by Linsey Hall
Good as new.
“Thanks,” I said.
That was my cue. I liked him. Too much, and I had to get out of here.
“I’m going to hit the hay.” I stood and eyed the couch at the back of the plane. It looked divine. Squishy and soft. “Is there a blanket for that couch?”
“Take the bed,” he said. “The door in the back leads to a bedroom.”
“Is there only one bedroom?”
“Yes, but I’ll take the couch.”
I eyed his tall frame. “You’re not exactly going to fit on it.”
“I’ll manage. Take the bed.”
I was so tired, and I really wanted some space to myself. A door between me and Aidan would help me get my head on straight.
“Okay, thanks.” I grabbed my bag and headed to the back.
The gleaming wooden door opened to reveal a luxurious bedroom suite. It was modern and sleek, but the bed looked like heaven. I passed out in seconds; the last thought in my head was of Aidan’s hand on my leg.
I got lucky. If I dreamed of Aidan, I didn’t remember it by the time I woke. The jolt of the plane touching down on the runway jerked me from sleep. I scrambled out of bed and threw on fresh clothes. Just a change of underwear and shirt. My jeans were fine. I usually wore them till they were destroyed anyway. Laundry was lame.
When I entered the main cabin, the exterior door was open, and a fresh breeze blew inside.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” Aidan said. He stood in the small kitchenette, looking refreshed and way too handsome after sleeping on that tiny couch all night. “I made some coffee to go. Want some?”
“Sure.”
“A lot of cream, right?”
“How’d you know?” I didn’t like him knowing things about me. Even innocuous things like this.
“You ordered a latte last night, so you like wimpy coffee.”
And he was observant. Dangerous. “Wimpy coffee? I suppose you drink yours black?”
“Black as my heart.”
I laughed. I didn’t trust him. But I liked him. “You got a muffin to go with that?”
“Blueberry or bran? There’s a basket here with both.”
“Bran. It sounds healthy, but tastes delicious.”
He pulled one out of the basket and handed it to me along with my coffee.
“Ready?” he asked. “There’s a car waiting. We can head to the coast now. I’ve got a boat on stand-by.”
“Is there a type of transportation you can’t access immediately?” This guy had everything.
“No.”
“Spaceship?”
“My company, Origin Enterprises, is in the final testing phase of a shuttle that’s meant to carry valuables to a safe deposit bank on the moon. If you can wait a year or so—until we’re sure it won’t blow up—I can even get you a seat on that.”
“The moon?” I’d really thought I’d stump him with the spaceship thing.
“Safest place for valuables. Even you can’t break in there.”
I frowned. “Huh. That would really kill my business model.”
“No doubt.” He nodded to the stairs. “ Ready?”
“Yeah.” I made my way down the stairs to a white Range Rover. The rolling green of the Irish countryside spread out before me. The scent of grass and the lingering bite of jet fuel mingled in the cool air. I climbed down the rickety stairs, hoping I wouldn’t fall on my face. These little landing stairs were always the worst.
On the ground, a red-haired man greeted us. He was in his forties with freckles and a friendly smile.
“Welcome back, sir.” He handed Aidan a set of keys.
“Thank you, Patrick,” Aidan said.
“Not a problem. I hope you have a fine visit.”
“Give my best to your wife.”
“She’ll be delighted to hear it!” Patrick nodded goodbye and walked toward the terminal.
“Where are we?” I asked. I’d only ever been through the Dublin airport.
“Secret location.” Aidan held the passenger side door open for me, and I climbed in, balancing my coffee and my bag.
“Seriously though, where are we?” I asked before I sipped my coffee. Not bad.
“Private air strip in the southwest. We’re headed to the coast now.”
It took us about an hour to get to the little port. I was silent most of the drive. Though Ireland was beautiful, being here put me on edge, like I was walking along the Cliffs of Moher in a strong easterly wind.
If I was Irish—I hated that I couldn’t say for certain because I didn’t remember—this might be the place that we’d fled. The person we ran from might still live here.
