by Talia Vance
Mallory’s heel wobbles in a cobblestone. She catches herself before she falls, but she looks shaken. Not as sure of herself as she wants me to think.
I cross the street before they can say anything more. I talked Austin into letting me come into town to buy this stupid dress, on the theory that I am okay when I visit him in the past, but now that I’m almost convinced I can change the present, coming here seems beyond stupid.
I’m nearly to the car when I see Blake. He sits alone at a small iron table outside the Cath Pub, sipping a tiny espresso mug. He doesn’t see me. There’s no reason he would. I’m half a block away, and he’s looking down the street toward the ocean, his eyes far away.
I should tell him I’m leaving. It’s what he wanted. I take a step forward, but stop when Portia emerges from the pub, a rare smile on her face. She turns her head and stares at me, almost as if she knew I would be here.
Her smile grows wider as she moves toward Blake and wraps her arms around him from behind, leaning forward so her breasts rake the back of his neck and her hands drift down across his chest. He leans his head back and closes his eyes as she kisses him.
I want to turn around and walk the other way, but Jonah is behind me and Austin’s car is on the other side of the block. I’ll have to walk right past them.
It’s my chance to get the necklace. I don’t think Blake would let her kill me. And she might even try in such a public place. But getting the necklace would mean staying to fight, and I’m not ready to concede that Austin and I can’t get away.
I keep my eye on them as I walk by, knowing better than to turn my back. Watching Blake and Portia together doesn’t hurt the way I expect. From the outside, it’s easy to see how miserable they are together. They’re both shadows of themselves, their beauty a thin veneer over the dark emotions that eat at them from the inside. Still, there’s a sadness that I can’t quite keep away. I mourn for the piece of my soul that died with Blake. The piece of me I lost when I killed him.
Portia looks up at me, her lips twisting into a bleak smile. Blake sees me then, and when our eyes meet, his poker face is nowhere to be seen. I see the murder in Blake’s eyes as clearly as if I could feel it in my soul.
I just wish I knew if it was meant for me or Portia.
FORTY-FOUR
Mick opens the front door before I can ring the bell. His normally perfect neck cloth is a twisted mass at his neck. “Oh thank the gods!” He says when he sees me. “We have to find Lord Lorcan.”
“What do you mean? Isn’t he here?” Mick puts his head in his hands, rubbing his eyes with his palm. “I couldn’t stop them.”
“Slow down. Stop who?”
“Liam and his witch.”
“What happened?”
“I tried to keep them out, but she came through like a tornado. I couldn’t stop her.”
“And Austin?” I run past Mick, past the cracked marble table that lies on its side, over bits and pieces of broken glass and porcelain.
Mick trails behind me. “They took him.”
“Was he-?” I can’t bring myself to say the word dead. I can’t bear to think it.
“He was breathing.” If breathing is the best thing he can say about Austin, he must be hurt bad. I should’ve grabbed that stupid necklace while I had the chance.
“Do you know where they took him?”
Mick collapses in a heap on the floor, sitting in amongst the shards and debris. “Liam has been staying at the old abbey near Duncan.”
“Is that where they went?”
“I don’t know. She walloped my head with something heavy. I tried to Compel her, but I couldn’t think straight.”
I grab the keys and run back to the car. Rain spatters the windshield as I pull out of the drive. The car fishtails as I turn onto the road back into town, but I keep my foot on the gas and hang on to the steering wheel, as the car skids through the next curve.
I leave the car in front of the Cath Pub even though the road is not nearly wide enough for parking. Blake and Portia aren’t outside anymore. I glance around the bar, but Blake isn’t among the smattering of tourists drinking warm Guiness. I go upstairs and pound on his door.
He opens it on the third knock. He looks worse up close. His face is gaunt, his eyes hollow. He pulls me inside and slams the door behind us. “What are you doing here?”
“I need the necklace.”
“What are you talking about?” Blake blinks.
