Agravain ducks, but he’s not fast enough, and my power wraps around his left arm, a black coil that pulls him back to me. With a cry of rage, Agravain turns to hack at the tentacle, but this isn’t something human metal can touch. I twist my fingers together, sending another burst of power, and more black ropes whip around Agravain’s legs, and sword arm, threatening to pulverize them. At last, he stops struggling.
“P-P-Please,” Agravain stutters, pupils dilated with fear.
He’s back to being a boy now, a little boy who played with fire before realizing that flames do burn. But there’s no pity inside me for him. He burned that away too.
Agravain makes another feeble attempt to pull himself free, the smell of searing flesh and rotten eggs heavy in the hallway as the dark bindings bite into his flesh and metal legs, eating him alive.
“You’re done killing my friends,” I tell him, “you and the rest of the traitors.”
I make myself watch until his fingers stop twitching, and his pleas have turned into an indistinct mewling. Then, with a last shudder, Agravain’s mouth drops open, drool dripping down his chin, glassy eyes staring sightlessly at the floor.
Only then do I finally turn away.
◆◆◆
Arthur is pacing about a wide clearing, pockmarked by strange piles of stones. Cairns, as far as the eye can see, rising at different heights in a convoluted maze. The cousins are with him, as well as Hadrian, Daniel and Keva, all waiting silently, while Sir Hengist, Lugh, Oberon, and my uncle confer together further away.
Somehow, they’ve lost the dragon. Or, and this scares me more than I dare admit, Carman’s sent her beast far away, out of reach.
Arthur finally stops his pacing, and turns to stare at a lone figure standing incongruously to the side. I start at the sight of Mordred, his tattooed body leaning lightly against one of the cairns, golden eyes lost in the distance.
After everything that’s happened, I still can’t believe it’s him, that he’s there with the others, working with them. Neither, apparently, can the older knights.
“We have decided to wait here until we get a message for affirmative action from Morgan,” my uncle says, arms crossed tightly over his chest. “Going in too soon would be too risky considering the stakes.”
“Don’t be daft,” Mordred says, with barely veiled contempt. “You think Carman’s going to wait for us before she attacks my sister?”
“I thought your people were helping her?” Sir Cade says.
Mordred bristles, and I wonder if either Urim or Thummim has managed to report to him what’s happened here. “They can’t face Carman on their own either,” he concedes at last.
Sir Hengist’s lips curl in disdain. “The plan was clear. We wait for a sign from the school. Until then, our runners will keep track of the dragon and keep it busy. That’s final.”
The Errant Companions’ leader returns his attention to a map laid out on the ground between him and Lugh. The other knights exchange uncomfortable glances, then fall away as well, leaving Mordred alone but for Arthur.
“You know how I first found out about her?” Arthur asks after a long minute, before going to lean against the stone pillar next to Mordred’s.
“Spare me,” Mordred says, rolling his eyes.
“It was three years ago,” Arthur continues. “I’d been snooping around in my parents’ office, when I found a whole pile of unread letters in the trash can.”
I gasp in surprise. My letters. The ones I’d written back when I still believed Irene was my mother, telling her about my life at school, hoping that one day I would finally get an answer back.
I’d forgotten about them, but hearing Arthur mention them brings back that sting of hurt and disappointment I’d felt every day when the mail was distributed, watching the other students open their care packages with glee, while my desk remained empty.
“Ah, yes, Morgan’s sniveling letters,” Mordred says, sounding bored.
Of course, he knows all about them. He was with me during the writing of many of them.
“They weren’t sniveling,” Arthur retorts, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “They were actually…fun. Full of intriguing details, terrible sketches, and a longing for a home that—”
“If you thought our alliance was an overture for you to pour all your meaningless feelings to me, you were dead wrong,” Mordred cuts him off.
“I thought you’d welcome the talk,” Arthur says after a long pause.
Mordred snorts. “With you? Are you mad?”
