Dark and Stormy: Phantom Queen Book 4 - A Temple Verse Series (The Phantom Queen Diaries)

by Shayne Silvers

  A brief flash of memory momentarily overwhelmed me—the astonishingly sure-footed blind man I had briefly met in the city of spires, before he had chucked me into a boat drawn by the most stunning creature I’d ever seen. The Otherworld. That’s what he’d called his strange island.

  I had to admit, the offer was tempting.

  Especially the idea of seeing a blind man about a horse…

  But I couldn’t; I had things to do.

  “Maybe some other time,” I replied, finally.

  Macha rested her hand on my other shoulder. “Ye should know that the Tuatha are not meant to live in the mortal realm forever. One day, ye will have to accept your role among us, whatever that may be.”

  I arched an eyebrow. “Meanin’ what? That I don’t have a choice?”

  The sisters drew back. “Maybe ye do,” Macha chimed, studying me. “Perhaps that’s why your ma kept ye from us. So you’d have a choice. But power draws power.”

  “Which means,” Badb added, her husky voice heavy with implication, “ye may want to accept what ye are, sooner rather than later.”

  “And what am I?” I asked, holding my hands out in supplication.

  Macha took my hand, and I felt the briefest twinge of her power whisper over my pebbled skin. “That’s easy,” she replied.

  Badb took my other hand, flooding me with her energy. “You’re our niece.”

  In eerie unison, they winked, and then stepped away, directly into a freshly-opened Gateway, disappearing before I could so much as say goodbye. I stared after them, trying to come to terms with how I felt, but couldn’t. I’d been on an emotional roller coaster for so long, I realized, that I didn’t even know if I was going up or down. Or what to do when the world wasn’t topsy-turvy.

  Alucard, seeing that I was alone, headed over. “Well how ‘bout it, cher? You ready to go home?”

  I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Aye, why not?” I replied, feeling strangely torn over the simple, four-letter word.

  Home.

  Overhead, a horrifying whinny sounded, drawing the attention of everyone onboard. I knew that sound…suddenly, a black, winged horse from the darkest depths of my nightmares burst through the clouds, charging directly at the double rainbow that lingered in the sky, his single horn glinting, eyes gleaming with lethal intent.

  The Goddamned murdercorn I’d first seen in Neverland.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I said, rubbing the bridge of my nose.

  “Looks like Grimm’s going for a double,” Alucard drawled, grinning.

  “Get me out of here,” I said, sighing, trying to ignore the joyous neighs from above as the creature stomped and stabbed to his black heart’s content.

  “As you wish,” Alucard replied as he hooked one arm around my waist and pulled me close.

  For once, I didn’t complain.

  Chapter 46

  Alucard took to the clouds, flying so high above the city that we’d easily be mistaken for something other than what we were—not that it mattered. Realistically, the jig had to be up after the battle on Massachusetts Bay. I mean, I’d created a Gateway the size of Wal-Mart that bled over into a whole other dimension—who could possibly explain that away? Then again, the masses had bought the government’s insanely feeble explanation for a wildlife preserve suddenly emerging on the Brooklyn Bridge…so what did I know? Either way, I didn’t mind; the flight was peaceful, the relative solitude more than welcome after the past few days.

  Christ, had I even slept? No wonder my emotions were spiraling out of control; other than briefly passing out from exhaustion and trauma, I’d basically run at breakneck speed from one crazy scenario to another without so much as a breather. Which meant, if I really wanted to sit down and sort my shit out, I desperately needed some sleep.

  Otherwise, I was bound to crash at the worst possible moment.

  Fortunately, by the time Alucard set me down outside my apartment, I was damn near ready to fall over and nap on the pavement. Hell, thinking about my bed was making me salivate. I slid away from the vampire, slapped my cheeks a little to wake myself up for the daunting trek to my apartment door, and headed towards the entrance.

  “You gonna say goodbye, cher?” Alucard asked. “Or is this you inviting me up?”

  Oh, right. Manners and shit.

  “Aye,” I replied, then whirled, blushing as I realized that I’d answered the wrong question. “I mean, aye, I’ll say goodbye,” I stammered.