“The necklace you gave me. I need it back.”
“Why? Do you need a memento? Because I was under the impression that you had moved on.”
“Please, Blake. I don’t have time to argue. Just trust me when I say it’s important.”
“I’m supposed to trust you now?”
“What is that supposed to mean?” But I know exactly what it means. Nothing has changed. Blake still doesn’t trust me.
“Forget it. I can’t help you anyway. Portia has it.”
“I know. Get it back.”
“I can’t. She’ll freak. She hates you.”
“This is a matter of life and death. Your girlfriend will get over a stupid necklace.”
Blake looks skeptical. “Who’s life?”
I look down at the floor.
“It’s him, isn’t it?”
I meet his gaze head on. “He has a name.”
Blake picks up a cell phone from the nightstand and hurls it at the wall. “I knew it!” He grabs me by the shoulders. “Are you in love with him?”
“Do you really want to have this conversation?” If Blake won’t help me get the necklace, I need to find Portia myself.
He drops his hands and sinks down on the bed. Defeated. “He doesn’t deserve you.”
And Blake has a say because? “I know about the bond.”
He lays back and sighs. “It’s unbearable. She’s awful. All I feel when I’m around her is anger and bitterness. I’m not even sure she likes me. But she’s obsessed with wanting me to love her. She’s worse when I see you. I can’t hide anything from her.”
I know exactly what it felt like to have Blake’s emotions tied to my own. How much he could influence what I felt and vice versa. Sharing a soul with Portia Bruton couldn’t be easy. But I don’t have time to talk. I move toward the door.
Blake sits up, pinning me in place with his eyes. “I have to end it. She’ll kill me if I don’t. One way or another.” “Rush will kill you if you do.”
“I can handle Rush.”
I nod, even though Blake doesn’t look like he could handle a butter knife in his current condition.
He stares at me. “I messed up everything, didn’t I?” “It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“How can you say that? Of course it matters. I should never have sent you away. I should’ve come with you.” At the time, I would’ve agreed with him. Now, everything is different. What I had with Blake wasn’t love. What I have with Austin might be. “I need the necklace.” He looks away. “But not me.”
“I have to go.” I put my hand on the door. “Be careful, okay?”
When he finally looks at me, a hint of a dimple appears on his cheek. “It’s what I get for letting my soul get tangled up with a bandia, right?”
I don’t need to ask whether he’s talking about Portia or me. It’s me he watches walk out the door.
FORTY-FIVE
I search the Inn for Portia. I don’t find her anywhere. I need to come up with a new plan. I call Braden but get his voicemail. I leave a message before jumping into Austin’s Porsche and navigating my way to the narrow road that will take me to Duncan. The sky is a dusky gray now that night has fallen. The clouds block out any star light, casting everything in murky shadow.
The rain falls harder. I can barely see the road. I keep my eyes on the faded white line on the left side of the road, hugging it with a tire. I don’t have magic, but my fingers curve around the hilt of the broadsword in the passenger seat. It’s something.
The white line fad
es to gray. The road and the forest merge in a curtain of rain and darkness until I can’t tell where the road begins or ends. I hit the brakes just as the left front tire drops off the road. The back end of the car swerves to the right. The car spins around hard, sending the back end into a tree with a crunch. Airbags go off around me with a bang that stings all over.
I take inventory as the bags deflate. My left arm is bruised where the airbag hit. My face feels like I was punched in the nose. Otherwise, I appear to be in one piece. The car is a different story. I try to open the door, but it doesn’t move. I have to smash the driver’s side window with the heel of my boot and climb out through the opening. The left headlight lights up the driving rain for about two feet before the shaft of light is swallowed by darkness.
I drag the sword through the window and move away from the car. I’m soaking wet, but I’ve seen enough car explosions in movies to want to keep my distance. I wait on the side of the road. It doesn’t look like anyone else was foolish enough to drive down a dark and curvy road in this weather. I start walking.
