Dark and Stormy_Phantom Queen_A Temple Verse Series

by Shayne Silvers

  “Ye shouldn’t be here,” a man said in a menacing tone, his accent eerily similar to my own.

  I struggled to rise, adopting a fighting stance, muscle memory taking over—the mechanics of preparing for a fight so ingrained I could, and sometimes did, perform them in my sleep. The instant I found my footing, however, a shadow fell over my face, chasing away the brutal sunlight, and I glanced up to see an obscenely titanic, vaguely familiar statue of a warrior with his hand outstretched, shield at the ready—his pinky toe big enough to sleep on.

  Holy shit. Please tell me that statue hadn’t woken me up.

  “Ye need to leave. Now,” a strange man—if man he was—said, drawing my attention back down. He appeared scrawny and feeble, bloody bandages wrapped entirely around his head to conceal his eyes and even his throat. Was he blind? His skin was like worn, leather hide—dark and spread too thin. Wisps of a greying beard dangled from his stubbled chin. Still, for all that, he gave off an ominous presence; his voice was full-throated and deep, his hands uncommonly large.

  Of course, I was so relieved to discover it hadn’t been the statue jostling me awake that I felt oddly compelled to shake one of them.

  “I…I can’t,” I replied, stretching out my jaw, my tongue tasting odd in my mouth. “I don’t even know how I got here…” I frowned, realizing that was true. I searched my memory, trying to mentally retrace my steps, but came up with nothing. Why was I here? And where was here? Someone was searching for me, weren’t they? No, that wasn’t right. I was searching for someone…

  I glanced around, noting the eerily empty streets that led from the base of the statue into the city proper, a city full of spires. “Where is everyone?”

  “Gone,” the man replied. He reached a hand out to showcase the desolate city. “The Otherworld is no longer traveled freely. Ye bein’ here is impossible. But don’t ye worry, I’ll send ye back where ye belong.” The man moved faster than I could think, snatching my arm with a grip like an iron shackle. I didn’t even have time to process how a blind man had managed to find my arm, let alone grab it; it was all I could do to struggle to get away, to pry myself free. But, no matter how hard I pulled, he hardly seemed to notice. Instead, he dragged me back towards the water and a vessel I hadn’t noticed. It was a sleek, golden craft floating on the water, designed like nothing I’d ever seen before, with neither mast nor motor.

  And, of course, the blind brute didn’t stumble once, even though the path was uneven and littered with rubble.

  “Let me go!” I demanded, lashing out with fists and feet, with no result; I might as well have been hitting driftwood. I snarled and swung a hammer fist down on the man’s shoulder from behind, hoping to snap the man’s clavicle. He grunted and flung me into the boat.

  “Enbarr,” he called, “get this one out of me sight!”

  I was about to clamber out of his craft and make a break for it when the vessel surged forward, sending me falling back on my ass. I hung on for dear life as the vehicle picked up speed, only then noticing what was powering the damn thing: a damned horse. But like no horse I’d ever seen. The creature was a radiant shade of blue, for one thing, with a white mane that fell across its powerful shoulders like frothing surf, its tail cascading like a waterfall. Oh…and did I mention it was running on fucking water? In essence, while I was completely and totally freaked out and moments away from having a panic attack, I was relieved to learn my wild side and I agreed on at least one thing.

  We wanted one.

  Unfortunately, before I could so much as reach out and touch it, the water horse swung viciously hard to the left, the change in direction so sudden I went flying into the air, the ocean rising to meet me. Except I didn’t hit water, at all. Instead, I passed through a shimmering Gateway and landed on the deck of a ship to the clamor of shocked voices, at least a dozen spears leveled at me, and—what’s worse—the ugly mug of one very pissed-off looking goblin I thought I recognized.

  “Babe Tooth!” I exclaimed, deliriously happy to see a familiar face after such a bizarre awakening. “Ye made it!”

  I’d like to think his subsequent kick to my gut was more out of surprise than spite. Or a sign of goblin affection, perhaps.

  But that was probably just wishful thinking.

