by Cecy Robson
He returns my embrace, genuinely happy. “I know, right? I thought something was wrong with me. Most dragons start to smoke when they hit puberty. I only started just this past summer. Two years, that’s how long it’s taken me.”
I jump up and down, clapping. “Look at you go. Maybe you can practice firing after our morning run. The wards should block your magic from humans like they do mine.”
Stevie beams. “Okay. Yeah. I hadn’t thought to practice anywhere except the shower.”
It’s great to see Stevie happy. The ten days Cathasach gave his father to surrender the Ancients are up in two.
Our wide grins fade when something wet splatters against the front of the house.
I turn off the stove and place the pan away from the burner, hoping I misheard—
Splat.
Stevie’s mouth opens and closes several times. “Liv, what was that?” he spits out.
“I . . .”
More sounds follow. All dense. All moist.
Something hard rams the door.
Iniquity falls over me like pouring blood. I unsnap my whip.
More objects strike the door. I strain to hear. Whatever hit sounded . . . sticky.
I swallow hard, fearing the worst and knowing it’s come.
“Stevie, grab a knife.” More beats follow, growing louder. Shit. I glance over my shoulder. “Stevie, grab all the knives.”
Stevie stuffs every knife from the butcher block into the back pockets of his worn jeans. I grip the handle of my whip, the braided leather falling to my side. I don’t bother twirling it. There’s no need yet. I do, however, accept the cleaver Stevie offers. “I bet it’s just a bunch of stupid kids throwing eggs. I’d do it,” he reasons. “I mean, it’s almost Halloween and everything.”
The goose bumps racing up my arms inform me that no, they’re not eggs, there are no kids, and that Stevie is very much mistaken.
A spark builds within me and fires my whip bright pink. “It’s not kids, Stevie. Send the text.”
“The text?”
“Yes,” I whisper. “It’s time.”
Stevie clutches two knives in one hand. His free hand taps our emergency number, the one that alerts Bill and the Ancients. “There’s gotta be a mistake―a misunderstanding or something. Liv. There’s still two days left.”
“Cathasach is neither honorable nor righteous, Stevie. He’s evil,” I remind him. “He’s here.”
“Ryker?” Stevie asks.
Acid burns its way into my throat. “No, Stevie. Cathasach.”
“H-how do you know?”
The next few words make me want to cry. “I can feel him,” I admit.
We step carefully across the tile floor. Cathasach’s presence is vile. I sense him within me, my belly churning in painful bursts of fear that urge me to run and hide.
I can’t hide Not now, not ever. Not when Stevie is counting on me to protect him.
We slip into the hall that leads to the foyer. Stevie snags the portable ward dangling from the hook we leave it on. Jane gifted it to us to keep us hidden when we left the premises. We were on our own and she didn’t want us confined to the house.
Stevie places the silver chain around his neck. Smart boy. He knows we may have to bolt.
His trembling worsens with each step. “How did Cathasach figure out we were here?”
The sweat drenching my palm slickens the handle of my whip. “The same way he knew how to find your father,” I reply. “Someone betrayed us.”
Bam.
Bam.
Bam.
The strikes grow louder and more impatient.
“Little pixie. Little pixie come play with me,” Cathasach coos, his voice garbled and thick with lust.
Stevie gasps. “Oh, fuck me.”
I stop by the door leading to the basement and garage, gathering my courage. Adrenaline tears its way through my bloodstream, causing me to shake. If I were a fawn, I’d be tearing through the forest right now.
A thought occurs to me, and I motion back to the hook. “You may get your chance to drive,” I say.
Stevie’s eyes fly open. “Jane’s wards aren’t going to hold?”
“No,” I admit. “Cathasach will find a way in.” He has something up his sleeve. I can sense it in his arrogance. I just don’t know what it is yet.
Cathasach calls to me again, his tone disturbingly aroused. “Come play with me, little pixie. I want to play with you.”
My stomach roils and I almost hurl. Stevie stretches his hand and snags the keys to Mamacita, his fingertips quaking. “You’re coming with me, right Liv?”
