Flight of the Phoenix

by Alicia Michaels

  Suddenly, a strong hand clamped down on her arm. Sucking in a sharp breath, she turned to find Arrian standing beside her—far too close. Clapping a hand over her mouth, he shook his head, eyes wide as if to remind her to be silent. She nodded her understanding and he lowered his hand. Then, tapping one of his ears with his index finger, he pointed across the room toward a closed door.

  He’d heard something. Those ears of him could hear a bug crawling across the floor in the next room if he listened close enough.

  She nodded again, then motioned for the others to follow, and they started across the room. Creeping forward on silent feet, they reached the closed door. Motioning for them to stand back, Arrian took hold of the doorknob and slowly turned it. After cracking it a bit, he jerked it open swiftly, revealing the huddled form of a teenage girl.

  Phaedra grinned, her held breath escaping on a rush. Beside her, Gretchen pumped one fist in the air in victory. Titus wagged his tail.

  The girl was unconscious, a rough-looking gag splitting her lips to keep her quiet. Her face appeared grubby, her hair a tangle mess around her face, but she seemed otherwise unharmed.

  Bending down to lift her into his arms, Arrian stood and faced them.

  “We need to signal one of the Warrior Fae to fly their bird past that window over there, and take her before they realize we’ve found her,” he whispered.

  “I’m on it,” Gretchen declared, slipping away before she could be stopped.

  Disappearing into the shadows, she slunk away, leaving Phaedra impressed. Gretchen might be new to the princess thing, but she was taking well to fighting and operations.

  Arrian began edging toward the row of windows facing the outside, watching carefully for the approach of one of the Warrior Fae. Glancing over his shoulder, she noticed the jutting balconies from several floors below them. Farther down, a large, turquoise square glistened in the sun invitingly, surrounded by wicker furniture. A swimming pool. Even further down, the hustle and bustle of New York City was muted, with not even the sound of a honking horn penetrating the thick glass.

  A large eagle came into view, flying straight toward their window. As it drew closer, she realized it was En’im. Her lips moved, but Phaedra couldn’t make out the words.

  But Arrian could.

  “The balcony,” he said, nodding toward a sliding glass door to their right.

  Titus shifted swiftly to two legs, following Phaedra as they dashed toward the door. Pushing it open, she ran out onto the deck, with the two men and the unconscious girl hot on her heels. En’im came in for a landing, leaping down from the back of her bird and running forward to meet them. The eagle landed on the balcony rail, waited patiently for its master.

  “She’s unconscious, but not harmed,” Arrian stated, placing the girl into En’im’s arms.

  “I’ll get her back to the apartment,” she replied. “You have to get back in there and find the mirror.”

  “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but we have company,” Titus said.

  Phaedra turned back to find the second floor of the penthouse had begun to flood with Witches. So many witches, they would never be able to fight them all off. Not to mention, they were fresh out of bombs.

  “Damn it!” Arrian spat, retrieving the dagger from his waistband as if determined to fight them all off.

  En’im faltered for a moment with the girl still in her arms, seeming uncertain of whether to go or stay and help them fight.

  “Go!” Phaedra bellowed, both hands clenching into fists at her sides. “I’ve got this.”

  Starting toward the open balcony door, she narrowed her eyes, a plan rapidly formulating in her mind.

  Arrian’s hand on her shoulder held her back. “What are you doing?”

  Pausing, she glanced back at him, jerking her shoulder from his hold. “Saving our asses. Get up to the third floor and find the mirror. I’m going to flood this floor and wipe them all out.”

  “Phaedra, don’t!”

  Arrian’s words went through one ear and out the other as she continued back inside. He and Titus followed, but she ignored them, hoping the idiots would get the hell out of dodge so she could do what she had to do.

  Coming to the center of the room, she lifted both hands to her sides and called on her power over water with all the strength she could muster. In a building this size, she could feel it pulsing through pipes in the walls, so much of it, she might as well have a lake at her fingertips.

  Turning her head, she found Arrian and Titus still standing at the foot of the staircase, staring at her in abject horror. They’d managed to close the balcony doors and skirt the room, leaving her at the center with the witches preparing to converge on her.

