“In exchange for this,” she said, withdrawing the box just out of my reach, “I would like your…assistance.”
I sucked my teeth. “Perhaps I wasn’t clear last time—”
“You were,” she interrupted, nervously. She took a deep breath. “But nothing in Fae is gained without an equal and worthwhile exchange. Surely you, as Morrigan’s daughter,” she said scathingly, “know that much.”
I bit my tongue to stop from lashing out. She was right, although I hated to admit it; the Fae treated favors like currency. It was the only barter system that mattered to them. Which meant, if I wanted to take Balor’s eye, I had to offer something of equal value in return. Of course, as a stranger in a strange land, I wasn’t exactly familiar with the exchange rate. “Assistance with what?” I growled.
“For far too long, Fae has been terrorized by an outsider. In exchange for Balor’s eye, I want you to see that the outsider pays for his crimes against our people. Against your people,” she clarified, meeting my gaze.
I frowned, the truth of that addition hitting me over the head like a hammer. Jesus Christ, was I really one of them? A Faeling? Me? I cursed inwardly as I realized she was right; the Fae—who I’d always thought of as other, somehow—were technically my people, now. Of course, with that realization came a whole new host of questions, ranging from the reasonable to the ridiculous. What classification of Fae was I? Was I immortal? One of the Tuatha? Did antihistamines work on iron allergies?
But then I asked myself one that stopped me in my tracks…
Was I even human?
“Was it something I said?” the Winter Queen asked, glancing sidelong at Oberon.
“I think it just occurred to her that she’s one of us,” the Goblin King replied, studying my face.
“She isn’t one of us,” the Winter Queen hissed. “You saw that little power display, you know what that meant. She’s clearly one of the Tuatha de Danaan. A Lady of the Fae Court. A goddess…” She looked me up and down, as if noticing my attire for the first time, her gaze lingering on the tacky, gay cruise ship logo splayed across my tattered t-shirt. “Well, the potential is there, at any rate. Anyway, do you accept?”
“Accept what?” I asked, finding it hard to focus; I was still a little busy coming to terms with the fact that I’d have to mark Other down when I filed my taxes from now on.
“The conditions I’ve given you,” she said, exasperated.
“Wait, ye want me to track someone down? Was that it?” I asked, replaying her request in my mind.
“I want you to find the Manling born in Fae,” the Winter Queen said, her eyes blazing with a cool, sadistic light that had nothing to do with the fish. “And I want you to end his miserable life.”
I did a double-take “Nate Temple? Ye want me to kill Nate Temple?”
She nodded. “He’s taken everything from us. Wiped out hundreds of our race. The loyal Fae tremble at the very mention of his name, and he has become a rallying cry for those who despise our rule. He cannot be allowed to live. As one of the Tuatha, it is your duty to protect us.”
I glanced over at Oberon, wondering what he’d have to say on the subject—but, aside from looking vaguely constipated, I couldn’t tell where he stood.
Kill Nate Temple in exchange for Balor’s eye, huh? I scowled, weighing my options. I had to admit, I’d killed my fair share of Regulars, Freaks, and Fae; pulling the trigger didn’t bother me nearly as much as it used to. But I’d never assassinated anyone before. Most of my kills had been in self-defense, or at least morally justifiable. Taking out Nate Temple—even if I had no idea who he was—would be a difficult task, ethically, not to mention practically. I mean, the bastard was a wizard—perhaps the most powerful one alive, for all I knew.
Lightweights didn’t typically run around declaring themselves royalty, after all.
But then, of course, there was the fact that I could think of at least a half-dozen people who would never forgive me for trying—people I actually cared about…or at least didn’t despise.
Namely, my one true friend…
Othello.
No, I realized—not even for the sake of vengeance could I agree to hurting her.
And Callie probably wouldn’t take too kindly to it, either. I’d always gotten the impression they were dating. Or on the verge of dating. One of those were they, weren’t they situations that everyone else seemed to be able to see so clearly, no matter how aloof the two of them were on the matter.
