“Lia, you have to keep moving.”
“What?” I struggle to breath, expanding my lungs as far as my battered ribs will permit.
The passageway is spinning now. In the distance is chanting and laughter. The spinning whirls into a vision. A group of crystal singers dance around a bonfire, waving sacred crystals and chanting an ancient spell. Bracelets jangle on their bare arms, and their full skirts twirl around their ankles. They wear the bright colors I remember from my childhood: vivid greens, brilliant blues, rich reds— the sort of colors obliterated when the Fianna seized power. The dancers are all shapes and body forms, yet their movements are synchronized and graceful.
A crystal singer turns and waves at me. She’s wearing a peacock blue tunic that matches her bright blue eyes and offsets her long, golden hair. I recognize her—Trina, one of Madame Maud’s shop girls. A memory nags. Didn’t something happen to Trina? Something bad? Surely I’m mistaken. Trina looks healthy. Her smile is so powerful that the sacred crystal in her hand glows. She beckons to me. I step toward her, drawn like a magnet. Or like a moth to a flame…the elusive memory congeals into a warning, but I’m powerless to stop my forward motion.
In the next instant, there’s an explosion. The crystal singers’ sacred charms shatter, spilling blinding light into the flames of the bonfire. My stomach lurches. Shattered crystals bring bad luck. The crystal singers stop singing. Their faces twist and contort, morphing into empty black hoods. Shadow Warriors. Icy blood flows through my veins, freezing my limbs. I open my mouth to scream, but it is as if I’m trapped in a vacuum. All air and movement has been sucked into the flames of the bonfire along with the crystals’ energy.
The thing that had once been Trina turns its terrible hooded form in my direction and floats toward me.
“Lia!” Someone slaps me and shakes me by the shoulders. “Wake up.”
I open my eyes and touch my stinging cheek. Seth is leaning over me, his face clouded with terror. I open my mouth to respond, but all that comes out is a rough cough.
“You have to stay awake. We’re almost out of here.”
I’m groggy, but conscious. My limbs are limp and refuse to obey my commands. I let him drag me the last few meters of the passageway, both of us wheezing with the effort. By the time we reach a flight of stairs, the world is swirling around me in clouds of smoke and of pain. Seth carries me up the steps and props me against a hard surface.
Images flash through my mind. Seth fiddling with a bolt on a door. Ash crying in the dark, her head bent. Seth cursing and hitting the door. Ash raising blood-shot eyes and a face smudged with dirt. Seth kicking the door, bashing it with his shoulder. Ash mouthing words I can’t hear.
The door crashes open, and we fall onto slippery cobblestones. The chill night air jolts me back to consciousness. I drag oxygen into my lungs, gasp, and dry heave.
We are back in the lane outside the club, where I encountered the Shadow Warriors earlier this evening. This time, it is awash with flickering light.
Debris is everywhere. Bricks and glass are strewn all over the lane. I see what looks to be a bloody stump and bite back a scream. For the second time that night, I throw up at Seth’s feet.
“We have to get out of here,” I say between heaves. “The fumes. Anyone in the club. Already dead. Quixone bombs leave no survivors.”
I stagger to my feet. The ground feels wobbly beneath my boots. Seth’s hand squeezes my arm, vise-like, dragging me in his wake. We are walking now. Faster than my sore ribs like, but not as fast as my brain demands. The lights of the main street glint at the end of the lane. In the distance, sirens echo, coming closer.
“Quixone is a myth.” Seth’s voice raises an octave, reminding me of the vulnerable boy I once loved. “And even if it’s not a myth, there’s not a druid left in the Provinces powerful enough to cast a leeching spell.”
“Are you certain? I’m studying metallurgy. Only two substances are powerful enough to melt Maeger metal—quixone and nether.”
“The Irish climate is too damp for nether.”
“Exactly. So it must be quixone. It leeches the magic out of metal, which explains why the Maegar metal in your walls buckled.”
We reach the main street and I glance at Seth.
His jaw is tight and his eyes bore into me. “Regardless of what was in that bomb, we both know who’s responsible for this atrocity.”
