by Anya Bast
“I care less about that than I do my immediate problem.” She leaned forward and caught his gaze meaningfully. “How I am going to pull the piece from the stone when it’s clear all the bad guys know the location? It’s not like I can just walk in and take it.”
David opened his mouth to reply just as his cell phone rang. He held up a finger and fumbled for it. “We’re at the Starbucks near baggage claim,” he said into the receiver, then snapped it closed.
She watched him slip the phone back into his pocket and folded her arms over her chest, hating how alone and vulnerable she felt. “Who was that?”
He glanced up at her. “A friend. Don’t worry.”
“Kinda hard not to worry.” She coughed into her hand. Her head pounded and her chest felt tight.
“How is Emmaline, by the way?”
She looked up at the note of pain in his voice. “She’s good.”
“In love with this man, Aeric O’Malley? The Blacksmith?”
“Uh.” Damn it. She didn’t want to hurt this guy. “They’re actually married now. Yes, they’re very much in love.”
He nodded. “Good. I want Emmaline to be happy.”
A hulking man with a scruffy beard came up on David’s side. “Are you still mooning over that woman?” he asked in a booming voice that had half of the customers in Starbucks looking over at them. “You got to let her go, man.”
David hung his head for a moment and smiled. Then he looked up at Charlotte. “Charlotte, please meet Calum. Calum, Charlotte.”
Calum reached out and shook her hand in a grip that made her wince. “Hey! Happy to know you!” he boomed.
Charlotte liked him immediately.
“Charlotte, do you want to fill Calum in?” David asked.
She nodded, drew a labored breath through a chest that ached nonstop, and dove in, telling him everything. “The piece is supposed to be stuck somewhere in the Stone of Destiny.”
Calum stroked his beard. “Thing is, I’ve seen the Stone of Destiny. I’ve touched every inch of that rock and I’ve never seen anything lodged in it that wasn’t a part of the stone, itself.”
“That’s what Kieran said.” She sat back in her chair, deflated. Here she was, dying, and perhaps on a useless errand. She could be spending this time with the man she loved . . . a man who apparently loved her back.
David shook his head. “Don’t discount it. I’ve seen lots of fae magick in my time. It can be powerful.”
“Well, there’s no checking it out till nightfall.” Calum looked at David. “That’s for certain.”
Charlotte sat up a little. “Why not?”
David’s gaze met hers. “We both almost died trying to get the second piece of the bosca fadbh because of this group of rogue fae.”
“And that fae bitch sister,” Calum added. “She cut me up so bad I almost couldn’t put myself back together again.”
“We go under cover of darkness.” David nodded. “We intend to take every precaution going after this one. We’ll make sure every advantage is ours.”
“If the piece is even really there.”
“I think it is. I think that the final piece of the bosca fadbh is within our reach.” David leaned forward and covered her hand with his. “The HFF crew is going to help you pull that piece and get it back into Piefferburg. I’m aware you don’t have much time—”
“Before I die.”
He gave her a rigid smile. “I was going to say you don’t have much time to get back into Piefferburg and find some kind of way to break this curse.”
“There isn’t a way.”
Calum caught her gaze. “If I was you, I’d die trying.”
“THERE is no cure.” Priss, the Piefferburg witch, in her guise as a comely young woman—the Maiden—gestured and spoke as though Kieran and Niall were simpleminded. “You’ve asked before and I’ve always told you the same thing; I know of no way to break the curse set upon you.”
“What about the family that laid it? Can’t they take it off?” Niall asked.
“They’re dead,” Kieran and the witch answered in unison.
“We’ve already been down that road,” Kieran finished, turning away and rubbing a hand over his weary face. “Even if they were alive, it’s doubtful they could reverse a curse this strong.”
He walked to the grimy window of the witch’s shop and stared out at the serpentine alleyway that wove its way around the base of the Black Tower. This was the same alley he’d chased Charlotte down the day she’d arrived. Now he wished she’d managed to escape. It seemed forever ago, not just a few weeks. His chest twinged with pain and he pressed his palm to it. The curse eating at him was growing worse by the hour. How was Charlotte doing?
