Burnt Silver

by H A Titus

  BURNT SILVER

  H. A. Titus

  To my Paladins

  Burnt Silver by H. A. Titus

  Published by Fayette Press

  www.fayettepress.com

  This book and parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photo-copy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except for brief quotations for reviews and other instances allowable by United States of America copyright law.

  Copyright 2019 by H. A. Titus

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events are purely coincidental.

  Cover Designer: LoriAnn Weldon

  Creative Team: S. D. Grimm, LoriAnn Weldon

  Printed in the United States of America

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  PROLOGUE

  JOSH

  Due to various deaths, dismissals, and betrayals, it seems I've become the de facto recorder for the Museum. How this has happened is a tale "long in the telling," if I want to get Tolkien-esque about it. I'll try to make some sense of it.

  As I've already written of my first experiences in the Underworld and the beginning of the fight against Fear Doiricht, there's no need to go back and rewrite that—everyone seems satisfied with the accounts, even though at the time I'd only written them to record memories for myself, and not for use in any official record.

  But since these accounts forward are official, I can't focus only on my experiences. Others will have to have their say—whether it makes the narrative clearer or muddier is not my place to say.

  CHAPTER 1

  JOSH

  Four months to the day since my life had been turned upside down.

  I rocked back on my heels, staring at the rectangle of dirt with new, delicate green blades of grass. It seemed like the grass should have grown faster. Marc had been buried nearly four months ago. I thought I'd never be back, but I hadn't been able to resist the pull to the gravesite today.

  They'd put the headstone up. It was simple—a rough-cut block of gray granite with the words Marc Gillam. Beloved son and brother. Loyal to the last.

  Loyal to the last. He certainly had been that.

  Marc had given his life for his people. He'd given his life after I'd messed up the plan he and Eliaster had come up with.

  We can't let that eat at us, I'd told Eliaster at Marc's funeral. But I still hadn't let go. And most days, I figured I never would.

  Four months since my best friend had died, defending the world from a threat most would never know existed. I swallowed and curled my arms in against my stomach, as if to protect myself against the tightness in my chest.

  A flicker of movement in the corner of my vision. I blinked, and in that brief darkness, saw again the white stone of the relic bashing into David's head. The burst of red. I flinched and drew a deep breath into my prickling throat. Would I never be able to stop dreaming about that moment?

  And then there were the other nightmares that haunted me when I tried to sleep.

  Nightmares of Marc, a rusted iron knife slicing into his flesh, the pain in his eyes as Eliaster worked to squeeze the poison from his veins and give him another hour of life. Nightmares of David's blank eyes, the blood pooling under his skull, caved in where I'd bashed it with the pathstone, the crumbled white rock mixing with the blood.

  The ones with Larae were the worst, though. Larae, slicing open my wrist, draining my blood for her dark magic. Larae, her body pressed against mine, her soft lips trailing against my jaw and neck. I'd never even touched her—she'd been my best friend's girlfriend. Off limits, even if she had been flirting with me. But she'd betrayed me, Eliaster, Marc—even David, who had joined her in her treachery, who had all died because of her.

  I hadn't gone to anyone about the dreams. Who could I tell? Eliaster would just scoff at me. My parents would think I'd lost it or started on drugs those two weeks I'd been missing. I wasn't about to draw my brothers or sister into this strange new world I was living in.

  I could have told Roe, Marc's grandmother. But I hadn't seen her since the funeral. And I didn't really know how to approach her now. She seemed to think I was some kind of paragon who would save the fae. Like I needed that kind of pressure.

  I stood up, rubbing the back of my neck. Sweat smeared under my palm. I breathed deep and focused on the weather. Anything that took my mind away from Marc, or David, or any of my other nightmares. The day was warm, and the clouds overhead offered no relief, serving only to make the air more sticky than usual. Summer in Missouri. We'd probably get rain before the afternoon ended.

  My phone vibrated, and a moment later, the tinny sound of Survivor's "Eye of the Tiger" blasted through the quiet cemetery. Eliaster. The jerk had changed my ringtone again. I pulled the phone from my back pocket and hit the screen.

  "Yeah?" I said, starting for the paved road that wound through the gravestones a few yards away.

  Instead of Eliaster, a softer, more sibilant voice echoed through the phone's speakers. "Josh?"

  "Angel." I took a deep breath, glad he wasn't here to see me flinch. The ex-Unseelie fae made me nervous. "What do you want?"

  I could imagine the sarcastic grin on the dark fae's face. Angel may have been Eliaster's informant, but he was no fan of mine, and to be honest I didn't care for him all that much either.

  "Someone requested a meeting," Angel said. "Eliaster said he's busy, so he wanted you follow up on it."

  My heart rose to my throat. Eliaster wanted me to meet an informant?

  Before my mind could stop spinning, Angel said, "Relax, tightwad. Eliaster wouldn't just throw you in the deep end like that. I'll be there with you, holding your hand the whole way."

  Okay, that sounded more likely. I rolled my eyes. "Great. Where do I meet you?"

