by S A Archer
The servant didn’t get the chance to answer, as Sophia’s voice called from up the grand staircase. “Peyton, there you are. I was beginning to wonder if you went down with the ship.”
Peyton glanced up at Sophia as she started down from the top of the picturesque stairwell with all the regal attitude of a queen. Unlike most wizards, who tended to like loose suits that allowed them freedom of movement and places to hide the tools of their trade, Sophia opted for flexible, tight-fitting outfits. Her stretchy slacks hugged the length of her long legs and hips. Her blouse had a ribbing of elastic within it that made it both formfitting and stylish. Peyton had seen images of Sophia before her rise of power among the wizard ranks and he knew that her vanity was magically born. It wasn’t any amount of time in the gym that gave her the shape that she was in.
A high-waisted jacket topped off the outfit, giving it an elegant and Spanish look, in black and scarlet velvet. The embroidery throughout proved the levels of enchantment that had been placed on the outfit and there was not a wizard of such a high rate that didn’t have every piece of their clothing enchanted to the brim. Sophia had used fey magic to ensure the perfection of her body and she wasn’t going to hide a centimeter of it. Her dark waves were drawn back to an artistic and loose ponytail that cascaded, like she’d had hairstylists working on her all morning long. But with the enchantment, the truth was, she probably just pulled it back into the rubber band and that’s how it simply appeared. With the beauty of the fey, along with their magic, at her fingertips, Sophia hadn’t missed a single trick. There was no telling how old she was, and that was another one of the wizards’ favorite tricks. The eternal youth of the fey was another aspect that they coveted. Some even said that Reginald Brightner had been around to see the weaving of the Great Veil over Ireland that kept the wizards out since the Middle Ages. Hence, why they were meeting in England.
“I’ve been scouring the wreckage for what valuables could be found. Unfortunately, the government has been crawling all over the building and hasn’t left much. But I did manage to recover this…” Peyton raised the metal-sided case and set it on a side table, where he opened the latch, and pushed the lid back to reveal the golden cauldron gleaming against the black, satin interior. Sophia’s bright green eyes turned to the bowl, fixing upon it. She moved slightly more quickly down the stairs in anticipation. She reached towards her hip where nothing could have been hidden in her outfit, and yet when she withdrew her hand she had within it a pair of jeweler’s glasses. Another trick. She had it placed upon her face by the time she reached the cauldron. Her hands cupped around the bowl, before she raised it and looked upon it with a critical eye. And then she set the bowl back down into its case.
“Where exactly did you find this?” She began, turning her head to glance at Peyton. Then her gaze lowered from his eyes to his upper chest. He could only assume, and he was pretty sure he was right, that she saw Credne’s brand and enchantment upon him. “Whose mark is that?”
Speaking now would be tricky, but Peyton was skilled at misdirection. There was no way that Fletcher, and the other agents that were listening, could know that she wasn’t still referring to the bowl. “The mark is from Credne, I understand. Does it really matter? The question is; what can be done about it? Is there a way to remove a fey enchantment?”
It left enough to interpretation that no one listening should necessarily put two and two together on that, but Sophia was looking directly at him, having heard and understood the question fully.
Sophia strolled closer with a seductive role to her hips. Her long, painted fingernails lifted with a graceful and predatory movement as she reached towards his chest. She was looking through that enchanted jeweler’s glass, and he knew that she could see the fey magic upon him, as well as Credne’s marks. Her fingernails dragged over his chest tracing the lines of the mark. “You brought me that cauldron and it is practically worthless. And then you, yourself, in this state of disrepair. Reginald found you useful in his time. But he is gone now, isn’t he?” Her sharp index fingernail touched beneath Peyton’s jaw and lifted it ever so slightly as it indented into his flesh. “If you were going to bring me something I could use, then you should have brought me a Sidhe, preferably alive.” Now, her hand cupped beneath his jaw and each of her nails closed in on either side of his cheeks. “The fey have fed my magic for longer than you have been alive.”
And Peyton had to suspect it was longer even than that.
“A new era has begun to arise. Manannan would never allow us to experiment with magic beyond the fey,” She began. As she slowly circled him, her nails scratched along his neck, not deep enough to draw blood, but certainly enough to be uncomfortable. Peyton did his best to just tolerate it. She walked around him, dragging those nails around the circumference of his throat, and then came to stand in front of him. “But now Manannan, himself, is gone, and Reginald, his most favored wizard, is no more. So if you are going to truly bring me something of value, you might have brought me something demonic, or perhaps Nordic, I do have a curiosity about them.”
“I could look into that for you.”
Sophia laughed at that and it was so not a friendly laugh. Her finger tapped to his marked chest once more. “I’m afraid your usefulness has quite come to an end. The best you can hope for at this point is that I decide to make it painless when I extract the life force from your body.”
Peyton backed away a step. Clearly, this wasn’t going to go his way, and from the look in her eyes, she wasn’t going to be talked out of the idea of tearing him apart, and ripping the fey magic out of him, like he was one of the prey that he used to bring her. He might as well have delivered himself up on a silver platter. “Well, that doesn’t sound friendly at all. I think I could really use a drink.”