“Kieran Aindréas Cairbre Aimhrea has come to me before,” the witch was saying to Niall. “I have looked through every book I own, consulted with every one of my colleagues, including your brother, Ronan. I cannot find a cure.”
Kieran turned from the window. “What about the woman? Can you find a way to break her free of this? Some way to break the curse just for her? She wasn’t the one it was laid on; she’s blameless.”
The Piefferburg witch smiled. “You were always blameless, too, and I can’t find a way to break it for you.”
“Find a way to break it for her.” He roared it, suddenly terrified and enraged all at once. “Do whatever you can. You know I’m wealthy. I’ll pay you whatever you demand. Just do it.”
GIDEON gained a better grip on his bag and walked toward the sliding exit doors of the airport. A distance away a large, bearded man boomed, “Well, all right, let’s get going!” to his companions. Dear Labrai, that man was huge. Gideon squinted, looking at the man’s companions. The woman had long dark hair. The man had short reddish gold hair and a muscular build. The big man’s booming laugh accompanied them as they walked through the exit doors about twenty feet ahead of him.
Deep in thought about his upcoming adventure in the country of his birth, Gideon watched the three disappear outside before heading to the car hire businesses. He wanted out of this place and he wasn’t going to waste any time.
He got his car and, even though he was exhausted, drove directly out to County Meathe, about a forty-minute trek to the north. His hands tight on the steering wheel the whole way, he was finally forced to pull off onto a little used road in the countryside, get out of the car, and rest on a nearby hill in order to collect himself. He sat in the grass and held his hands out in front of him. They were shaking.
Coming here was worse than any of his nightmares.
Ireland looked different than the last time he’d been here, of course. But time couldn’t completely change the way the land rolled or how it smelled. As soon as his feet had hit Irish soil, the past had risen up to smack him in the face. No amount of change could mask the fundamental soul of Ireland.
He could still remember the way her skirts had felt in his hands. Her laughter had sounded like bells. He still recalled how she’d run her fingers through his hair and say sweet things to him. She’d always smelled of flowers, even in the middle of winter. Loss opened up like an enormous mouth in the center of his chest, sharp teeth nipping away tiny, bloody chunks of his heart.
Gideon closed his eyes, trying to banish it all. Once he touched that grief deep inside, nothing but huge amounts of time could heal him. Time was something he didn’t have.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he recited a segment from the Book of Labrai. “In the time before things were recorded, when monkey-men and pretend gods walked the Earth, demons ruled humanity. They entered the hearts of the weak and exploited their frailty, turning men on each other, causing chaos and allowing wickedness to rule. Humanity put their trust in the fae, the dark gods of selfishness and sorrow. One day unto a human woman a child was born and his name was Labrai, the light-bringer. He was Phaendir in a womb where no druid seed had been sown and spoke great truths before he walked. He—”
“Hello, ye not looking horrid well up there.
Can I call someone?”
Gideon stopped muttering to himself and forced himself to focus on his immediate surroundings. A young man had turned down the small road he’d stopped on and had pulled up alongside his rental car.
“Did ye hear me, then?” The man leaned out his open car window. “Having car trouble?” He narrowed his eyes as he caught sight of Gideon’s bruises. “Do ye need me to call for help?”
“No. I’m fine. Thanks.”
“Ah! An American!” He smiled as though that explained all.
“American now, yes.” Gideon forced himself to smile. He hadn’t always been. “Thanks for stopping, but I’m fine.”
“Have a good day, then!” His tiny car motored off down the road.
Gideon sat on the hill, staring off into the brightening day and let the feel and scent of his homeland sink into him. A door he’d shut tight and locked a long time ago opened a little and he couldn’t stop it. Not all the religious recitations in the world could prevent that door from swinging wide and letting all the memories flood back in.
He could still remember the way her skirts had felt in his hands. . . .
