Etched in Stone: Twilight Court Book 9

by Amy Sumida

  The energy signature of every living thing blossomed around me. If I had brought Cat—my puka—with me, she would have been able to smell her way around the garden. But this time, I had to go with my enhanced vision. People give off the strongest auras, and sometimes—when they were in an extreme emotional state—they left remnants of their aura behind.

  In the center of the path before me, there was a streak of red. I headed for it and bent down over it. The layer of rose petals was disturbed there.

  “That's where we found Reese,” Killian said.

  I looked closer but couldn't see anything beyond the angry red. That was the problem with auras; extreme emotion could leave a trace, but it could also mask the true aura of its host. All I knew was that he or she had been furious. Most likely; she.

  “I only see the remnants of one person,” I said as I peered around the garden again. “And there's nothing else unseen here.” I stood up and was about to push back the sight when I caught the glimmer of something else. “Hold on; maybe I'm mistaken.” I crawled up on one of the flowerbeds and pulled something out of the branches of a rose bush. “This has the remnants of magic running through it.”

  I brought my prize back to Killian and held it up for him to see.

  “A feather?” He took the tawny feather from me and held it up.

  It was only an inch long and was fluffy.

  “Down,” I said.

  Killian looked at the ground.

  “No; this is a down feather.” I pointed out the soft quality of it. “It came from beneath the tougher exterior feathers of a bird.”

  “Okay. So, what does it mean?”

  “I haven't the foggiest,” I said as I tucked the feather into my jacket's inner pocket. “But I'll bet Uncle Dylan will know.”

  “If not, it will be fun to frustrate him.” Killian smirked.

  “So, it's a win-win.” I returned his smirk.

  Chapter Ten

  “What the fairy fuck are you doing?” I growled as I stormed into the lab.

  Dylan and Daxon looked up; the latter guiltily, the former with irritation.

  “We're working on a device that can collect magic,” Dylan said.

  “No,” I declared imperiously. “Uh-uh; not gonna happen. Put the tools down and back away from the beakers, boys.”

  “Seren, you are not my boss,” Dylan said.

  “Did you just pull the 'You're not the boss of me' bit?” I growled at him. “Because let's get something straight right now; I don't have to be your boss to stop you from making that device. I have several options available to me; one—the option I'm leaning toward—involves my fist and your face. But if I wanted to take the bitch route, all I'd have to do is make one scry to my father.”

  Dylan's face pinched up, but I suppose pinched is better than punched. He realized this as well and stepped away from the table.

  “It's simple curiosity,” Dylan said.

  “Curiosity that could kill fairies, Uncle Dylan,” I snarled. “You make that device, and it's going to get out. What do you think would be the best use for such a thing? Just off the top of your head; go ahead and give me one application that wouldn't make you a murderer.”

  Dylan blanched. Daxon stretched his shoulders and looked away.

  “Dax,” I growled. “You can't build it.”

  “Someone already has, Seren,” Daxon said reasonably. “And the only way to learn what it's capable of is to know exactly how it's made. We have to build it if we want to stop it.”

  The whole room went quiet; everyone staring at me.

  “Son of a fucking storm witch,” Killian huffed. “I hate it when Blue-Balls is right.”

  “That's not an acceptable name.” Daxon glared at Killian.

  “Dude, that's exactly what you're going to have after saying that shit to Seren,” Killian declared. “I'm just keeping it real. But hey, at least they'll match your hair.”

  “Killian.” I shook my head at him.

  Kill only smiled wider.

  “You gonna tell me I'm wrong, Princess?” Daxon growled.

  “No; I'm going to tell you to get back to work,” I snapped. “You're right, but when this is all over, you're going to destroy that damn thing and any notes that could help someone rebuild it.”

  “Acceptable terms,” Dylan said. “King Daxon?”

  “Agreed,” Daxon said stiffly. “Though I'm not thrilled with your high-handedness, Seren.”

