“That’s even worse. Brandsome always treats me like that, so you’d think I’d be used to it. Only I’m not. I’ll never get used to it.” He glared at me in the dark.
“I’m sorry. If I could do something about it, I would.” I paused, thinking about that. I didn’t know what Brandsome paid for Quinn, but I imagined he cost a pretty penny; Quinn really was striking. Being part dragon, I’d certainly accumulated a hoard over the years and I could probably afford the outrageous price . . . and since my dragon viewed Quinn as its mate, it didn’t protest the idea the way it otherwise might. On the other hand, my dragon half also whispered it would be so much easier to just eat Brandsome. Tempting, but not practical.
Quinn reached out a hand and stroked my cheek. He sighed.
“Thank you, Twig. You’ve been nicer to me than I deserve.”
“That’s not true.” I pressed my face into his hand, relishing the heat and feel of my mate—I mean, my supposed mate—touching me.
“It is.” He smiled sadly and my heart did a little thump in my chest.
“I could offer to buy you.”
He chuckled, the sound not a happy one.
“Brandsome won’t sell me. Not even for double my price.” He bit his lip, his eyes gleaming with unshed tears.
“Why?” He’d struck me as quite the businessman. He was always in need of money according to Quinn.
Quinn stiffened, removed his hand from my face. Before I could snatch it back, he wiped his eyes.
“Because . . . because he likes having me under his thumb. He knows I hate him and it amuses him. He’ll never give me up.”
I pulled Quinn into my arms and held him tight. He didn’t cry or anything, but he did snuggle into me like he wanted to climb inside my body. I kissed the top of his head, enjoying the smell of his hair, the way he fit so naturally into the curve of my body. I didn’t believe Brandsome couldn’t be bought. He bet his horn in a card game, after all.
No, he had a price. The only question was how much, and whether I was willing to pay it.
15
The next morning, we were up early and in the tearoom for a bite to eat before we set out. Krofom tended the bar but didn’t look at us, even when I ordered breakfast. He delivered some thick slabs of meat that would take teeth sharper than mine to make much of a dent. Quinn and I gave it our best shot. We also devoured a fresh loaf of bread with some sort of jam I’d never tasted before. Slightly sweet with a good dose of tang, it was surprisingly appetizing. Quinn seemed to think so too as he attacked it like a half-starved harpy. And naturally we drank more tea.
Quinn and I avoided talking about last night or even what we’d be facing today. I’d restocked our supplies in case we ended up in a similar situation to the Expanse. Couldn’t count on a ghost galleon coming to our aid this time. Definitely needed to rely on just the two of us.
I worried my lower lip between bites of breakfast. Maybe I should leave Quinn behind? I could come back for him once I retrieved the horn. Judag’s words about Quinn having no protection from the zombies hung over my head like an angry ghoul. I knew he’d never agree to stay. I could always enact the anti-resistor clause, but he would be furious . . . and more importantly, hurt. I sensed how much it mattered to him that I allowed him a measure of freedom. Taking it away wasn’t an option.
Or was it? Better alive and well than joining the ranks of Burningwood’s undead army.
“A dypari for your thoughts.” Quinn’s pale face made his restless night obvious to anyone with eyes.
“I think you should stay here. I can come back—”
“No.” He didn’t shout it, though he might as well have.
“Quinn, be reasonable—” I reached for his hand, but Quinn yanked it out of my reach.
“You’re not going alone. I told you, I need to be there.”
“I’m not sure you do. Chances are you’re close enough to Rottingvale that Brandsome would never know the difference.” Before I could say more and Quinn could protest, Krofom approached with a teacup filled to the brim with another breakfast blend. His gaze found mine and once again his pupil became a spiral of color and then after a moment went opaque before he intoned,
What water extinguishes,
A mage’s touch reunites.
Surrender!
A flame’s rebirth scorches both those it attacks,
And those who wield it.
Krofom blinked, his eye clear once again, then without another word spun on his heel and scurried away, the cup of tea still in his fist. Coward.