He’d been ten when his mother had met Odran. Gideon’s father had been dead for several years and he guessed, now that he looked back on it, his mother had been lonely. His father had been Phaendir, of course, and his mother human.
The new man was fae.
The Phaendir and the fae were mortal enemies, Labrai having put His hand on the Phaendir as His chosen people. Apparently his mother, even though she’d been with a Phaendir and had a Phaendir as a son, hadn’t received the memo. The fae man’s name had been Odran Roarke ó Séaghdha and he’d belonged to the Seelie Court. His magick had been the ability to make crops grow stronger and faster. A mundane skill in these times of chemicals and high-tech farming equipment, but it had been highly valued back in those days.
Gideon remembered peering from around the bushes near his mother’s house at the two of them laughing and kissing, the rage boiling up from the depths of his stomach. He had hated Odran so much that his head would throb in pain as he thought about all the ways to rid him from his mother’s life. When Gideon had asked his mother how she could stand to let a fae touch her, she’d always said he was Seelie and good, of the light court.
But not all had been good and light in their relationship. They had seemed to hate each other as much as they loved each other and their relationship had been full of drama and occasional violence. Gideon would return home some days to find his mother trying to hide a bruise on her face or her arm, sometimes a split lip or a cut she would explain away by saying she’d tripped or done something clumsy. Gideon knew what was happening, yet she always took Odran back after they fought.
Gideon had been only eight, but he’d plotted Odran’s murder endlessly. One night when Odran had been sleeping beside his mother, he’d crept into the room and held a rusty blade to Odran’s neck, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to cut down into the flesh. He’d been too young back then, too weak. He’d worried too much about his mother’s heart and how she would look at him if he murdered her lover. His hand had shook and he’d run crying from the room.
That night haunted him. He should have done it, and if he’d been able to see what had been coming, he would’ve. Even now he fantasized that the night had gone differently, that he’d stabbed the fae in the throat and watched his blood gush.
But he hadn’t, and one day Gideon had come home to find his mother broken on the floor of the middle of their house, a shard of pottery sticking out of her head above her open, unseeing eyes.
Gideon had gone to live with the Phaendir.
Odran Roarke ó Séaghdha had not lived to see the construction of Piefferburg. When he’d been caught he’d had a bad case of Watt Syndrome, but that’s not what he’d died from. Instead he’d suffered an . . . accident. It had been Gideon’s first such arrangement, definitely not his last.
Gideon lifted his head from where he’d dropped his forehead onto his knees and realized his cheeks were wet with tears. Looking up into the sky he saw that he’d been sitting there until well after noon. He had no time for this. He pushed to his feet, brushed the grass from his pants, and walked down the hill to his car.
His flight wasn’t until tomorrow morning. He’d go check out the piece in the Lia Fáil, meet with whomever there was to meet with, then go sleep in his hotel room until it was time to leave this Labrai-forsaken place.
TEAMHAIR na Rí, the Hill of Tara, was empty of tourists on this weekday afternoon. Gideon stood looking at the so-called Stone of Destiny and curled his lip. This was the fae coronation stone, said to “sing” when the rightful heir to the fae throne touched it. It was one of quite a few fae artifacts that humans loved to ooh and ahh over when on their vacations, all the while paying the Phaendir huge sums of money to keep the fae well away from them in real life.
Stonehenge was, of course, the greatest of all sacred fae sites. Once upon a time it had been a portal to other places and times. Now it was a bunch of big, broken rocks, but that didn’t stop the humans from dropping their jaws over it. Little did the tourists know that the Phaendir had had as large a part in the construction and magicking of those standing stones as the fae. Because the construction had occurred when the fae and Phaendir had been allied, it was a shameful thing for the Phaendir and not talked about—those dark times before Labrai had shone His brilliant light upon His people.
He circled the Lia Fáil, looking for some hint of the bosca fadbh, but he could find nothing. The Stone of Destiny just looked like a big rock. That’s all. Frowning, he knelt and examined the base of the stone. Still, nothing.
