by S A Archer
Knowing exactly the path to follow, Donovan moved through the twists and turns. A goblin leaning against the cave wall suddenly sunk into the stone which became as fluid as quicksand for a single instant only to solidify once more around the beast. Deeper into the nest the goblins milled about in packs. As they spotted him they screeched and charged him. Loose stones turned into shrapnel before Donovan’s power, slicing through the goblins as they charged him. He stepped over the bodies without even slowing down.
How could any Sidhe stand the smell in the bowels of a goblins’ nest? The filth and the rot fermented into a fume that stung the eyes and the sinuses.
Donovan approached the deepest chamber, where he’d sensed the vampires and the Sidhe. The sounds of activity kicked up. Scuffling and goblin laughter. Then the snarling of vampires over prey.
Donovan scowled, knowing vampires would not likely find goblin blood worth the effort. Only left one other as the victim.
Bursting into the chamber, Donovan took in the scene in an instant. The earthborn was suspended between the pack of vampires. Naked. Dirty. Bleeding. Scarred. This was no vain-glorious Sidhe making an empire among the goblins.
The youth made eye contact. Those familiar dark, dark eyes. Soulful eyes, so like his sister’s that Donovan would recognize them anywhere. He could almost hear the echo of her whisper, “Find Malcolm.” And he had. The lad was here. Had been here all this time. Almost a full year. Taken by the goblins since well before the Mounds collapsed.
This was Regan’s brother, Malcolm. The runaway with no magic training at all. The Sidhe who didn’t even know he was fey most of his life. Undoubtedly abused in every fashion imaginable. And yet the lad was not utterly crushed and consumed by madness. Instead, he fought with every ounce that he was. A Sidhe. An Unseelie. A fighter. Unleashed potential. And Donovan would unloose him.
Donovan’s fury boiled forth with his magic.
As the vampires swarmed with the goblins toward him, Donovan rippled the ground, tripping them. One vampire sprawled on the ground gracelessly before him. Donovan snapped his neck before he even felt the tread of the boot. The goblins succumbed to a flurry of loose stones that battered against them with deadly force. The gale force of his stone storm whirlwind around the Sidhe, missing him even as it bashed against everyone else in the chamber.
He launched a spire of stone from the wall, impaling both female vampires through the chest, shredding their hearts instantly before sticking them into the opposing wall. Both vampires still caught along its shaft, dead.
As Donovan turned a fist connected solidly with his right eye socket. Stumbling back, he growled low. The vampire hauled back for another swing. Donovan raised both hands, fingers curled hard as if gripping something heavy. The chamber quaked. A section of the floor ripped out of the ground and collided with the ceiling above, cutting off the vampire’s scream as he was crushed.
The lead vampire hooked his arm around the earthborn’s throat using him as a shield. Donovan narrowed his eyes, recalculating his plan of attack. The young Sidhe, a fighter despite his wounds and blood loss, viciously bit into the arm choking him. As the vampire tore the young Sidhe from his arm and tossed him to the ground a cannonball sized rock burst across the room. It caved in the vampire’s face, killing him instantly.
Donovan crouched next to the young Sidhe, blood still seeping from the wounds made by his attackers. “Hey. You still with me?” The shock-glaze in the earthborn’s half closed eyes was all the answer he received.
A short time later Donovan emerged from the nest with the young Sidhe leaning heavily against him. One of Donovan’s arms around the boy kept him on his feet. Once clear of the cave he lifted his free hand. As he brought it down the goblins’ lair caved in with a rumble that shook the mountain and crushed anything still inside. In the next moment, the two Sidhe disappeared from sight, leaving the place seemingly untouched by anything but the fury of nature.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Glittering shards of light, like sunlight on rippling water, shone through Malcolm’s closed eyelids. His eyes slit open just a little. Too exhausted to do anything else.
He floated in warmth. Heard it lapping. Water. He smelled soap, fragrant and crisp.