  Chapter 24

  Turned out, the ship I’d landed on was the very ship I’d worked so hard to avoid: the USS Cyclops. I wasn’t sure what sort of sick, cosmic joke was being played at my expense, but I wasn’t a fan. Sadly, no one else seemed remotely interested in hearing me bitch about it; Babe Tooth and his goblin companions, wearing thick leather gloves, slapped me in irons before I could so much as regain my breath from the fucker’s cheap shot. Of course, I couldn’t blame them; the last time they’d underestimated me, I’d hijacked their boat and sent half their crew flying overboard.

  Ah. Good times.

  Babe Tooth dragged me to my feet as the rest of the crew returned to business as usual—whatever that was—the brief spectacle of a woman appearing out of thin air clearly not so incredible it warranted a break. Boston should hire the little goblin bastards out, I decided; as hard as they worked, Boston Landing could be built in a week. I was provided an escort of three goblins to lead me towards the rear of the ship, passing a series of workers lugging boxes and tying knots—typical sailor stuff, from what I could tell. Babe Tooth shoved me forward whenever I lagged behind to watch, which was often; my body felt like I’d gone ten rounds with Connor McGregor, and I wasn’t exactly eager to get to our destination. Plus side, my body finally felt familiar, and my scars were back. Of course, so was the burning sensation around my wrist. At this point, however, I would have welcomed the sweet release my wild side offered—anything was better than feeling this broken.

  Unfortunately, she didn’t seem interested in coming out to play.

  “Where are we goin’?” I asked, sounding pitiful.

  Babe Tooth shoved me once more. “Walk.”

  “I am walkin’, ye dumb brute. Where am I walkin’ to?”

  “Walk,” he said, again. Clearly, Babe Tooth didn’t understand the question. That, or he was just a dick.

  I was leaning towards the latter.

  The goblin pushed me again, like a schoolyard bully trying to assert his dominance, and I felt a hot surge of anger well up inside me. I slowed down, intentionally this time. Then, when Babe Tooth reached out to shove me once more, I spun—using the momentum of his thrust to slam my shackled wrists across his face. He ended up face down on the deck, cheeks smoking from contact with the iron, and I ended up with two spears hovering inches from my throat. Honestly—staring down at the small pool of blood nestled against Babe Tooth’s hideously scarred cheek—I considered that a win.

  “Enough!” someone yelled. I whirled and found Ryan O’Rye running towards me like a Hollywood movie star, fresh from the shower, his long, wet locks glistening in the sunlight. He snatched me by the arm before I could say anything and began dragging me across the deck. “I’ll take her from here. She has a lot to answer for!” he insisted, sounding particularly self-assured.

  The two goblins glanced down at their unconscious companion, shrugged, and sauntered off as if such things were commonplace. I watched them go, marveling at the Fae’s exceptionally shoddy “if I take it, it becomes mine” prisoner transfer policy. Ryan waited until we were out of earshot before he spoke again, talking out of the side of his mouth, his expression stern. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  “Me?” I hissed. “What are ye doin’ here? And why aren’t ye wearin’ a pair of these?” I asked, displaying my shackled wrists.

  “You left me to die in the middle of the Scarlet Sea!” Ryan replied. “So I sent out a distress signal, and King Oberon’s men picked me up. Thankfully, everyone assumed I went overboard with the other goblins, and that your escape was Rondak’s fault.”

  “Rondak?” I asked.

  “The ship’s pilot,” Ryan explained. “The one in charge.”

&nbs
p; “Oh, the helmsgoblin,” I replied, nodding.

  “The what?” Ryan jerked to a stop and looked at me. I mean, really looked at me—the way you look at the clinically insane, as if trying to gauge just how close they were to their next psychotic break. I glanced down at myself and frowned, realizing how I must look; covered in fading cuts, half my clothes torn away, my hair wet and matted, face as naked as the day I was born.

  “What the hell happened to you?” Ryan asked, finally.

  I frowned. “What d’ye mean?”

  He shook his head. “I mean, you should be dead. We sent search parties out everywhere. It’s been days. Your vampire kept asking about you.” He glanced away, guiltily. “I didn’t know what to tell him, so I stopped visiting.”

  “Wait, they have Alucard?” I asked, eyes wide. How the hell had he managed to get captured? Again!

