by Alyssa Day
She shivered. “Were you here then? World War Two?”
He turned to look at her almost as if he’d forgotten she was there. “For part of it. We were in France a lot, helping with the Resistance. Germany used shape-shifters against farmers. It was a slaughter.” His face hardened. “Never again. I will never let that happen again. We have to find that sword and stop this.”
Sean switched the radio back on, and the announcer’s voice rang out in the oppressive silence in the car.
“The prime minister has announced that she and other heads of state will be meeting within the next few hours by teleconference to discuss the increasingly dangerous threat from the supernatural community, with the possibility of military action on the table. The prime minister’s political opponents are claiming—”
Sean shut it back off. “This is going to be really bad, isn’t it?”
“Not if we can help it, Sean,” Christophe said, clasping his shoulder for a moment.
Fiona appreciated that he’d used the word “we,” but she held his hand tightly all the way home.
St. Mary’s tube station
Gideon stared down at the stupid vampire who had caused him so much trouble. It was really always the same with vampires. All one needed to do was wait for daylight. This one, although old enough to be awake most of the day, certainly in the dark this far below ground, was dead to the world. Wielding the power of the Siren must have drained the vampire’s energy. Even now, Telios clutched the sword in his skeletal hands.
Gideon paused to smile at his own joke. Dead to the world. And soon truly dead to the world. It was the matter of seconds to drive the wooden stake through Telios’s heart, wrench Vanquish out of the vampire’s clutching hands, and watch as the pathetic creature once known as Jack the Ripper dissolved into acidic slime. The curse didn’t activate, of course. One could not steal an item from a dead vampire.
“Thank you,” Gideon said, mocking the corpse. “Now I have much to do. I think I’ll take advantage of your little ploy and build from there. The next headlines will be ‘Fae prince saves the day.’ ”
Caressing the sword and its lovely, lovely gemstone, Gideon took a last look around the miserable place. “A fitting tomb, don’t you think? And now on to the next phase of my plan. Where do you think Lady Fiona might be?”
He stepped back out of the path of the spreading slime. “Oh, my apologies. You don’t have a brain left to think with.” He chuckled at his own wit and then opened a doorway to his home. “I wonder if she has received my message yet?”
Chapter 35
Campbell Manor
Hopkins met them at the door before they made it out of the garage. “A note just came for you, Lady Fiona.” His body practically hummed with suppressed fury. “I think we may have a problem.”
He turned to Sean. “If you would please open the vault and bring out the special items I showed you once?”
“Are you sure?” Sean’s face turned pale.
“Yes.”
Sean wasted no more time with questions, but just took off back toward the garage.
Christophe and Fiona followed Hopkins inside and to her office. “What kind of problem? We don’t need another problem. Did you read the note?” Fiona asked.
“I would not read your mail.”
“I think we’re a little past that. Have you listened to the news?”
Hopkins nodded grimly. “I was going to wait five more minutes for you and then read it. I think Declan’s in trouble.”
He handed over a thick envelope, cream parchment with her name elegantly written on it in slanted black letters and bold black ink. She ripped it open and held the note out so they could all see it.
Lady Fiona,
As you may know, I am not precisely the man you assumed me to be. I should like to meet with both of you to discuss our future plans. Your brother has graciously accepted my hospitality, as well, and is currently enjoying a bit of light refreshment. Tell the man from the water that Declan tells me the wine is a very good vintage.
Yours,
Fairsby, Lord Summerlands
Suddenly she couldn’t breathe. Her lungs absolutely refused to draw in air. She collapsed to the floor before Hopkins or Christophe could catch her.
“He has Declan. Feransel has Declan.”
“We’ll get him back,” Christophe said, scooping her up off the floor and into his arms. “I swear to you by my oath as a Warrior of Poseidon that we will get him back.”