A woman knelt over him, beside the bathtub. She held his hand, but not to comfort him. Not exactly. Just holding it while she scrubbed a soapy washcloth up and down his arm with efficient strokes. Just washing him. Not getting perverted with him.
The light shimmered like prisms, fracturing sunlight into a jillion diamonds. Pretty, but kinda too bright. Even squinting, Malcolm couldn’t make out much of her appearance past the light.
The dark man that fought the vampires towered behind the sparkling girl. Where she twinkled and stuff, something else surrounded him. Like a cloud. Or smoke. Only not. More like dust floating in a shaft of sunlight. Real slow, but moving constantly. Not a whole-whole bunch, but it was there. Weird. Neat, but weird. Malcolm tried to say that, but nothing came out except an exhale. So very tired… So weak…
Whatever he did, it got their attention. The woman leaned closer. The light glittered even more, like she’d upped the wattage. “Rest. They nearly killed you.”
Maybe…
Maybe they had killed him.
Malcolm struggled to speak. His throat closed over the horror as the blood taste still lingered in his mouth. Vampire blood. His fingers weakly wiped at his lips. A guttural, whimpering moan the only sound he uttered. If he could vomit he would, to rid himself of the blood he knew he swallowed. Might already be too late.
“Fey cannot become vampires,” the dark man said, deciphering Malcolm’s distress.
Malcolm slumped with relief, the panic uncoiling from his chest and dissipating.
The woman smiled with amusement, then she brushed her palm across his forehead. “Back to sleep with you. Healing first. Questions later.”
Malcolm’s eyes closed again. His lids were just so heavy. And the water so… floaty. He was drifting… drifting away…
“Do you think they will come for him again?” Her voice was so far away.
Though distant, Malcolm still heard the reply clearly. “Not just him. They are coming for us all.”
Chapter Fifty-Eight
During the drive, Lugh removed his blood-spattered shirt. Willem had procured water in clear plastic carafes for their journey, and Lugh splashed some on the burgundy blood stains that yet marred his flesh. Once satisfied that he’d fully cleansed the traces away, he used the somewhat clean backside of his shirt as a towel. He bathed his face of the soot, silver and perspiration and felt the better for it.
Without spare clothing, for it had not even occurred to Lugh to collect such mundane necessities, he consigned himself, for the time being, to endure the cooler temperatures clothed only from the waist down. Rarely had the Sidhe, whose aspect of magic was the sun, ever endured the chill of any season, but Lugh resisted all use of his personal magic since the replenishing flow from the Mounds had been severed. What magic he dared to spend drained his reserve, bringing the inevitable Fade ever nearer. Lugh flexed his fingers. Already they tingled, the first symptom of the fatal condition.
Leaving Willem to his animated critique of the questionable skills of the other operators in the opposing lane of vehicles, Lugh concentrated on reviewing several of the more pertinent journals. Danu possessed the inconvenient tendency to omit details. Rather than giving indepth instructions of the magicraft that one could have duplicated, the purpose of the notes had been merely to remind herself of particulars. Her writings, made during the period just before the creation of the Mounds, posed questions and concerns she’d faced at the time, but not if those actually manifested and, if so, how she handled the eventuality.
Nowhere in the journal did Danu enumerate the artifacts she used. What she
did reveal was that the artifacts all should unite somehow, like fragments of a puzzle. The few artifacts they’d collected thus far appeared like ordinary things, just worn with time and use. No particular contour to them that implied they might combine. Nothing about the magicraft he should perform made sense. But then, so little made sense to him since the Mounds collapsed.
“There’s Sneem.” Willem departed from the cliff-hugging path to descend toward the hamlet nestled in a valley near the coast. The Scribe maneuvered the truck into a gap between other autos lined up along the boulevard and dispelled it back into silence.
In the mid-day hours, the human village boasted sparse but continuous activity. “I believe the vehicle shall go unmolested without a sentry set upon it in so peaceful a burg.”