When the door wasn’t immediately being battered in, Peyton glanced at Sophia again. In her upraised hand, she held the battery pack to his microphone. He hadn’t felt her lifting it from him and probably she hadn’t used any pickpocketing techniques. When you’re a wizard, you didn’t need anything so prosaic.
“I’m afraid your friends won’t be coming to save you in the nick of time.”
Peyton cursed beneath his breath.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Even as Granger targeted the final vampires, he didn’t miss what happened with London. The girl vanished. She didn’t teleport, not from the spell he heard her cast, and from the gunfire exploding from near the floor which gave away her position. She’d come back into view before rushing off after Derek. Granger snapped at her, “London! Don’t!”
The luxury of chasing after her wasn’t afforded to him straight away. Not with the vampires springing from the walls and ceilings like spiders. Even as Granger fired at one of them diving down from above, it’s momentum carried its wounded body crashing into him, driving him to the ground.
The fangs in those snapping jaws seemed dead set on crunching into Granger’s throat, and with his arm knocked out of position, he couldn’t just keep shooting the thing. His arms and legs couldn’t get between them to knock it back. Not with it scrambling like a rabid zombie trying to eat him.
Joe snatched the vampire away from Granger, and they both pumped it full of lead until it stopped squirming.
After their barrage of gunfire, the creatures in the backroom were mostly not moving any more. These weren’t old enough and hearty enough to heal over time. They’d bleed out and dehydrate before they could recover.
Especially these raid creatures. They’d not been created to survive, just provide distraction and a meat shield for Derek.
Granger shook off the creepy feeling of having been under one of those creatures, if even for a few moments. “London took off after Derek that way,” He accepted Joe’s hand, and got to his feet. “We can’t leave Riley. You get him out of here and into the sunlight. I’ll back her up.”<
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“I’ve had London’s back since long before this Derek guy showed up,” Joe growled.
“You need to take care of your team mate. I’ve got this. You can trust me. I won’t let that vampire hurt her. Not if I have any ability to stop it.” Granger couldn’t wait for Joe to get on board with the plan. He rushed to the open grate, slung his weapon strap across his chest, and lowered himself into the opening.
Hanging by his fingertips, he dangled over the storm runoff below him, and then dropped the remaining few feet.
There were scuffling sounds coming from his right, and Granger started that way, pulling out his weapon again and keeping it aimed low, in case he came across London first.
He didn’t call out to her, just followed the sounds. He could make out her shouts, and the deeper rumble of a reply, but the echo stole the details of the conversation. Granger’s splashing in the water was too loud in his own ears to actually be stealthy, but he couldn’t trade the speed for silence.
The voices became clearer as he reached a bend in the storm sewer. Granger leaned his back to the wall, and peeked around the corner.
“You are just full of surprises, aren’t you?” Derek asked, seemingly to no one. His claws were curled around the throat of a young man Granger hadn’t seen before. Blood welled where the tips penetrated flesh. This youth was out cold, but didn’t appear pale or otherwise bloody. Derek and his beasts hadn’t fed on him yet. And from the points of the young man’s ears, Granger could only imagine he was another fey.
“There is no place for you to go,” London’s voice was serious, as it seemed to echo from everywhere. She’d gone invisible again.
But the disturbance in the water, the ripples moving around her ankles, gave her position away.
If Derek had picked up on that, he wasn’t giving any hint. “You aren’t just going to walk away, are you? Even if I rip his head off?”
“The game is up, Derek. You’ve got no place to go. Up that ladder into the full sunlight or stay down here, and give up the Sidhe. Your choice.”
It wasn’t much of a choice. If she let him go, Derek wasn’t about to stop this game of his. Riley had already suffered near fatal injuries at this creature’s hands. Granger wasn’t about to see it happen to the defenseless young man in Derek’s grasp. While the vampire remained distracted by London, across the open underground chamber, Granger raised his weapon, staying in the shadows to keep the light from glinting off the metal. At this range, he wouldn’t miss.
“I’ve seen your charm. I know this boy isn’t your all-mighty patron.” Derek almost sneered.
Granger hesitated, listening.
The laughter that bubbled up from London wasn’t ironic, or forced. She honestly seemed to find something about that funny. “You seriously don’t want me to call my patron in on this. Lugh’s the sun god, you idiot. Think about that. Think about what the Sidhe with the power of the sun could do to you and your boss. You better drop that Sidhe and quit jerking my chain, or you’ll be one big strip of vampire bacon in about seven seconds.”
London’s threat was enough to set Derek off. Or at least make him flinch, with a furious hiss and the bearing of his fangs. Granger wasn’t sure if it was to kill the Sidhe, or just to threaten London, and he’d never know. The sudden movement was enough to make him squeeze on the trigger.
Both the vampire and the fey dropped like rag dolls.
“No!” London’s voice cried out.
Granger heard her splashing, and he took off into the chamber at a full sprint. Where ever she was, she still wasn’t visible. Only the fey getting pulled away from the downed vampire proved her location.
On the ground, Derek still writhed, if slowly, missing a big chunk of his central nervous system. Granger demolished the remainder of it with another couple of shots.