“What does it mean?” She pushed away from Christophe and smoothed out the crumpled letter. “I get that ‘man from the water’ is you and ‘Lord Summerlands’ is a not very subtle way to say lord from the Summer Lands especially since that’s not his title, but what does that mean about the wine?”
“It means that Declan accepted drink, maybe food, too, so they more than likely have enchanted him.”
She thought about it. Thought about all the reasons why she should remain sane, and calm, and rational.
And then she threw back her head and screamed.
Christophe understood what she was feeling. He even understood her need to howl out her rage. But it wasn’t helping their current problem, and he needed for her to think. He figured he’d give her another minute before he tried shaking her or pouring cold water on her head, or whatever he should do to calm hysteria. One minute, and then she had to stop.
She stopped screaming thirty seconds later.
“Right,” she said briskly, as if she hadn’t just had a minimeltdown. “Let’s figure out what to do next.”
Her cell phone rang. She pulled it out like it was a lifeline, then held it up in a shaking hand. “It’s him. It’s Declan.”
She flipped it open and adjusted something so they could all hear.
“Declan, honey, are you okay?”
“How touching.” Fairsby’s voice—no, Feransel’s voice—rang out.
A wave of fury hotter than molten steel forged in the fires of the nine hells swept through Christophe, searing and burning everything in its path, until all that was left was rage and determination. The Fae was going to die for hurting Fiona. He was already a dead man. He just didn’t know it yet.
“You put my brother on the phone, Fairsby, at once,” Fiona demanded.
The Fae laughed, and even through the phone, the sound was so chillingly evil that all three of them recoiled as if a serpent perched on the tiny electronic device instead of at its other end.
“He’s a little busy at the time, with a few water nymphs. Did you know your baby brother is a virgin?” He laughed again. “Oh, too bad. I do believe was is the correct verb tense.”
All the blood drained out of Fiona’s face. Christophe took the phone out of her shaking hand.
“What a brave elf to play with little boys, na Feransel,” Christophe said, mocking him. “Does your mommy still wipe your ass for you, too?”
“Call me elf at your own peril, Atlantean. I would think, in any case, that you had enough to concern you,” the Fae said; still calm, still taunting.
Christophe had shaken that smug serenity a little bit, though, and he planned to shake it up even more. “I heard Telios stole your thunder with the Siren. Sad, that. Outwitted by a vampire. What’s next? Shifters in the Summer Lands?”
“Ah, yes. Telios. I learned of his little demonstration just a bit too late. So sad that he was defenseless in his sleep this morning. One would have expected more of a fight from the celebrated Jack the Ripper. I so wanted to keep his head to decorate my wall. So tragic that they dissolve so fast.”
Fiona traded a glance with Hopkins and then they both looked at Christophe. She made a “move it along” gesture.
“What, you expect us to mourn for him? Where and when do you want to meet? The boy had better be safe and intact, or you will answer to me.” Christophe never raised his voice. He didn’t have to. Power roared through his body and enhanced his words until they thundered through the air and into the phone.
&
nbsp; “Interesting trick,” the Fae said. “Your voice alone just killed my favorite rosebush. I’ll have to take that out of someone’s flesh, of course, but it was interesting. I wonder how much of that raw, rough power I have caused.”
Christophe stared at the phone, but knew better than to allow the Fae to draw him into a useless argument.
“When and where?” Fiona shouted at the phone, at the Fae. “Just tell us when and where, damn you.”
“The dulcet tones of my future wife. Yes, my dearest one, I know you are impatient to join with me and bear my sons. Tonight, at midnight. A bit clichéd, but for a reason. The hour holds sacred power here in the Summer Lands.”
Fiona fell back against the desk, her mouth opening and closing, but no sound came out. Christophe took over, forcing himself to ignore the bit about “future wife”—for now.
“How do we get there?”
“Come to Fairsby Manor, of course,” the Fae who was and was not Fairsby replied. “I’ll be there to meet you. Midnight and not a minute sooner, mind, and only the two of you. Oh, and Fiona? I’ll gladly trade your brother’s freedom for that Atlantean’s head on a plate.”
