by Jamie Davis
The bars peaked to full strength, then dropped away to half as she moved it.
“Taylor?” Quinn prompted.
“I saw it. Give me a sec.” Taylor reversed direction and slowly passed the foil back and forth, watching the signal bars. She stopped at the same time Clark, who’d been paying no attention to them, pointed out his window.
“There,” the two echoed in unison.
Quinn ducked her head to see out the windshield. They both pointed at an old stone-walled warehouse. She stared at it and then at the other buildings on either side. It didn’t look any different from any other structure around them.
Clark was sure, though, as was Taylor. He shut off the car and climbed out. Taylor was already standing behind the trunk, setting the laptop on the lid. She slid her arms into her backpack straps and settled it on her back.
As Taylor stood there getting ready for what came next, Quinn noticed not one, but two sheathed throwing knives clipped to her belt. She wondered if Miranda was armed, too. It probably wasn’t a bad idea.
Taylor picked up the open laptop and the paddle gadget and started walking down the darkened street. Clark walked a few feet ahead of her, running his fingers over the dark stones that made up the exterior wall of the warehouse.
He stopped by a large wooden sliding door that moved on a rail, mounted just under the roof above them. Thick chains held the door shut with a heavy-duty steel padlock.
Judging from the rust on both the links and the lock, Quinn thought it hadn’t been opened in a while. “I don’t think anyone has used this in a very long time, Clark.”
“I don’t know…” He trailed off, his voice sort of faraway.
Taylor came over to stand next to Quinn. “There is definitely something magical going on in there. It’s strong, too. Off the charts, if I had charts to measure against, that is.”
Quinn looked around. “Fine, how do we get in? Can you magic open the lock?”
“No,” Miranda said. “It’s warded. You can’t detect it until you’re right on top of it. It’s so out of the way, you’d have to stumble on it by accident to detect it.”
“Unless you knew it was a fae hangout once upon a time,” Quinn said. She looked at Clark and said, “Good work, Hunter-man.”
He nodded, still working on the problem of how to get inside. He took two steps back, scanning the side of the building until he pointed to a partially opened window in the wall about fifteen feet up. The window tilted around a pivot in the center and slanted out when opened.
Quinn shook her head as she stared up at it. “How do you propose to get up there?”
“I don’t. I think I can get you up there, though. Once you’re inside, you can help the rest of us in. There must be an entrance in there that’s hidden from the outside. Locate it, and we’ll come in and join you.”
“Even with a boost, you can’t lift me high enough to reach that window.”
“Ye of little faith. Watch.”
Clark returned to the car and pulled it up next to the building until he was directly beneath the window. He got out and gestured for the others to come over.
“See?”
“I see.” Quinn shook her head. “I still don’t like it. I’ll be trapped in there with whatever is creating all the shielded magic.”
“That means you’ll have to hurry and find a way to let us in. You’ll be fine. The fae aren’t blood-thirsty. If you tell them why you’re here, they’ll help you let us in.”
“What if the fae aren’t in there and the slayers are?” Quinn asked.
Clark stared at her, and she realized she was just making excuses. She gestured to him to lead on. He climbed up to stand on the roof of the car and waited for Quinn to join him. He bent over, cupping his hands, and boosted her up until she was just below the window.
Quinn stretched but couldn’t quite get her fingers high enough. “I can’t reach. I need a little more.”
Clark grunted, and Quinn rose a few more inches until she could just curl her fingers over the sill. Drawing on her inner strength, she pulled herself up until she managed to get her belly over the edge of the window, then slid through the narrow opening.
A wooden catwalk stretched around the upper part of the warehouse’s interior. Quinn crouched and looked around, getting her bearings. She noted the increased chill from her amulet right away, warning of magic in play and potential danger. It was also too dark to see anything in here. That gave her two things she needed to do before she started searching the building.
Whispering, she said, “Dammit, I need to see.” She followed it with the word, “Mist.”
Now both hidden from view and able to see in the dark, Quinn scanned the inside of the warehouse. There was some sort of an opening in the wall about forty feet down to her right. It might be a door, or just an alcove in the bricks. It was on the end opposite the padlocked sliding door outside. Better try that new option first. She started down the catwalk to get a look.
A ladder extended to the floor where the catwalk turned the corner ahead. Quinn checked the rest of the empty warehouse from her vantage point and decided she’d be able to conduct a better search from the main floor.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end all of a sudden. Quinn froze, trying to extend her senses outward to figure out what had just happened. The warehouse still appeared to be empty as she scanned the floor below. There was nothing there, but something had tweaked her newly awakened huntress senses.
Drawing a deep breath, she caught the scent of baking bread and peppermint. There were fae here or very close.
Moving over to the ladder, Quinn descended to the dirt floor below. She stayed near the stone wall that bordered the street and doubled back to the darkened alcove she’d spotted from above. Whatever it was, her night vision ability couldn’t penetrate the shadows there. There had to be some sort of masking spell covering whatever was in there.
She tiptoed along the stone wall and had almost reached it when something tapped her on the shoulder.
