She’ll be thrilled, I’m sure, came the fox messenger’s reply.
Sebastian ignored him, mind back on his search as he tried desperately not to panic. There had to be a logical explanation. Perhaps Lily had simply gone in search of a bathroom? On the first floor, Sir Kipling caught up with him, slipping through the door as Sebastian opened it cautiously to check for guards. Finding the coast was clear, he slipped out after the feline.
Speaking in a whisper, he told Lily’s cat to keep on the lookout for security and warn him if anyone got close. Then he set off at a jog, searching for the restrooms. He didn’t pause to admire any of the priceless treasures of history flashing past, safely encased in glass and reinforced plastic, though he did note with relief that none of the exhibits appeared to have been damaged by the fleeing demons. Apparently, the creatures had been too focused on escaping to cause any wanton destruction on their way out.
He had just finished poking his head in all the first-floor bathrooms when Sir Kipling dashed up, meowing urgently.
“What is it, Kip?”
The cat dashed back the way he had come and Sebastian followed, running as quietly as he could and hoping Sir Kipling was still looking out for guards. The cat led him to a small service door that opened into the ornate courtyard. The air was frigid, biting into his skin under the fabric of his leather jacket. It was the cold hour before dawn, and the only light came from a few street lamps on the other side of the courtyard’s tall brick wall.
Wondering why Lily’s cat had brought him out in the cold, he followed as the feline twined through bushes and around monuments, leading Sebastian toward the wrought iron gate that served as the courtyard’s exit out onto the city street. The gate was slightly ajar, just enough for one person to slip through.
Sebastian spotted the thing on the ground even before Sir Kipling reached it. The silver charms glinted in the street light, the sight sending a bolt of dread straight through him. He slipped between the gate and crouched, carefully lifting the bracelet with trembling fingers. The clasp was broken and several links had been bent out of shape, as if the bracelet had been pulled from Lily’s wrist by brute force. Heart pounding in his throat, Sebastian dashed to the curb and looked up and down the road. It was deserted. Glancing at the street, he spotted a pair of black skid-marks on the grey asphalt.
This wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be real. As much as he had always distrusted Richard, he had never imagined the man capable of something like this. Surely he was misreading the signs? Perhaps Lily had been injured and the FBI agent had rushed her to the hospital? But no, Sir Kipling would have known if Lily was injured—he always seemed to know in exactly what health his mistress was. No, this was no simple misunderstanding, not with the broken bracelet as evidence. Lily had been taken away against her will.
Lily had been kidnapped.
Paralyzing fear gripped him as he realized his worst fear had come true. Lily, the one person he cared about more than anyone in the world, was in danger.
And he hadn’t been there to help her.
It wasn’t like a few hours ago when he had stormed off to let them face Roger alone. Bereft of the protective power of his ring, he hadn’t been in his right mind. Anger, fear, and jealousy had blinded him, whipped up by the whispers in his head that always managed to make his secret doubts seem so real. Fortunately, Yuki had caught up to him and convinced him to call on Thiriel one last time and warn her of the demon invasion. He didn’t know how or why the magical fox had kept tabs on him, but whatever the fae’s reason, Sebastian was indebted to him for his intervention with Thiriel. It had been both startling and sobering, but the queen had offered him a last chance to redeem himself: accept the mantle of Qem’nathir with both eyes open, knowing exactly what the commitment meant. With the position he would regain all of his powers and then some, and could lead a contingent of warriors to come to Lily’s aid, defeat Roger, and get back the Book of Names.
It had seemed like a bleak choice. To say no was to doom himself to the life of a hunted and haunted man, plagued by his mistakes and rejected—for good reason—by the person he loved. To say yes would be to forever chain himself to duty and allegiance to the fae, the protection of their secrets, and the destruction of their enemies. Either way, he had lost Lily. His life was empty of purpose, empty of love, empty of even the possibility of happiness. But perhaps, if he returned to Melthalin, he might find some semblance of redemption. Perhaps there he could do some good.
But now, everything had changed.
Lily loved him.
