So she focused. She concentrated. She dredged up everything she’d used the night before and reached for more. Then she threw herself into the fight.
Dropping into a crouch, Maggie swung out her leg, knocked his out from under him and felt the earth shake when he landed on his back. But he was fast as well as big, and in an instant he was back on his feet, looking a little less cocky. Then his eyes narrowed on her, sparks of red jittered in their centers and he growled as he reached for her.
Maggie let him get close enough that he thought he was going to win. She could see it in his eyes. He was already doing a private victory dance, thinking he had her. He was going to turn her around so she couldn’t breathe on him; then he was going to kill her and steal the Fae power. Or, at least, she guessed that was the plan.
But while he was celebrating she ducked under his beefy arms, slashed out with her left hand and sent blue-and-white bolts of energy flashing at him. He shrieked as flames tickled his shirt, burned into his skin, and while he worried about the fire Maggie came in even closer, drew on everything she had inside her and sent a stream of Faery dust at his eyes.
The demon knew what was coming in the instant before those golden flecks of power reached him. He made a last-minute grab for the receptacle, wanting to hold it up, to catch the dust and save himself, but he was way too slow. Way too late.
His eyes went wide and horrified and he pulled in one last breath before releasing it in a scream that scraped the air like knives on metal. Then he burst into a cloud of dust that the wind picked up and carried out of the yard in a gritty haze. He was gone. She was alive.
Good times.
“Oh, my God!” Claire was the first to reach her, and wrapped Maggie in a hard hug as she jumped up and down in excitement. “You did it. You killed him. And you’re not even hurt!” She checked Maggie’s shoulders and winced. “Well, all right, some scratches, but I can heal those for you. Maggie, you were wonderful.”
She was still reeling. Still feeling the adrenaline coursing through her, mingling with the Fae power, making her a trembling bundle of Maggie. But Claire was right: She’d done it. Actually done it. Yes, she’d fought a couple of demons before this, but she’d won those matches as much through luck as skill.
The Gray man had been different, too, she told herself. Culhane had been there, and despite the fact that she’d fought the Fae on her own, a part of her had known that the warrior was close enough to depend on if things went badly.
But here she’d truly been standing on her own two feet. She’d had to face the fact that those she cared about were in danger and still manage to keep her head. She’d had to remember, to concentrate, to think and feel her way through powers that she hadn’t had nearly enough time to get used to yet. And she’d done it. Despite Bezel’s doubts. Despite her own doubts—Maggie had proven herself.
“You really were great, Aunt Maggie.” Eileen’s eyes were shining with pride and admiration. “It was awesome .”
“I did it,” Maggie muttered, breathing hard but smiling. She could look into the faces she loved and realize that she had saved them. Protected them from the things her nightmares had been showing her. She’d faced the beast and she’d survived again. On her own. Because of what she could do, she’d saved them all.
“Yeah, yeah.” Bezel interrupted and pushed both Claire and Eileen aside. When he was in front of Maggie he looked up at her, his gaze hard and clear. “Big deal. You beat a pissed-off demon.”
“Here, now,” Claire argued. “Give her her due, at least, you miserable little troll. She won.”
“Yeah,” Maggie said, offended that Bezel couldn’t take one stupid minute to give her a damn pat on the back. “Don’t I get a little time to ‘whoopee’ a little? ‘Yay, me’ and all that? Isn’t this what I’ve been working my ass off for? Hell, Bezel, you’ve been training me night and day; aren’t you at least glad I was listening?”
“You don’t get it, do you?” He shook his head viciously, and his long silver hair flew in wild wisps. Bending down, he grabbed a handful of dirt from the edge of the garden and stood up again. “See this?” He let the soil drift from his hand as he said, “This is what you fought.” Then he pointed to the mountains in the distance. “That is what you face.”
The glow of victory inside Maggie flickered and died as she stared at the mountains. He was right, blast him to his own version of hell and back. She hated that he was right. Hated that she’d lost the certainty in her own abilities that she’d had just a second ago. Hated that fear was creeping back in.
This demon, though big and horrifying, was nothing compared to the battle still waiting for her. She hadn’t learned enough to match powers with a Faery queen, for God’s sake. She was the one who was going to be slapping at licks of flame rippling across her shirt when she faced Mab. If she was lucky that was all Mab would do to her.
The queen had centuries of practice dealing with her powers. She no doubt had more power than Maggie, too. There was just no way this was going to turn out well.
“You think Mab’s gonna be taken care of with a few energy bolts?” He snorted in disgust. “What? She doesn’t have ’em? Come on!”
“She’ll do it,” Claire sniped. “I’ve seen it.”
“Oooh.” Bezel shuddered. “The witch speaks. I’m so scared. Save me.”
Maggie glared at him. “Thanks for the pep talk, Coach.” Then she hobbled toward the house, looking for some aspirin.
The dreams came again that night, moving through Maggie’s mind at lightning speed. The images changed, distorted, shifted and swirled, blending together, then drifting apart again.