  “Five seconds to get out of the way,” she warned them, before going back to ignoring them completely.

  She never did see if they left, before she swung her arms, clapping her hands together, and pulling the water to her from all sides. It filled the room in a rush too fast to stop. In seconds, it had reached her neck, and she shifted, taking on her Mermaid’s form as the entire second floor filled with water almost to the ceiling.

  All around her, Witches flailed and tried to swim to freedom. She simply swam around them, flicking her tail and dipping and diving to avoid their thrashing and convulsing bodies as they began to drown.

  Then, the sound of cracking glass filled her ears, and she glanced up to find spidery lines creeping along the windows. The pressure of the water was too much on the glass, but Phaedra had anticipated this. Swimming toward one of the large windows, she braced herself for a dive.

  The windows shatter outward—first one, then two more, then the rest in a cacophony of splintering glass. The water washed outward, rushing down the side of the building like a waterfall. Straightening her body and giving a little twirl in the air, she dove downward, her gaze locked onto the swimming pool several stories below. Ignoring the bodies rushing past her and splatting onto balconies and the street below, she kept her stare focused on the pool, concentrating on keeping her body at the perfect angle.

  Before she could hit the water, something came hurtling at her from midair, slamming into her body. Phaedra gasped as the air was knocked from her and something that felt like an iron club slammed into her middle.

  No, she realized as the hard thing tightened around her waist ... not a club ... a man’s arm. Flailing and fighting to be free of the thick arm holding her against a hard, masculine body, Phaedra found herself going back up as if flying. Shaking her head, she threw her wet hair back from her face and turned, staring into the cold, dead eyes of one of the Eendi.

  He had flown at her on the back of one of his birds—a massive black raven—catching her in midair and taking her hostage.

  “Let me go!” she screamed, shifting back to two legs and squirming in his hold, putting her feet into it.

  A blow from his fist stunned her and she went limp in his arms, groaning as the pain radiated from her cheekbone up into her eye and down toward her mouth.

  “Be still!” the Eendi’s rough voice commanded. “Or the next one will knock you unconscious. Yes, I can see you’ll be quite the prize for my queen.”

  Phaedra stiffened at the realization that this Dark Fae intended to take her to Eranna. But, for what? So the dark queen could suck her dry and feed her own dark power?

  She would rather die than let that happen.

  “Phaedra!”

  The sound of a voice calling her name split through the sky, and she lifted her head again, trying to determine where it had come from. A flash of white feathers brought Rothatin’s giant owl, Archimedes, into view. On the bird’s back, Rothatin held the reins, his mouth set in a grim, determined line. Behind him sat Arrian, who held on to Rothatin’s shoulders, his dark brown locks flowing behind him in the wind.

  It was Arrian who had called her name in that sharp, desperate cry. Arrian whose wide eyes conveyed fear as he watched her being carried away by the enemy. Tears sprung to her
eyes, and she reached out one hand, wishing she could be close enough to grab hold of him.

  “Arrian,” she whispered.

  “I’m coming, Phaedra!” he bellowed, his voice made thin by the current of air created by the flap of wings, but still carrying to her.

  The Dark Fae imprisoning her cursed, directing his bird to bank left. Rothatin and Arrian followed in hot pursuit. Two more of the Dark Fae and their birds appeared on the horizon, flying straight toward them. Behind them, Archimedes squawked as if in challenge toward the other two birds.

  Phaedra watched as the other two birds converged on Archimedes, their riders swinging weapons at Rothatin and Arrian in an attempt at unseating them.

  Her captor went higher, putting them out of sight again, but moments later, Archimedes appeared just below them.

  “Jump!” Arrian called out, holding his arms up to her. “Jump, Phaedra!”

  Her mind rebelled, but her heart told her not to think twice. He would catch her—he had to.