He almost didn’t believe it. But he had heard her declaration with his own ears, those three powerful words escaping her beautiful lips in a breathless moment of frozen time, caught between the hammer and anvil of battle. In that single moment, his entire world had been turned upside-down, and everything he had just committed to had been called into question. He should have said something in response, should have told her how long he had wanted—but been too afraid—to bare his heart to her. But the conflicting thoughts whirling in his head had stopped him: He wasn’t good enough for her—she didn’t care. He was too dangerous—she could take care of herself. Love makes you weak—life is empty without love. With his head swimming, the battle raging, and adrenaline pumping through his veins, he had been incapable of forming a rational response. And so he’d acted on instinct, doing what his heart and soul had longed for, but his head had never allowed him to dare.
Their stolen kiss had made his heart swell until it was fit to explode, and he had pulled away and thrown himself into battle before he lost the will to do anything but hold her in his arms. Whirling, dodging, swinging, lunging—he had been an unstoppable whirlwind of death, Lily’s words giving him more strength and determination than any amount of fae magic ever could. He refused to think about the past or the future, about his mistakes or his promises. With every demon he cut down, he focused his entire being on one thing only: finishing this mess so he could find Lily and tell her what he should have admitted months ago.
I love you too.
On the cold sidewalk outside the Hilprecht Museum, Sebastian fell to his knees, Lily’s silver charm bracelet clutched in his fist. Where was she? How would he find her? Who had done this? Was it truly just Richard, or was there some larger plot in the shadows?
Qem’nathir, I require your presence. The rift has been closed, and squads are being formed to go in pursuit of the demons. You are to lead them.
Thiriel’s voice cut through his frantic thoughts and he groaned, his mind in a wretched agony despite the fact that, with his fae magic restored, he was once again protected against the demonic torment he so feared.
He had given his word to Thiriel, to the fae. And this time he had really meant it.
But Lily needed him. Madam Barrington was injured and weak, and there was no one else but him who had the knowledge, skills, and connections to pursue Lily’s disappearance right away before the trail went cold. He could not abandon her. Not again.
Qem’nathir. The icy steel in Thiriel’s mental touch made Sebastian shiver. The knowledge of what he was about to do made him quake all the more, muscles spasming in the winter cold.
“My queen,” he whispered through swiftly numbing lips. “My friend and companion, Lily Singer, who aided you in defeating Morgan le Fay and returning what was rightfully yours, is in danger. I’m the only one who can help her. Please, you have many warriors who can pursue the demons, let me go and rescue my friend, and then I’ll—I’ll be back.” He almost choked on the words as icy despair clutched his heart. Even if he could never be with Lily, whether because he was sworn to the fae or because he was a magnet for every deadly creature in the depths of hell, he had to save her.
There was a long pause. It felt like an eternity stretched into a greater eternity.
She is a human. Let the human authorities deal with it. You are of the fae now, and should not concern yourself with the affairs of men.
“But she’s my fr
iend! She has saved my life. I owe her a debt.”
You owe no one but the fae. Your allegiance is to me, and me alone, Sebastian. This you swore.
He was silent, head bowed against the internal agony as his heart, mind, and soul were ripped asunder, each half locked in furious battle. Tears leaked from his eyes and frosted on his cheeks, but he barely noticed.
If you break your oath, Qem’nathir, there is no turning back. You will forever be anathema to the fae. I can be forgiving, but I will not be made to look the fool.
“Please, Thiriel…she needs me. Just a few days, that’s all it will take.”
There was a pause, and while Thiriel’s mind speech always seemed flat and expressionless, this time it sounded a little less hard. And in those few days, humans and fae will die, slaughtered by demons you failed to put down. The witch to whom you so foolishly handed a demonic tome full of power must be stopped. With the power and knowledge to overcome even my magic, he is too dangerous to allow free rein. He could open another rift at any time, flooding the world with unspeakable evil. My warriors are strong, but you carry Tahir. You hold the power of balance, not them. I cannot do this task and leave my domain unprotected, my people at risk.
“I…there has to be some way…something,” Sebastian whispered, fists clenching so hard his fingernails cut into his skin. He welcomed the pain. It was nothing compared to how he felt inside.
