Banshee Blues (Bones and Bounties Book 1)

by Bilinda Sheehan

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  I heard MacNa’s footfalls as he moved forward, but I couldn’t very well turn and give him my attention while Daster’s gun was pressed firmly against my belly.

  “I thought you wanted her gone,” Daster said, confusion twisting his features.

  “I did, but now I don’t. Put down the gun.” MacNa’s voice brooked no argument, but I was so close to Daster that I could feel hesitation in the slight tremor of his hand as he pressed the gun into me.

  “You gave Mrs Archer the gun with the special bullets,” I said, and Daster pushed the gun closer to me. The iron burned through my clothes until I could feel the barrel against my bare skin.

  “No and yes,” MacNa said. There was no trace of a lie in his words, but his answer brought me no closer to the truth.

  “Did you or didn’t you give her the gun, MacNa? The truth, please.” Irritation coated my voice as the iron residue from the discharged bullets bit into me.

  “I gave her the gun, but it wasn’t mine to give,” he answered, and the truth wrapped around me like a comforter.

  “The half-breed gave it to you,” I said.

  “She knows way too much, MacNa. You said yourself that the only way out of all of this would be with her death.” There was a panic in Daster’s voice that I hadn’t noticed before and now was unable to ignore.

  He seemed to believe that my death would solve all of their problems

  “Drop the gun, Daster,” MacNa said again, giving the full weight of his attention to his friend. “I was wrong.”

  Three words, such simple words, and yet I couldn’t mask the way my face twisted in surprise. And I wasn’t the only one. Daster’s surprise was the perfect distraction, and I took the opportunity presented to me.

  Sliding to the side, I brought down my arm and knocked the gun from his sweaty hands. I caught Daster across the side of the head with the butt of my blade, and he slumped to the ground without even a whispered protest.

  Spinning to face MacNa, I stared him down. “I thought you were done with Manann. I know you didn’t agree with what I did to him, but you said yourself that you wanted him to be stopped. I was the only one with the balls to go through with what needed to be done.” I couldn’t keep the bitterness from my voice. I could still remember the look in Manann’s eyes when I’d locked him in the cage. The hurt, the betrayal… Just thinking about it made my chest ache. I’d loved him. I’d loved him, and I’d betrayed his trust.

  “For years, I’d accepted the censure of the Fae, MacNa. The Court believes I killed my lover, the ultimate crime against one of my own. They don’t know the truth about the things he’d planned. The things he’d done. I’ve taken my punishment because of the guilt I carry, and because we’d agreed to it. We agreed to play our parts, and now, after everything, you’ve been working on his behalf all this time?”

  MacNa had the good grace to look ashamed, and dropped his gaze to the ground. “I wanted to kill you for what you did to him. I built the cage thinking you were going to use it to trap him, to kill him. I know what he was, but no one deserves to be caged like an animal for all eternity and have their humanity stripped away. Death would have been kinder.”

  “I would have killed him if I had the power, but in the end…”

  “You were a coward,” MacNa shouted, his words bouncing off the alley walls. “You didn’t want to kill him. I saw the look in your eyes when you sealed him in there.”

  “I wasn’t strong enough, MacNa! I would have died with him. And call me selfish, but I didn’t want to die.” The truth hung on the air between us. “I didn’t see you or Noree stepping up to help. You built the cage, and she carved the runes, but neither one of you stepped up to give your essence when the time came. Neither of you wanted to be the one to finish him off. You left it to me.”

  The colour drained from MacNa’s face, and he scrubbed his hands across his cheeks.

  “I didn’t know…” he said finally, breaking the silence between us.

  “No one knew,” I whispered. “It was my job to stop him, and I failed.”

  “I’m not working with him now,” MacNa blurted out. “At least not intentionally. The half-breed approached me, said she knew what happened and the part I played in the betrayal. She was going to kill me…”

  “So you thought working with Manann one last time was better than dying.” A bitter smile twisted my lips. “What does he want?”

  “He wants out. He found a way to break the cage, too, and he’s really close.”