When Nix, Del, and I had awoken in the field, we’d quickly figured out that we were in America. But Irish had been far easier for us to speak. We still didn’t know why, but maybe we’d run from here.
I was relieved when we finally arrived in the little port. I wanted to get off land. A grizzled old man with white hair and a fisherman’s cap waited for us on the single dock. A pipe puffed at his mouth.
“Aidan, my lad, good to see you,” he said. “Visiting the monks?”
“Yes,” Aidan said. “Thanks for lending us your boat.”
“Well you’re paying me a pretty penny now, so it’s no hardship.” The man handed over a key and nodded to the rickety fishing boat that bobbed at the dock. It was red, though the paint peeled, and was a distinctly charming sight in its sunny setting.
“Thank you, Mack,” Aidan said. “I’ll bring her back in one piece.”
I climbed aboard and we set off.
“Not the quickest boat,” I said as we bounced over the waves. “But it has charm.”
“The faster boats are in the bigger tourist towns. Better to stay under the radar.”
That, I could agree with. Though this was just recon, it was good practice to avoid humans when doing something that could go magically south.
“Is that it?” I asked, shielding my eyes against the sun as I looked over the glittering waves to a steep, craggy mountain that jutted out of the sea. I’d never seen a place so desolate. How could anyone live on the shear rock cliffs?
“It is. Monks have been living there for two thousand years.”
“Jeeze. Peaceful, I guess. But being locked up there for my whole life—no thanks.”
The jagged cliffs soared above us as we pulled the boat up to a small floating dock.
The sound of screams and blasts of magic rent the air.
“What the hell?” I glanced at Aidan.
“So much for peaceful.” He grabbed a line and leapt off the boat onto the dock.
I hopped out as he tied off the boat, charging up the stone steps without waiting for him. They were nearly vertical, but the sound of a fight pushed me forward.
On the cliffs above, I spied a collection of strange beehive-shaped stone structures. It’d be quicker to climb over the rock ledge to my right rather than take the stairs that curved around.
Aidan’s footsteps sounded and I turned.
“Give me a boost,” I said.
He eyed the seven-foot tall cliff that I needed to get over and nodded, then grabbed me around the waist and practically threw me over. I scrambled up as he pulled himself gracefully onto the rock to my left.
Wind whipped as I turned to face the buildings. They rose behind the jutting rock and scraggly grass ahead. Shouts sounded from the largest one, a long building made entirely of stone. The walls curved inward at the top to form a curved roof. Aidan and I charged it, stooping low under the small door.
The dimness blinded me for a moment. Candles illuminated the space, shining light on the combatants. There were at least a dozen monks, all clad in drab brown robes, fighting five dudes who looked like special ops goons from an action flick. Though fighting was a bit of an exaggeration. Despite their numbers, the monks were heavily outmanned. Most threw ineffectual punches while others launched weak blasts of power.
“Demons,” I said whe
n I spotted their dark gray skin. Good. I hated fighting other supernaturals because I was scared I might kill them and take their power. Demons didn’t really die, so they couldn’t transfer power.
These looked a lot like the one that had called me a FireSoul, but most species of demons had gray skin. There wasn’t a sun in most of the hells. I’d wait to see if they threw smoke before I got nervous.
I glanced at Aidan. “Leave one alive?”
“Yes. I want to know why the hell they’re here.”
I pulled my daggers from their sheaths and charged into the fray, toward a tall demon grappling with a monk. I wanted to throw Righty, but they were moving too quickly. Nailing a man of God with my dagger sounded like a bad idea.
I jumped onto a bench and launched myself off of it, crashing down on top of them. I shoved the monk out of the way with my foot and plunged Righty into the demon’s left shoulder. He roared, his ugly face twisting in pain.
Agony seared my side and stole my breath. Warm blood soaked into my clothes. I assumed he’d swiped me with a knife but didn’t look. His fist crashed down on my back, a punishing blow that sent pain radiating through my body.