My view bobs up and down as Arthur shrugs. “Who else have you got?” he asks. “I don’t suppose those who raised you were much for it, and I know for a fact Jennifer can’t stand conversations unless she’s the one doing all the talking.”
To my surprise, Mordred chuckles. “You’re right on both counts, mortal,” he says, “but with our probable end near, I don’t think I’ll change the way I do things now.”
“Artie, Rip’s coming over,” Gauvain shouts from further down the clearing.
Arthur quickly straightens as the strikingly pale man shuffles over, carrying something furry in his cupped hands.
“What is it?” Arthur asks.
Rip lifts both hands up to show Papillon sitting there, long ears drooping in exhaustion.
“What is that…thing?” Sir Hengist asks, having hurried over.
“Excuse me,” Papillon says, puffing out his heaving chest. “I am the ambassador of none other than her Mightiest—”
“News?” Arthur cuts him off.
Papillon hiccups at the interruption. “Right, right. I’m here to tell you it’s time to land the eagle.” The flying mouse looks around expectantly, but upon the lack of reaction from the people around, adds, “It’s time to lead the dragon back to its nest. The wards are ready, and Morgan’s going after Carman.”
Keva gasps, but the others are already moving, calling for the troops to march for battle one final time.
Chapter 37
Light flares in my vision, then something hard connects with my shin. I snarl in response, squinting down at the blinding light.
“How dare—”
“Clearer-headed, hmm?”
I blink in confusion as I try to adjust myself to the fact that I’m no longer with Arthur and Mordred in the vision, but stuck instead in the hallway between the library and armory, Nibs standing before Agravain’s remains.
“Yer work?” the clurichaun asks without touching the body.
I nod. Maybe it’s from having spent too much time in the company of demons, or perhaps because Agravain’s hate turned him into one of them, but I find myself unable to feel guilt at having killed him.
“Banshee?” I call out in alarm, looking for her.
“In the staircase,” Nibs says.
I rush over, needing to make sure with my own eyes that the banshee’s all right, and find her sitting on the lowest step, holding onto her side.
“Are you all right?” I ask, dropping to my knees beside her.
The banshee flinches away from my touch. “Ffffiinnne,” she says, before going stock still, cowl cocked to the side.
“What is it?” I ask, ears perked.
Then someone outside shouts, “Incoming!”
It’s the same warning cry whenever something large falls through the sky-lake barrier, but this time it holds a note of panic to it.
Dread spikes through me as the cry is taken up by more demons, turning into shrieks of fear.
“Nibs!” I shout.
I barely have the chance to raise a shield around us three when something massive crashes into the courtyard. Windows shatter inward, the whole building heaving and rattling like it’s going to collapse on itself. Then the library walls explode as a giant cone of white metal punches through, tearing everything down in its passage in a deafening crash.
“To me!” I shout as the eastern wing of the school caves in.
Wrapping my arms around Nibs and the banshee, I close my e
yes, concentrating only on keeping my barrier up. I grit my teeth, sweat pouring down my face and back. Pieces of the staircase crack and fall around us, bouncing off my shield. Then at last, the quakes subside.
“Ssssafe now,” the banshee says through the ringing in my ears, though she doesn’t move away.
It takes another five breaths before I finally let go, and drop to my knees, drenched through and trembling like a leaf.
“A bloody plane!” Nibs hiccups.
I cough out a laugh, nerves frayed from the tension.
“W-would it be t-too much to h-hope it’s s-squashed Carman?” I ask.
Nibs rolls his eyes at me. “Ya should know better than that by now,” he says. “The two dumbos are keepin’ her busy upstairs, but they won’t be able to hold her back much longer.”
“Urim and Thummim are what?” I breathe out.
But the clurichaun is already speeding up the staircase, moving faster than he ever has, and the banshee and I follow him to the first floor.
“Shhhh,” Nibs says before we can barrel into the hallway.
“What are we waiting for?” I ask impatiently.
“Our diversion,” Nibs says, staring wide eyed at the scarred metal side of the plane where the library used to be.