The click as he hung up on them echoed in the space between the three of them.
Hopkins nodded once, decisively. “Now we go plan how to kick his arse.”
“Yes,” Fiona said. “Now.”
An hour later
They’d cleaned up and changed from the explosion’s after-math, and now all Fiona wanted to do was take off for Lord Fairsby’s family home and find her brother.
“Believe me. I’d be all for it if it had a chance in the nine hells of working, but it doesn’t,” Christophe said. “The entry to the Summer Lands moves around, and never at the request of non-Fae. It’s like the portal to Atlantis. It has a mind of its own. If we try to storm the place early, na Feransel will make sure we never find your brother.”
A shimmering glow was their only warning before the portal he’d just mentioned opened right before their eyes. He pulled Fiona behind him and drew his daggers, but then shoved them back in their sheaths, sighing with relief, as Brennan, Bastien, and Justice walked through, one by one.
“We hear you could use some help,” Justice said, his long blue hair tied back in his customary braid and the hilt of his sword rising above his shoulder. He bowed to Fiona. “My lady.”
“You all came? To help me?” Christophe couldn’t quite believe it. He’d spent years shutting them all out. But then he realized what the real mission must be. “Oh, of course. The Siren.”
“No, my friend,” Bastien said, his voice rumbling out of the middle of his seven-foot-tall frame. “We knew you could retrieve the Siren on your own. We mostly wanted to see this woman who has finally taught you some manners, according to Princess Riley.”
He, too, bowed to Fiona.
She inclined her head. “Welcome to Campbell Manor. This is my dear friend, Hopkins. The plans have changed. We need to storm the Summer Lands to fight an Unseelie Court prince who has kidnapped my brother, probably has your Siren, wants to make me his brood mare, and claims to have unfinished business with Christophe. Got it?”
A huge smile spread on Brennan’s face, which still seemed wrong, somehow. The warrior had spent more than two thousands of years with no emotion at all, thanks to a really nasty curse Poseidon had thrown at him. Now that he had regained his emotions and fallen in love, he often tried out really terrible jokes on the rest of them.
“Christophe,” Brennan said, still smiling. “I really, really like this woman.”
“As do we all,” Hopkins said dryly, shaking hands with each of them. “Tea?”
“Guinness?” Bastien asked, hope shining on his face.
“You need a clear head,” Fiona said, looking way, way up at him. Then she sighed. “I’m guessing you can metabolize a pint before midnight.”
Bastien bowed again. “Atlantean metabolism, my lady. We can only very rarely become even the slightest bit drunk. It takes great effort.”
“Or great stupidity,” Justice added. All three of them looked at Christophe.
“Nice. With friends like you . . .”
“And the room floods with testosterone,” Hopkins observed. “This way, gentlemen? I believe Lady Fiona and Christophe have some issues to discuss.”
He looked back at them before following the Atlanteans out. “I have more help coming. The stockpile.”
Fiona nodded, her face brightening. “Of course. Hopkins, you’re brilliant.”
He smiled modestly. “Just doing my job.”
Christophe looked back and forth between the two of them. “What stockpile?”
“We’ve guns that shoot lovely iron pellets. We’ve swords with iron blades. All of the things that the Fae hate, in other words.” She smiled fiercely, and suddenly he almost felt sorry for the Fae. “We’re going to hurt him for daring to take my brother. We’re going to make him pay.”
Chapter 36
“If he’s hurt, I’ve done it. I had to play ninja and my actions had repercussions. If they hurt Declan, or worse, it’s just the same, you see?” She sat with her knees pulled up to her chest, aching with the need to cry, but her burning eyes were dry as death.
“You think you’re like your grandfather?” Christophe shook his head. “Never, sweetheart. This is not your fault. We’ve been through this. If you need to blame somebody, blame me.” He tried to hold her, but she pushed him away.