Adrian Langley. The name hangs in the smoke-filled air, as noxious as the fumes we smelled in the passageway. A rebel with a cause. A rebel who is holding my daughter hostage.
“We have to find Ash before the forty-eight hours are up,” I say. “We don’t have time to deal with the aftermath of a bomb.”
“That’s unfortunate, Ms. Grogan,” says a voice behind me, rich and deadly as molten lava. “Because you will be dealing with it. Preferably from the confines of a prison cell.”
I spin round. There, flanked by two Shadow Warriors, stands Torin MacNeil.
CHAPTER SIX
LIA
I’ve spent years throwing darts at his campaign posters, but this is the first time I’ve eyeballed Torin MacNeil in the flesh. He is taller than I imagined, taller even than Seth. His dark eyes burn flecks of fire, a reminder that this man is rumored to be the most powerful sorcerer in the Provinces. His hard features are sculpted enough to earn him a place as a cover model. No wonder he does well with the female electorate.
I swallow past the lump in my throat. “I had nothing to do with the attacks.”
The large man takes a step forward and looms over me. Seth moves closer. I try to escape but my limbs are paralyzed. My heart thunders against my aching ribs. If my inert form is anything to go by, the whispers about MacNeil’s psychic abilities are no exaggeration. So much for Seth’s assertion that the Fianna wouldn’t stoop to using mind control.
“You claim you had nothing to do with tonight’s atrocities,” MacNeil says, “yet two bombs detonated within minutes of you entering my nephew’s club.”
It feels like a pair of hands is squeezing my throat. I gasp for breath and thrash against a force I cannot see.
“That’s enough, Tor. She can’t talk if she can’t breathe.” Seth runs his palms over my throat, coating it in a warm heat and nixing the choking sensation.
MacNeil’s obsidian gaze shifts from me to his nephew, and then back again. “Your political leanings are well documented, Ms. Grogan. No point in denying your rebel affiliations.”
“Everything in the Provinces is well documented,” I croak through a throat still raw from my invisible throttling. “Your spies see to that. I hardly call donations to the War Widow and Orphans Fund ‘rebel affiliations.’”
MacNeil’s nostrils flare. “Do you know who you’re talking to?”
“Your face is plastered all over the place. Kind of hard to miss.” With another wheeze, I succumb to a coughing fit. Damn smoke has triggered my asthma.
“Sir.” His tone is glacial. “I am to be addressed as ‘sir.’”
“Tor,” Seth says in an urgent tone. “We need to get Lia away from the fumes.”
MacNeil continues to stare me down. The hostility he radiates reminds me of the Shadow Warriors. The man chose his sentries well. The urge to punch the arrogant prick in the face is overwhelming, but I can’t afford to lose any more time. I bite down on my pride and growl a truculent, “Sir.”
An armored vehicle skids to a halt at the end of the lane.
“We’ll go back to HQ and discuss our next move,” MacNeil says to his nephew, and then turns his hard eyes on me. “As for you, you’ll have to decide whether you want to cooperate or spend time in a prison cell. I assure you that a Fianna prison is no picnic.”
My legs tremble. He doesn’t need to tell me that. After what he did to my parents, I’m all too familiar with the Fianna’s prison system. “You’re wasting your time. I don’t know anything about the bombs.”
“Then you’d better spend the car journey coming up with useful
information to share with us. I doubt you want my guards to interrogate you.” He leans into my face, and the smooth smile widens into a smirk. “I believe you had an encounter with two of them earlier this evening.”
Icy fear spreads from my solar plexus to each of my limbs. I open my mouth to protest but MacNeil is already walking away.
Seth puts an arm around my waist. “Lean on me, Lia. We need to get out of this lane.”
I’m too dizzy from the fumes to object. The pain in my ribs is getting worse and despite Seth’s support, each step I take brings a fresh jolt of agony.
When we reach the end of the lane, MacNeil and a driver are sitting in the front of the armored vehicle with the engine already running. The Shadow Warriors have disappeared but I’m not comforted by their absence. I know they can reappear at any time, preferably when their prey least expect it.
Seth bundles me into the back of the car and squeezes in beside me. When the car starts moving, he leans close enough for his breath to tickle my neck. “Whatever you know, Lia, whatever you’re holding back, now is the time to tell me.”