  The blood in my veins turned to ice. The cage wasn’t built to be broken. That should have been impossible, and yet I could feel the truth in MacNa’s words. If he said Manann was close to escaping, then he was.

  “How?”

  “By killing you,” MacNa said.

  It made sense. My power, my life had been poured into the iron of the cage and into the runes Noree carved.

  “But it changed. Or, I don’t know, maybe it was always meant to be this way… He set me up.”

  “Who set you up?”

  “Manann set the Court on my tail. The duel was a fake, and the half-breed would have killed me if I’d gone through with it.”

  “Wait, the duel was against the half-breed?” The world shifted and came into sharp focus as I tried to process the sudden influx of new information.

  “I’m to die, Darcey. We all are, and if the Court catches up to me…”

  The blood drained from MacNa’s face, his colour growing ashen as he focused on something behind me.

  “You brought them here,” he said, turning to run. Two Fae enforcers dropped from the wall that had given the alley every appearance of a dead end.

  “I didn’t,” I whispered as they closed in on MacNa, and my mind scrambled to come up with a plan.

  “I didn’t think you’d have it in you, Darcey,” the Mother of the Hunt said from somewhere behind me.

  Her voice sent a shudder racing down my spine that I struggled to suppress. The last thing I wanted was for someone like her to sense weakness in me.

  “I thought you’d gone soft on us. You even had Lunn a little worried.”

  Turning to face her, I searched the group of enforcers, but there was no sign of Lunn.

  “Where is he?”

  “On a time-out. He went against Court orders. Luckily for him, he made the right call. You did deliver MacNa to us, as he said you would, but that doesn’t change the fact that he stepped out of line.”

  My heart came to a stuttering halt. She was so matter-of-fact, but I knew whatever the Court considered to be a time-out would involve immeasurable pain and suffering. And if they didn’t believe Lunn to be suitably “rehabilitated” or brainwashed, they wouldn’t hesitate to kill him.

  “He did nothing wrong,” I said. “It was all on me.” She shook her head, and the cruel smile curling her lips coated my skin in a cold, clammy sweat. It was a smile that said if he died at her hands, I would be to blame.

  “Bring him,” she said, jerking her head in MacNa’s direction.

  The two enforcers who had cornered him at the end of the alley grabbed his arms, dragging him toward the mouth of the alley and the waiting cars parked on the street.

  I’d never even heard them pull up.

  “Wait!” I said, but it was already too late. MacNa spun in the grip of the enforcers, breaking their hold on him. As I started forward, he reached for the obsidian blade one enforcer wore on his belt.

  “MacNa, don’t!” I said. Something slammed into me, sending me to the ground as it darted past.

  The edge of the pavement dug into my hands and shards of broken bottle bit into my palms, but none of that mattered. Someone grunted, and the tell-tale sound of blade grating on bone slammed into me as though my body was receiving the blow from the silver blade.

  Mother of the Hunt had her back to me. MacNa slumped against her shoulder, and the look of surprise in his eyes made me believe I’d misheard the sound of blade on bone.


  She jerked up and away, and this time the sound was unmistakable. A tiny splatter of blood coated MacNa’s lips as he spluttered and slumped to his knees.

  Scrabbling across the ground, I reached him before he collapsed into the piles of black, bagged rubbish from The Dearg Hand. I wrapped myself around him, propping him up as he stared up at me.

  “You brought them here,” he said, his voice wet and rough. “You got your wish after all…”

  “I didn’t, I swear…” I said, but MacNa’s chest shuddered violently. His body grew still as his eyes stared past me into whatever came after death.

  Something inside me snapped, and sound bubbled past my lips as my mournful keen tore from my throat. I was only vaguely aware of the glass in the nearby buildings shattering.

  Mother of the Hunt’s hand slammed into my face. The blow drew tears to my eyes and cut off my cry as my head snapped back hard enough to have broken it if I were human.

  “Shut up!” she hissed, blood trickling from her nose as she towered over me.

