelstrom of cuts and blows that she is finding more and more difficult to parry. I watch, petrified, as Blanchefleur is forced to fall back. Then, even as Percy prepares to cut her open, Blanchefleur thrusts forward and jerks her sword sideways, disarming him. Before he can retaliate, however, the Fey grabs him by the neck, draws him against her, and kisses him.
Percy’s body goes rigid with shock, then his arms encircle Blanchefleur in a crushing hold, keeping her anchored to him.
“That will do,” Lugh says against my cheek.
He strides away from the prison, holding me close to him, then says loudly, “Pigfain! Pigfain! Pigfain!”
A single, thick beam of silvery light shoots up from the ground at our feet, melting the snow and dispersing the billowing clouds overhead. The ray then splits into three shafts of light, leaving a blazing trefoil knot41 seared within a glowing circle in the muddy ground.
The form of a small child materializes inside the light before it dissipates, revealing the small Fey.
“Greetings, my Lord,” Pigfain says with a pointy-toothed smile.
“Take her back,” Lugh says, dumping me inside the circle.
“But I need to—” I start, willing myself to stand back up.
“Quick,” Lugh says.
Pigfain grabs my hand and the circle starts glowing again. My head snaps back, a sudden pressure bearing down on me, then the ground vanishes from underneath my feet.
“Hold on tight,” Pigfain’s tinny voice squeaks, his small fingers clenched around mine. “This is turning out to be a bumpy ride!”
A gust of warm wind swoops us up and about until I’m not sure which way I’m facing anymore, and my stomach heaves with motion-sickness.
“Hold on,” I hear Pigfain repeat, tension oozin
g from his voice.
But another warm blast enfolds me and rips the Fey’s hand out of mine.
“Pigfain!” I yell.
I try to look around, but only find myself surrounded in darkness.
“Pigfain!” I yell louder.
Then his hand finds me again and yanks me back into a stronger current that brings us tumbling down onto solid ground. I drop to my knees in relief, breathing deeply to get rid of my wooziness while my inner ear readjusts.
“Thank the Heavens we’ve made it safe,” I say.
A low laugh greets my words, then a derisive voice says, “I don’t think you should thank the Heavens for this.”
I snap my eyes open at the familiar voice and find myself staring straight into a pair of golden eyes. With mounting dread, I take in the long, black hair pulled into a low pony tail, giving ample display to the myriad of blue whorls tattooed into his flesh.
“You!” I breathe.
“I told you I’d come for you soon,” Mordred says.
“Where’s Pigfain?”
“What pig?” Mordred asks. His eyes widen in mock surprise. “Oh, you mean the little rat? Probably back home, crying to daddy. Though it’s hard to tell how these gates work when you mess around with them.”
I funnel my anger outward and my fists crackle with energy. Mordred moves back a few paces. This time, his look of surprise isn’t feigned, but he smiles nonetheless.
“I see you’ve started to get a hang of what it means to be Fey,” he says. “But I’ve got years of practice ahead of you, Morgan. So whatever you do is useless. You’re in my territory now. That means you obey my rules.”
I jump onto my feet, ready to bolt. “What did you do?” I ask.
“I subverted the portal,” Mordred says, annoyed at having to explain himself further.
“How is that even possible?” I ask, looking at the ground where an encircled trefoil is seared. Only this time, pairs of double lines are cutting through the circle in between each of the three leaves.
Rise of the Fey Page 34