“I don’t know,” I tell him.
“Little pixie. I want to touch you. Let me touch you.” He’s growling, his voice wet with thirst for me. “I already feel you against me.”
Furious tears brim Stevie’s soft brown eyes. They’re exactly what I need to shove my fear aside and build my growing anger. “I promised to keep you safe, Stevie, and I will. No matter what, you’re making it out of here alive.”
“What about you?” he asks.
“Don’t worry about me.”
“Liv, I-I-I can’t leave you.”
“You can and you will,” I snap.
Stevie knows I’m not fooling around. He nods hesitantly and stiffens his posture.
“Little pixie―”
“For shit’s sake, you smelly mutt, I’m coming!”
Okay. That gives everyone, including me, some serious pause. The air stills and Stevie’s mouth pops opened.
I speak quickly, keeping my voice quiet. “I don’t think Cathasach knows you’re here. Let’s keep it that way, okay?”
“Okay,” Stevie whispers.
Something hits the foyer window as we round the corner. I recognize it as a heart.
A dragon heart.
The large organ splatters against the glass, bright red blood smearing an ugly line as it slides down and topples over the ledge. I drop my cleaver and slap my hand over Stevie’s mouth. His breath hitches. He knows what it is.
Stevie is taller than me by a good five inches. It doesn’t matter. Right now, my will and strength are enough to silence him. His legs buckle and we collapse, the knives in his hands falling against the marble floor.
“Don’t scream. Don’t cry,” I urge. “We can’t let him know you’re here.”
His mouth is hot against my palm and his face reddens with stress and lack of breath. “I’m taking my hand away,” I whisper. “But you have to keep it together. It’s the only way we’ll make it out of here alive―”
“Olivia.” Cathasach moans my name as if releasing his seed. “Please touch me . . .”
I bite back a furious scream.
Stevie is breathing fast, the dampness from his mouth drenching my hand. Eyeliner smears his face from the sweat pouring down his face. “Stevie,” I say. “Promise me you’ll stay quiet.”
He nods with several violent shakes of his head. I’m not sure he’s capable of keeping his promise. I drop my hand anyway. I have to get him out of here.
“I-it’s my father,” Stevie says, almost retching. “That was my dad’s heart.”
“We don’t know that,” I tell him firmly.
“Are you sure?” he asks.
Splat.
Splat.
Two more body parts smack against the window.
This time, a pair of kidneys.
We watch them slink down the glass. “Livvie,” Stevie cries.
“He can’t be positive you’re here,” I remind him. “He only knows that I am. This is a mind fuck, Stevie. He wants to hurt me and throw me off my game. To do so, he’ll use someone I care about.” I almost can’t say their names. “Bill, Jane, or Ryker.”
“What if it’s Frankie?” Steve presses. “You told me he dated your friend.”
Terror nails me like a punch. I squash it down, willing myself to keep it together. “Whoever it is, I’m done with Cathasach toying with us.” I stand, gripping my whip
and the cleaver. “Stay out of sight. If the wards don’t hold, get to Mamacita.”
“Liv?”
I glance down. Stars, he looks so young. “Yes, Frankie?”
He swallows hard. “Is now a bad time to tell you I’ve never driven a car?”
I laugh a little too psychotically. “Yeah. It kind of is, Stevie.”
“Livvie, I-I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, little guy.” I wipe away a tear with the back of my hand. Stevie is a good kid. He deserves to live. I’m going to give him that chance if it kills me.
But not before I take out Cathasach.
I clear my throat and square my shoulders. “Just do the best you can. I’ll create a distraction so you can escape.”
I don’t wait for Stevie to agree. The rows of intestines splattering the glass and the kneecap that follows make it clear it’s time to act. I stomp forward, motioning to Stevie to wait around the corner and by the basement door.
With one finger, I unlatch my talisman and shove it into the pocket of my leggings. Stevie gasps. But there’s no point in hiding. Cathasach knows I’m here. He senses me just as I sense him.