Quinn spun, drawing her Bowie in a single fluid motion, and froze when she saw the three tall figures in black cloaks and hoods holding rapiers with razor-sharp tips an inch from her neck.
A fourth cloaked figure stepped forward and said, “Miss Quinn, you should not be here.”
He reached up and lowered his hood. It was the fae butler, Alistair.
Quinn held out her empty hand, making sure to hold her knife hand perfectly still. “Al, old pal, how are you doing?”
“It’s Alistair, please, and I’m well. Are you alone, or did you bring Master Clark and the other members of your odd little group?”
Quinn couldn’t help herself. Her eyes darted to the alcove, then back at the old man.
“I see.” He sighed and turned to one of his companions. “There are three others outside. Go and fetch them in before they draw unwanted attention.”
Quinn expected the guard to whom he gave the order to go check it out. To her amazement, the guard performed a complex hand signal, and four more cloaked figures materialized behind Alistair and walked past Quinn to the alcove. One second the four weren’t there, then it was as if they’d stepped through a veil and appeared before her.
“Can you tell your guys here to lower their blades? I’m a friend.”
“That remains to be seen,” the figure closest to her muttered.
Alistair waved a hand and they lowered their swords, including the one who’d spoken.
“Thanks.” Quinn sheathed her knife and walked over to where Alistair stood just outside the alcove. He was watching the impenetrable shadows in the nook as if waiting for something.
A few seconds later, Clark came through, followed by Taylor, then Miranda. The four cloaked guards came back inside last.
Clark walked over and said, “Alistair, I must see your mistress. It’s very urgent.”
“She told us she was not to be disturbed until she calls us.”
“Alistair, you know I w
ouldn’t come here if it wasn’t important.”
“I know nothing of the sort. It is true you have no true business here. This is a fae summit. Humans are admitted by invitation only.”
Quinn was tired of his resistance. “Al, you don’t understand. There are more of those demon-kinder out there somewhere, and they’re looking for your little gathering here.” Quinn gestured at the cloaked figures, then stood with her hands on her hips. “You’ve got all these burly he-men with swords around, but they’re not going to mean much when it comes to fighting off a bunch of enraged demon-kinder with superhuman strength. It takes a woman’s wiles and craftiness to make sure you’re safe.”
Alistair sighed and waved his hand.
All seven of the cloaked guards lowered their hoods.
Quinn gawked at the seven tall, thin fae women.
Taylor laughed. “That’ll teach you to generalize, Quinn.”
Clark held up his hand to halt the chatter and turned back to Alistair. “We’re here now. You might as well invite us in until Filippa wakes up or comes out from wherever she has sequestered herself. I need to speak to her as soon as she does.”
Alistair nodded. “Very well. Come with me. I must caution you to keep your hands to yourself. Don’t touch anything. Follow.”
Quinn fell in behind Clark, who followed the old man. Taylor and Miranda were behind Quinn. The four of them walked with the fae butler toward the center of the warehouse and that which had been hidden.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Quinn and the others followed Alistair. The guards flanked them, three on either side and one walking behind. She wasn’t sure what the old man had planned since the warehouse was clearly empty. There must be a secret basement or something.
Something wasn’t right. The building wasn’t empty, not even close.
One second, Quinn walked through an empty warehouse, and the next, she passed between a pair of striped round pavilions to enter the middle of a broad circle, with seven huge tents in all.
She looked back over her shoulder at the warehouse’s corner. She could still see the rest of the warehouse as if nothing had changed. From this angle, it looked normal. The only difference was now the center had a small encampment of elves in the middle of it.
A voice behind her said, “We are fae, not elves, thank you.”
Quinn turned to confront a tall woman wearing a long, flowing white gown and a sort of turban.
“Hey, were you just in my head?”
“You humans,” the woman said with a wave of her hand. “Your thoughts are front and center all the time. It’s like you’re shouting at everyone wherever you go. I couldn’t stop listening to your thoughts if I wanted to.”
“That’s just rude. You need to apologize.”
Clark appeared at Quinn’s side and placed a hand on her shoulder. The iron grip he applied made her stand down. He offered the woman a deep bow. “My apologies, Princess. She’s my ward, and I have failed to impress upon her the importance of proper decorum.”
Quinn started to complain; she was not his ward. He shifted his boot and stepped on her foot hard enough to cause pain. She bit back a yelp and turned to glare at him. She got the hint, though, and closed her mouth.
The woman inclined her head at Clark. “I accept your apology, Hunter. My cousin has told me all about you. My condolences on the loss of your clan.”
“I thank you. The pain and loss have faded some. It was almost twenty years ago now.”
“That’s right. I forget how short-lived you people are. To me, twenty years is but the blink of an eye.”
Quinn shifted her boot, and it slid out from under Clark’s foot. “I’m sorry, too, Princess. I had no idea my thoughts would be so transparent to you. You mentioned your cousin. I assume you mean Filippa?”
Clark jumped in. “Yes, Princess Carina here is a member of one of the seven fae royal houses. Filippa belongs to another of them.”
Carina’s expression changed to disinterested amusement. “I call her a cousin, but it’s a case of kinship of station, rather than blood, although I suppose there is a bit of that as well.”