She saw Nora happy, and in the next instant her sister was dead. Before she could so much as scream, though, the dream changed again, and Maggie saw herself as queen of the Fae, with warriors bowing to her—then she saw herself dead at Culhane’s feet.
She twisted anxiously in her sleep, trying to escape. Trying to find a way out of what was coming. When she woke with a start, gasping for air, she knew, bone deep, that there was no way out. No way to avoid the confrontation that was headed at her with the single-mindedness of fate.
Pushing her sweat-dampened hair back from her face, Maggie sat alone in the dark and replayed all of the disturbing images in her mind again. Which future was real? Were any of them? Was the future set in stone already, and all of this nothing more than an exercise in futility? Or could the future be rewritten?
“Even if I can rewrite it,” she murmured, needing to hear a voice, if only her own, “how do I do it? And if I die, what happens to Nora and Eileen?”
God, she wasn’t ready to die yet. There was way too much she wanted to do. She wanted to see Europe. Wanted to walk down quiet streets in Paris or sit in a café and look out at the Alps. She wanted to taste wine in Tuscany and go back to Ireland and paint all the magic she’d seen there as a kid.
“But none of that’s going to happen until you get through this, Maggie,” she told herself firmly, despite the quaver in her voice. “Because like it or not, destiny’s in charge here. So get on board already. Because anybody standing in the way is going to get crushed.”
Culhane and the warriors were as ready as they could be. There was really nothing more they could do until Maggie finally faced Mab.
The rumbles of Otherworld were louder, he thought, stalking down a long silver road leading from the palace to the closest village. There were fights among the Fae now, as people chose sides and declared their loyalties. Male Fae were already beginning to rebel against their women, which was making for even more trouble, as females suddenly were faced with mates who were no longer willing to take orders.
The scent of flowers hung in the air, and he narrowed his gaze, squinting into the glare of the suns. Light flashed off the crystal and silver, shimmered on the leaves of the trees, slanted off windowpanes with a beauty that was familiar. Still, he felt the undercurrent of an ugliness that had been building for centuries.
Mab, t
hough, didn’t see it. Or chose not to. He’d left her only moments ago and he could still hear her.
“Why haven’t you found the stolen Fae power yet? It’s mine by right,” she said, giving him a haughty look that she’d perfected over the centuries. “I am your queen, and I expect better from my warriors.”
“Yes,” he said, hoping to appease and at the same time keep her unaware of his divided loyalties. “But, my queen, there is unrest in Otherworld. The warriors are being called on to settle disputes in the streets and can’t be expected to roam the mortal world searching for stray power.”
Mab narrowed her glorious eyes on him in a fit of temper that had sparks lifting from her fingertips. “I didn’t ask the warriors to get me that power, Consort. I commanded it of you.”
“You did. And I will find it and bring it to you.” He didn’t add, of course, that when he brought the power to her, that power would be within the woman he hoped would defeat the queen. “But I cannot leave the problems here for my warriors to handle alone.”
“Then they are incapable of action without your guidance? What pitiful warriors I find I have.”
“No, my queen,” he said. “I thought only to be here where I’m needed.”
She stood up from her throne, stepped off the podium and walked toward him. “I tell you where you’re needed, Consort.”
“I am, as always, at your command.”
Mab tilted her head to one side, her long blond hair falling in a thick wave off her shoulders. She stared up into his eyes and wondered aloud, “Are you? Are you still my loyal consort, Culhane? It’s been some time since I’ve called you to my bed.”
For that he was grateful. He would do what he must, but Culhane had no wish to join with the queen when his body wanted only Maggie Donovan. But he couldn’t say that much aloud. So he fell back on the courtly responses he knew Mab expected. “It has been too long, my queen.”
Lifting one hand, he touched her waist, let his fingertips caress the curve of her hip. She smiled as if satisfied, then stepped back and away from him abruptly.
“I find I’m much too busy to satisfy you at the moment, Consort. Get you to the mortal world.” She fixed him with a stare that was filled with impatience and greed. “Find the power and bring it to me at once. If your warriors are so clumsy, so inadequate to the task of controlling Otherworld while you’re gone, then there will have to be unrest until you’ve returned.”
Culhane nodded and gave her a brief bow. “I will go immediately.”
“Good.” Her voice stopped him before he could leave the throne room. “And, Culhane, I grow impatient. Do not keep me waiting.”
Maggie’d rather face another Gray man than vacuum. But despite the fact that she had windows to paint, demons to fight and a queen to kill, life went on. Clothes had to be washed, vacuums had to be run, groceries had to be bought.
“Screw fighting demons,” Maggie muttered as she hovered five feet off the floor, scraping off a layer or two of grime off the top of the damned entertainment center. “Dusting will kill you.”
She hated housecleaning more than any other thing in the known universe. She’d always thought, What’s the point? It only gets dirty again. Seemed like a massive waste of time and effort to her, but on the other hand, she hated a mess, too.
Naturally, being a sensible woman, Maggie had hired a cleaning service to come in twice a month to do most of it. In between times Maggie did the decluttering and putting away of stuff. But she’d been a little distracted the last couple of weeks, and now she had no choice but to clean before the maids arrived the next day and discovered what a slob she was.