That was why I liked to throw my knives.
I grabbed one of the demon’s horns, pressing his head back onto the stone floor and stabbing him in the throat with my other knife.
Warm blood sprayed my face and I gagged.
Ugh. The worst. I scrambled off the demon. A second later, he strangled in his last breath. He’d disappear soon, his body returning to its hell. With my sleeve, I scrubbed some of the blood from around my eyes, then bent down to snag Righty, which protruded from his shoulder. Pain sang through me from the demon’s blows. I glanced at my side and saw a long gash along my ribs. My back ached. Felt like a few broken ribs, damn it.
At least he hadn’t gotten his blade between them. I was going to live, so I considered it a win.
A demon shrieked and I spun, startled by the sound of fear. Demons were never afraid. They were single-minded, inhuman in their desire to accomplish their goals. Fear didn’t usually affect them. It was one of the main reasons they were used as minions to guard treasure or to carry out evil deeds.
“Holy hell,” I breathed.
An enormous griffon stood at the side of the room, twice as big as a lion. It was beautiful, if you didn’t mind being terrified. Enormous wings stretched out from its powerful back, arching up over a massive, leonine body. Its head was almost birdlike, but that was no delicate beak. It could pick up cows with that thing.
Where the hell had it come from? I glanced around.
Aidan was gone.
Oh, hell no.
But of course. That was Aidan. My sidekick was a freaking griffon. Though if he was a griffon, I was probably the sidekick in this situation.
Beast-Aidan launched himself off the floor and leapt upon two demons, grabbing each in a powerful front claw and smashing them against the ground.
Since it seemed Aidan had that side of the room well taken care of, I spun and eyed the other side. A demon was shaking a monk by his robe, demanding, “Where is it?”
The monk babbled in Irish, seeming unable to understand English.
Rage seethed in my chest. I didn’t like bullies. This was the demon I’d save for questioning. I couldn’t be sure the griffon would keep any alive.
I pushed aside the pain that throbbed at my back and side and charged the demon, flinging Righty as I ran. It sank into his arm. The demon grunted and looked up at me, then glanced around at the carnage Aidan and I had wrought. Only one of its brethren remained.
Nope, none. Aidan had ripped its head off with his beak. The head bounced across the stone before finally disappearing. I swallowed bile and looked at the remaining demon.
His eyes widened. I lunged at him, tackling him to the ground. He was enormous and sweaty beneath me.
When I opened my mouth to demand why he was there, something huge and golden flew in front of my face and slammed into the demon’s head. I surged backwards as blood sprayed. Panting, I looked up at the monk who’d slammed an enormous ornamental candlestick onto the demon’s skull.
The monk grinned proudly at me and said in Irish, “I saved you, lass. Sent that demon straight back to hell!”
Damn it. That was the last one we could have questioned.
“Uh, thank you,” I said in Irish. I didn’t want to piss off the monk who could give me answers about the scroll. And he was so proud of himself that I didn’t have the heart.
Strong arms pulled me up. Shock sent my heart slamming into my ribs. Was there another demon still alive? I lashed out with Righty. Aidan caught my arm, the blade an inch from his face. I stepped back, breathing hard. He was human again, dressed in the same clothes.
“Are they all dead?” I sheathed Righty and Lefty. The adrenaline of the fight faded, and pain seared through me again. I pressed my arm to the wound in my side, wincing.
“Yes.” Aidan glanced at my arm. “Are you all right?”
“I’m okay.” At least, I thought I was. “Mostly I’m pissed we didn’t keep one alive. I want to know why they were here.”
“Me too. Though if I had to guess, it might have been for the scroll.” He touched my arm, the one that was covering my wound. “Let me see that.”
“Later,” I said as I turned back to the monk who’d crushed the last demon’s skull.
Three other monks approached us. All were breathing heavily, fear in their eyes.
Around us, the rest climbed to their feet. The interior of their cathedral was a mess. Turned over tables and shattered chairs littered the ground. At least none of the torches had started a fire.