  Turning her head, she took a good bit of her abductor’s thigh between her teeth and gave him a fierce bite. Bellowing in pain, he released his hold on her and flailed in his saddle. Before he could regain his bearings, she shifted her weight, throwing herself off his lap and straight down toward Archimedes and Arrian’s open arms. He stood, both legs braced in the footholds of the saddle, arms extended to catch her.

  She slammed into him, her head jolting in a way that sent pain radiating through her neck and back. They teetered, with Arrian struggling to maintain his hold on her, while Archimedes took off across the sky like a shot.

  Before she could get a good grip on Arrian, they were falling, toppled from the owl’s back and falling. A flash of black came into her field of vision, just before she slammed into something else ... something that seemed determined to hold on to her as tightly as Arrian did.

  The raven-riding Eendi had caught up to them, catching her by the waist under one arm, with Arrian dangling off the side, holding tight to one of her hands. She hung almost upside down as they sped farther and farther away from Rothatin, now nearing the East River.

  Her shoulders burned, but she lowered her hand and held on to one of Arrian’s with both of hers, determined not to drop him. They flew so fast, she feared he would be pulverized on impact if she let go.

  “Phaedra,” he grunted. “Hold on ... don’t let go!”

  Tears sprung to her eyes, and she felt as if his weight might tear her arms from their sockets.

  “Arrian,” she gasped. “I’m trying!”

  The river loomed ahead of them now, opening into a wide bay. The Dark Fae planned to take her out of the city.

  “Listen to me,” he bellowed, glancing down at the water and back at her. “We’re over the water now ... let me go. I’ll be fine!”

  Shaking her head, she blinked back the tears, and renewed her efforts to keep a hold on him. “No! No, I won’t let go!”

  “You have to,” he insisted, his solemn gaze piercing hers while his jaw clenched in determination. “I will find you. Do you understand? I will not rest until I’ve found you.”

  She nodded, one of the tears slipping free and racing down her cheek. It fell free, splashing onto one of Arrian’s hands, which still clutched hers.

  “Hurry,” she whispered.

  Then, she unclasped her fingers and let him go.

  Arrian careened downward, as the raven swooped up, now free of the extra weight. Phaedra choked back another sob at the sight of him falling, determined not to lose sight of him for a second. It seemed his gaze stayed locked on her until just before he reached the water, hitting the bay with a splash before he disappeared.

  Closing her eyes, she choked back a round of hysterical cries, determined not to show fear to the Dark Fae who had captured her.

  Arrian was going to be all right. Like her, he had an affinity for the water. He would make it out of the bay and get back to the others. He was going to come for her.

  Brutal fingers captured her hair in a tight hold, pulling her head up until she stared into a pair of dark eyes. The Dark Fae looked at her as if he had murder on his mind, but he wouldn’t kill her. No, Eranna wanted that pleasure. Instead, he simply jutted his head forward, slamming into her in a brutal headbutt. Stars exploded in her field of vision, then everything went dark.

  Chapter Eight

  ERANNA PACED THE SMALL anteroom connecting to the larger chamber holding her growing group of captive girls. With so many Dark Fae at her command, it had taken no effort on her part to find them. She’d simply stood back, nursing her wounded pride in private while her Witches and Eendi hunted and captured the young women whose souls would go a long way toward restoring her power.

  In the corner of the room, a pulsing sound thrummed, drawing her attention to the ornate mirror she’d brought from her penthouse—the Eye of Mollac. Biting her lower lip, she ignored the call, certain it must be Kalodan attempting to make contact. Few people knew how to call to her through the mirror, a fact that Eranna was grateful for. She couldn’t be seen like this—robbed of both her beauty and her power.

  No, Kalodan would have to wait. She knew that the time had come for her own daughter, Desdemona, to fulfill her part of the prophecy concerning the royal daughters of Fallada. However, there was little she could do to stop it in her current state. It had been several centuries since she’d been so weak, and she abhorred the feeling.

  “Patience, Kalodan,” she murmured, breathing a sigh of relief as the pulsing of the mirror stopped, indicating that he’d ceased trying to contact her. “As long as you’ve carried out your part of our plan, all will be well.”