I threw my hands up. “What the fuck was that?”
Quinn smirked. “Our future.”
“Oh, well, it’s all clear now. Fucking cyclopes and their riddles.”
“See, you need me. I’m supposed to be there.”
“That’s debatable. You’re not a wizard, remember?” I ran over the lines in my head again. A damn stupid prophecy if you asked me. I could get a better one from a soothsaying gnome and those hacks couldn’t tell the future if it was presented in a scroll from Longvision Futurama herself.
“Well, what other wizards are around these parts, do you think?” He crossed his arms over his chest, his jaw firming.
I sighed. Short of enacting the clause and locking him in a room, no way he would be persuaded. I was tempted, only cyclopes were known for their accurate—if jumbled—predictions.
We walked for several hours before the ground began growing soft and wet. Dew covered the plants and the air felt damp. An unnatural green-hued fog covered a large area up ahead. Quinn and I exchanged looks. We hadn’t spoken much on the way since I was still pissed off about caving and bringing him. There were so many things that could go wrong. How would I protect him? Would I even be able to protect myself? I possessed formidable defenses against dark magic, but I’d never come up against zombies before. Their bite was supposed to be lethal. Chances are I had immunity, but with my fairy side that assumption could turn out to be faulty. And Quinn was definitely in danger.
We stopped at the edge of the fog, a shiver running down my spine. Every protective instinct I had went into overdrive.
“Quinn, I really don’t think—”
“Hey, Starfig, don’t wuss out on me now. We got this. Everything will be fine.” His voice didn’t even tremble—much—when he said it.
I nodded. I wasn’t worried about me. My skin felt too tight and smoke began streaming from my nose. If only I could actually shoot fire. I rummaged around in my pack until I found my pouch of Sir Blaive’s grave dust. In theory, it would torch any undead it touched. Useful when dealing with creatures that didn’t like the light or fire. I wouldn’t want to count on it, but Quinn insisted I take part of his stash. He held his own pouch in hand.
“Stick close, Quinn. And promise me, if things go badly, you’ll do your best to get out safely.”
He threw back his shoulders, straightened to his full height. “We’re in this together.”
“Quinn . . .”
He stepped into the fog and disappeared. Fuck. Rushing after him, I pushed into the thick mist. I couldn’t see anything. Where was Quinn? I threw my hands out in front of me and felt around blindly.
“Quinn,” I whispered.
“Here,” he whispered back. Why we were whispering I hadn’t a clue, but the ominous presence of the mist just made whispering feel appropriate somehow.
I continued to fumble around, until I gripped what I thought was an arm.
Quinn yipped.
“Just me.” I pulled him to me so I wouldn’t lose him again. “Hey, how come you aren’t humming?”
“What?”
“Humming. It’s the way you self-soothe, right?”
“I don’t need soothing.” He scoffed.
“We’re about to go into a zombie infested swamp. What’s your definition of need, then?”
“I’m afraid. Not upset. It’s different.” He patted my arm like I was a child in need of comforting.
Right. Naturally. Human emo
tions were complicated. Too complicated for me to dwell on right now.
Quinn leaned into me. “I can’t see a thing. How are we supposed to find Burningwood’s manor?”
“Wait just a minute. My eyes are adjusting.” I could make out some large gnarled shadows—trees? Not much else.
“Well?”
“Nothing that’s going to help us.” I peered around at the mist. It glowed an eerie celadon color. Definitely not natural. “I don’t suppose there’s anything in your bag to disperse magic fog?”
I didn’t really expect an answer, but Quinn said, “No, unfortunately. It would be a simple spell if I boasted an ounce of magic”
“Maybe you should give it a try? I mean, the cyclops called you a mage, right?”
“It wouldn’t work. I don’t have anything to channel the magic, even if I had any to channel. Besides, don’t you have fairy magic you can use?”
“I can try, but my fairy half is pretty weak compared to my dragon side.” I focused on pulling what little fairy magic I held and sent it into the fog. Small fireworks went off, then all went quiet, the mist just as heavy as ever. “It’s no use.”