The further I get from the car the darker the road becomes. The trees on either side would block out any light if there was any, but the driving rain ensures there is none. It’s not until the rain lets up to a slow drizzle that I even make out the gray line in the road. I’m still at least six kilometers from Duncan. I’ll make better time without the sword, but I clutch the hilt tighter. I won’t have a chance of rescuing Austin without some sort of weapon.
A twig snaps in the forest to my left. I drop into a stance and bring the sword front and center as I turn toward the trees. A flash of light is visible through the branches.
“Who’s there?” I call. There’s a movement and a beautiful white horse comes through the trees. Braden. I want to throw my arms around his neck, but I’m still clutching the sword. I lean the blade on the ground. “You got my message.”
Braden drops to his knees so I can climb onto his back. I set the sword across my lap and grab a handful of mane as he trots and then canters along the side of the road. He turns off the main road, up a long drive that leads to a huge church and an even larger building behind it. It looks like a castle, but I assume it’s the abbey.
A giant stone cross stands between the two buildings. This is where Liam is staying? The church and the crusades brought the Milesians to Ireland. But then, Liam is the type who cares more about appearance than substance. The abbey is at least as grand as Lorcan Hall. Grander.
I slide off Braden’s back and pat him on the neck. I can’t help glancing back at his tail. He looks exactly like a regular horse, except for the tail. It’s thick and covered with fur, ending in fins like that of a whale. It’s strange and beautiful.
The horse disappears, fading into the darkness. Brandon takes shape in its place. “So what’s the plan?” “I guess I should start by finding out where they’re holding him. My best chance is to sneak in and break him out without them knowing.”
“The Abbey is huge.” Braden glances up at one of the tall towers that flank either side. “But I’m guessing Liam is a traditionalist. If Austin is their prisoner, he’ll be in the dungeon.”
“There’s a dungeon? In an abbey? I thought monks were peaceful types who transcribed books.”
Braden laughs. “You are such an American.”
“Hey. So are you.”
“Salvation came to Ireland on the blade of sword. There is nothing peaceful about the history of religion here. You’re on the front lines of a war that’s never really ended.”
“So the dungeon’s where? In a basement?”
Braden points to a turret reaching high above the stone walls. “Actually, the Celts liked towers.”
“How do I get up there?”
Braden smiles. “Through the front door.” He pulls a cell phone from the waistband of his jeans. “Mikel called in reinforcements.”
We huddle under an eve behind the church. The rain stops, but the wind batters my wet clothes. I’m cold from the outside in. I reach inside myself for fire, for warmth, but it’s locked up tight. All I can do is stare at the tower and shiver.
A car turns from the road and rolls into the driveway. It turns off its lights and pulls around the back. Mick, Joe and Sam step out. It’s funny to see the giolla together. They’re all tall, a good three inches over six feet. Joe’s pompadour makes him look even taller. Mick’s ginger mutton chops make him look older. Sam looks close to normal, but his eyes are the weariest, as if keeping up with the times has taken its toll. They’re dressed in identical black trench coats that hit them mid-calf.
I can’t resist smiling. “So do you guys hang out?”
Sam laughs. “Is there something odd about that?”
“Aren’t you all on different sides?” Mick has been Austin’s caretaker, on the side of the gods. Joe is the Sons’ historian. Samuel hangs with the fuath.
Joe shakes his head. “It’s not our fight. Never has been.”
“Then why are you helping me now?” As far as I know, a giolla has never aligned with the bandia.
Sam pats Mikel’s back. “Technically we’re helping Mick.”
“Oh.”
Braden tucks his cell phone in the waist of his jeans. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m here for you.”
Joe puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes it lightly. I smile at him in the darkness. I don’t miss that he scans my collarbone for the necklace.
“I tried.”
Joe nods then looks back up at the abbey. “Let’s go.”