This is your responsibility that you willingly chose, Thiriel’s voice snapped in his mind, the bite of her wrath searing across his psyche. Will you act faithlessly as other humans have always done and now abandon us—abandon me—just as your predecessor did? No, it shall not be so. I will not allow it. Return to me at once.
Sebastian remained in place, motionless and freezing on the sidewalk, his entire being torn in two from the inside out. Should he choose duty? Or love? A promise made out of necessity? Or an unspoken bond of friendship? It was an impossible choice, one he shouldn’t have to make. What use was he without his fae magic? He could do so much good with the power Thiriel gave him. He could save people. His mother would have liked that.
A memory echoed in his head: all power has its price.
The words of his great-grandfather, George Dee, came back to him. The old wizard had known much of power and the price it exacted. Had he foreseen this eventuality? Was Lily’s life the price Sebastian had to pay to keep his oath? But no, there was no indication Lily was in mortal danger, was there? And maybe the authorities would find her. Yeah, authorities like Richard, he thought scornfully.
A soft pressure pawed at his leg, distressed and insistent. He met Sir Kipling’s yellow eyes, their black pupils hugely dilated. The cat was quivering, whiskers twitching, fur ruffled and standing on end. Even without his plaintive meows, the message was clear as day: something terrible had happened to Lily. Sebastian knew it in his bones, knew it as truly as he knew that, if he abandoned her now, she would die.
Bowing his head, Sebastian clutched his face in both hands, trying to escape the choice. But there was no escape. Lose Lily, or lose everything else—his honor, his power, his purpose. He had always been a loner, always looked out for himself, and what was one life compared to dozens—perhaps even hundreds—that would be put in danger if he abandoned his duty? It should have been an easy choice.
But it wasn’t.
Smart, selfless, infuriating Lily. She would take a cup of tea and a book over the world any day, and yet time and again she had put herself in danger to protect it. To protect him, the least worthy person imaginable. How could he turn his back on her?
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, but bears it out even to the edge of doom.
Sebastian began to shake, flinching at the memory of Anton Silvester’s words. Unable to bear it any longer, he threw back his head and screamed at the night sky, a primordial sound of helpless rage and grief. He screamed because he knew, without even making the decision, what he would do. What he had to do.
Thiriel seemed to know as well. So be it.
The frigid air around him whirled up in a sudden wind, swelling with power that tore at his clothes and hair. He felt his gifted magic being torn away, like ripping off a bandage fused to a wound, taking skin and blood and fluids with it. His scream was sucked from his throat, the wind stealing the air from his lungs as his body burned with cold fire. He didn’t fight it, knowing it would hurt even more if he did.
The gift that was given has been reclaimed. You are no longer a friend of the fae. You are la’nitan: accursed one. The touch of her mind, normally cool and emotionless, burned with bitter betrayal as her fury tore about him, intermingled with the wind like a storm of tiny ice shards. It tore at his face, his hands, his chest and body, ignoring clothes and skin as things that were as insubstantial as it was. It cut deep into his soul, leaving a gaping wound of guilt.
And then it was over.
The wind disappeared in the blink of an eye, the fae queen’s furious presence vanishing with it. Sebastian slumped down on the sidewalk, empty, wounded, and weak. He might have lain there, helpless and hopeless, until his body froze and the morning dew covered him in a layer of frost. But soft whiskers brushed his face, and a warm, rough tongue got to work licking up the residual salt of his tears that had left stinging lines down his cheeks. The rumbling vibration of purrs pressed against his chest, and their soothing balm unfroze his limbs enough for him to push stiffly to his knees.
Now was not the time to rage against the cruelties of life or wallow in regret. He had given up everything, and he’d be damned if he let guilt or weakness rob him of the one thing he had left.
Stifling a moan, Sebastian crawled laboriously to his feet and stumbled back toward the gate to the museum, arms wrapped protectively around his midriff where his sore ribs throbbed. Sir Kipling trotted in front of him, and behind him, the first pale fingers of dawn began to lighten the Pennsylvania sky.