  “Get the fuck over it,” I growled. Then I stomped out of the room muttering, “Fucking arrogant prick.”

  “Told you so, King Blue-Balls” Killian taunted Dax before he followed me out.

  I didn't remember the feather until after we'd left, and my pride was already too wounded for me to turn around and go back in. The feather and my theories would have to wait until morning; after I'd cooled down.

  So, Killian, my Guard, and I headed over to my father's penthouse and left Matvei and Rodaidh—who Dax had brought with him to San Francisco—guarding the lab door while the D-Team did their science experiments.

  Chapter Eleven

  “So, I've been speaking with your father about the wedding,” Killian said after we had sat down to enjoy a glass of wine on the balcony of my father's apartment.

  “Oh?” I considered his expression. “Why does that make you worried?”

  “Not about marrying you,” he assured me. “It's just...”

  “Spit it out, Kill.”

  “He's had a crown made for me.”

  “Yeah; you're going to be Prince of Twilight,” I said.

  “It's sparkly, Seren.”

  I knew it was bad when Killian used my given name; either bad or really good. But I was betting on bad in this instance.

  “You don't want to wear a sparkly crown?” I asked as I desperately tried to hide my smile.

  “You're an asshole,” he declared. “I can't be wearing a star crown like yours; then I'd look like the asshole.”

  “My father wears one,” I pointed out.

  “Your father is a fairy king with long, purple hair,” Killian huffed. “That crown looks perfect on him.”

  “But you'll look like an asshole?”

  “A sparkly asshole.”

  “Well, no one wants to see that,” I said dryly.

  “I'm not prince material,” he said softly.

  “Killian,” I whispered, “are you having second thoughts?”

  “No. Never,” he swore. Then he went deadly serious. “I'd do anything to be with you, Seren. To have you as my wife... I'd even wear that damn crown. I just don't want to disappoint you.”

  “Kill, I wasn't exactly princess material either,” I said gently. “I brazened my way through it, and I'm sure I disappointed a lot of people.”

  “Not your father,” Killian said. “That man adores you.”

  “And I adore you.” I took his hand. “You think I'm marrying you because it's the right thing to do? Because Danu wants it? I love you, Kill. Wear your stupid snake shirt to the wedding if you want; I'll still marry you. You'll never disappoint me.”

  Killian swallowed roughly before pulling me in against his chest. He held me tightly for a few moments and then angled his head down to kiss me. We didn't make it to the bedroom; we didn't even make it off the balcony. It was more than passion; more than love. This was kinship; I knew exactly what Kill was going through, and what he was signing up for. In so many ways, Killian was the most like me. Part human, touched by Danu, struggling through fairy culture and politics while dealing with his position as an ambassador. He had lost his father and grown up as part of a secret society. And we were both warriors. No one understood me better than Killian, and no one understood him better than I did.

  But his magnificent body didn't hurt either.

  I growled as I shoved his shirt over his head and then pulled him back down to me. Raza was a mountain of muscles, and Tiernan was sleekly beautiful, but Killian was a lovely middle. I ran my hands over his wide shoulder
s and down his strong back, to shove his jeans over the curve of his ass. Killian didn't bother to remove them; my jeans were already off, and he was positioned between my legs. All he had to do was pull down his zipper. I used one hand to guide him home while keeping the other firmly on his ass. It was all the encouragement Killian needed. With a low moan, he thrust forward and sheathed himself to the hilt. We both sighed from the pleasure of it.

  “This right here,” he whispered in my ear, “this connection we share; it's worth any obstacle—any trauma. Fuck; I feel as if I'm deeper than I could possibly be.”

  “You are,” I whispered back as I held his gaze. “Too deep to ever be completely separated from me.”

  “I love you, Twilight.”

  Killian wasn't as poetic as Tiernan or Raza, or as naughty as Daxon, but when it came down to it; he said everything that I needed to hear.

