by S A Archer
A troll and a redcap guarded the door, and glowered menacingly at the newcomers, but seeing that Lugh was Sidhe, they said nothing as they passed into the heart of the Glamour Club.
Fey of all races danced on the lowered area to their right. Beyond them, the band on the stage tore harsh yet beautiful sounds from their instruments in a rhythm that moved Lugh to nod his head along with the beat. Before them and to the left, only a few of the tables and booths were occupied, rather their occupants had mostly gathered to the railings to watch the musicians. Even the bartender along the wall opposite them, and his patrons watched the activity on the stage.
With London’s hand comfortably enclosed in his, Lugh drew her into the crowd. And it was when the singer joined the dark elf band that Lugh understood the excitement. The Sidhe girl collected the microphone, and then moved the stand out of her way. From the first ringing sound of her voice, all eyes locked on her. Dancing as she sang, her brief skirt swished around her bum and upper thighs. A snug and abbreviated top clung to her modest breasts, leaving her midriff exposed. Even though clearly not Unseelie, with her short, blond hair, she celebrated with the abandon of one. Even if Lugh might not have recognized her at first in these clothes and with her hair changed, he could not have mistaken the voice for anyone else.
Kaitlin.
In that moment, Lugh forgot to breathe.
He’d thought her lost in the Collapse. Gone forever in the unforgiving crush of rock that destroyed the Mounds and all those within.
The princess to whom he’d served as protector and confidant on that final day, even when her rebellious nature sent her on a dangerous flight of fancy. When she’d…
Lugh paused, losing the details of that day like the reflection of sunlight rippling on water that he couldn’t grasp with his fingers.
But that didn’t matter.
Right now, more than anything, he desired to rush to her. To lift her in his arms and crush her in his embrace. To laugh and to cry and to celebrate life. Kaitlin had survived. Against all the odds, she’d escaped the disaster.
How she’d come to find shelter here, Lugh couldn’t imagine. Given her altered appearance, he had to assume she’d meant to keep her identity a secret, as a Seelie princess in this stronghold of the Unseelie. Lugh would not jeopardize whatever foundation for her life here that Kaitlin had laid by exposing her secrets. Then again, she might not realize that she had another option for safety, other than within the protection that the Unseelie offered. Standing very still, while all about him danced, Lugh made himself standout in a subtle way. The fact that he was taller than all those about him, only made the effect more so.
As her song came to an end, Kaitlin glanced around. Her blue eyes fell upon Lugh for a long moment before she seemed to fully realize whom it was that she saw. For a Seelie, she’d never mastered the art of expression control. There was fear there. They held each other’s gaze until the band started into the next song and the sound jolted her from the stare. Then she pointedly avoided meeting his eyes, even if her sideways glances continued to flick toward him.
Lugh backed out of the crowd. Kaitlin knew he was here, and therefore should know that if she needed him, he would be there for her. She had only to come to him and he’d see her safely away from this place, if she so desired. If she’d other intentions, then he would not compromise that. It was enough for now just knowing that she lived.
“Should we tell someone that we’re here?” London asked, barely audible over the music.
“No need. The fact of our presence will surely be communicated to Donovan soon enough.” Lugh gestured to a waitress, a wood elf with her blond hair swept back in a braid and a black cotton shirt with ‘Glamour Club’ penned in an elven script across her chest. She joined them at a booth Lugh selected. When the waitress smiled at him with a flirty twitch to her lips, Lugh requested, “The house brew.”
“Guinness work for you?” She asked, a girlish tilt to her head.
“That, it will,” he agreed, with a smile meant to charm. And it appeared to have worked because she sashayed off with a flick of her hips and a coy backward glance.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Donovan glanced up, catching the lovely sway of Dawn’s hips in her tight white jeans as she strode into the war room. A bottle of green liquid dangled from its neck between her fingers, which she handed off to him. “The Seelie has come.”
