by S A Archer
“What are you doing?” Peyton demanded.
“The enchantment is still in your blood. I’m circulating it into your hand. The pain will ease. You just need to give it a few moments for the blood to shift.” Deacon worked efficiently, massaging along Peyton’s upper chest and shoulder and then dragging his palms down again and again, working the blood and forcing it to circulate faster. The pain and numbness seemed to spread up Peyton’s arm but as it did, it lessened. It took several more minutes before it became less than excruciating. Peyton experimented with moving his hand, and it obeyed him, but it still hurt like bloody hell.
“You got it together? Your friends are already on their way here. I saw them coming.”
Through gritted teeth Peyton said, “I got this. But, I’m going to need some way of explaining Sophia’s headless corpse. And I’m going to need for the guy,” he nodded towards the guard still writhing on the ground, “to not tell what really happened.”
Deacon said, “Don’t worry. I’ve got this covered.” Just as the front door smashed open, and the Interpol agents came rushing in, Deacon had completed his transformation into some sort of demon spawn. He kicked the wizards head towards the door, sending it bouncing along like a half inflated football. Then he stabbed his claws into the face of the guard that was trying to crawl away from him.
The Interpol agents began to open fire, but before their bullets could hit, Deacon was gone. The Changeling certainly knew how to make an entrance, and how to make an even better exit.
Fletcher led the rush over to Peyton, to where he was still sprawled on the floor. “Are you all right, Price?”
“My arm took a battering, but you guys got here just in time.” He wasn’t acting as he pulled his right arm up against his body. The burn marks from the magic whip still seared over his flesh and his fingers trembled with the residual pain of it.
“Get a medic in here!” Fletcher called, and then he helped pull Peyton’s other arm over his shoulder. “I guess she wasn’t very receptive to your offer?”
“She spotted the fake right away, just as I was afraid that she would.”
“And what was with the demon? Was she working with it?”
“I can’t be sure, because he came in out of nowhere, right after we started our conversation, and everything just went crazy after that.”
And that sure wasn’t an exaggeration.
“Come on,” Fletcher said, “let’s get you out of here.”
Chapter Forty
London was glad that Granger allowed her to take a shower and dress in fresh clothing before getting into this conversation with him. She made sandwiches and set out a couple of bottles of Guinness while he freshened himself up in her bathroom. She’d given him the pair of US Marine Corps sweats that Joe had loaned her a while back. It seemed like ages ago, but it probably had only been a matter of months.
When Granger emerged with the sweatshirt stretched across his muscular chest and his towel still rubbing back and forth through his freshly washed hair. She tried to see him for what he saw himself. He was a cop, at the core of it, and he said that he was here to protect people. If she could give him that much, perhaps he could give her some slack as well.
“I made some food, if you’re interested.” She gestured to the peace offering on the coffee table between her chair and the couch. They’d sat in this same room, in these same places, just a few days earlier. She hoped that this time would go better than last.
“I have to thank you for what you did for Kieran back there,” London started. “There’s no telling what would’ve happened if we hadn’t gotten there in time. And Riley too, who was even in worse shape.” It pained her to know that she had been the reason that the guys had been in danger in the first place. But she couldn’t own that responsibility. Vampires, and other predators, were always after the fey. It was the job of the Sidhe to protect the fey. And it was the job of the druids to serve the Sidhe.
Granger reached over and picked up a bottle and took a sip. As if he really needed one about now. And then he put it down. “So, Kieran is one of the Sidhe? But he’s not your patron. I heard that much. Some guy named Lugh? What does that even mean; to be a patron?”
He was putting her on the spot, and really there wasn’t much she could do at this point to deter him. She could make him into an enemy, or she could try and turn him into a friend. “Kieran is one of the Sidhe, yes. That’s not the first time that a predator has had him in their clutches, and we got each other out of that one. Lugh is my patron, yes, and I do what I can to help him to protect the fey. They’re in danger, all the time. Protecting them is important, as important as protecting any endangered species. The realm of the fey collapsed just months ago and their numbers were decimated. The few that survived have been preyed upon by those who would take advantage of their situation. I hope that this helps you to understand why every single fey life is precious to me. Some people dedicate themselves to feeding the poor, or serving their country, or protecting the innocent from threats that they can’t defend themselves against,” she said, nodding towards him, indicating that he fell into that category. “I do what I can, because it is the right thing to do, and someone needs to do it. I wish that you wouldn’t see me as a criminal, when that’s not my intention. You killed a vampire today. I’ve had to kill vampires and werewolves, myself. But I don’t do so indiscriminately. I have friends that are vampires or werewolves. I don’t kill them, just because that’s what they are. But if someone is putting people that I have sworn to protect in danger, I can’t just ignore it. And I can’t turn to someone else to take care of it. Your job is to protect humans and I respect that. I don’t intentionally endanger anyone when I’m doing my job.” She leaned forward, hoping that she’d not said too much, but that she’d said enough of the right things to get through to him. She lifted one of the sandwiches and took a bite, contemplating what more might need to be said.