The KORT room is just a few dozen feet away, and I can feel the Siege Perilous’s presence within, beckoning. But demons are now pouring out the door in a dark ravenous wave to investigate the plane’s wreckage, too many for me to face alone, even with the banshee’s help.
Yet I can’t let them put their filthy paws on anyone that might be in the plane, dead or alive.
“Wait,” Nibs tells me, holding me back by my pant leg before I can move. “Keep yer energy, it’s my turn now.”
Puffing himself up, the clurichaun gives me a mock salute, then launches himself into the corridor, pointing ahead. “DYBBUK!” he shouts at the top of his lungs.
Every demon freezes in its tracks, and I frown at the strange word, trying to place where I’ve heard it before. I retreat into the staircase as two of the beasts try to push their way to the front, when a large furry creature turns on them with a snarl, jaws snapping. The beast catches one of the two demons on the shoulder, and bites down on it with a loud crunch.
Then chaos hits, as demon turns against demon. Only then do I remember what dybbuk means.
“There really is a skin stealer here?” I ask the banshee, repressing a shiver.
“Yesssss,” the banshee states.
I lean a little out of the doorway’s cover. Could it truly be one of them is a skin stealer? I see Nibs slip behind the corpse of a tall, willowy woman, nearly getting crushed under another falling demon. Then a silent figure turns, kicking a demon in the chest, before spearing two others with her twin blades.
I suddenly feel faint, and find myself clutching the ogham in my pocket, taking comfort in the gem’s warmth.
“Kaede?” I whisper.
“Yesssss,” the banshee repeats.
“Kaede was a dybbuk all this time, and you never told me?”
The banshee shrugs, and I squeeze the ogham harder, feeling its rapid throb against my fingers, like the beating of a hummingbird’s heart. I can’t believe we’ve had a demon at our sides all this time who could have killed us any time it wanted.
Except it never did, did it? And now it’s fighting for us still, drawing the other demons’ attention away from us.
“Not bad, eh?” Nibs says, slinking back to us. But despite his wicked grin, he’s paler than usual.
“A dybbuk,” I say through numb lips, still unable to believe it.
“Turned out better ‘n expected,” Nibs continues, wiping dark blood from his cheek. “Better to kill yer allies than risk havin’ one of them turn against ya, eh?”
I stare at the clurichaun as he shifts uneasily from one foot to the next. He glances back out into the hallway.
“Alrighty, almost clear,” he says, sounding more nasally than usual.
And in my pocket, the ogham only grows warmer.
“Nibs?”
The clurichaun almost jumps out of his skin, and turns a wide eye in my direction. “Guess it’s time to face our demon, huh?” he says, trying to sound as defiant as he always has, and failing miserably.
Iridescent light floods the staircase in rapid pulses as I pull the ogham out of my pocket. Nibs’s eyes open even wider, mouth dropping open in shock.
“Yours, isn’t it?” I ask.
Nibs can only stare, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down his scrawny neck. It’s all the confirmation I need.
“Your arm,” I say, holding my free hand out.
“No time,” Nibs whispers, but I can hear the longing in his voice.
Finally, seeing I won’t budge until he does what I tell him, he slowly extends his small arm for me—the very same Arthur cut open the night we first went to investigate Dub’s murders in the surface world.
At a sign from me, the banshee pushes Nibs’s red sleeve up, revealing the puckered edges of a long scar. I tighten my hold on him as the banshee slowly draws her knife down his arm. Then, deftly, I push the ogham inside the wound, and Nibs lets out a shuddering groan.
“As promised,” I say.
But Nibs’s half-melted face breaks into a sweat, pain pulling at his deformed features. His breath hitches. I look in panic at the banshee.
“Hisssss body’sssss rejjjjjecting ittttt,” she hisses, moving away from us, as if scared. “Notttt ssssstronnng enoughhhh.”
Help I once promised him. But now that the time has come, I’m scared I might mess it up and end up poisoning him instead, or outright kill him.