“Thank you,” the tallest monk said in Irish. “We were overwhelmed. Our warrior brother is away on a pilgrimage. We were not prepared for an attack. Normally, he would protect us. Though we are supernaturals, we do not practice our skills.”
“It was our pleasure,” Aidan said, his voice smooth.
Our pleasure? It was hard to reconcile that this was the same guy who’d torn off a demon’s head with his beak. Either way, I’d want him at my back in any fight.
“Do you know why the demons were here?” I asked in Irish.
“No. We only speak Irish, but they did not speak our tongue. They seemed to be demanding something, but I do not know what.”
So they hadn’t gotten the information they’d come for because they couldn’t speak Irish. Good. “Do you often have attacks like this?”
The monk nodded. “Thieves and raiders come every few years. Sometimes as infrequently as a decade. It was worse with the Vikings, but even modern brigands would like to steal our holy relics.”
He gestured to several large chests that sat at one side of the room. My dragon sense tugged at me as I looked at them. Logic said that they were full of golden goodies. My sense for treasure confirmed it.
Oh, how I’d love to poke around in those chests. Though my personal brand of treasure ran along the lines of quality leather goods and sharp, pointy things, I couldn’t help but get a tingly sense of desire whenever I saw gold. I’d always feared that if I took some, I’d really turn into a FireSoul, crouched on my horde of gold like Scrooge McDuck.
“You think they were here for the gold?” I asked, though I doubted it.
The monk nodded. “It’s what most thieves want.”
True enough.
“But why are you here?” the monk asked.
“We’re looking for the Scroll of Truth,” Aidan said.
“Ah, yes. An interesting document.” The monk folded his hands in front of him, the long brown sleeves of his robe draping to the floor. “That was stolen long ago. But we do not know where it is.”
“Could you provide us with any information about it?” Aidan asked. “We’ll return it if we find it.”
I wondered if he was telling the truth.
The monk stared hard at Aidan. Perhaps he believed him, because he began to describe the scroll. The wo
od of the rollers, the colors of the inks used, what was written inside.
I listened with half an ear, but I no longer needed that type of detail. Now that I wasn’t distracted by the demons, I could focus on my surroundings. I tried to push the pain to the back of my mind.
This was where the scroll had been written. A thousand years ago, somewhere in this dark space, a monk had sat crouched over one of the little tables, painstakingly scratching out words on vellum. It had taken years; I could almost see it in my mind. Just being in the place where so much effort had been poured into the scroll set my dragon sense alight.
I laid a hand on Aidan’s arm, trying not to think about how big and hard it was, and gave him a look. I hoped it said, We’re good here.
He seemed to get it. When the monk trailed off, he said, “Thank you. That was very helpful. We’ll let you know if we find it.”
The monk nodded. We said our goodbyes and left. I tried to keep my gaze off the chests full of gold as I limped out, but I didn’t succeed. I needed a twelve-step program or something.
We took the stone steps that wound down the mountain. It didn’t take us long to make our way back to the little dock.
“I want to look at that wound now,” Aidan said as we climbed onto the boat.
It hurt badly enough that I removed my arm to show him.
“That looks rough,” he said. “Why did you fight hand to hand? You should have used your magic.”
“Those demons didn’t have much to reflect back. And I’m a fairly weak mage.” The first part was true. “Can you do something about this?” I asked to distract him, pointing at my wound.
He glanced at me like he wanted to ask more questions, but I tried to look like I was in pain. I even threw in a little whimper.
“Move your arm to the side,” he said, but it still seemed like he was thinking about why I hadn’t used my powers. Maybe it was paranoia on my part, but paranoia had kept me alive for a long time. We were good buddies.
I moved my arm away from the wound to give him room. I tried to focus on the bobbing of the boat beneath us as he laid his big palm gently against the gash. I winced, then sighed in relief as warmth radiated through me. Slowly, the flesh knitted back together.