I throw the front door open. Cathasach waits on the lawn in his human form. Grotesque matted green hair lies in clumps across his broad shoulders and his red eyes burn with sin. Six hounds flank him. They snarl when they see me. I snarl right back.
Cathasach laughs, greeting me with a blood smeared grin. He swings a decapitated head in his hand like a purse. I recognize him as the dragon who took Stevie to the baseball game.
Another fallen Fae. Another reason for Cathasach to die.
“I missed you, little pixie,” Cathasach coos, ignoring my anger. “Are you ready to touch me?” His gaze sears red as his hand glides down his stomach to palm his erection.
Disgust and hatred rile my power, engulfing my body in bright pink light. My magic is no longer something I simply have. It’s a living, breathing, entity ready to sink her teeth.
The cleaver leaves my hand in a ball of pink, growing as it spins and striking a white hound. The white beast detonates with enough force to burn the closest hounds.
Including Cathasach.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Souls erupt like shrapnel, scattering in translucent streams that take to the skies. More Cù-Sìth arrive, eager to feed. My pink fire spreads, burning through the hounds and releasing more souls.
“Run,” I scream without thinking. “Run!”
An elderly man walking his dog, and completely oblivious to the mayhem on the lawn, scowls. “I’m moving as fast as I can, lady,” he yells. “Roger’s gotta pee.”
Cathasach roars, his entire left side aflame. He morphs into his beast and jets toward the door. I crouch and spin my whip, ready to strike.
I never get the chance.
A large green hound tackles Cathasach, resolute on taking his injured alpha down. The hound yelps as my magic catches his fur. It singes him and spreads along his broad chest. He releases Cathasach, rolling along the grass to squelch the flames.
Two more hounds appear and gang up on Cathasach, forcing him to the ground as the magic burning him begins to dwindle.
Cathasach lost two limbs and is bleeding souls. One of the hounds on top of him goes for his throat, and still, his rage pokes at me through the wards. The wards won’t hold and the hounds won’t beat him. Cathasach is too strong.
“Livvie,” Stevie urges. “The text. It never went through.”
The increasing howls rattle the house. More Cù-Sìth are headed toward us, their outlines cutting into the blackening and azure sky. Azure―Ryker. I need Ryker.
The Cù-Sìth slam against the house, shaking the walls and foundation as they search for weaknesses in the ward. I clutch my whip against my chest, remembering who first held it and how I felt when he passed it to me. “Ryker!” I yell
“His name is Roger!” the old man with the dog hollers from down the street.
Five hounds charge the front door. My body rekindles with pink light. I lift my whip, slashing across the wards.
I mean to reinforce the wards. Instead, my whip penetrates through the protection and strikes across three Cù-Sìth. They roar in agony, their faces splitting open as they burn in glorious pink.
A cluster of sprites clamber through the stretching and burning tissue. More beasts appear. I lift my whip, striking left and right. I think we have an edge and that I can hold them back.
The Cù-Sìth prove me wrong.
Chunks of ceiling fall in startling blasts. The Cù-Sìth are ripping the roof apart. Jowls and snapping fangs shove their way through the cracks, keen to gnaw on flesh.
Stevie scrambles to my side with every knife in his arsenal. I fling each one he passes me through the doorway. The first nails another hound, engulfing him and another in flame. The others disperse, dodging out of harm’s way to chase after the shrieking and fleeing spirits.
Transparent apparitions blur the atmosphere. The faster ones shoot outward and away. The slower ones are torn to shreds, unable to escape. Glass shatters upstairs and snarls berate us from every direction, overwhelming my senses and causing me to lose focus.
Stevie yells to be heard over the pandemonium bombarding Bill’s home. “Olivia, your whip is cutting through Jane’s defenses!”
He’s right. Somehow, I weakened the ward.
A hound races past the door. I fling another knife and miss. They’re bating me. We can’t just stand here.
Stevie reels. “Liv!” He points to the stairs and the advancing hounds. I throw a knife, and another, killing two as three more appear. Glass explodes in the kitchen. They’re in. Time to run.