To be continued in Book 6 of the Lily Singer Adventures: Love, Lies, and Hocus Pocus: Identity
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LOVE, LIES, AND HOCUS POCUS: IDENTITY
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Love, Lies, and Hocus Pocus: Identity
CHAPTER 1 - A Desperate Endeavor
Soft voices and the occasional ring of a phone made up the muted background noise in the FBI Atlanta Field Office lobby where Sebastian Blackwell sat, futilely trying to ignore the broken record of horrible thoughts cycling through his mind. Every fiber of his being vibrated with the need to act, and his instincts screamed at him that this was a waste of time.
He stared at the clock on the wall in front of him, watching the second hand tick. Fifty-six, fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine—three hours and twenty-eight minutes. That was how long it had been since Lily disappeared. Almost three and a half hours. Each minute of it was as excruciating as the very first, when he discovered the woman he loved had been kidnapped and the bottom had fallen out of his world.
You are la’nitan: accursed one.
The memory of Thiriel’s ice-cold voice echoed in his head, and Sebastian clenched his right hand, not looking at the twisting scars he knew stood out there, white against his pale skin. For nearly a decade they’d been hidden beneath the magical tattoo that had anchored his gifted fae magic to him.
But no longer.
Lily was in trouble, his fae magic was gone, and his honor had been left in a shredded heap on the frigid Pennsylvania ground. One man was responsible for it all: FBI Agent Richard Grant, or Agent Doofusface as Sebastian had often called him. Now, though, Sebastian realized that was too complimentary an epithet. Traitorous Slimy Bastard was more fitting. There was no telling if the agent had personally kidnapped Lily, or hired others to do it, but he wouldn’t have disappeared without a trace if he hadn’t been involved somehow.
The idea that Richard might have been stringing them along the whole time, even as he’d fought with them to drive the witch, Roger, and his demons from the
Hilprecht Museum, made Sebastian boil with fury. Lily had almost died defeating Roger, and Sebastian had indebted himself even more deeply to the fae, all so they would come help destroy the swarm of demons Roger had summoned. Then Lily had declared her love for him and he’d been riding on the top of the world, kicking demon-butt and saving the day—until Sir Kipling had alerted him that Lily was missing. Sebastian had found her charm bracelet broken on the ground next to the skid marks left by whatever vehicle had taken her away. He still shuddered with the agony of that moment when he’d been forced to choose between obeying Thiriel’s command to keep hunting the demons, or breaking his oath to the fae in order to rescue Lily.
Lily.
Sebastian had no idea how he was still conscious with fear constricting his chest so tightly he could barely breathe, even as fury blazed hot inside him. The tension coiled up in every limb fought for release, and he pushed back the urge to destroy something. Bruised ribs and a multitude of cuts and scrapes from the battle strained his self-control even further.
Sebastian focused on the clock again. Three hours and twenty-nine minutes.
He had been waiting for barely ten minutes, but it felt like ten hours. Was the wait even worth it? That slimy traitor of an FBI agent had sworn to keep his knowledge of wizards and their affairs secret from his partner, Agent Meyer, when Lily had asked for his help last summer, so it was highly unlikely the agent knew anything of her partner’s mysterious disappearance. Yet, if there was even the slightest chance she did, Sebastian might be able to ferret it out using the enchanted truth coin he had inherited from his wizard father. He had to at least try.
Three hours and thirty minutes.
Sebastian stared at his hands, remembering the feel of Lily’s warmth when he’d held her tight for that stolen kiss. It was better to remember that than think about the demon ichor that had stained his hands mere minutes later. He had swung by his apartment before coming here, to wipe off the worst of it with a towel and throw on a clean change of clothes—showing up at an FBI field office covered in blood and gore would not have resulted in a warm reception. After cleaning up he’d only taken time to raid his kitchen and grab a few other supplies before rushing off to the FBI. And look where his hurry had gotten him: sitting on his butt and staring at a clock. To keep from strangling the welcome desk clerk, he promised himself that if nothing happened in the next five minutes, he’d go in search of Agent Meyer himself.
Love, Lies, and Hocus Pocus Betrayal Page 27