  Alucard chuckled. “You going to be alright up there, all by yourself?”

  I scowled at him. “D’ye t’ink I can’t take care of meself?”

  Alucard shook his head. “No, I know you can do that. What I mean is…” he rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, the Huntress filled me in on what she saw when she got to your aunt Dez’s place. All jokes aside, I thought I’d offer…well, whatever you needed.” He glanced up at me, his eyes so earnest it almost hurt to look at them. “So, again…will you be okay? By yourself, I mean?”

  I looked away, fighting off the absurd urge to cry. I hated crying, ever since I was a little girl. It always made me look like a tomato—my face and eyes all puffy and red beneath a mound of burgundy locks. In my mind, crying was something you did on your own, in the privacy of your own room, with the childhood teddy bear you kept locked in a very secret, very well-hidden place. Still, Alucard was making it awfully hard on me; for some reason, his sympathy made it all real—too real.

  Dez was gone.

  And I was all alone.

  I shook my head, sniffing once. “I’ll be fine,” I replied. “I just need some sleep.”

  Alucard nodded, apparently deciding that—if I could pretend to be fine—he could pretend he believed me. He skirted around me and held the door open, like a true Southern gentleman. I had to admit, that act alone damn near sealed the deal for me. Maybe it wouldn’t be terrible, inviting him up. I could use the company, after all. And as distractions went, I had a feeling he’d be a good one. Hell, him being a vampire didn’t even bother me anymore; it had been a while since I last thought of him as just a vampire.

  But there was one problem he wasn’t yet aware of—a big one.

  I didn’t screw men I might have to kill.

  No matter how much fun it would be, or even how much I enjoyed our witty banter, Alucard was on Team Temple. Hopefully—one day—that wouldn’t matter, but today it meant he was potentially on an opposing side. A side I had to keep things from. A side I might have to lie to.

  And so I brushed hurriedly past, without so much as a goodbye.

  Manners…maybe one day I’d learn some.

  Chapter 47

  Turned out, my door was locked.

  But, not just locked, it was also warded.

  To keep out anything that wasn’t human—anything.

  Including me, apparently. I’d tried to will the door open using the very abilities which kept me out and, when that didn’t work, I seriously considered running straight through the wall like Juggernaut—the price of patching it up potentially worth the reward of sleeping in my own bed.

  But I didn’t.

  Because I was an adult, Goddamn it.

  Sadly, that meant—since I’d left Alucard, my one available mode of transportation, without saying goodbye—I was forced to find someplace else to go. Someplace that wouldn’t kick me out for looking like a refugee, didn’t require any money since I’d lost my wallet when my bug-out bag went down with Narcissus’ passenger ship, and—preferably—had lots and lots of free booze.

  Because, after the shit I’d been through, I was fully prepared to drink myself to death.

  Sadly, where I ended up met only two out of my three conditions—Christoff’s bar.

  The building, which he still owned despite having been missing for so long, was easy to break into—unlike my fucking warded apartment. Unfortunately, while the empty pop-up bar provided a warm, dry place to stay without having to pay a dime, all the liquor had been cleared off
the shelves, leaving only a dusty bar top, a few stools, and a mirror I refused to look in lest I run from my own reflection.

  And that’s where the Huntress found me, face down on the bar, using the ratty blanket I’d gotten on Hook’s ship as a pillow, afraid to fall asleep and tumble off my barstool, but equally afraid that if I stayed up too much longer I might actually die. I’d heard you could do that, you know—die from lack of sleep.

  Her boots cracked savagely against the floor, shocking me upright.

  “Knew I’d find you here,” she said, slipping onto the barstool beside me.

  I scowled. “No ye didn’t. Not even I knew I’d be here,” I muttered. “Welcome to the saddest hellhole in the universe,” I complained, pointing at the empty, dusty shelves. “A bar with no booze.”

  “Well, I knew you’d be here after I tried literally every other place I could think of,” the Huntress clarified, a ghost of a smile on her lips as she appraised me from feet to doily.