  “I love you too, Kill.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Daxon slept at Gentry; if he slept at all. When Killian and I rolled in the next morning, Matvei and Ro were propped in chairs by the door. They straightened when we approached, and I sent them off to find couches to nap on while my Guard took their place. Inside the lab, Dylan and Daxon looked like two mad scientists who had been up all night trying to bring a monster to life.

  And they had succeeded.

  Wild hair and under-eye circles aside, the men looked mightily pleased with themselves as they surveyed their accomplishment over cups of steaming coffee. There was a cart of food shoved to the side of the room that some kind soul had brought them, but the plates of pastries, bacon, eggs, and hashbrowns remained untouched; only the coffee was being consumed. Killian made a beeline for breakfast.

  “You did it?” I asked as I headed toward the table Dylan and Dax sat at.

  “We did,” Dylan declared proudly.

  I bent over what appeared to be a crystal box. It was beautiful; hinges and frame made of gold, with several cabochon jewels set into its panels.

  “Are you sure it works?” Killian asked around a mouthful of food. He sauntered over to the table with a plate in hand and kept eating as he looked over the box skeptically. “Looks more like it should hold jewelry than magic.”

  “We tested it,” Dylan confirmed.

  “On who?” I was aghast.

  “Myself,” Dylan said. “We used the box to remove a small amount of my magic, and then I was able to take it back.”

  “And you feel no aftereffects?” I asked with concern.

  “Amazingly enough, I feel refreshed,” Dylan declared and laughed. “As if the magic were cleaned before it was returned to me.”

  “It's magical dialysis!” Killian hooted. “Magic laundering.”

  Dylan and Daxon blinked at each other.

  “I suppose it is,” Daxon said. “If you were to use it in that way.”

  “There, Seren!” Dylan declared. “There is your non-lethal use for this device.”

  “No,” I said. “A magical refresher is not worth the risk of putting a device like this out into the worlds.”

  Dylan sighed and deflated. “Fine, but it is a glorious accomplishment.”

  “How does it work?” Killian peered at the box from all angles and then licked grease off his fingers in preparation for poking at it.

  “Very simply.” Daxon pointedly moved it away from Killian. “There is a golden rod inside the box that serves as a collection point. You open the lid, and then the individual to be drained must touch the tip of the rod. The magic is withdrawn through the gold and stored in the crystal. When the desired amount has been stored, you remove your finger and close the lid.”

  “And when you want to acquire the magic for yourself, the process is the same; you open the box and touch the gold,” Dylan added. “The magic is transferred through contact.”

  “It was the head that gave us the idea,” Daxon explained.

  “The head?” Killian lifted his brows.

  “The gorgon head,” I reminded him.

  “Why take the head?” Daxon asked hypothetically. “It had to be the source of the gorgon's magic.”

  “The snakes?” I asked.

  “Most likely,” Dylan agreed.

  “If the subject is unwilling or deceased, the device would need to connect directly to the magic's source,” Daxon said.

  “And quickly,” Dylan added. “If you wait too long, the magic will dissipate until just traces remain in the corpse. For a full transfer, the murderer would have to take the head immediately to the box to collect its magic.”

  “Why not do it there?” I asked.

  “The transfer has a physical effect,” Daxon said. “It alters the appearance of the body; all magical influences are pulled away.”

  “My eyes shifted to human,” Dylan said. “And that was just a small drain. We have theorized that taking all of a gorgon's magic would leave her head completely devoid of snakes.”

  “And would have raised even more questions than a headless corpse,” I concluded. “Now, for the big question; how do we combat this?”

  “Easy,” Dylan said. “Don't die.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Death is far more permanent than the magic transfer,” Daxon explained. “Ellie could have taken her magic back through the same means that it was stolen from her; had she lived.”

  “That's all theory,” I pointed out.

  “Yes, but regardless; if you're dead, it doesn't matter,” Dylan said. “And if you're alive, you wouldn't willingly touch the device.”

  “Not dying is kinda my go-to goal anyway. So, that doesn't really help.”