With a lift of an eyebrow he read the label. “A sports drink?”
“You need to balance your electrolytes,” she informed him, then lifted her chin toward Malcolm, who tucked the loose artifacts into duffel bags. “Just like you need to eat.”
Malcolm didn’t look up, just waved her off. “I know. I know.”
She crossed her arms over her stomach, half turning from Malcolm. Like cats, they pointedly ignored each other as the preferred alternative to squabbling. “So what do you want me to tell him?”
“We’re ready.” Malcolm strapped the duffel across his chest. Beside him the Scribe clung to his satchel.
“I’ll deal with Lugh later,” Donovan told her.
“And if he goes all dark and growly again?” She hugged herself tighter, but tried to offset that by sticking out a hip with attitude.
“That’s why we have bouncers.” With a nod, he summoned Malcolm and Willem to him. They each gripped one of his forearms. To Dawn, he added, “Keep an eye on him and let me know if there’s a problem.”
She nodded her acquiescence, accepting the responsibility with grace but not enthusiasm. Seeing Lugh at his worst, in the throes of the full Eclipse, had been disturbing enough. Being forced to Touch him to break him out of it hadn’t been easy on her, but she’d dealt with it. The healer was stronger than she knew, something he’d been working with her to understand.
With the flick of teleportation, Donovan left her and the Glamour Club behind, reappearing on the plateau just below the foothills on the Isle of Fey. Malcolm and Willem backed off as soon as they arrived, leaving Donovan to catch himself against the sway of sensation. The earth and stones resonated with the power of the artifacts that had channeled through Donovan in their formation. Had he the option, he’d have given himself time to recover. Time to commune with the island saturated with his power. Time to understand what the magic of the artifacts whispered to him. The primal magic, so fresh and yet so ancient. But he didn’t have that option. Not when the isle, and the fey he’d created it for, was yet so vulnerable.
With a flick of his wrist, a circle of stones burst from the ground, just tall enough to serve as seats. Donovan sat back on the one that appeared behind him before he dropped. As the others who’d been waiting for them gathered close, some taking seats on the available stones, Donovan cracked open the bottle and drank a swig. Despite the color, it tasted excellent. Dawn’s healer’s instincts served her well. Even just the small amount refreshed him like a restorative potion. He’d downed almost half before he recapped the bottle and turned his focus on those gathered.
In the open air, surrounded by fey loyal to him, memories of strategy sessions with his Elite tickled in the back of his memory. They’d been lost in the Collapse, of that he was certain. But like with everything else he’d lost that day, life renewed. Donovan glanced over to Malcolm, one of the new Elite. Young and wild, like the island. Both within his power to reshape.
The lad’s finger dipped in and out of the change pocket on his jeans. In and out, then tracing the shape of something hidden under the denim with compulsive little circles, before plunging his finger inside his pocket again.
“What’s the time frame?” Eircheard interrupted Donovan’s thoughts with his gruff dwarven speech. “And what’s the priorities?”
Refocusing to the task at hand, Donovan began, “Security is top priority. Mckenna, your wood elves have two days before th
e mists fade. The Glamour veil needs to be woven before then.”
“We’ll recruit help from the sister groves.” The wood elf king spoke as much to the assembled as to the young elf new to the mantle as head weaver for Adara Grove. The shadows around the lad’s eyes couldn’t cloud his determination with doubt.
“Do that.” Donovan trusted them to handle it, turning his attention to another young fey shrouded with responsibility beyond her age. “Trip, the mountain peak is yours for the sluagh. Cormac, you speak sluagh?”
The dark elf stroked the head of one of the little fey creatures crouching next to him. “I’ve run with the Wild Hunt. I speak it well enough.”
“Explain to them their new territory. All of the Isle and the waters within sight of it.”