“So what do we do now? I’m not even sure I could find my way back. We can’t go on like this though.”
As he spoke, my eyes were becoming more accustomed to the mist. I still could only see indistinct shapes. I did notice we were standing on a well-worn stone path though.
“Huh.”
“What?”
“A path.”
“You can see the ground?” Quinn seemed genuinely impressed. I don’t know how humans managed to get around at all. Blind, practically deaf, and no sense of smell. How they’d survived this long, I couldn’t even imagine. Uncontrolled breeding and pure stubbornness, probably.
Placing his hand on the back of my tunic, I urged him to get a strong grip on the fabric. Not ideal but it would do. I stepped forward and kept my eyes on the path. It was slow going, the trail winding suddenly in one direction and then another. For all we knew, the path could lead away from Burningwood’s manor, but it seemed like our best option.
Time seemed to stop as we shuffled carefully, the stones slippery from the mist. At places the path became very narrow and I was pretty sure if the fog cleared we’d find a sizeable drop off on either side. Quinn slipped more than once, but held firm, his grip on my shirt keeping him upright. My wardrobe wasn’t going to survive this adventure.
“Careful where you step,” I said.
“It’s not like I can see anything,” he grumbled. “I have to take your word for it that there even is a path.”
We walked for maybe an hour and a half when the path widened and the mist seemed to clear a bit. White, desiccated trees peeked through the fog.
I paused to look around. The trees seemed to form a ring around the path.
“I think we’re in some sort of large circular area.”
Quinn swallowed audibly.
“Do you feel that?”
A mild vibration ran through the ground.
“Yeah, I feel it.” I had a bad feeling about this. “Come on, let’s move.” I tugged him along behind, moving as quick as I dared across the slippery stones. The ground started shaking harder and the trees quaked.
“Storm and thunder, what is going on?” Quinn banged into my back, urged me to go faster. I couldn’t agree more.
The ground erupted around us, soil and rock flung in all directions. I pulled Quinn in front, and did my best to shelter us as I shoved him forward.
“Move!” We made tracks toward the other side of the circle. One minute I had a hold of him, the next he was gone. “Quinn!”
He shouted in terror somewhere over to my left. Where was he? I spun toward where I heard his voice.
“I’m coming, Quinn.” I rushed forward, my hands out in front. I grabbed a bony shoulder and yanked him to me.
Only it wasn’t Quinn.
A vacant eyed, decaying mass of flesh, grinned before trying to take a bite out of my hide. It had most probably been human before, but certainly wasn’t now. My claws extended from my fingers and with a single swipe I knocked its head from its body. It collapsed in a heap.
That was damn effective. Behead them. Got it.
I spun in a circle, listening. Shuffling noises from every side. How many? Had they grabbed Quinn?
A glimmer of light sprung from the darkness. Sir Blaive’s Grave Dust. I hurried in that direction, claws taking down two more of the pitiful undead creatures. I almost barreled into Quinn when a pinch of dust shot from his hands and nearly blinded me.
A zombie caught fire behind me and fell over in a burning heap.
I grabbed Quinn’s arm, but he couldn’t see me and began to struggle.
“It’s me,” I hissed, pulling him to me. His eyes were huge and his cheeks ashen.
“There are a lot of them, Twig.”
“I know. Don’t fall apart on me now, Quinn. I need you focused, okay?” Even as I said this, I spun and beheaded another zombie, the stench of rot and mildew overpowering. Placing my back to his, I held up my hands, both tipped in deadly claws now. “We can do this together.”
I felt him nod against my back. He threw more grave dust at a pack of zombies. A rather small blaze for what it should be. I watched it strike another zombie before turning back and taking two down with my claws. Seemed more efficient than the dust. I roared as three more shuffled in front of me, and one from the side. Slashing, I quickly eliminated them.
Another flare, then another, then another. Each time the powder’s effect weakened until it was barely a trickle.