“Princess Carina comes from the Indian subcontinent. Each of the royal families represents a different part of the world.”
Quinn examined all the tents. The stripes and patterns presented a variety of colors and designs. She figured each one identified the royal houses and the region from which they came. The pavilions’ colors carried over into the outfits of the fae passing in and out of them. There was a great deal of bustle and activity around all the tents except one.
Nodding to the single inactive tent, Quinn asked, “Is that one empty? Are you still waiting for one of your number to arrive?”
Carina tipped her head toward the tent, then looked away as if dismissing it. “That is Filippa’s. She sent word that she is ill. She’s in there, or at least she was. We all saw her arrive, but she’s keeping all her people in with her, except for Alistair here.” The princess turned to the Fae butler. “You must tell her we tire of her dramatics. If she is really ill, I or another of the royals possesses enough healing power to take care of any malady.”
“I will pass along your message,” Alistair said, shifting back and forth on his feet and shooting a brief glance at his faction’s pavilion.
Quinn glanced that way again. For a moment, the entrance wavered, shimmering like the air over asphalt on a hot day. Her amulet grew cold for an instant, then warmed again. She absently stroked at the pendant with her fingertips for a few seconds. The shimmering effect had stopped, and she tried to understand what she’d just seen and felt.
Clark nudged her with his elbow. “Quinn, the princess was addressing you.”
“I’m sorry, Princess. There’s so much here to distract me. When did you say Filippa and her people arrived?”
“I didn’t say, but it was just this morning. That is not important, though. My question for you had to do with how someone so young finds themselves in training to become a hunter? It’s been quite a long time in human years since the unfortunate demise of the clans.”
“I prefer huntress, Your Highness. It speaks to my particular abilities.”
“Really? And what might those be?”
Clark cut Quinn off as she started to answer. “We are still trying to ascertain exactly what my young apprentice here can do. Her training is challenging.”
“Of course,” Carina said. “I understand.” She suddenly smiled and nodded past them. “My ill cousin has chosen to come out and see what the fuss was all about. Filippa, darling, we have some rather remarkable visitors who stumbled on our secret location. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you? They came looking for you.”
Quinn turned to see Filippa and a group of tall fae men and women come from their pavilion. The amulet changed from warm to a biting chill in an instant, putting the huntress in her on edge. There was danger present. She scanned the area around the pavilions to find the source, but nothing was evident.
She glanced to her side, but Clark didn’t seem to be concerned. His amulet didn’t seem to work the same way hers did, though. It was one of the things that made her special.
Her hand itched to reach under her jacket and draw her Bowie, but she held off. Clark would be pissed if she caused some sort of international fae incident. The amulet’s chill could be a reaction to some random and harmless fae magic nearby. Maybe.
Filippa coughed as she approached, covering her mouth with her fingers as she did. The seven attendants around her fanned out in a loose semi-circle, curving around the group at the center of the circle of tents.
Behind the newly arrived group of fae, the tent entrance shimmered again, and her amulet grew even colder. A few seconds later, even more people emerged from Filippa’s pavilion. These new people moved in both directions toward the other tents.
Carina and Filippa greeted each other with a warm hug. They spoke in a language unlike any Quinn had heard before. It had a songlike
quality to it.
While they chatted in Fae-ish or whatever it was, Quinn scanned the circle and noticed that two of Filippa’s people now stood idly by each of the other tents. Her head whipped around at the mention of her name.
Filippa held her hands out to Quinn as she came forward. As she stretched out her arms, her billowing green sleeves rode up, baring forearms wearing that same silver bracelet on the left wrist Quinn had seen her wearing before. It must be a sign of her station. Quinn glanced at the other princess. Carina had a similar one in the shape of a fine braided rope, worn over a small tattoo of a snarling tiger.
The huntress stared at Filippa’s wrist, bare except for the bracelet.
The newly arrived fae princess was close, still reaching to embrace her.
Quinn knew what she was about to do was based only on the barest of hunches. There was no time to warn Clark or the others.
If she was wrong, there would be hell to pay.
Quinn pushed off her back foot, spinning in place as she drew upon her stamina to boost her strength and reaction speed. Her booted foot came around in a perfectly executed kick, catching Filippa in the face and sending her flying backward to collide with two of her attendants. The Irish fae princess and the others collapsed in a jumble of arms and legs, trying to untangle themselves and rise again.
“Quinn, have you gone insane?” Clark clutched her arm as she landed back on her feet and reached for her Bowie.
She shook off his grip easily, her enhanced strength allowing her to pull out of his grasp. Quinn drew her blade and advanced on the tangled trio on the ground, and gasps of shock came from the fae around her.
Quinn turned to her mentor. “Clark, that’s not her. It’s not Filippa. Can’t you see? They’re all slayers.”
Clark’s eyes at first registered surprise and anger, but then they widened even more. Quinn caught the reflection of a flickering orange flame in them and twisted to look behind her.
The pair of fake fae at the tent behind her channeled dual torrents of magical flames from their hands at the canvas pavilion. The fire had already spread across the tent’s pitched roof.