“I understand where you’re coming from, London. I understand that the fey need to protect themselves. I just need to get to the bottom of what’s going on, to ensure that the bad guys get stopped and the good guys can live in safety.”
“That’s what I’m doing, too. And that’s what my patron is doing.” London leaned forward. “So, do we understand each other? Are you going to let the matter with the wizards drop, now that you understand that they were the bad guys?”
“I want to let it go.” Granger said, helping himself to his own food. “The wizards are still a concern. While investigating this case, we’ve come across one that has been using demonic magic and this is a problem. No one will be safe, not human, not fey, no one if the wizards are starting to dabble in demonic magic.”
London stared hard at Granger, not able to swallow, hardly able to breathe. Was he serious?
“So what are you going to do about this?”
“We lost track of the one that we were after. He was taken away by a nasty demon, but we’re doing further investigation with the other wizards as we speak to find out if this is a rogue wizard or if this is becoming a pattern. So far it’s still debatable.”
Lugh wasn’t going to like the sound of this. No one was. If the wizards were dabbling in demonic magic. It was going to affect the balance of power and the safety of the fey more than anything they’d yet faced.
Chapter Forty-One
Now. The King’s Arms. Alone.
London sent the text message, and then lingered in the shadows of the back booth. She stroked the condensation on her glass, waiting. And it wasn’t but maybe forty-five minutes before Peyton wandered in through the front door. She didn’t wave. Didn’t look at him beyond the initial glance. She just got up and slid out of her booth and walked out the back door into the courtyard of the tavern. It was drizzling and no one had ventured out here. Well, that wasn’t completely true. There was someon
e waiting for her, just not visible to the human eye.
Leaning against the wall, still under the short awning, she waited. Peyton followed her out a few moments later. Her hand slipped into Peyton’s as he stepped out beside her. “Now,” she murmured.
The unseen hand of her patron, who had been waiting in a veil of Glamour that kept him invisible, gripped her shoulder. The magic cloaked over her and Peyton, stealing them from sight, and then the slippy feeling of teleportation carried them away.
In the next moment they were in a sunny grove some place in Ireland. It didn’t really matter where, she supposed, just a place where they wouldn’t be seen or overheard.
The Glamour dropped away, and the three of them were able to face each other at last.
London watched as Peyton spun, a little disoriented, only to gaze up at Lugh. The former Sidhe Champion towered over them both like a basketball player. Peyton backed up a step, to be able to look up at him without straining his neck. Not much seemed to catch him off guard, but he was looking more stressed than usual. She placed a hand on his bicep. “You asked to see him, and here he is.” London gestured between them, making the introductions. “Peyton Price, this is Lugh. Lugh, this is Peyton, the one who helped me bring down the wizards and free the fey they had captured.”
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Lugh said graciously, and offered a hand for Peyton to shake. After a moment’s hesitation, Peyton did so. “You wished to speak with me?”
“Yes,” Peyton said, exhaling, but not fully releasing the tension that filled him. London had never seen him so wired, like he was having the week from Hell. He unbuttoned his shirt and opened it, showing the thick black lines that twisted across his skin like a tattoo. “This… was branded into my flesh. And the curse of the Sidhe Touch was burned into me.” His light colored eyes lifted to Lugh’s face. “Can you free me?”
A frown graced Lugh’s lips, as he moved closer to examine the magic. His fingers traced the marks, as he considered them. “You were not taken as a druid in the normal fashion. You gave no vow. You were given no charm.” He blinked slowly, as if in regret. “I do not know what crimes you committed, but this is a penance. It is a sentence I can not commute.” Lugh turned from him.
“All you have to do is give me the Touch when I need it,” Peyton’s voice cracked, as he pursued Lugh, gripping his shoulder. “You could do that much! I would make it worth your while! I know things about the wizards and I can help you! They’ve been calling up demons and you know that will spell disaster for the fey!”
London stepped closer, meaning to intervene, even if Lugh didn’t need that from her. She stopped when Lugh raised his hand. The Sidhe’s voice remained calm as he faced him once more, “Peyton, you have been granted a second chance at life. A chance for redemption. A reprieve. Do not take this as an evil thing. Embrace it.”
“And serve Credne?” Peyton drew back his hand slowly from Lugh’s shoulder and let his arm fall to his side, his hands fisted. “He’s an Unseelie. You don’t know what schemes he might have in store.”
“The Unseelie are always scheming. That is the nature of the Unseelie.” Lugh gave a friendly, but regretful smile. “Of course, it is the nature of the Seelie as well.”
Peyton shook his head. “And that’s it? There is no hope that you can give me? No clue as to a way out of this?”
“I already have. You’ve been set upon a path. Now, you must walk it.” Lugh’s voice wasn’t harsh, but it wasn’t forgiving either.
London knew that feeling Peyton struggled with. She’d fought this battle within herself, and finally found more than just peace. She found meaning. “It’s truly not as bad as you fear,” she whispered.