  “This is what I do,” I said, my voice devoid of emotion. I’d never been cut off before, never been stopped from doing what I was created to do.

  “You would mourn for one who would have seen you dead at his hands and enjoyed it? No wonder your kind is dying out—your stupidity knows no bounds. Get his body out of here,” she yelled, gesturing to the enforcers cowering away from her shrill words.

  The two enforcers MacNa had outmanoeuvred stepped forward and grabbed him beneath the armpits. They dragged his body down the alley, and I closed my eyes to avoid seeing them toss him into the trunk of one of the black SUVs as though he was nothing more than trash.

  “I’ll be waiting for your next screw up, Darcey. Who’ll mourn you when I bury my blade in your chest? Are any of your kind left to bury you in the Between?” Mother of the Hunt didn’t wait for my answer. She turned away, her black coat billowing behind her as she moved toward the idling cars. I dug my fingers into my palms as she climbed into the front of one the cars and closed the door. They drove away, leaving me alone with MacNa’s blood on my hands and a hollow ache in my core. Something important had been torn away from me. But what that was… well, I just hadn’t figured that out yet. I’d have more than enough time to worry about it when I did.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “If you try it, I’ll rip your insides out through your nose.” Mazik’s voice cut through my thoughts, and I lifted my head and spotted him in the bar’s doorway.

  He stood there, staring at something right above my head. Or, to be more accurate, at something behind my head. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled, and I rolled to the side just as the lead pipe crashed onto the pavement where I’d been kneeling.

  “I warned you,” Mazik said, the quiet purr of his London accent filled with the threat of violence in a way only he could manage.

  He darted forward, and I pushed up onto my feet, scrubbing off the drying blood on my hands.

  “Leave him be, Mazik,” I said as someone grunted nearby. I turned and watched as Mazik rammed Daster back into the wall for a second time.

  “Uh, he tried to kill you…”

  “So?”

  “So, I warned him what would happen if he tried to and the little shit didn’t listen.” Mazik raised his hand toward Daster’s face, waggling his fingers with an expression of glee that turned my stomach.

  “Let him go,” I said.

  Mazik dropped Daster and turned to face me, irritation written all over his handsome features.

  “You can’t just go around letting everyone off the hook every time they try to off you. It’s bad for business.”

  The cold ache in my chest was slowly spreading outward, and I shook my head. Mazik wouldn’t ever understand how it felt to be this bone-weary. He had a purpose; so did I, but mine meant watching everyone I cared about being ground to dust.

  “I need sleep,” I said, moving down the alley.

  “He should have let me kill you,” Daster said, pain straining his voice. His words cut me to the core, because part of me believed he was right.

  Shrugging, I kept my back to them and continued to walk. “You might not have wielded the blade, Darcey, but you killed him all the same,” Daster said.

  I didn’t answer him; what was the point? MacNa wasn’t one of the good guys. I was pretty sure he had never been one of the good guys, but he still didn’t deserved to die at the hands of that callous bitch.

  Exiting the alley, I crossed the street to where I’d left my bike and scooped my cell phone from my pocket. I dialled Noree’s number without thinking about it and waited as the ringing echoed in my ears.

  The numbness was slowly spreading outward; whatever the Mother of the Hunt had done by stopping my mourning ritual affected me in ways I hadn't known possible. But, honestly, I didn't care anymore.

  The phone clicked, and Noree’s breath rasped in my ear. “What is it, Darcey?” The irritation in her voice was unmistakable. Why the hell she decided to have a problem with me now was beyond me, but Noree always seemed to have a problem with someone.

  “No need to take that tone with me. Tell Samira I'll swing by and pick her up.”

  “What happened with MacNa?”

  “He's dead,” I said. I didn't elaborate. There was no point—Noree would find out in her own way. Knowing her, she'd end up with more details than I had, even though I'd been there, watching the life drain from him. It was weird to think about MacNa being dead. He'd always just been there, turning up right when you didn't want him to, a bit like a bad penny. And, despite our problems, the past we shared and the issues we’d never dealt with, I would have given anything to see him alive. Mother of the Hunt would pay for what she had done, for the life she had taken.