“Not to worry. I shall guard it.” Willem smiled with pride before opening his jacket to reveal the pistol dangling out of the interior pocket.
“Do you even know how to use the pistol?” Lugh arched a speculative eyebrow.
“Not per se. I just collected it from outside the temple. The very sight of it might dissuade the faint of heart. If nothing else, I shall bash them in the head with it. It’s got a good weight to it.”
“I rather hope nothing in this rural place shall require bashing. The outpost isn’t far. I trust that Rehnquist will offer sanctuary. I shall return as swiftly as may be.” Lugh paused long enough to slip his long knife in the thigh pocket of his ‘cargo’ trousers, as Willem called them, and then hastened toward the cliffs. With luck, all would be secure by evening.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Kieran slammed into the fey in his way, shoving them aside in his scramble. “Boss!” He bashed into the dancers as he tore his way across the dance floor. “Bloody hell, get out of the way!”
Donovan hadn’t seen the young Sidhe run this frantically since the vampires hunting him were just two steps behind. As he held up a hand, Kieran skidded to a halt just shy of crashing into the table. “Did Bryce catch something on fire again?”
“No,” Kieran gestured wildly back the way he’d come. “Hurry! The kid’s awake. He’s absolutely freaking out! They’re shouting for you!”
Where Kieran had to run over those who’d been in his way, all the fey of the Glamour Club parted before Donovan. In his excitement, Kieran jogged ahead in fits and starts and then bounced with his impatience as he waited for Donovan to catch up. All the while, he kept repeating himself. “I was next door. All this scuffling and shouting. I heard screaming. Dawn shouting for me to get you. ‘Kieran, get Donovan! Get him now!’ and stuff like that. So I did. I can still hear them hollering at each other. Come on! Hurry!”
The earthborn bounded up the steps to the second floor three at a time. Even as they entered the hallway, Donovan heard the shouting for himself.
“Just calm down!” Dawn yelled. “Just put it down!”
“Stay away from me!” the young man shouted over her. “Where’s the man?” Something crashed with the shattering of glass. Furiously, he cried, “Don’t come near me!”
Kieran peeked around the open doorway, but Donovan gripped his shoulder and maneuvered him aside so he could pass. He crossed the threshold into the flat that was laid out similarly to the others on this floor. The generous studio design was divided into a living room to the right and a kitchen on the left. With hands upraised, Dawn approached the young man she’d cornered. Even as the lad slashed the air between them with a carving knife to force her back, he struggled with the latch on the window, intent upon escape, even though the drop from this height would probably snap a bone.
The healer obviously didn’t realize it, but she was taking the exact wrong approach, putting herself and the young man in danger. Her uplifted hands didn’t prove to him that she was unarmed as much as her intent to snatch away his weapon if given the opportunity. Such an attempt would assuredly result in a serious injury to one or both of them. Already, the shards of a busted ceramic lamp and variety of other debris littered the floor. Apparently, he’d pitched anything within reach to drive her back. Donovan ordered, “Dawn, get out.”
To her credit, she didn’t argue. She backed away and then pushed Kieran from the doorway out into the hall with her, leaving the door standing ajar.
Donovan leaned against the arm of the sofa, not blocking the boy’s path if he wanted to make for the door himself. The shouting had certainly only heightened everyone’s anxiety, escalating already intense emotions. He spoke with calm authority. “You wanted to see me?”
Already, the boy held the knife at a lower angle. Donovan was fairly certain the lad’s name was Malcolm, though they hadn’t been able to confirm that. Between Dawn’s healing sedation and the lad’s own blood loss and exhaustion, he’d been unconscious for the three days since Donovan brought him here. Given the boy’s mistrustful and panicky demeanor, Donovan thought revealing what he knew about Malcolm and his family might only upset him further. Better to leave some things unspoken.