Frankly, I thought she could do better.
“I can’t do that,” I replied.
“Can’t, or won’t?” she asked, eyes narrowed.
“Probably the latter, but definitely the former.”
The Queen sneered and drew back with the box. “Then no eye.”
“But,” I countered, meeting the Queen’s gaze, “I will promise to track him down. To hold him accountable for what he’s done and see he never does it again. To stop treatin’ this realm like his own personal battleground whenever he…” I drifted off before I could finish that sentence. Christ, hadn’t I just done the same thing by opening up a Gateway into Fae, banking on Oberon and his armada to help solve the problem I’d created?
Was I really no better than Nate Temple?
Ugh. I needed a shower.
“I accept,” the Fae Queen said, “on the condition that, should he fail to live up to your ideals, you go after him in earnest. With the intent to kill.”
I could tell from the smug expression on her face that she fully expected Nate to ignore me—to continue doing as he pleased, despite the damage it caused. In fact, from her perspective, the moment I agreed to this deal, a clash between Nate and I would be inevitable. And I had to admit, she might be right. But I had to try; it was possible Nate—like me—had simply gotten too embroiled in his own shit to notice the effect he had on the world, on both worlds. Maybe all he needed was a gut check—someone to act as his conscience, if only to make him realize the Fae were worthwhile, living beings.
And the only person who could do it was me.
God help us all.
“Deal,” I said, holding out my hand.
We were so fucked.
Chapter 40
I collapsed on the deck of the USS Cyclops, dry-heaving, cradling the cloth-covered box to my chest to make sure I didn’t accidentally drop it and inadvertently kill us all.
“It really isn’t that bad,” the Goblin King said.
Unfortunately, I was too busy fighting off the nausea that came with traveling by seven-league boots to argue with the goblin. Of course, no matter what he claimed, there was clearly no reason to ever do that shit again. Strictly Ubers and Gateways for me from now on.
Maybe hiring a driver—I was still ruminating on that one.
I took a deep breath and rose wearily to my feet, glancing out across the water to see how the battle was faring.
It wasn’t pretty.
The gouged bones of ships bobbed everywhere I looked—their wooden guts spilled out into the water, stretching out along the horizon for as far as my eyes could see. A few ships remained, but only the smaller, nimbler vessels—the ones capable of avoiding the literal waves full of Fomorian warriors and Balor’s magic.
As I watched, the blue light of Balor’s jeweled eye abruptly pulsed, flashing against the side of a schooner full of elves in an arc of azure flame. The boat split neatly in two as swiftly as ripped paper, blue flame licking at its entrails as pointy-eared sailors dove into the sea—only to be immediately slaughtered by Balor’s troops waiting patiently below.
I had to admit to a momentary sense of panic—if Balor was this powerful with that strange replacement stone in his eye socket, how deadly would he be with the one I held in my hands?
Suddenly, the box felt like a lead weight.
An anchor.
Oberon grunted, studying the scene with far more composure than I would have expected, as if he’d anticipated finding most of his fleet wiped out upo
n his arrival. “Well,” he said, hiking up his pants, “you know what they say…if you want something done right, hire a professional.” I opened my mouth to point out that wasn’t how the saying went, but before I could get a word in edgewise, Oberon seized the nearest goblin intern—most of whom had gathered behind us the instant we arrived, like we were food and they were a horde of starving, feral cats. “Sound the retreat!” he barked.
The goblin intern—a portly creature with a pot-belly—jerked his double-chin and bolted towards the front of the ship as fast as his stumpy legs could carry him. I snatched the Goblin King by the shoulder. “Listen, I don’t want any more Fae to die, either,” I said, imploringly. “But ye can’t expect me to get anywhere near Balor without your fleet to distract him. Ye can’t retreat.”
The sound of a bell tolling interrupted me before I could say anything else. At the front of the ship, a giant church bell—its frame built into the deck—swung back and forth, the rope beneath held by the surprisingly quick goblin intern. Almost instantaneously, a swarm of pixies burst forth like fireworks spitting off into the sky, headed for the remaining boats in droves.
