Well darn, that was one I hadn’t thought of.
The front door, which was once slats of wood reinforced by steel, now looms black as polished obsidian, covered with ancient runes I’ve seen before.
Below the abbey, in the chamber that houses Cruce.
It swings silently open.
I move forward and pause on the threshold, looking in to get the lay of the land before I inadvertently plant a foot on a mine.
Seven men march past me, boots echoing on the stone floor.
I hurry to catch up. Well, I mostly hurry. I linger a moment, absorbing the raw fearlessness of their stride, the determination to never quit that squares their shoulders, and it fortifies my resolve. I will match the bar these men set so high. They all have their inner demons. And they manage them.
I will, too.
The entry hall is large and rectangular, with a ceiling that soars to open roof rafters. On three walls, fireplaces that could serve as small bedrooms blast more heat into the already warm room.
The sofas are faded and worn, dotted with handmade pillows and crocheted throws, the floors warmed by century-old rugs, the walls hung with antique tapestries. Chairs perch near tables that hold open books and perspiring glasses of iced drinks.
The room is empty.
“Where the bloody hell is everyone?” Dageus growls.
“Quiet. Someone’s coming,” Barrons says.
Several seconds pass before I hear the sound of people approaching. I envy his preternatural senses, rue that my monster has no such benefits.
I offer benefits with which you could retire from this paltry planet and rule galaxies. You refuse them. Embrace your destiny and we will destroy the prince before we leave this world. It will be our parting gift.
Right. As if either Sinsar Dubh would leave my planet intact. Criminy, I can’t even think about it without it stirring. I mutter Poe beneath my breath and watch as four women enter the room. I’m relieved to see they’re ours. I sat at a table with these women not so long ago.
Leading the group is Josie, a skinny dark-eyed girl with platinum hair and goth makeup, followed by Shauna, a petite brunette with hazel eyes and a quick smile, and the twins, Clare and Sorcha MacSweeney. They are the women Kat brought to our clandestine meeting in a pub, after Rowena instructed a group of them to ambush me and try to take my spear. They failed. I accidentally killed a sidhe-seer in the process. Moira. I never forget the names of humans I’ve slain. I catch myself reaching protectively for my spear but stop, unwilling to invite more of the Book’s unwanted commentary so near another copy of itself plus so many vulnerable humans.
“Why have you brought Unseelie inside our walls, Mac?” Shauna says grimly.
I sigh. “I didn’t. They, I—” Shit, how do I explain this one? I blurt, “I was trying to do a spell and it backfired and they’ve been stuck to me like glue ever since.” I practically roll my own eyes. It’s the weakest lie I’ve ever heard myself tell.
Dageus gives me a look.
Ryodan laughs.
“They’re harmless,” I add. “They don’t even kill anything. They just stalk me.”
“The Unseelie doesn’t exist that doesn’t kill,” Josie says coolly.
Sorcha moves past me, inspecting them from a cautious distance. Then she surprises me by saying, “I’m not certain they’re Unseelie, Mac.”
I frown. “What else could they be?”
“I don’t know but they’re … different.”
That would explain why I can’t Null them, but not why my sidhe-seer senses seem to pick up on them as Unseelie. Or do they? Is that yet one more preconception I accepted without bothering to consider simply because they looked like Unseelie, and what else would they be? I realize I’ve never listened past their incessant chittering for their caste’s dark melody. But I will, in the near future. At the moment I want no distractions.
Barrons says impatiently, “Who the fuck cares. They follow her. Where is the one that holds you hostage?”
Josie laughs, a brittle sound. “That’s what you think? We’re being held hostage? The woman saved us!”
“Saved?” I echo.
“Aye, saved. And we’ve no need of your army, Mac. We’re just fine. The lot of you can be leaving now. With your Unseelie.”
“I’m telling you,” Sorcha says, “they’re not Unseelie.”
“We’d be finer if we knew Kat was all right,” Clare says.
“And Dani,” Shauna adds. “Two of our best have gone missing.”
“Dani isn’t one of our best,” Josie says sharply. “She’s a liability, a hotheaded child. And Kat, well … you see where her plans got us.”
Josie doesn’t look much older than Dani herself. And Kat’s plans kept them alive this long.
Clare disagrees, “How can you say that when it was Dani and Ryodan that saved us from the Hoar Frost King?”
“They didn’t save us from Cruce,” Josie says hotly. “Jada did.”
I narrow my eyes. “Who’s Jada?” Was this the name of the supposedly mystical fighter that was leading them now? “And what do you mean you’re ‘fine’? This place is a mess. It’s obviously been taken over by—”
“No, it hasn’t. Not anymore,” Josie cuts me off. “Not since she came.”
“Jada?” I guess dryly.
The skinny goth folds her arms over her chest and tosses her head, looking down her thin nose at me. “Aye, she freed us from our prison. When Kat went missing, the changes to our abbey escalated. The doors and windows closed, trapping us inside. But Jada understands his runes. She was able to open them. Since her arrival the changes have stopped. Completely.”