His cold eyes flicked up at hers, and clearly he didn’t believe her. “Easy for you to say, with your golden champion as your patron.” He stared a moment longer, and when clearly no one had anything to say that he wanted to hear, he said in a clipped tone, “I should get back, before I’m missed.”
“Of course, I wouldn’t want to be the cause of trouble for you.” Lugh agreed.
It was only a second to return Peyton to the courtyard, and then another to carry London and Lugh far away from him. They stood now on the shores of the Isle of Fey, and Lugh’s gaze cast out across the water in contemplation.
London moved up beside him and wrapped her arms around his. “What is it?”
“I don’t know what is more disturbing; that the wizards have turned to demonic intervention, or that Credne’s ambitions are re-emerging. We will have to keep a close eye on both.” He glanced down at her, that serious look in his eyes that she knew meant trouble.
She just nodded. Their work was far from over.
Chapter Forty-Two
Deacon waited outside of the apartment building, his arms crossed and his back against the wall. At this point, Peyton couldn’t have cared less if Deacon knew he’d been talking to Lugh. He couldn’t have cared about any of the threats the Changeling had made. He couldn’t have cared about the agents at Interpol that nearly died with him. He couldn’t have cared what diabolic horrors the wizards planned. He was so done with all of it.
He pulled up to the curb, just in front of Deacon, and instead of turning off the engine, or getting out, he rolled down the window. “Alright,” he called to Deacon. “We’ll do it your way.”
The Changelings arms dropped to his sides, the only admission of his surprise. “It’s about bloody time.”
When they pulled back up in the parking lot outside the Interpol building, the cameras would see Agent Granger in the passenger seat. He parked close to the building, since the lot was nearly empty. The two of them didn’t speak, just got out and headed inside together. Peyton used his badge to open the door, and held it for Deacon, since the badge clipped to his lapel was nothing but a Glamour.
They walked with purpose through the main room, past empty desks waiting for their occupants to snatch a few hours of sleep before returning to the grind. No one to see them coming through, so no one to have to convince that Deacon was actually an agent.
The weight of Peyton’s gun on him reminded him that things could quickly go wrong, and he was committed to this path, regardless of what happened now.
Deacon let Peyton guide the way back down the hall past the evidence room, where they paused. A camera covered the hallway, and the two of them lingered in front of the door. Peyton turned his back to it and faced the Changeling. “Got it?”
The Changeling’s gaze leveled over Peyton’s shoulder, and through the window into the secured evidence room. Granger’s voice answered, “Got it.”
The two of them had worked together often enough for the wizards, that they knew the drill. No extraneous talking. No wasted movements. Walking on, Peyton entered the locker room with ‘Granger’ beside him. A quick check proved it was empty. Peyton slid his hand into his pocket and extracted a folded slip of paper. “Have you ever met Lugh?”
Granger’s face got the most wicked, evil grin that stretched far too wide. There was a story there, but Peyton didn’t care about it right now. He just opened the folded paper and revealed the single hair that he’d grabbed off of Lugh less than an hour before. “Use his appearance. Leave this behind.”
Deacon’s appearance morphed into Lugh. His clothing altered from a dark blue business suit into a pair of jeans, a white under shirt and a denim jacket. He pinched the hair between thumb and forefinger. It was Lugh’s voice that asked, “Where’d you get it?”
“Don’t ask.”
Deacon snorted, and then he was gone.
Counting his breaths, Peyton fought the urge to pace. Before he reached his fourth full breath, ‘Lugh’ was beside him again. And then the tall Sidhe shrank back down to a more average height, reacquired his suit, and the face of Granger. “It’s done. Let’s go.
”
There was no cauldron on Deacon. He’d have gotten that safely back to the flat before returning to him. It meant something that Deacon didn’t just abandon him now. The Changeling, and Credne, weren’t done with him just because they had their prize.
The two of them didn’t waste time, striding back out of the building, perhaps a shade faster than they should have. It almost seemed like they had someplace to get to. Which was true enough, if you counted getting as far away from here as possible. But Peyton wasn’t blowing his cover by just disappearing from the premises without explanation. He didn’t need that kind of spotlight turned towards him when the break-in was discovered and the camera footage scrubbed for evidence.
They were outside before they crossed paths with anyone. And that ‘anyone’ was Fletcher. He was flipping through his keys, as he stood next to his car. He glanced up at the two of them as he inserted the correct one, and opened the door. “You fellows have a good night,” he said in a friendly-superior-agent sort of way.
“Good night, sir,” Peyton returned, giving him a nod.
Deacon grinned and before it could get too wide, Peyton bumped him in the ribs. No one could miss a Changeling’s grin and mistake it for a human’s. It was their only ‘tell’ in an otherwise perfect disguise, and Changelings could hardly keep themselves from grinning. The face didn’t quite lose its perfection before Deacon got it under control again. “Good night,” he repeated, the voice an exact mimicry of Granger’s.