“I don’t know anything,” I whisper. “Please get me out here. Every minute we waste is a minute less for us to reach Ash.”
Before the bombs detonated, Seth was on the verge of agreeing to help me. I’m sure of it. Post explosions, everything is different. Adrian is no longer a mere thorn in the Fianna’s side, albeit with a price on his head. Tonight’s events have elevated his position to Enemy Number One. With Torin MacNeil laboring under the misapprehension that I’m Adrian’s accomplice, I’m in a crappy position. I massage my aching temples. How the hell has my monochromatic life turned into an action-adventure movie in the space of a couple of hours?
Through the blackened windows of the car, I can see nothing of our surroundings. However, MacNeil’s mention of returning to HQ makes me think we’re heading toward Leinster House, formerly the parliament house of the Provinces. Since the Fianna seized power, it has served a dual function as Torin MacNeil’s home as well as the headquarters of the Fianna.
The car drives down what I assume to be a ramp and slows to a stop. Seth unbuckles his seat belt and I follow suit. The door on my side of the car is opened by a large man wearing the uniform of the Fianna. He pulls me out of the car, shoves me painfully against the side of the vehicle, and handcuffs my wrists behind my back. The tight metal cuts into my flesh.
Seth frowns at his uncle. “Is that necessary? We haven’t decided she’s a suspect yet.”
MacNeil casts his nephew a look of disdain. “Perhaps you haven’t decided, but I certainly have. Take her to the cells, O’Toole. We’ll question her there.”
The man named O’Toole drags me out of the car park and through a side entrance. MacNeil and Seth bring up the rear. At the end of a narrow corridor, the guard unlocks a door with an old-fashioned metal key. I’d expected the Fianna to have a high-tech solution in Leinster House, but perhaps MacNeil has placed a security hex on the place. O’Toole places a meaty palm between my shoulder blades and shoves me into the cell.
“Sit,” MacNeil orders. “You, too, Seth. Wait outside, O’Toole.”
I sit on a plastic stool. My hands are still cuffed behind my back and I feel blood drip from where the metal is cutting into my skin.
The men take the chairs opposite me. MacNeil’s pose is leisurely and relaxed. Seth is stiff as a poker, his expression inscrutable.
“How did you know who I was?” I ask MacNeil, posing the question that has been niggling at me since our encounter in the lane. “Even you can’t get info that fast.”
“Captain Driscoll recognized you from one of your many mug shots. He called me shortly before the bomb went off in Voltage. I doubt the poor man survived the blast.” His face contorts, and he flexes his jaw. If I didn’t know better, I might be fooled into thinking he mourned the man. “Why did you visit my nephew’s club, Ms. Grogan? I want the truth this time.”
“I came to the club to look for Seth. I need his help finding my daughter. Adrian Langley kidnapped her and wants to exchange her for Seth. We have less than two days to find her, and the only clue I have as to their whereabouts is a text message I can’t interpret.”
Seth holds my gaze. “She also claims that I am her daughter’s father, hence Langley’s motivation for using the girl as a bargaining chip.”
MacNeil’s face remains impassive. “That’s some tale, Ms. Grogan. If a child bearing Seth’s DNA had been born, the blood match would have been picked up when the birth was registered into the system.”
“It’s not ‘some tale.’ It’s the truth. My parents agreed to claim Ash as their own daughter. We hacked the DNA profile before it could trigger a notification. Bombs or no bombs, Seth and I need to get going or we’ll miss the deadline.”
“By ‘we hacked the DNA profile,’ I’m assuming you’re not referring to your parents,” MacNeil says. “I doubt a mechanic and a housewife possessed the necessary knowledge to manipulate a DNA sample.”
Seth’s voice breaks in anger. “Very few people possess the technological abilities to get past our security systems but Adrian Langley is one of them. Lia says he helped her.”
“That’s correct,” I say. “When I allowed Adrian to help me, I had no idea he’d use it to blackmail me and harm my daughter all these years later. I never would have made myself vulnerable to such a person had I had any inkling of his true nature.” I’m laying it on a little thick, perhaps, but I need to get them on my side.