  “Yeah, I don’t know what kind of benefits package you come with, but you should give that vampire a raise. He turned himself in on the condition we find you…again.” Ryan gave me a flat, level look that suggested either Alucard was crazy, I was some sort of succubus, or both.

  I sucked my teeth. “That’s it, I’m goin’ to kill him.”

  “So,” Ryan said, ignoring my threat on Alucard’s miserable life, “are you going to tell me where you were?”

  I frowned. Where had I been? I remembered the Scarlet Sea, and diving among its ruins. Breaking through to the other side a la Jim Morrison. The city of spires in the middle of the sea. Being manhandled by that frail but ridiculously strong, blind bastard. The vessel with serious horsepower. I shook my head. “Aye, but we don’t have that kind of time. Once ye get me out of these shackles, and get Alucard and I off this Godforsaken boat, I’ll tell ye everythin’.”

  Ryan wouldn’t meet my eyes. “I…can’t do that, Quinn.”

  “And why the fuck not?” I asked.

  “Because, if you managed to escape this time—and I were the last Fae you were seen with—King Oberon would hunt me down and have me skinned alive for weeks.”

  “Always so dramatic,” I teased, nudging the Faeling.

  Ryan arched one of his pristinely manicured eyebrows, glancing up at me meaningfully. “Where do you think Rondak is right now?” He pointed to our feet, then cocked one pointed-ear towards the ground, as if listening. I frowned, but followed suit. It was hard to hear over the general hubbub of the crew at work—goblin curses and shouts combining with the clamor of their boots beating against the deck—but eventually I caught the faintest echoes of what might have been a goblin squealing in agony.

  Well, fuck—I guess King Oberon didn’t play around. Unfortunately, that only made me more eager to find a way off this warship. “Ryan, I can’t get shipped off to the Winter Queen,” I said. “I just can’t.” Ryan opened his mouth to say something, but then a brilliant idea struck me. “What if we got ye back to Peter?” I asked. “He’d offer ye sanctuary, I’m sure. He’s already taken in a few deserters, what’s one more?”

  Ryan glanced around as if making sure no one was paying us any attention, then shoved me into a recess provided by a stack of boxes. Hard. “Mother fucker!” I cursed. “What the—”

  The Faeling clamped a hand over my mouth before I could finish, his expression cold and dispassionate, transforming his face from that of a leading man to that of a cruel villain. “What was her name?” he growled, releasing me.

  “Ryan, what are ye—” I began.

  “Her name!” he snarled. He took a deep breath. “The silver bitch you were talking to inside the fort. I want her name.”

  Why the hell did he want to know Barbie’s name? And was that seriously the most important thing going on right now? I briefly considered telling him, if only to diffuse the situation and move on, but decided against it; if Ryan needed information, he’d have to earn it. Besides, no one came at me like that with questions and got away with it—not even an old acquaintance who’d done me a favor. Sadly, I didn’t have a chance to tell Ryan as much; Babe Tooth—now Babe No-Tooth, still bleeding from his gums—had found us. He pressed a dagger up against Ryan’s belly. Ryan glanced down at the blade, sneering. “I’ve got questions for this one,” he said.

  “No. King Oberon. Questions.”

  “He’ll get his turn,” Ryan replied.

  Babe No-Tooth jabbed Ryan with the dagger, little more than a pinprick, but still. “King Oberon. Now.”

  Ryan slapped the dagger away and pushed past the goblin. “Fine. She’s all yours.” He glanced over his shoulder at me, face tight with barely restrained anger. “Enjoy the family reunion,” he spat, then marched off.

  Family reunion? What the hell was that supposed to mean? And since when did Ryan leave me to the proverbial wolves? Before I could dwell on any of that, however, Babe No-Tooth leveled his dagger at me and jerked his head. I stepped out from between the boxes, pleased to see the goblin had learned his lesson; he insisted I walk, but stayed far out of reach.

  Still, even the pleasure of that brief victory quickly faded.

  It’s hard to stay cheery during a gallows walk, after all.