  Since it had become quite obvious that her daughter couldn’t be controlled or killed permanently, she and Kalodan had hatched a different plan. If they could not hinder the power of the Phoenix, they would simply harness it for their own uses. Before going after Princess Brione of Damu—the girl they had referred to as ‘Gretchen’—Eranna had ensured that her Dark Fae lover had Desdemona under lock and key. He had smugly assured her that all went according to the plan, and she had no reason to worry.

  All that remained was for her to regain her power so that she could return to Fallada and continue in her efforts to stop the enemy’s progress. She realized now that coming to the Earth realm had been premature. In her desperation to get to Princess Brione before General Rothatin and his group, she had lost sight of the largest threat to face: her own daughter.

  The door swung open to admit Ushma, who shuffled in on heavy feet. The Witch could hardly contain herself, cackling with glee and rubbing her hands together as if she couldn’t wait to deliver her news.

  Behind the mask, Eranna raised her eyebrows. “Well?”

  “There was an attack on your Earth home, my queen,” the Witch began.

  Eranna’s hands curled into fists at her sides. “Rothatin Longspear. That Faerie is going to be the death of me, Ushma, I swear it.”

  “All is not lost, Your Majesty,” Ushma continued. “They managed to escape with one of the girls, but your Dark Fae proved their dedication to the cause and have brought four more to take her place. And ... one of them will be of particular interest to you.”

  Her curiosity piqued, she followed the witch into the room which contained the ten cots. Lying in a row from left to right, she found four young women lying on their backs, as still as death. The girls were pretty enough, but it wasn’t their looks that interested her. It was the vibrancy of their spirit and youth that would restore her power.

  The fourth girl caught her attention, and Eranna’s lips curved into an amused smirk. Her long, thick black curls lay fanned out around her angular face, matching eyelashes lowered, hands folded against her stomach—the very image of her mother, Queen Xyla.

  “Well, well, well,” she murmured, stepping closer to the cot. “Princess Phaedra of Zenun. Whatever did you do to end up here?”

  “Murdered dozens of your Witches by drowning them,” Ushma replied. �
�She put up quite the fight, but they managed to subdue her.”

  “Very good,” Eranna murmured. “This is a most pleasing development. Tell them to hurry and find the other six so we can get on with it. And send for more essence of Pixie. I want to ensure they are all kept subdued until the time comes—particularly the princess.”

  Ushma bowed, then backed away. “As you wish.”

  Striding back into her smaller chamber, Eranna felt better than she had that morning ... better than she had in days. Things were working in her favor again, ensuring she would be able to re-enter the fight in no time.

  Facing the mirror, she decided it couldn’t hurt to at least determine how things might be progressing. The beauty of the Eye remained that she could observe others without being seen. First, she would look in on Kalodan in Zenun ... then, her daughter.

  Removing her mask, she cringed at being forced to confront her reflection.

  It’s almost temporary; the end is in sight!

  Squaring her shoulders, she called upon the power of the Eye. “Mirror, mirror, show me Kalodan Longspear.”

  The mirror grew foggy, and then the mist-like substance cleared, revealing the familiar throne room of Eridell Castle in the underwater kingdom of Zenun.

  Kalodan sat upon the high throne of Zenun—a place once meant for the underwater kingdom’s ruler. The throne now belonged to Eranna, but he seemed to have forgotten that as he perched there, preening with a smug smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth.

  “Bring them in,” he commanded, waving an imperious hand through the air.

  Two Werewolf servants moved to do his bidding, opening the massive, floor-to-ceiling doors giving access to the room. A unit of Minotaurs entered, their heavy steps echoing across the marble floors, the staffs of their long-handled axes held in meaty hands. They surrounded a bedraggled group of creatures that had been taken captive in Fallada’s forest—two Woodland Nymphs, three Satyrs, and a Faun. Bound with shackles and chained, they trembled and clung to one another, most likely frightened out of their wits. Unlike many of Fallada’s other creatures, those who inhabited the woodlands were not fighters or warriors. They relied on the Faeries, Elves, and Dwarves for protection, many taking refuge in the cities of Goldun, Inador, and Skel’gar.