  “We also confirmed my theory that the magic would have to be similar to the mór of the fairy who takes it,” Daxon reported. “I attempted to take Dylan's magic, and it wouldn't transfer. In fact, it gave me a little zap.”

  “Is there anything else that might help us?” Killian asked. “Weakness from the transfer; anything?”

  “No; as I said, I feel stronger after taking my magic back,” Dylan said.

  “But that was your magic,” I pointed out. “To truly test this, we'd have to bring in someone with magic similar to yours.”

  “Someone who had a version of Thorn?” Dylan asked as he gave me a pointed look.

  “You want to try the transfer with me?” I asked in surprise.

  “Why not?” Dylan shrugged. “Would you rather be the giver or the receiver?”

  “Giver, I think,” I said. “I don't want to be zapped.”

  “Very well.” Dylan chuckled as he opened the lid of the box. “But be careful to remove your finger before you give up too much.”

  I scowled at the golden rod and nodded. They all watched intently as I placed my finger on the tip. At first, nothing happened, but then I felt a tickling pull. I inhaled sharply as the box drew out my magic. I could feel the layers separating; the fire I had been given by Danu refused to budge, but the blood aspect of my original Bloodthorn seeped away.

  “Are you all right, Twilight?” Killian asked with wide eyes.

  I nodded, but then the heat of my Firethorn started to get too much for me. My magic needed its foundation to function. I gasped and pulled my finger away. Daxon closed the box and looked me over, but it was Dylan who spoke.

  “You look pale,” my uncle noted. “Hang on, Seren; this won't take long.”

  Uncle Dylan opened the box and laid his fingertip over the rod. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes as his skin flushed. A rosy glow emanated from him before he drew his finger away.

  “The Bloodthorn,” Dylan whispered. “I feel it. It's so strange to have another fairy's magic inside me.”

  I wavered, and Killian steadied me.

  “Great; now, fucking put it back!” Kill snarled.

  “Oh, yes.” Dylan fumbled with the lid of the box and put his finger on the gold again. “Sorry; I...”

  He moaned as the magic was pulled away and then suddenly jerked his finger back.

  “There,” he whispe
red. “It nearly claimed mine again.”

  Killian pulled the box over to me and opened it. “Go on, babe,”

  I touched my finger to the rod, and my magic shot back into me. It rushed through every cell of my body before it settled in my heart. A magnificent feeling of power refreshed me, and I opened my eyes with a smile.

  “That's amazing,” I whispered.

  Dylan nodded. “My apologies for dawdling.”

  “It's fine.” I shook my head. “And I learned where the source of my magic is; my heart.”

  “Mine is as well,” my uncle said with interest. “It's probably the same for most, if not all, sidhe.”

  “Well, at least we've come to a couple conclusions,” Daxon offered.

  That reminded me of the feather.

  “Speaking of conclusions,” I said. “There's something else that I didn't get the chance to tell you about yesterday.”

  Daxon narrowed his eyes at me. “What?”

  “I found this at the Rose Garden.” I pulled out the feather and held it aloft. “The place looked as if it had been buffeted by a windstorm. The ground was covered with petals everywhere except where the statue was found. When I investigated with clairvoyance, I found traces of deep red at the location of the statue, but no other marks of the aura. But then, I looked up and saw this.”

  Daxon took the feather, studied it, and then looked at Dylan. “You know what this is, don't you?”

  “Oh yes, and it makes perfect sense,” Dylan said. “They hate gorgons.”

  “The bloodiest part of the battlefield was always where the gorgons and the harpies fought,” Daxon agreed.

  “Harpies?” I asked as I took the feather back. “This is a harpy feather?”

  “I'd have to get it analyzed to be sure,” Dylan said. “But the most reasonable conclusion—taking into account the involvement of gorgons and the state of the Rose Garden—is that the feather came from a harpy.”

  “Why does the state of the garden matter?” Killian asked.