  Chapter 25

  The throne room aboard the USS Cyclops had clearly been erected after the ship found its way to Fae; the stairs leading up to the silver pyramid at the rear of the ship looked to be made of black glass, the structure glinting in the sunlight—reminding me far too much of things like virgin sacrifices and mummification. At the top of the stairs, for the first time, I stopped to consider exactly where we were. I could see a shit ton of ships—the fleet, I gathered—spread out as far as the eye could see. Some vessels like the Cyclops, were clearly salvaged from the human realm, while others, like the Jolly Roger, seemed to have been converted ages ago—their designs warped to reflect a wilder, more striking world. I spotted battleships and tugboats covered in animal hides, Norse longboats and Greek galleys loaded with catapults. Glancing down at it all, I realized the whole fleet seemed prepared to strike at any moment, which meant a fight was coming.

  No, not a fight, I realized—fights were small, localized affairs meant to settle disputes.

  This would be a war.

  I turned and walked through the gilded throne room doors before my goblin escort could prick me with his dagger—euphemism not intended. Inside the pyramid-like structure, it was surprisingly dim, with a single beam of light illuminating a pathway that led to a rather unassuming, unoccupied throne: a white leather chair from IKEA. I frowned at the choice in décor, but marched dutifully forward. At this point, there was little I could do to prevent being shipped off to the Winter Queen, but the fact that he wanted an audience with me, first, meant I might have a shot at convincing him otherwise. Frankly, I had no idea what the Winter Queen had in store for me, but I knew I wouldn’t like it; she didn’t strike me as the type to handle rejection well.

  And I’d basically left her at the altar the last time we’d met.

  Once I was within perhaps a dozen feet of the throne, a white goblin emerged from the shadows—his skin covered in blotches like the spots of a dalmatian. He was tall, taller than Babe No-Tooth even, wearing fine leather hides trimmed in blue fur that offset his startingly blue eyes. The newcomer ran a hand along the seams of the leather chair, seemingly engrossed in the sensation, before flicking his gaze to the goblin behind me. “Leave us,” he commanded, the authority in his voice so obvious that there was no doubt who I was looking at.

  King Oberon.

  Babe No-Tooth was gone in an instant, the sound of the throne room doors slamming before I could so much as say goodbye. Not that I was inclined to.

  I fidgeted with my shackles and glanced around, wondering if Oberon had any bodyguards lurking in the corners, Emperor Palpatine style, or if he was just that confident that I wouldn’t find a way to beat him to death with the shackles he’d put me in. Unfortunately, it was impossible to tell. In the furthest corners of the room, the darkness was absolute.

  “I really like what you’ve done with the p
lace,” I quipped. “Very Stargate.”

  Oberon pursed his lips. “You know, when the Winter Queen insisted I collect you and send you to her, I had no idea you’d prove to be such a pain in the ass.”

  I barked a laugh before I could help myself. I shrugged, too exhausted to bother with tact. “Aye, well, maybe next time you’ll tell her to go fuck herself and leave me the hell alone.”

  “I expect I’ll have to,” Oberon said, surprising me. “Still, you’re lucky I got wind of who you really were before I handed you over. I got the feeling she had plans for you.”

  “Who I really am?” I asked, cocking an eyebrow. He flashed me a knowing grin, as if we were sharing an inside joke, which made no sense. And yet, I felt myself grinning in response. It suddenly seemed as if we’d known each other for years, the madness dancing behind his eyes all too familiar.

  “Don’t be coy,” Oberon replied. “There’s no need.”

  I frowned. “So ye aren’t sendin’ me to the Winter Queen?” I asked, still confused, but trying to hide it.

  “Of course not. A higher authority intervened on your behalf,” he said, teasingly, as if I knew exactly who he was referring to. But I didn’t; I had no idea that was even possible. After all, who or what had more authority than a Queen of Fae in this realm? My incredulity must have shown, because Oberon’s smile grew wider, his canines poking out. He cocked his head. “Come, Morrigan, there’s no need to play games. Drop the act.”

  A faint buzzing filled my ears, and I stared at him, open-mouthed, literally struck speechless.

  Chapter 26

  A silhouette slipped out of the shadows to my right. “She is not Morrigan,” the woman said, her Irish accent as thick and smooth as the black leathers she wore. She had her inky black hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, her skin pale as moonlight, her eyes so dark I could see my own startled face reflected in them. The only bit of color to her was her lips, a red so bright and vibrant it was like they’d been carved from the skin of a fresh apple.