“I’ll need a wee bit of that mountain peak of yours for the satellite equipment.” Tiernan cocked his thumb back at the human over by half a dozen wooden crates. Tiernan’s druid focused on weaving the magicraft of human technology. “Joe can have the bones of the satellite and radar masks operational within half an hour. It’ll be fully automated within forty-eight. It cost a mint but the records for the last day will be destroyed.”
“Good.” Donovan turned back to Eircheard. “Housing for the artifact puzzle is your first task. Something flexible that we can resize as needed.” He nodded to the flat area behind the dwarf. “Over there.”
“Easy enough with canvas and metal frameworks. Nothing but a matter of minutes for that.” He gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “You know the whole of the Glamour Club will move with you.”
Donovan shook his head to himself, a weary smile pulling across his lips. “I don’t doubt it.” He’d set up the Glamour Club, and the community had grown up around it overnight like the mushrooms of a fairy ring. “Plenty of work to keep your dwarves and banners busy.”
“And the fairies, And the Brownies,” Eircheard proclaimed with dwarven enthusiasm. “Won’t take but the snap of the fingers and the twitch of an ear.”
“Of that, I don’t doubt.” Donovan gave a dismissive nod, trusting each with the task put to them. “Get to it then.”
Most teleported away immediately. Eircheard plucked a hand pick from his belt and set himself to scratching the names of the fey on the stones upon which they sat. “Our first monument.” He gave Donovan a roguish wink. It took only a moment, the dwarf having his own priorities it seemed, then tucked away the pick axe and disappeared with the flick of teleportation.
Only Malcolm and Willem lingered.
Donovan finished the drink, then pushed himself to his feet. Turning to Malcolm who continued to fidget, he murmured, “What’s in your pocket?”
The boy’s eyes widened like he’d just been caught with contraband. “I… um…” His jittery hand tapped at the thing through his clothing. “Just…” He shrugged his shoulders then cut his eyes away.
Donovan held out his hand.
Malcolm stared at it for a moment. His lips sucked into his mouth. Finally, he shook his head and handed the thing over.
The second it touched his skin, the magic of the isle stilled into silence. Donovan turned the ring over, inspecting the plain circlet of silver. He lifted his gaze to Malcolm’s face. Saw the wincing of pain there. “Does this help?”
Malcolm nodded, then accepted the ring back when Donovan offered it. The tension faded as he closed his fingers around it. “It’s still loud here,” the lad muttered, and Donovan knew he meant the magic. “Not like before, but just…”
“I understand. Use the ring, if you need it.” Donovan rested a reassuring hand on the bloodhound’s shoulder. “No one will think less of you for it.”
Malcolm nodded, not looking up. He stuffed the ring back into his pocket, but his forefinger tucked in there with it.
Chapter Thirty-Six
His druidess drifted away from him with elegant timing, allowing Lugh to turn his full attention on the Sidhe woman that approached. Interesting, how light her coloring was. Not as light as his own, but certainly she could have passed better for a Seelie than an Unseelie. Even her choice of clothing, white denim that hugged her legs and a summer white blouse of more lace than cotton, reminded him more of the light court than the dark one. His smile lifted to greet her own.
“Lugh?” She asked, even though there was no question in her expression. “I am Dawn.” She reached out a hand to him, palm down in the lesser fey style, rather than palm to the side, as a human would, or palm up, as would a Sidhe who offers the Touch. Did she know the difference? With every gesture and expression, she intrigued him more.
He slipped his hand beneath hers, and lifted it without clasping as he bent to kiss her knuckles. When Lugh straightened once more, he didn’t release her hand. The enchanted smile on her pretty face was a mix of pleasure and surprise. More and more, Lugh felt certain that this Sidhe was truly Seelie. How many of the other so-called ‘earthborn Unseelie’ were truly Seelie, and simply never had the opportunity to discover this truth within themselves? “The pleasure is truly mine,” Lugh responded in all honesty.
With the most subtle of tugs, he drew her closer. And she did not resist, seemingly unaware of his Seelie body language, and yet responding naturally to it. “Donovan will be along shortly,” she assured him.