“Kieran?” Her disembodied voice demanded and he could hear what sounded like light slaps to his face.
Granger crouched down next to the fellow, and checked his pulse. “He’s alive and stable. Let’s get him to the surface and we’ll call an ambulance. He needs a doctor to take care of him.”
“That’s not what he needs,” she said under her breath. “Seen.”
She reappeared as if she’d only been in shadow and a light was finally shone upon her. Already she was pulling on Kieran’s arms. “Help me carry him up the ladder. Are you that strong?”
“I’ll manage it.” The fey was incredibly light. Perhaps half the weight of a human of his size would have been. Once he was in a fireman’s carry over Granger’s shoulder, he was able to make it up the ladder to the sewer cover.
London was already on her cell phone, so by the time he got there, Joe had the cover off and reached in to help extract the young man.
“I’ve got this,” Joe said, and carried Kieran over to his jeep, where presumably Riley was waiting for them.
Only there was another guy standing there already. He was there one minute, and once he had Kieran in his arms, he was gone the next.
Granger was still staring, when London emerged and stood in front of him. “Thanks for your help, but we’ve got it from here.”
He looked up at her. “Oh, no. You don’t get off that easy.” He wiped the sewer water and grime onto his slacks. His suit was basically ruined, but he didn’t really care. “You are going to explain to me what just happened here. How did you perform those enchantments? Who is Kieran, and who was that guy that just took him? Was that Lugh?”
“No, that wasn’t Lugh,” London dragged her fingers through her dark hair. “Can we discuss things at another time?”
“No, we can’t. You’re going to explain everything to me, and I mean everything, and you are going to do it right now.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Peyton heard the sound of the taser wand juicing up as the guard from the door snapped out the handle that extended into a long, charged stick. He knew all about that taser wand, he’d used it on the fey enough times. He spun around and arched his body in time to avoid getting hit with it in his torso. As the guard’s arm made a wide arc, continuing his swing, Peyton grabbed his wrist and then slammed his palm into the back of the man’s elbow, breaking the joint efficiently. The wand dropped away and Peyton kicked him in the back of his knee. No doubt, tearing ligaments as he sent the man falling to the ground in excruciating pain.
As he swung back around, he saw the long, energy whips unfurl from each of Sophia’s palms. She snapped them like an expert with a bullwhip. Peyton reached his hand up under his jacket, going for his pistol. Just as his arm cleared his body, but before he could bring up the weapon to aim, the energy whip snapped around his wrist and the gun. If he could even just manage to pull the trigger, and make the explosion of gunfire, it would be enough for the agents outside to hear the commotion. But the gun was ripped from his grasp with a painful burning. Peyton snapped back his right hand. The energy through his nerves stripped him of control in his muscles temporarily, and left him no sensation other than an agonizing, stinging pain. The whips were not simply weapons, Peyton knew, they were one of Sophia’s favorite ways of tearing the magic from a fey. And she’d just ripped all the enchantment from his body, from wrist to fingertips. The horrid, tormenting pain shot through his hand worse than if it had been stabbed through with a thousand burning knives. And he screamed in the agony of it.
This was the pain of the enchantment when it was gone. This was the pain he would suffer, if he didn’t keep juiced up with the Touch. This was what kept the druids loyal to their Sidhe masters, regardless of their personal predilections. And Peyton could seriously understand why. His other hand clutched to his wrist, as if that might stop the horrific pain from traveling up into his brain, but he couldn’t tourniquet it off.
Sophia laughed as she flicked the whips about her as gracefully as a
cat’s tail when it spotted a prey upon which to pounce. Peyton dodged away with the next snap, which smacked into a table, and broke it in half with a shattering force.
That would have seriously torn him apart, and if she managed to hit him any place more vital than a hand, he would no doubt be completely incapacitated by the agony. She swung both whips in crisscrossing patterns in front of her. Her laughter maniacal in her viciousness.
Given no other option, Peyton turned to the only hope he had left. Against the wall, he banged the black jewel of his ring, and prayed that Deacon wouldn’t ignore his urgent cry for help.
The Changeling appeared in mid-jump from behind Sophia. He landed on her back with his feet planted onto her hips and his knees bent up along the sides of her torso. His clawed hands gripped her head and wrenched it off of her body with a single, merciless, vicious snap. The energy whips died with the wizard, she fell from beneath him and Deacon dove from her and rolled clear. He came up to standing with a smirk already on his face, and with a tilt of his head, he gave Peyton a knowing, and sarcastic look. “And that’s how we deal with wizards.”
Deacon had worked for the wizards against his will, thanks to Peyton, and he knew that he enjoyed his revenge now. Peyton honestly couldn’t blame him.
Clutching his wounded hand to his chest, Peyton grit his teeth. “My hand,” he growled. “She stripped the enchantment from my hand.” Deacon approached Peyton quickly and now that the threat had passed, Peyton slumped to his knees, and then onto his back onto the floor. Deacon knelt over him and gripped his forearm. With frantic, dragging strokes he pulled along Peyton’s arm as if to draw the magic from his shoulder, down into his hand.