  "The front entrance to the Market. See you in a few minutes."

  Well, it was going to be more than a few, but Angel hung up before I could let him know.

  I sighed, replaced the phone in my pocket, glanced back at Marc's grave. The back of my throat felt tight and dry. I'd been in the Underworld since Marc had died, sure, but only back and forth to the Tyrone rath. This would be the first time I'd willingly stepped foot among a large number of fae in months.

  How would I react? Ever since that night in April when Marc and I had been attacked by a troll, I'd been seeing through fae glamour. Now I could tell who was human and who was pretending without even trying.

  So far it hadn't gotten me more than a few dirty looks, and once even a come-on from a gorgeous fae girl with green hair and the perfect hourglass figure, th
e type of girl most nerds like me never see outside of a video game. I'd turned her down.

  Overhead, thunder rumbled.

  I glanced at Marc's grave once more. When Marc had died, I'd promised him I would keep fighting. In his memory. Roe had told me she believed I was destined to be a part of the Underworld.

  I didn't know if that was true, or if this was utter stupidity on my part. but I couldn't just walk away, not without trying my best to help.

  I grabbed my helmet, pulled it on and started the bike.

  The curvy road leading back into Springfield had no shoulder, not even a gravel strip. Typical of country highways in this area. I hunched close to the body of my bike and took the curves way too fast, forcing myself to concentrate on staying upright.

  Before long, I crossed into the city limits, and traffic forced me to slow down. I pulled up to a red light and planted my feet on the pavement. It was stupid, riding a bike with no protective gear other than a helmet and boots, but I didn't care.

  I turned into a parking garage and guided my bike down to the lowest level. Few cars were parked down here, though I spotted Eliaster's sleek supercar near the back.

  I pulled up to the back wall and opened the black electrical box that sat on the far side. I put my left hand inside, and felt a cold chill as something—I assumed it was fae magic—washed over it. With the whine of grinding mechanisms, the wall receded, revealing a tunnel strung with wires, pipes, and dim orange light globes.

  I drove my bike through, the wall rumbling closed behind me.

  My engine's roar echoed in the tunnel, thrumming loudly even through my helmet. This time of day—mid-morning—the Underworld tunnels were quiet, at least close to the surface. Most sidhé, I'd discovered, preferred to conduct their business during the night, especially the fae. Sometimes I wondered if fae were the basis for vampire legends humans had eagerly been devouring—no pun intended—for centuries. Eliaster insisted they weren't, but if I knew him, the grumpy, blond fae didn't want to be thought of as a blood-sucking, sparkly fairy. Bad enough that some human cultures saw him as a three-inch pixie with wings.

  I spotted a couple of goblins scurrying along the side of the road. Their pale, saggy skin, edged in ragged patches of fur, stood out against the dark walls of the tunnel. All goblins had sharp, claw-like fingernails and slit-pupiled eyes, but these guys had distinctive pointed ears rimmed in fur at the sides of their heads. Cat-sidhé.

  I slowed as I went past them, watching them carefully. One of the cat-sidhé actually dropped on all fours and hissed at me through jagged teeth.

  I didn't have my sword, but I dropped one hand down to my side, feeling the outline of my nine-mil pistol through my jacket. The goblins backed away, their eyes glowing green in the dim overhead light.

  I shook away a chill as their eyes vanished into the distance.

  I parked outside the distinctive metal gates of the Market and walked in, tucking my helmet under my arm. It was as loud and vibrant as ever, the large square of open space inside the gates milling with sidhé and humans. I paused, letting the noise wash over me. Glamour ghosts flickered over faces, the lights from the Market booths making them glow like streetlights in the rain. My stomach flip-flopped, and I pushed down the sudden urge to turn my back and run. Angel was waiting for me. His dark clothes, inky black skin, and sardonic smile were hard to miss in the crowd's riot of color.

  "Josh!" He threw his arm over my shoulders.

  I froze. This was weird. He was acting way too friendly. My feet dragged in the powdery dirt as he pushed me forward.

  "Relax." He spoke through a gritted smile. "We're being watched."

  I stumbled a little as my feet caught up and forced a smile of my own. "Great to see you again, Angel." My neck itched. I really wanted to figure out who was watching us, but I knew I couldn't.

  Angel steered me through the crowd. I ducked under a troll's heavily muscled arm as it swung a box over our heads, then pushed Angel to the side to get out of the way of three leather-clad punks giving everyone else nasty looks as they plowed through the throng. Angel talked loudly about this fortune teller he'd met who specialized in human fortunes and how I just had to try her services. That was our cover, maybe? Maybe this informant didn't want it well known that she spoke to close associates of the Tyrones? I bobbed my head, watching as the twinkling lights and brightly festooned booths swept past us.

  Before too long, I was standing in front of a brightly-colored tent. It was draped in purples, oranges, greens. Gauze-covered Christmas lights wrapped around the front poles and entryway, and a beaded curtain served as a door. Just like I'd expect a fortune-teller's tent to look like. Maybe if she catered to humans, that was to be expected. It seemed like most humans who knew the Underworld existed were the superstitious types—all except me.