Even though all the Sidhe were, by their very nature, beautiful creatures, Malcolm was gaunt. The only clothing he wore was a pair of grey pajama shorts, and those hung low about his hipbones. Being underfed and malnourished wasn’t the worst he’d suffered. His back was a mess of scars, so much so that not even the tip of a finger could rest upon an unmarred spot. Those scars were old, healed over before rescue. The worst damage had been to his wrists, and the lad still wore the bandages around them that Dawn had fashioned days ago. Half hidden under his unruly hair, Malcolm’s dark, frantic eyes fixed on Donovan. “You brought me here. I remember you. You killed the vampires and you brought me here.”
“That is true.” Donovan waited, as patient as the very earth that was his element.
The knife trembled from the sudden tension in the young man’s body. “She… She…” He pointed toward the door.
“Her name is Dawn.”
“She…” Malcolm raised his hand before his face and shook it, attempting to express something he couldn’t articulate. “My head. She was…” He shook the hand before his face again. “Messing… Messing with me.”
“Dawn’s a healer.”
“No! She messed with me! Making…” He jiggled the hand before his face.
“She made you sleep.”
“Yes!” His outcry was a mixture of hurt and fury. “I don’t want it! I don’t want her messing with me!”
“Dawn will never make you sleep again. She won’t touch you, unless you ask it of her,” Donovan stated with finality, knowing that Dawn was within earshot and would take his promise as an order. “When you came here you were very weak. You’d lost a lot of blood. Dawn helped heal you.”
“You have magic.” Malcolm said it like an accusation. “Made those rocks bash into the vampires. I saw it. So what do you want with me?”
“I’m called Donovan. I’m Sidhe, like you. Dawn,” he nodded toward the door, “she’s also Sidhe. As is Kieran, the other young man you saw.” He lingered for a beat, letting things sink in. “This place is called the Glamour Club and it’s a safe haven for Sidhe.”
The astonished confusion on Malcolm’s face was priceless. He’d not gone from one type of captivity to another, as he’d clearly feared. Donovan continued, “This flat belongs to you, if you want it. No vampires can find you here. No goblins, either. You’re safe here. This, I promise you.”
The knife had lowered, but Malcolm didn’t look quite ready to relinquish it yet.
Donovan asked, “What’s your name?”
The hand that wasn’t clutching the knife handle pumped opened and closed repeatedly. A nervous movement, like pacing. He was struggling to process this change of circumstances and not ready to believe.
“They stole a lot away from you, didn’t they?” Donovan waited for him to nod, but those watchful, dark eyes just remained fixed upon him
, shining with moisture. “But they didn’t take away this.” He tapped his finger to his chest, over his heart. “No matter how hard they tried. No matter what they did. You are Sidhe. You are one of the most magical beings to have ever existed.”
The young man shook his head to this, eyes downcast. His fingers stroked his throat as he made a sound of strangled emotion, unable to even speak of pain too raw and too recent.
“Kieran.” Donovan summoned the young Sidhe from the hallway. Kieran obliged him, stepping into the room three steps and stopping when Donovan raised his hand. He didn’t want him invading the buffer Malcolm yet required to feel safe enough not to plummet out the window. “Would you mind sharing a little about your experience? How you came to be here and what it’s been like for you?”
Malcolm lifted his head, intent on hearing what Kieran might reveal.
“Oh, hey, sure. No problem.” Kieran smiled brightly at Malcolm, not seeming the least put off by the knife. “So, like, my parents just up and disappeared when I was fourteen. I just came home one day and they were gone. I knew this Brownie family and they thought it might have been foul play. Like wizards or werewolves or something. I never did find out one way or another. Anyhow, the Brownies thought I’d be better off making myself scarce, so they took me ‘round to Waterford and dumped me off there. I was settee surfing for a while, staying with different people. I got in with a gang of fellows and we bashed around some.” Kieran shrugged his shoulders. “Sometimes you do what you have to so you have cash enough to eat, right?