Oberon shook me off, glaring at the contact. “I’m not,” he replied, enigmatically, before marching towards the ship’s portside. I hurried after him, glancing back only once to make sure Hook’s Jolly Roger was still in play. Thankfully, it remained where I’d left it. I spotted Hook still standing where I’d left him, more or less, watching the battle through a spyglass, but my aunts were nowhere to be seen. I sighed, grateful that at least that part of my plan was still intact.
When I finally caught up to the Goblin King, I found he’d claimed another goblin intern—held by the throat this time, a good foot above the deck—and was commanding him to tell the ship’s captain to get us airborne. Five minutes ago. I frowned, feeling foolish for having forgotten all about the fact that the USS Cyclops had met us in the skies above Neverland. I wasn’t sure about the warship’s mobility, should Balor decide to throw one of his waterspouts at us, but it certainly helped to have the higher ground.
In a manner of speaking.
The intern took off the instant Oberon dropped him back to his feet. The Goblin King swept the ship with a calculating glare, assessing the situation. Then he took a deep breath and blew it out. “Alright,” he muttered, “time to call in the big guns.”
The big guns? What the hell was that supposed to mean?
“I thought we,” I said, hoisting the box as evidence, “were the big guns.”
The Goblin King snorted as he marched across the deck, clearly expecting me to follow. “Of course not. You really think I’d let you run out there and risk everything? You’re the bait. The only reason I agreed to take you to the Winter Queen was to get what I wanted,” he muttered, waving a hand in the direction of the box I clutched.
I jerked to a stop, blinking at his retreating back.
A single purple pixie beelined towards us while I tried to process what Oberon was saying, the wee creature halting inches from the Goblin King’s face, saluting smartly. “All the captains have been notified, my Lord!” she declared, her voice so high-pitched it sounded vaguely like a mouse squeaking.
“Excellent,” Oberon replied with an efficient, dismissive nod, before continuing on.
I double-timed to catch back up with him, furious that he had been playing me. “What the fuck d’ye mean I’m bait?” I hissed, as soon as we were relatively alone.
“His eye,” Oberon said, glancing at the box in my hands. “He’ll have sensed it by now, and—with the fleet retreating—I expect Balor is feeling especially confident. I doubt he’s feeling patient, after spending centuries below the seas.” Oberon pointed through the still-open Gateway I had made, indicating the line created by the waters of Fae colliding with the waters of Massachusetts Bay. “But, once he passes that threshold, both he and his army will be vulnerable. I simply needed him to think he’d won.”
Then he began walking again, seemingly unconcerned about my opinion. I scowled after the Goblin King, realizing everything he’d done up until now—especially by helping me—had been to advance his own agenda; he’d seamlessly integrated my proposition into his own plan…whatever that was. I hurried after him, not the least bit happy to discover he’d helped me under false pretenses—but not particularly surprised either. Maybe even a little bit impressed.
“Why would that matter? I thought ye didn’t want him steppin’ foot in Fae?” I asked, heatedly, pointing out the fact that Balor was, most definitely, about to do just that.
In fact, at the moment he seemed to be literally stepping on a Viking longship full of Fae sailors, snapping it in two as he tore the dragon figurehead free, studying its craftsmanship—not remotely concerned about the sailors being massacred by his nearby troops.
“Ordinarily, no,” Oberon murmured, dispassionately watching Balor’s casual act of destruction. “Especially if he had his eye. But these are Fae seas,” he said. “Balor won’t find them so easy to bend to his will.”
I scoffed. “Oh, I don’t know. Looks to be havin’ no problem so far. Even without his eye,” I growled.
He ignored that, sighing with annoyance, like I was some pesky child at his hip, tugging on his shirttail. “There are creatures below that do not bow to him, creatures far older than he.” He met my eyes this time, glancing over his shoulder, and I caught a mischievous twinkle in those haunting depths. “Far older than even me.” The Goblin King halted alongside a massive foghorn mounted along the ship’s hull, its bizarrely curved frame like a boat-sized boomerang.