“Twig, I’m out!” Quinn’s voice shook and I lunged at a zombie that in another second would have put its hands on him. My dragon roared in my head and only when the sound echoed off the trees did I realize its fury hadn’t remained internal. I forced my claws back on one hand so I could retrieve my own pouch of grave dust, then handed it to Quinn.
Fire sprung from the dust, but again was quickly doused. Must be the water in the air; the mist was keeping the powder from working to its full potential. For each zombie Quinn incinerated, for each two zombies I beheaded, ten more seemed to take their place. With so many zombies up in flames, I could get a better view of our surroundings.
We were fucked.
Zombies surrounded us on all sides, at least ten deep. They didn’t make any noise, only the shuffling of their feet and our heavy breathing filled the air. Another eruption and another spray of rock and soil. More zombies rose from the ground.
Son of a banshee, only a matter of time before Quinn’s fire gave out. My dragon snarled when I heard Quinn shout. I pivoted and wrenched a zombie off of him, throwing it into several more and toppling them like a virgin at an incubus party. The slow shuffle of others took their place.
“Thanks,” he said, his voice strained. “That was a close one.”
Quinn took out more powder, but nothing happened. No glow.
“Ah, basilisk balls.” He tried again. Nothing. His dagger appeared in his hand.
“You need to behead them. Nothing else kills them.”
“Would have been nice to know that before we came in here. I could have brought a sword or something.” Quinn’s breath came in harsh pants, but he stood his ground. I took a quick glance around. Could we run for it?
No, there were just too many. I might make it through, but I don’t know how Quinn could get past without being bitten. We had to try.
“Stay in front and keep moving.” Would a bite infect me or would I be immune? Couldn’t be sure, but I was sure Quinn would be susceptible to their venom. I wasn’t losing him.
Using teeth and claws, I slowly moved us forward, protecting him, and exposing my back. Several hands grasped at me, so I spun and made short work of them before lunging in front of Quinn to take out several more.
Another eruption sounded somewhere in front of us. Shit. So not good. I felt zombies closing ranks, a circle that would soon become our noose. If
I could only see through the fog, I could look for a way out.
Quinn swung his dagger with some skill, hacking at zombies, but unable to destroy them with such a puny blade.
Even as adrenaline raced through my body, I was tiring. How long could I keep them from biting him? My claws came down again and again until my shoulders and arms ached.
“There’s too many!” Quinn panted and drew closer.
“What about your ring? Turn yourself invisible. You can get out.”
“I’m not leaving you—”
“Quinn, just do it! I’ll be fine,” I said as I toppled several zombies using the body of one I’d beheaded like a battering ram.
“It’s not working!”
Glancing at Quinn, I groaned. He’d slipped the ring on, and activated it, but the magical fog made his outline glow the same pale green. Maybe zombies didn’t see very well?
One made a grab for him and I lunged in front to slash it to pieces. So much for that theory.
“What was it the cyclops said? Something about a mage’s touch reignites, right?” Quinn stabbed a zombie in the eye, twisted.
“The powder gave out,” I grunted as I hefted another zombie by the ankles. “Duck!”
Spinning it in a circle, bones crunched as I used one corpse against another.
Quinn straightened once I stopped spinning and resumed beheading.
“Maybe I’m meant to—”
“You couldn’t get it to reignite.” No time to soft pedal.
“There has to be something else. He said to surrender.”
“I’m not turning myself over to any zombies. Who knows what”—I beheaded another zombie—“a fucking”—and another one—“cyclops means.”
“Then you should leave me. You can make it through without me. I’m holding you back. No reason for us both to die.” His voice was pained, but a thread of steel laced it.
“What? No! Not happening. We make it together.”
“Twig.” He turned into me, his hand going to my cheek. I jerked as I repelled another undead creature and Quinn’s hand slipped to my neck. He gasped.
My heart stuttered.
“Quinn, what’s wrong? Have you been bitten?” My voice shook with fear, something I rarely experienced.
By Fairy Means or Foul: A Starfig Investigations Novel Page 13