  Angel planted his hand in my back and pushed me forward. "Go on!" He said, the grin still frozen on his face.

  "You, uh, wanna come in with me?" I asked. My stomach curled in knots. Why had Eliaster sent me? What was his game here?

  "She said she would only speak to Josh MacAllister." Angel shrugged. "So I guess that means I'm out. I'll be here if you need backup though."

  Yeah, gee, thanks a lot.

  I sighed and pushed aside the beaded curtains.

  They rattled back into place behind me.

  Once again, the interior of the tent was pretty much just like I'd expect from movies and books. Racks of fancy metal shelves lined the walls, stuffed to bursting with books, loose papers, carved wooden boxes, bottles with mysterious smoky substances swirling inside of them. A red parrot screeched from a cage in the corner, beside a back entrance covered in sparkly black cloth. Incense curled from a little brazier at the back of the tent, making the thick air smell of sweet patchouli and cinnamon. In the middle of the room sat a little round table with a crystal ball mounted on it.

  I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms over my chest. "Hello?"

  A fae woman brushed the black curtain aside. She looked young, like all fae, but the slight lines around the corners of her mouth and eyes told that she was old—Roe's age, maybe older. Dark makeup outlined her dark eyes, and she'd left her hair in loose waves over her shoulders. She stopped, her eyes narrowing. Although she definitely looked the part of a sultry fortune teller, her ready stance and narrowed gaze told me that she knew I could see through her glamour, and she wasn't going to put on an act for me.

  "Josh MacAllister," she said matter-of-factly.

  "Yeah. And you are?"

  "Maira." She gestured to the round table. "Have a seat."

  I crossed the room cautiously, placing my backpack at the floor by my feet and sitting in one of the upholstered chairs. It was deeper than I thought, and I sank back into it for a split second before jerking forward. My heart pounded, more from being startled than scared.

  She pulled the other chair around the table and sat in front of me, then held out her hands. "Let me see your palm."

  "What?" I said.

  She grabbed my wrist. "For show. In case anyone walks in …" Her voice trailed off.

  I looked down. She'd grabbed my right hand, and, peeking from the edge of my jacket sleeve, the thick black scar left by Larae's dark magic was clearly visible. I tried to wrench my arm free, but she had a tighter grip on it than I thought. Thanks to Larae's magic, I had no feeling in that hand anyway, but I could imagine my fingers tingling from her hold on my wrist.

  "So it is true," she said quietly. "That you had a brush with a sorceress—that she took your blood—and yet, you survived."

  I pressed my lips together and waited.

  "Does it still hurt?"

  I couldn't help the shiver that crawled down my back. Before I could stop myself, I blurted, "Have you seen this before?"

  "No. I feel something … off. Something wrong."

  She might as well have dropped acid into my stomach. I shivered. "Is—is that really bad?" No one I knew so far had any idea of what to make of
the scar. Not Cormac, not Eliaster, not even Roe. Maybe this fortune-teller knew something.

  "I could not tell you." Maira sighed and bent forward, running her thumb along the lines in my palm. "If it is true that you survived battling a sorceress, then I also assume what else I've been told is true. That you work for someone who would be interested in relics of a certain kind."

  My pulse quickened. Okay, time to switch gears. I took a few seconds to steady my breathing, shove away her words about the scar. I'd deal with it later. I leaned forward, lowered my voice. "Potentially. Depends on who's asking and what the price is."

  "The one who is asking is the one to whom you owe a life debt. As for the price …" She shrugged.

  Life debt? It took me a few seconds, and then it felt like an iron band tightened around my chest. Cori. Coriander Airgead.

  A few months ago, he'd saved my life in Chicago. Out of curiosity, he'd said. Out of an interest in getting a favor from someone close to the Tyrone family, I figured. I'd never told Eliaster. Was Cori cashing in the favor now? Why would he be the one giving me information?

  My brain stutter-stepped. "What … does he want me to do?" I stammered.

  Maira shrugged. "I was only told to pass this information on to you." She sat back, released my wrist. A quick motion, and a folded slip of paper appeared in her hand from out of nowhere.

  I rubbed my wrist. My scar ached. "What's this?"

  "A request."

  "For?"

  She shrugged. "I was merely asked to be the messenger."

  I got up, waited. But Maira merely turned away from me, pulling her sleeve over her hand and using it to rub a spot away on her crystal ball. I nodded in thanks, snagged my backpack, and walked from the tent.

  "Well?" Angel asked.

  I shook my head. "I'm not sure." I wasn't about to tell him what she'd said. My mind spun. How was I going to explain this to Eliaster?

  Someone bumped into my arm, causing me to stumble against Angel. He elbowed me upright. I glanced back in time to see a human, his shoulders broad and his hair a dark blond, duck into Maira's tent. Another sucker for her to tell her fortunes to.