“Prettily put, Ms. Grogan,” MacNeil says with a smirk. “To summarize, Langley wants you to bring my nephew to him. If you do so, he’ll let your daughter go free.”
“That’s correct.”
MacNeil leans forward, looking every inch the lethal predator. “What prompted you to fake your daughter’s birth registration?”
My eyes meet Seth’s. I bite my lip and avert my gaze. “I didn’t want her growing up in the Fifty. Look, I’ve been through all of this with your nephew. We’re wasting time going over it again. Seth and I need to leave or we’ll never meet Adrian’s deadline.”
“How do you know where we need to go?” Seth asks. “Even if I agree to help you, we can’t go off blindly into the distance. Last I heard, Langley was holed up in the north, but we don’t know where.”
“Adrian said he’d be in touch with instructions. He sent me a mobile telephone and a SIM card. Actually, I received a message from him while you were making coffee in your apartment.”
“You communicated with him just before the bomb went off?” The animosity in Seth’s eyes cuts me to the quick. “What did the message say?”
“Nothing that makes any sense to me. It said, ‘The dragon stirs. Tell MacNeil.’”
The MacNeil men exchange significant glances.
I look from one to the other. “Does that mean anything to you? The only thing I associate with dragons is your emblem.” I focus on the coiled dragon triskelion emblazoned on their shirts.
MacNeil shoves his stool back and stands. Seth follows his uncle’s example. “We have a council meeting in five minutes,” MacNeil says stiffly. “We’ll discuss this matter and come up with a plan of action.”
“How long is that going to take?” My tone is tinged with desperation. “We need to leave. If you have any idea what that text meant, please let’s go and stop wasting time.”
“O’Toole,” MacNeil shouts through the locked door. “Ms. Grogan is availing of our hospitality. Make sure she remains cuffed and immobile. Perhaps time to reflect will further loosen her tongue.”
“No,” I plead, close to tears. “That’s all I know. I had nothing to do with the bombs. You can’t lock me in a prison cell. My daughter is counting on me.”
MacNeil turns his back on me, and strides out the door.
“Seth,” I beg. “Don’t do this. I know you think I was responsible for the rebels capturing you, but it was Adrian’s father’s doing.”
His mouth curls. “I can’t deny th
at it affords me great pleasure to see you behind bars, even if it’s temporary.”
“So enjoy your moment of glory and move on. We can’t leave Ash with Adrian. She’s your daughter, for heaven’s sake.”
He whirls around to face me. The fury in his eyes makes me tremble. “Is she? Why should I believe a word you say?”
“Because it’s the truth. Please believe me.”
He runs a hand through his tightly cropped hair, his body poised to leave. “I don’t know what to think. Even if what you’re saying is true, tearing off to the place I suspect Langley is holding your—” he breaks off, and a muscle in his cheek flexes, “—holding Ashling is out of the question. We need equipment and we need supplies. The only fastest way for me to get access to provisions is to get the council’s approval.”
“Then make it quick. Please, Seth.”
He pauses in the doorframe, his hands curled into fists by his side. “I don’t know which is worse. The possibility that you kept my child from me for all these years, or the notion that you’re in league with a terrorist. I promise you one thing, Lia. If I find one shred of evidence that you helped Langley kill those people, I’ll make it my mission to ensure that the Fianna shows you no mercy.”
With these less than reassuring words, my former lover closes the door to my prison cell and slides the bolts into place, leaving me shivering in the darkness.
CHAPTER SEVEN
SETH
Ten minutes after I bolt Lia’s cell, all but one of the surviving members of the Fianna’s ruling council is seated in the Round Room, discussing the night’s events. Whether it’s the result of the fumes or the dual shocks of Lia’s revelation and my nightclub being blown to smithereens, I’m struggling to concentrate on the meeting. Although thoughts are swirling through my mind like a kaleidoscope on acid, on one point I am crystal clear: if Ashling Grogan is my daughter, I’ll do everything in my power to save her. Until I know for sure that she isn’t my flesh and blood, I have to assume that she is. And that means convincing Tor and the rest of the council to let me go after her.
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