  She didn’t look very impressed, but then I didn’t feel very impressive as I glared back at her, trying to make sense of what she was doing with her face.

  Was that…a smile?

  “Who are ye, and what have ye done with the Huntress?” I asked, truly wondering if I weren’t hallucinating the woman’s presence. I glanced in the mirror, just to be sure, and nearly fell off my barstool. Sitting beside me was no longer the spitfire woman I’d argued with just a few hours before, but the legendary Hawteye, herself—a creature with blazing eyes, covered in the furs of her numerous kills, and sporting a cloak of shadows. I spun back and found the redhead gazing at me with a passive expression.

  “Do you really want to know?” she asked in a soft, cautious tone, her eyes flicking to the mirror briefly.

  “Do I really want to know what?” I replied, one hand on my chest, trying to slow my racing heartbeat.

  “Who I am.”

  I frowned. “Wait, are ye offerin’ to tell me?”

  “When I thought Balor was coming, I told you we didn’t have time. But you killed him. So I’ve got some to spare. Maybe a half-hour’s worth,” she said, leaning forward on her barstool to pluck a bottle off the shelf that hadn’t been there before.

  My jaw dropped at witnessing the world’s greatest bar trick. Like an Irish Jesus. Ashes to ashes, dust to Scotch.

  Then I saw the brand.

  A dusty bottle of…

  “50-year-old Macallan,” I whispered reverently.

  Huntress nodded. “Thirty minutes should be enough time for us to finish this, I think.”

  She thought we could split a bottle of Scotch that cost thirty grand in a half hour?

  Dear sweet baby Jesus…if I were into women…

  “How,” I whispered, licking my lips, “d’ye do that?” I finally asked, watching as she poured us two glasses—which had also appeared out of thin air.

  “Do what?” she asked absently, her smirk decidedly less horrifying, now.

  “Ye know,” I said, mimicking grabbing a bottle that didn’t exist. “That.”

  “Oh. Practice.”

  “Teach me,” I pleaded, resting my head in the crook of my arm, afraid to blink and realize this had all just been a dream. She passed me my glass, but ignored my request. I sighed and took a sip. “Holy shit,” I said, sitting up a little, the insidious burn working its way luxuriously down. “This even tastes like the real t’ing. Or what I dreamt the real t’ing tasted like, anyway,” I said, worshipping the Scotch before me. I’m not crying. You’re crying.

  The Huntress nodded. “That’s because it is the real thing.” She took a liberal sip.

  I slowly turned to face her, wondering if being locked out of my apartment just may have been the luckiest moment of my life. “Seriously? Where d’ye get a bottle of 50-year-old Macallan?” I asked.

  “I stole it,” she replied, grinning fiercely.

  Of course she did. I took another sip and lay back down, blocking out the sunlight by pressing my face into my arms on the bar top. “I want to be ye when I grow up,” I mumbled.

  A silence settled over the bar, so heavy it suddenly felt like I was the only one in the bar. I frowned and looked up to find the Huntress staring down at me, her expression unreadable, utterly still. “Was it somethin’ I said?” I asked.

  “Your mother,” the Huntress began, “was a goddess among the Fae.”

  I sat up. “Aye, she—”

  The Huntress pressed a finger to my lips. But—before I could bite it off—she continued, “Your father was not.” She raised a hand. “I don’t know who he was. She never did tell me. But he was mortal, of that I am certain.”

  I struggled with the implications of that, trying to figure out what that made me. Half Fae? Half goddess? Half human? What? I opened my mouth to ask those very questions, but found my glass pressed against my lips, the Scotch seeping down my throat, the Huntress’ finger tipping the glass further and further back.

  “This means you will face a difficult decision,” the Huntress said, staring into my eyes over the bottom of my glass. “One I am uniquely familiar with. You see, I was mortal, once.” She settled back, retrieving her own drink, content to leave me be now that she had my full attention. “I trained warriors. Heroes and villains. Legends, many of whom have faded from memory. I also bore a daughter.”