Blowing out an exasperated breath, Gideon flipped open his cell phone to call Máire. Had the bitch been toying with him? Had he made this trip, forced himself to explore painful memories, for nothing? Was this some sick, twisted game of a sick, twisted free fae? He wouldn’t doubt it.
He’d hunt her down and tear her to shreds for wasting his time and making him revisit his homeland.
“Well, and if it isn’t the great archdirector of the Phaendir here to look at our pretty stone.”
Gideon stilled, mid-number punch. He recognized that voice as the one who’d called him before Máire had met him at the Cathedral of the Overseer. The heavy Irish accent. How the hell had the man come up behind him so fast? The fae had made no sound and there weren’t exactly a wealth of hiding places around here. No matter.
Gideon snapped the phone shut and pivoted. The man was huge—tall and broad—seeming twice the size of Gideon’s own medium frame. He had thick, wavy red hair, pale skin, and blue eyes. “Liam.”
His red eyebrows rose into his hairline. “I am Liam. Liam Connall Deaglan Mag Aoidh.”
“Another damn fae who escaped the Great Sweep.”
“Be proud to meet me. There are not many of us.” His tone and the smile that accompanied them were mocking.
“Why did you give me your full name, Liam Connall Deaglan Mag Aoidh?” He made sure to pronounce every syllable perfectly.
Liam made a scoffing sound. “Once knowing the full name of a fae meant something, especially to our enemy, the Phaendir. Those days are over.” He inclined his head. “I honor you with my full name, Gideon P. Amberdoyal, as a sign of trust. What does the P stand for?”
Gideon’s eyes narrowed. He wasn’t going to honor this fae with his full name in return, not for all the money in the world. He gestured angrily at the hunk of rock behind him. “Máire told me the piece of the bosca fadbh is stuck in the Lia Fáil, but she lied. Typical.” He spat the last word.
“You don’t have the eyes to see, Amberdoyal. You’re too blinded by hatred.”
“Are you some of kind of guru? Do I have to listen to some vague spiritual bullshit now? Will you tell me the secret to inner peace?”
“You’re well past such things now. There’s no hope for you.”
“And I’m supposed to respect what you say? Máire
told me why you don’t want the walls to fall. You’ll be reaped by the Wild Hunt immediately for murdering your own people.” He snorted. “You have no right to take any sort of spiritual stance.”
Liam shook his head. “You don’t have the slightest clue what you’re talking about, man. And Máire, by the way, is missing.”
“Missing?”
“She’s missed her check-in. Have you heard from her?”
Gideon didn’t care. He shifted impatiently. “Where’s the damn piece. I’m not sending any help from the Phaendir until I see it with my own eyes.”
“Then you’ll have to come after dark. You’re in luck. There should be moonlight tonight.”
Gideon rubbed his face with both hands and counted to ten. “Goody. I can’t wait to spend more time with you people.”
“I know all you want is to toss the lot of us into Piefferburg, but that would be unwise. We’re on the same page on this, Amberdoyal. We can help you. We have been helping you.”
“How do you know I don’t have fifty Phaendir stationed around this hill right now, ready to make you show us where the rest of you are?”
Liam smiled wolfishly. “First, because we’ve had you followed from the airport, Amberdoyal. Sitting on that embankment for so long was really boring for my people, by the way.” He tipped his head to the side. “Although I have to admit I’m curious to know what you were crying about.”
Gideon glowered, his hands flexing.
“Second, we own this hill and the surrounding area. It is ours. Every inch. No one gets near the Stone of Destiny that we don’t know about it.” He raised his eyebrows. “Meet you here at midnight?”
Gideon nodded. “Fine. Midnight.”
“IT’S almost midnight. We should leave soon.” Charlotte went into a coughing fit at the window overlooking the street in Kilmessan where they’d rented rooms for the night. David came up behind her and braced her upper arms as if to stop the racking coughs that were tearing her lungs to shreds.
When her hands came away, they were bloody.