  Silence greeted me on the other end of the line—not that I was surprised. What surprised me more was the line going dead, leaving the sound of static as my only companion. She blamed me. She wasn't wrong.

  Jamming the helmet down over my head, I straddled the bike and cracked my foot down on the kick-start. The engine roared to life, drowning out the noise in my head, and without another thought I twisted the throttle. The tires squealed across the asphalt as the bike jolted forward before finally finding purchase on the road.

  I'd planned to go straight to Noree's restaurant, but the bike seemed to have other ideas. The streets grew wider as I sped away from the inner city, the close-quarter housing giving way to tree-lined avenues and houses hidden from prying eyes. I tightened my grip on the bike, not knowing where it was taking me. I didn't want to be out here; I just wanted to climb into bed, curl into a ball, and pray for the sleep I knew wouldn't come.

  Instead, I was on the outskirts of the city, in a familiar area that set the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. I'd been here with Samira; I still had the scars on the palms of my hands from where the iron railing had seared into my skin while we climbed the fence. And that wasn’t all. The memory of the Hortlak still haunted me. I could remember the sound of its victims’ bones cracking beneath its jaws and the scent of fresh blood in the air.

  The bike rolled to a halt, and the silence flooded in around me. It was weird— neighbourhoods weren't usually this quiet. But I didn't sense any danger, just an overwhelming sadness. The numbness that had invaded my chest seemed to spread outwards, the tendrils creeping further into my limbs until I couldn't even feel the tips of my own fingers. Whatever was happening to me was getting worse.

  I crossed the street, my boots barely making a sound against the asphalt. The gate stood ajar, and I slipped through it, careful to avoid the iron bars. The last thing I needed was more holes in my clothes and burns on my body.

  This time, no security guards milled around. There was no one to see me approach the front door, no one to halt me in my tracks.

  The front door was shut but not locked, and it swung inwards without a sound. Moving into the hall, I was surprised to find the house practically desolat
e. But I knew I wasn't alone. I could feel their heartbeats, the gentle sighing of their breaths, and I knew exactly where to find them.

  Making my way up the stairs, I paused to ensure no one else had followed me. But the silence I had noticed outside was the only thing to creep in after me. The plush carpet muffled any sound from my boots, and I reached the door to the Archers' bedroom without alerting them to my presence. Pushing open the door, I peered around the edge and quickly spotted Mrs Archer on the floor next to the bed she shared with her husband. Her hands were wrapped around his, just as I had left them the night before. He was still unmoving beneath the covers, but I could sense his suffering. The half-breed had been abominably cruel to leave him trapped like this. It was a fate I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.

  The thought of me being less cruel than the half-breed started a giggle on my lips that verged on being hysterical. I had once been that cruel. After all, I had sealed my own soul mate away in a cage formed of my own magic, my very own essence.

  Mrs Archer jerked her head up in surprise at the sudden sound. “What are you doing here?” she asked, attempting to hide the salty tear tracks on her cheeks.

  I couldn't very well tell her that I didn't know why I was there, or that my motorcycle had brought me to her. Humans didn't deal very well with the whole magic thing. It tended to have one of two effects on them: they either became utterly obsessed by the Fae and the magic they possessed, or it frightened them. Fear wasn't necessarily a bad thing; at the right moment, it was a useful emotion. But those who were feared usually ended up dead, and Mrs Archer had already made one attempt on my life. I didn't fancy her trying to end me again just because the ways of the Fae were beyond her comprehension.

  “I came for him,” I said, gesturing to the shell of the man left in the bed.

  My words brought a fresh bout of tears from Mrs Archer's eyes, and I couldn't stop the pang of guilt that tore at my heart. She had been a fool—there was no denying that—but I could understand her motivations. I couldn't imagine what it must be like to be faithful to the man you loved while knowing he didn't return your feelings. She had done a terrible thing, an unforgivable thing, but she still loved him. I knew she wanted his suffering to stop.