I shove Stevie ahead of me. “Mamacita?” he calls over his shoulder.
Hounds surround us at each end of the hall, their lips peeling back to expose their razor sharp fangs. “Oh, hell yeah,” I reply.
We stumble through the basement door. I cling to the knob, scrunching my face as I call upon my magic. “Sruthán.”
Burn.
The knob illuminates in pink, the light spreading along the wood as a large paw punches through the wood.
Claws rake my arm. I scream, tumbling down the stairs and crashing into Stevie. He struggles to his feet, hauling me up and stuffing me into Mamacita.
Blood pours from my right arm, pooling on the leather seat. Stevie’s entire body is shaking so hard, he can’t slip the key into the ignition.
I get it together enough to hit the garage door opener clipped to the visor. The garage squeaks open, drawing the attention of the hounds circling the house.
Cold night air slams into our faces as Stevie finally shoves the key into the ignition. “Hang on!” he yells.
Mamacita roars to life and jerks forward.
And stops.
Jerks forward.
And stops.
Jerks forward and . . . stops.
The Cù-Sìth form a wall in front of us, slamming their snouts and bodies against the dwindling wards.
What’s left of the wards crack and splinter. They’re almost through and all we’re doing is lunging and jolting.
Screw this.
I unbuckle my seatbelt and stand, clinging to the rim of the windshield. “Stevie, listen to me.” He swears instead, his panicked expression taking in the mounting cluster of death hounds. “Stevie!”
He glances up, sweat pouring down his body. “Ease off the clutch and push on the gas.”
“That’s what I did.”
I take a breath. “Try again, this time, not so forcefully.”
“I’m trying, Livvie,” he says, his focus whipping from me to the hounds.
“Stevie,” I need you to say calm,” says the bleeding woman beside him whose beating heart is seconds from imploding.
The hounds are ravenous, howling, snapping their jaws, and pieces of the wards are crashing against the foundation like breaking glass. My arm is on fire and I think I’m losing too much blood. Still, an air of calm washes over
me.
I know what’s coming and I know exactly what to do. I focus my power and the car fires pink.
“Stevie,” I say. “We’re not alone.”
Stevie looks behind him and jumps. Jane, my little druid priestess, sits in the back seat, her little feet dangling from the edge and her candy cane striped wand tight in her hand. She lifts her chin and takes in the rabid pack seconds from smashing through.
“Fuck,” she croaks.
And then she smiles.
Stevie eases off the clutch.
And Mamacita shoots out of the garage like the road bitch she is.
I’m thrown back into the seat. We power through the hounds, bowling them over as my magic setting them ablaze. Stevie grinds the clutch until we reach full “eat my ass” speed.
The hounds we ram detonate like bombs, igniting the closest ones, but not the ones in the sky. They circle the house, searching and confused by the explosions.
It won’t take long for them to notice our escape. We need more help.
Help arrives in the form of a little old man.
I yell at Stevie to stop when I see him. The tires burn nasty rubber and the engine whines with how hard Stevie slams on the brakes. I topple into the dash and then lurch backwards, my injured arm smacking hard into the seat.
The old man abandons the sidewalk, dragging his dog with him, just to yell at me. “What the heck’s wrong with you, girl? This is a family neighborhood!”
I ignore his accusations of being “on the crack” and wink at Jane. “Pucker up, girlfriend.”
There’s no hesitation. Jane drags the little old man to her, her tongue shooting into his mouth and lapping it like a thirsty pup.
My guess is, it’s been a while since the old man got some lovin’. He drops the leash, crushing Jane against his bony chest.
“Oh, gawd.” Stevie gags over the moaning and slurping.
I cover my mouth. Yeah. It’s kind of hard to watch.
The man grabs Jane’s dangling breasts like they’re defibrillator paddles and he needs to resuscitate. Jane reaches around him, her arthritic fingers massaging the old coot’s sagging ass through a good inch of polyester.
Stevie gags some more and throws up over the side of Mamacita. I drum my fingers impatiently. The death hounds stop circling and sniff the air, trying to catch traces of my magic