The foghorn itself was a seemingly infinite spiral, like a Nautilus shell.
“My Lord,” a goblin intern called, approaching from the front of the ship. “Balor’s army has given chase to the retreating ships, as you predicted!”
“Excellent,” Oberon whispered, eyes gleaming, that twinkle I’d caught seeming to catch fire with an inner light. “Alright, someone get the straps off this thing!” he yelled to no one in particular, pointing up at the topmost portion of the horn—at least ten feet in the air. Several goblins standing nearby eyed each other, waiting for one of their number to make a move, but none did.
“Ye have to single one of ‘em out,” I suggested, remembering my lifeguard training from my very first summer gig. “Ye have to point and say somethin’ like ‘ye with the red shirt’ if ye want it to get done.”
Oberon frowned thoughtfully, and then looked around. He pointed. “You with the ugly face! Get those straps off.”
“I don’t t’ink that’s bein’ specific enough…” I muttered under my breath.
But apparently the distinction made sense to the creatures gathered, because the goblins parted to make way for an ogre I’d mistaken for a pile of seaweed-covered boxes, who rose, yawned, and trudged over. The ogre studied the straps for a moment, as if deciding how best to remove them. Before the Goblin King could offer a suggestion, however, the ogre reached out and tore the straps in half, the leather snapping in two beneath his hands.
Oberon squeezed the bridge of his nose, taking a slow meditative breath, as if silently reminding himself that no, he shouldn’t kill the ogre for being an idiot. But I was instantly distracted as gravity took over and the horn’s flared bell tilted towards the water, falling in with a humongous splash that drenched a few of the goblins near the ship’s railing. Suddenly, the ridiculous shape of the thing made a little more sense; the mouthpiece stood at approximately mouth height—for a goblin, at any rate—while the vast majority of the rest managed not to brush up against the ship’s hull. Oberon strode up to the mouthpiece, wiped it clean with a handkerchief he fetched from his pocket, and blew.
Truth be told, I flinched, expecting a cacophony of sound, but all I caught were the audible cracks of tremendously large bubbles as they surfaced and popped. Oh, right. Because the horn was underwater, I realized.
Wait, why was the horn underwater?
The Goblin King stepped away and p
ut his hands on his hips, chest puffed up. “That should do it.”
“Should do what?” I asked, baffled.
Oberon grinned and pointed out at the water behind us, where a dark shadow began to spread along the horizon line, darkening the surface of the sea in an impossibly huge swathe. The Goblin King turned to his sailors and began fist-pumping, yelling one word over and over again.
“Kraken! Kraken! KRAKEN!”
Soon, all the other goblins were screaming it, too, saliva stretching from their pointed teeth as their eyes grew wild with anticipation.
So the son-of-a-bitch did have a Goddamned Kraken.
I fucking knew it!
Chapter 41
We were airborne by the time the Kraken’s shadow darkened the sea beneath us, which meant we got a great view of just how gargantuan the creature was as it made for Balor’s front lines. I couldn’t put an exact measurement down, or even an imprecise one, because I had nothing to compare it to.
Basically, it was so fucking big that I found my brain momentarily short-circuiting as I tried to map out the evolutionary biology of the damned beast using creatures I knew existed. Squid. Octopus. Giant Squid. Kraken?
I shook my head.
All I knew for certain was that I was more than happy to be up here and not down there.
Since the goblin intern’s report, the Fomorians had charged through the gap in the hundreds, rolling across the water like a cresting wave of giant, murderous blue surfers.
Of course, what concerned me most wasn’t Balor’s troops. Sure, there were more than enough of them to cause damage—perhaps even invade Fae—but without their leader they were simply another race of relatively terrifying creatures in a realm full of relatively terrifying creatures. And so I scanned the waters below, looking for that tell-tale flash of blue light, but saw nothing, not even as the Kraken’s shadow cruised beneath Balor’s army.
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