Nibs lets out a miserable yelp.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I can’t…I can’t do this…”
Nibs’s slaps his other hand above mine. “Please,” he says through gritted teeth.
I bite down hard on my lip as a spasm tightens his hand around mine, crushing my tarsals. And before I know what I’m doing, power seeps out of me, as if drawn out by an unknown force, to pour into Nibs’s arm.
Slowly, the clurichaun’s breathing eases, and, as his body reforms the bonds around his ogham that were once so cruelly ruptured, the wound finally closes.
Only then does the strange force release me, and I watch, transfixed, as the burns on Nibs’s face slowly disappear, his skin pulling back tightly over his skull, as if I’d never put my iron-laced jacket on him.
Mouth opening and closing without a sound, Nibs gently presses his hand over his smooth cheek, then collapses against me, sobbing.
“I’m sorry it took me this long,” I say, patting his back awkwardly.
I stare up at the banshee for help, but she just shrugs, and I finally allow myself a smile. Out in the hallway, I can still hear the sounds of demons dying, but for a moment, I’m happy. Happy to have finally managed to keep a promise, happy to have righted a wrong, and helped a friend in need.
Nibs finally pushes himself away from me, with a long, moist sniffle that makes me wonder how much snot he’s left on my jacket.
“OK, stop dallying’,” he says, as if this is all my fault. “We ain’t got no time fer a buncha sops.”
He turns on his heels, and heads back into the hallway, forcing the banshee and I to scramble along. Kaede, or whoever it is who took her place, has done an amazing job of clearing us a path. The floor is littered with bodies, ichor sprayed on every surface, and she’s managed to lead the remaining ones to chase after her, leaving the KORT room wide open for us.
I lose my balance on the slick floor as another explosion detonates outside the school, catching myself on the KORT room’s doorframe before pulling myself inside. I blink, letting my eyes roam over the pulsing Gate taking up half the space where the round table used to be, then to the sides. But there’s no sign of Urim or Thummim. And certainly no Carman.
“What is this?” I ask, looking for Nibs.
I catch movement out of the corner of my eye, then somethin
g sharp pokes me in the ribs.
“Not another step,” a high-pitched voice says in my ear.
I freeze, frowning at the red-headed boy holding me at knife point, the Celtic cross and shield on the breast pocket of his school uniform denoting he’s a squire like me.
“What—” I start.
The boy jabs his knife a little further. “I said, don’t move.”
I feel the banshee move behind me, but I motion for her to stay put. The squire’s brow and upper lip are covered in a sheen of sweat, his pupils dilated. He’s just a scared boy who has no idea what’s going on. Time may be short, but if we can minimize the number of casualties, that’ll be even better.
“Let me through,” I tell him calmly. “We’re only trying to stop this whole mess.”
“I’d counsel you to shut up,” Jennifer’s beautiful voice says, making the boy jump.
I wince as his dagger pierces my skin, just beneath my rib.
“No longer sleeping, I see,” I say tightly.
Jennifer glides past me, and, dangling a foot above her is Nibs, his tiny fists pumping the air furiously.
“Where’s Lance?” I ask.
Jennifer shrugs prettily, her long golden hair almost glowing in the room’s dimness. “Don’t know, don’t care.”
Again, I feel that all-too familiar anger surge through me. “Lance risked his neck to save you, and all you have to say is that you don’t care about him?” I say.
“That’s always been the problem with the guy,” Jennifer says, stopping beside the Siege Perilous, “he’s always been too good. Always abiding by the rules, except for one thing.” She smiles, touching her lips absentmindedly, before sighing. “But no matter how entertaining it may have been with him, it wasn’t enough. Not for me.”
“What she’s trying to say is that all she ever cared for is power,” another voice says from the other side of the shimmering Gate.
“Mordred!” I exclaim in relief.
If he’s here, then that means Arthur and our troops have arrived too. I look past him through the arched windows in search of our army, and Mordred smiles knowingly.
Curse of the Fey: A Modern Arthurian Legend (Morgana Trilogy Book 3) Page 35