  I arched an eyebrow. The Huntress didn’t really strike me as the maternal type. But maybe that was simply me projecting—although on second thought, anyone who used the phrase I bore a daughter probably wasn’t going to be nominated as mother-of-the-year anytime soon. “What happened to her?” I asked, before I could help myself.

  “She died. A long time ago. She took her own life after being spurned by a man who was supposed to love and protect her,” she said, clenching her teeth. She took a deep breath and polished off the rest of her glass, then began pouring another. “Your mother saw to it that he died.”

  “She did what?” I asked, eyes widening.

  “Don’t act so surprised,” the Huntress said, unperturbed. “As if you’ve never killed someone who wronged you.”

  Well, I mean, yeah. But still…damn.

  “In return for her avenging my daughter, I agreed to look after you. And yes, before you start, I know I’ve done a fairly terrible job of it. Up until the last couple years I was…preoccupied. And I’m sorry for that,” the Huntress said, eyes haunted at the unspoken memory. “But things have changed. You’re no longer a child. No longer protected by your mother’s magic. And I’m no longer… preoccupied. Soon, I suspect, you will have to choose your path.”

  “What does that even mean?” I asked, shaking my head, my hands trembling with frustration. The Huntress sounded just like my aunts—great at explaining problems, but shit at offering solutions.

  “It means you, unlike so many of us, can decide your own fate,” she said, topping me off in the process. “Will you walk among the mortals, with—but not of—them, as your mother did? Will you make your home in Fae as a goddess, ruling those who would worship you? Or will you retreat to the comforts of the Otherworld, among those who would accept you as one of their own, but never understand what drives you?”

  I lay my head back down, overwhelmed by the options—none of which sounded particularly appealing. “I just want me old life back,” I whispered. “I want Dez back. I want to be Quinn MacKenna, just Quinn MacKenna. And I want to be able to get into me damn apartment.”

  “Wait, why can’t you get into your apartment?” the Huntress asked.

  I pursed my lips, but finally told her.

  “Wow, and I thought I had shitty luck,” she said chuckling.

  I glared at her, but then let out a sigh. My eyes settled on the Scotch, and I felt a flicker of a grin as I turned to look back up at her.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Me luck isn’t too bad,” I said, lifting my glass to hers.

  “I can drink to that,” she smiled.

  It went down even smoother than before, and the silence
stretched. But it was a comfortable silence. A companionable silence.

  “Are ye goin’ to tell me who ye are before, or after I kick your immortal ass for bludgeoning me with more problems to think about?” I growled, only half-joking.

  The Huntress grinned and clinked her glass against mine again. “Scathach,” she replied, downing her Scotch and patting me on the back. “My name is Scathach. Now, let’s go break into your apartment so you can get some sleep. You’re going to need it if you want me to train you.”

  I nodded woodenly, convincing myself that I really didn’t want to ask her anymore questions right now. I snatched up my blanket, feeling significantly less battered with at least five grand worth of Scotch in my stomach. I turned to the Faeling who’d once been a mortal woman—the soon-to-be trainer of yet another legend.

  “Bring the Scotch,” I told her, and then marched out to the sound of her laughter and the clinking of her gathering our glasses.

  The sound was like an Angel’s laughter.

  The glasses, not Scathach.

  Her laughter was downright horrifying.

  Chapter 48

  I dreamt.

  Only this time, I knew I was dreaming, just as I knew where I was. I stood on an invisible floor, the light of an unfamiliar galaxy glittering beneath my feet. Familiar, otherworldly windows hung on either side of me for as far as my eyes could see, hanging in thin air. This time, however, what called me was not what lie behind the windows, but the creature who guarded them.

  My mother’s ghost.

  She approached in a white gown, her eyes on fire, as if fated to watch everything burn for eternity. I knew how that felt. It’d been a week since Dez’s death. Her body had been recovered by the EMTs and ruled a homicide, perpetrator unknown; I’d been questioned, but turned loose. We’d had the wake a few days ago. Old family friends had reached out, each expressing sympathy. But none of that mattered. Closure was a lie, and now everywhere I looked I saw a charred, lifeless world.