Braden and I fall in behind the three giolla. They march up to the front door and ring the bell. I feel silly, clutching the sword like I’m ready for battle, but I’m not leaving it behind.
A heavyset woman in a gray uniform pushes the door open a few inches and peeks at us through the crack. “We’re closed. Tours are on Tuesdays.” Her words are clipped, but her voice has a tinge of desperation to it.
Mikel waves a hand in front of her face. “We’re here for the boy. You want to help us.”
She steps aside and opens the door the rest of the way. “Poor thing.”
Mikel looks back at the rest of us. “He’s in the tower. In pretty bad shape if her memories are accurate.”
I push past Samuel, but Joe stops me before I can run ahead. “Easy. It’s a long way between here and there. We’ll get him.”
As we turn down a hallway, a man runs up to us. “You can’t be here now.”
Samuel holds out his hand, and the man immediately steps back without saying another word.
“Show off,” Mikel says.
Joe takes a cigarette out of his pocket and sticks it in his mouth. He gestures toward an alcove in the corner. We fall in step behind him, moving single file to the winding stairway.
We climb up and up and up. Every fifty steps or so there’s an opening onto another level, but we climb higher. After we pass the sixth opening, I start to wonder how much higher we’ll have to go. My wet jeans chafe against my skin, and my quads are screaming at me with every step.
I stop on the eighth landing. Braden looks over his shoulder. “You coming?”
I wave him forward. The giolla are already half a flight ahead. “I just need to catch my breath. “I’ll be right there.”
He shakes his head and calls up the stairs. “Sam, hold up.”
I lean back against the wall, and suck in a breath. I really wish I’d focused less on trying to access my powers and more on cardio.
At first, I barely feel the shift in the stones behind me. I stand up straight, thinking I’m dizzy from being out of breath. Then a hand grabs my arm and yanks me back. Hard.
I expect to slam against the wall, but there’s nothing by darkness. Then the wall closes back into place in front of me and everything is black.
FORTY-SIX
One arm is around my waist, another is clamped down on my neck, choking the air out of my lungs. I slash the air with my sword, but the threat is behind me.
“You bandia are so predictable.” Liam’s thick accent cuts through the darkness. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to stay away.”
He jerks my wrist and the sword falls to the ground with a clatter. I’m dragged down a winding pathway that seems to go down forever before it finally levels off. Liam keeps his arm tight around my throat. Just when I think I will pass out, he leans back against a wall and a crack of light appears behind us, as a doorway opens against his weight. He lets me go, and I stumble into a candlelit room.
I move away, gulping in the incense-infused air. We’re inside a small church, with rows of empty pews and a huge stone crucifix carved into the back wall. Sherri stands at the altar, her dark hair piled on her head in an elaborate arrangement of loose curls. She wears a long red dress that flows to the floor, the same one she wore the night Sasha died. She holds a small dagger in her right hand, waving it in the air as she mumbles a series of Gaelic words I can’t understand.
She sees me and stops, holding the knife suspended in the air. “I was getting worried you weren’t going to make it in time.” Her smile is terrifying.
“Be quick about it,” Liam says, pushing me forward. Sherri pins a loose strand of hair into the mass of curls. “It will take them hours to search the abbey. No one saw us move him here.”
Him. Austin. “Where is he?” I move forward without any prompting from Liam.
Sherri points the knife at the altar. A white blanket covers a lumpy form.
I run forward, grabbing the blanket and throwing it to the side. Austin lays on his side, curled in a fetal position. He’s stripped down to his boxer briefs, his face swollen and dotted with angry bruises. Blood runs from his lip to his chin. His eyes are closed, but I can see his chest rise and fall with his breath.
Sherri runs her free hand through his hair, pushing it away from his face. “Such a shame,” she says. “He really is beautiful.”
My gaze follows the knife in her other hand. “What are you doing to him?”
She lowers the knife to her side. “As it turns out, nothing.”