“No. He’s mine. If he’s in trouble, I’m the one. I’m just as bad as my grandfather, playing at ninja and theft, only to have the hurt fall on the innocent. My grandfather got my father killed. Now I . . . now I . . .”
She curled over into a ball, willing herself not to vomit. Sick and weak and shaky, she was no good to Declan.
Christophe paced back and forth, back and forth. “You don’t even have to ask, you know. Of course I’ll do it.”
She could feel his sincerity and his love lighting up the connection between them like a sun gone supernova, and she wanted to roll around in the heat and light, but she forced the door in her heart to close. It hurt too much, otherwise.
“I’ll trade myself for Declan,” Christophe said, spelling it out. “You don’t have to ask. My head will make that plate look good.”
His feeble attempt at humor died in the air between them, but she appreciated the effort. It was far more than she could do.
Flashes of memory of Declan kept shooting through her mind. Him as a baby, as a toddler who followed her everywhere, calling for his “Fee Fee.” She’d hated that; thought it made her sound like a French poodle. Fifi Campbell.
School days, protecting him from the bullies who thought an orphaned pair might be fair game. They’d learned otherwise quickly enough.
“Oh, Dec,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry. I’m coming for you. Your Fee Fee is coming.”
Christophe lifted her clear off the chair and then sat down with her in his lap and simply held her while she finally cried. By the time the rest of the Atlanteans returned, she’d cleaned away any trace of tears and was ready to plan.
When they entered the room, Christophe stood and introduced them to her. “Lady Fiona Campbell, this is Lord Justice. He’s okay in spite of the hair.”
Justice faked a swat at Christophe’s head and Christophe ducked and grinned. Fiona caught a flash of true fondness from Christophe’s emotions and was glad for him.
“Just Fiona, please,” she said, shaking hands.
“And simply Justice, for us,” he said, oddly referring to himself in the plural. He was tall, dark, and gorgeous, like they all were, but with a streak of wildness in his eyes. Probably why his hair was in a braid that fell to his hips and he wore such a huge sword.
“Is there iron in that sword?” She knew she was being abrupt, but she didn’t have time to waste on courtesies when Declan’s life hung in the balance.
“No iron, but it has its own unique properties,” he said. “It will send the F
ae running.”
“Brennan is the one with the sense of humor and the very bad jokes,” Christophe said, and the one who’d told Christophe he really liked her nodded.
“Bastien is the giant. Also a damn fine cook.”
Bastien inclined his head. “My pleasure, Lady Fiona.”
“Now what?” She looked around at each of them in turn. “You’ve faced them before, I have not, so I repeat, now what?”
Sean walked into the room rolling a cart. “I think I have an idea.”
He opened the top of the cart and Fiona saw every type of iron weapon she could possibly have hoped for, all stacked and shining like a murderer’s dream.
“Have you tried to reach Denal on the mental pathway?” Justice asked Christophe. “Do you want any of us to try?”
Christophe shrugged. “If you can, please do. Maybe you’ll have better luck. I have had no success at all. Wherever he is, he either can’t hear me, or he doesn’t want to answer.”
He refused to think of the third possibility.
Hopkins walked in and Fiona almost fell over. He wasn’t wearing his suit, for perhaps the first time in her life. Instead, he was dressed all in black and he looked tough and deadly. He calmly began fastening a shoulder holster to himself.
Justice wandered over and picked up an iron sword and checked its balance. “This one is good,” he told Hopkins.
“We’re taking the butler?” Bastien asked. “I mean you no offense, sir, but—”
“I prefer these,” Hopkins interrupted Bastien, but he was answering Justice. He chose an assortment of guns, loaded them, and holstered them in various places around his person, all in record time. “Not much for swords, but I caused some trouble with guns, back in the day.” He met Fiona’s gaze. “I plan to do so again tonight.”
She nodded. “Thank you, Hopkins. You’ve always been there for us. I can’t imagine surviving tonight without you.”