Watery sunlight spilled through the open living room curtains, and a slight breeze skipped in through the partially opened windows. The scent of the sea filled the old house, and Maggie started humming to keep herself company. With the place empty, it felt a little weird to be all alone. She’d been surrounded by people and action for the last couple of weeks. Hearing herself think was a novelty.
“What are you doing?”
“Jesus!” Maggie grabbed the top of the entertainment center, whipped her head around and glared at Culhane, floating right alongside her. “To answer your question,” she said, choking back her heart, currently lodged in her throat, “I’m having the crap scared out of me by a Faery. You?”
“I meant, why are you wasting time with menial tasks?”
“How should I be wasting my time, then?” She dropped to the floor, picked up the vacuum and turned it on, hoping to drown him out or make him leave. Either one would do. But the high-pitched whine coming from the machine told her she’d probably sucked up one of Sheba’s chew toys.
“Perfect.” She snapped off the machine, flipped it over and began digging past the roller. “This is just freaking perfect. Why are you here?”
He dropped to the floor beside her, then crouched so that he could look her in the eye. His scent wafted around her, and Maggie drew it in deeply with every breath. The forest, leather, him.
The damn Faery was a walking temptation. Or, as the nuns used to say, an occasion of sin. Hell, he was sin. Maggie had lain awake most of last night—after the nightmares drove even the thought of sleep out of her mind—thinking about . . . well, everything. She’d come to the conclusion that the only way she was going to keep her head on straight through the rest of this was to stop thinking about Culhane. About the way he made her feel. Want. She needed desperately to be able to concentrate on the little things, like . . . staying alive.
Wouldn’t you know he’d show up as if to test her newfound resolve? Why the hell did he have to smell so good?
“I’ve come to take you with me back to Otherworld.”
Of course he had. Watch her kill a Gray man, disappear for a few hours—how long was that in Faery time? And now he shows up to whisk her off for more show-and-tell in fairy-tale land. She glanced at him from beneath her lashes and felt her stomach lurch and her mouth go dry.
His eyes, so pale, so clear and sharp, were fixed on her. His mouth lush, and so damn kissable she could almost taste him. His jaw strong and hard, and set now as if it were stone. A welling tide of attraction and desire rose up inside her and stole what little breath she had left. The man was too big a distraction. One she couldn’t afford right now.
“Can’t.” There. She’d said it. Yay, her. She turned her gaze back to the upended vacuum and kept digging past the roller that still had tinsel wrapped around it from last Christmas. Damn stuff. They ought to make cars out of tinsel. It was indestructible. “Sorry. Kinda busy at the moment.”
“With cleaning tasks? Maggie—”
“Culhane, don’t. I’ve got a life to get back together. I don’t have time for another visit to the tree house.” She didn’t have the endurance for it, either. It had been hard enough before, being shut away with him in his house in the forest. Now, though, that much togetherness time would only result in sex, and then she’d be even more scattered than she was now. She so didn’t need that.
Finally she found the obstruction behind the roller, yanked it out and scowled down at a green-and-gold button. “Not Sheba’s. Bezel’s. Off that ugly suit he’s always wearing.”
She tossed the button onto the coffee table and stood up. Looking down at Culhane, she whipped her hair back out of her face and told him, “I appreciate the offer of a field trip, but I’ve got to finish this cleaning, do some laundry, then, when Claire and Eileen get back from the grocery store, put all of that stuff away.”
Culhane stood up, his movements slow, deliberate. He grabbed her hands, and she felt the heat and sizzle of his touch dart up her arms and settle in her chest. God, she so didn’t need this right now. Yet everything in her yearned for it.
“This isn’t your world anymore, Maggie.”
It was the one thing he could have said to shatter the little spell she’d felt being woven around her by his nearness, his touch. She didn’t want to lose her world.
“You’re wrong,�
�� she said, and tugged her hands free. “This is my real world. This is my reality. A water heater that’s on its last legs. Painting jobs piled up and waiting for me. A niece who’s worried about her mom and flunking math. A friend who’s worried about me and trying not to show it. A crabby pixie living in my oak tree and eating all my damn cookies. It’s a life that sometimes includes fighting the stray demon. It’s not the other way around,” she said, getting a little hot as she defended her right to have a normal life. “I won’t be what you want and try to squeeze in what I want in my off hours. I can’t live like that, Culhane. I need normal.”
“Your life has changed,” he told her, moving in so close that Maggie could see only him—nothing behind him, around him, only Culhane. Only his eyes. “Normal for you now is what others will never know.”
“I don’t want your normal. I want my own.” Stubborn, she knew it, but couldn’t stop. She heard the near whine in her voice and couldn’t silence it. “God, when all this started I actually thought, Okay, cool. Break out of your rut, Maggie. Get out there. Have some excitement in your life. Well now, that rut’s looking pretty damn comfy, I can tell you.”
Bedeviled Page 28