“Time spent in your company as we wait will no doubt be too brief.” Again, his subtle choices of words and the nearly imperceptible shift of his hand to guide her into the booth were calculated.
She responded like a dancer to his lead, with grace and unconscious elegance. Within moments, the waitress was charged with bringing Dawn the sparkling pixie wine she desired. Another good choice, as the pixie wine was known for its soothing effects, which would only make her that much more pliant to his expert manipulations. Her guileless green eyes lifted to his face, charmed by his manners, rather than annoyed or set on guard by them as an Unseelie would be.
At last, slipping his thumb over her fingers to lightly clasp her hands, he gazed meaningfully into her eyes. And subtly, very delicately, he opened his Touch to her.
The Touch itself was as much of an art as speech and body language. Something most Unseelie hadn’t the interest nor patience to master, using it instead as a blunt instrument. Without training, the Touch gave little more than an assault of sexually charged magic. With some effort, it could be transformed to give any emotion, or even telepathic speech. As skilled as the most clever in the Seelie Court, Lugh could do so much more. The trick lay not in overwhelming sensation, but precise and subtle inflections of thought and emotion laced within the magic. And, of equal importance, was listening acutely to the Touch given in response, and taking note of every nuance and slip. For it was so easy to think of the very thing you steeled yourself against speaking.
Innocently unaware, Dawn’s smile tugged slightly in surprise. She fairly glowed under the feeling of his even lightest Touch. She mistook the act as fondness for her, and Lugh was indeed growing fond of her, but in more ways than she suspected. How easily he could sway her. And how unsuspectingly she allowed him to do so.
His Touch drifted into her like a melody, delicate and laced with graceful beauty. With a soft smile, like one who shared a secret intimate to her heart, Lugh angled his shoulders slightly to the crowd behind him, making the space in the booth around them seem even more private. As if they two where the only ones in the room. The only time her eyes left his face was when she watched his hand. Lightly, he interlaced his fingers with hers, a much more personal form of handholding. Only companions interconnected their fingers thusly, and if Dawn didn’t know it, she surely felt it. It was an emotional language he spoke to her. One he imagined she was not skilled enough in to lie with. Or be able to detect a lie within.
At last, coaxed by his mannerism and his magic, Dawn finally Touched him back. And in that Touch, she revealed so
much. Lugh knew the sparkling Touch of a healer when he felt it. He need not inquire as to her aspect of magic, as he knew the breadth of her talent almost immediately, and as he suspected she was trained but not yet honed with the skill of use. That would come with the centuries.
More than this, Lugh felt the unexpected whisper of familiarity.
Lowering his gaze to their linked hand, he followed the flavor back to whence he’d first encountered it.
Of course, he recalled her now. Just the day before, when the beast and the poison of darkness had washed over him, this young woman, with the intervention of the Unseelie bloodhound, had broken the full Eclipse. They hadn’t been able to remove the beast, as Manannan had, but they had freed him of the madness that had consumed him.
How very Seelie of Dawn to pretend as though they’d not first met under such uncivilized conditions. The very notion tugged Lugh’s lips into a coy smile. “I have not yet thanked you,” his soft voice conveyed a deep regret, “for saving me from the shadows.”
Lugh anticipated the pang of understanding which echoed though Dawn’s Touch. She’d craved something more in the Touch of others, and not understanding why. Dark magic could never satisfy a Seelie as deeply as the light could. With that secret, he knew no other Sidhe she shared the Touch with had been Seelie. Quick flashes of memory filtered into his mind. Donovan’s Touch, though not overtly sexual when given, had aroused her, but she’d never pursued it. Kieran had been a torrent of sexual energy, and never anything less, like the whirlwind of his sound magic. And though they enjoyed each other intensely, it was exhausting and somewhat impersonal. He’d not known her. Not really. None of them knew her. None of them understood. She hid the truth of herself from them all.
