Fever 5 - Shadowfever (25 page)

I parked the Viper behind the bookstore and sat staring down into what was once the city’s biggest Dark Zone—crammed full of Shades, with one giant amorphous life-sucker in particular that had seemed to enjoy threatening me as much as I’d enjoyed threatening it.

I wondered where it was now. I hoped I would get the chance to hunt it and try out some of my newfound runes, destroy it once and for all, because as large as it had been before it escaped on the night the lights went out in Dublin, I imagined it could devour small towns in a single swallow now.

I glanced at the garage. I looked at the bookstore. I sighed.
I missed him. Ironically, now that I’d become obsessed with wondering who and what I was, I was less worried about who and what he was. I was beginning to understand why he’d always insisted I judge him by his actions. What if the
sidhe
-seers really
were
Unseelie? Did that make us innately bad? Or did that just mean we—like the rest of the human race—had to choose whether to be good or evil?

I got out of the car, locked it, and turned for the bookstore.
“Barrons say you can drive his Viper?” Lor said behind me.
Hand on the doorknob, I turned, dangling the key ring from my finger. “Possession.

Nine-tenths of the law.”
The corners of his mouth twitched. “You been around him too much.”
“Where’s Fade? Did you catch him?”
“Book left him dead.”
“And just when do you expect
him
back?” I said sweetly.
“Report. What did you learn at the abbey?”
“You think I’m reporting to you now?”
“Until Barrons gets back and takes control of you again.”
“Is that what you think? He takes control of me?” My temper flared.
“You’d better hope so, because if he doesn’t, we kill you.” The threat was delivered

tonelessly, with utter disinterest. It was chilling. “We don’t exist. That’s the way it always has been. That’s the way it always will be. If people find out about us, we kill them. It’s not personal.”

“Well, excuse the hell out of me if you try to kill me and I decide to take it pretty damned personally.”
“We’re not trying to. At the moment. Report.”
I snorted and turned to enter the store.
He was behind me, his hand on my hand on the doorknob, his face in my hair, lips close to my ear. He inhaled. “You don’t smell like other people, Mac. I wonder why. I’m not like Barrons. Ryodan is downright civilized. I don’t suffer Kasteo’s problems, and Fade is still having fun. Death is my morning coffee. I like blood and the sound of bones breaking. It turns me on. Tell me what you learned about the prophecy and, next time, bring me the seer’s book. If you want your parents to remain … intact, you will cooperate only with us. You will lie to everyone else. We own you. Don’t make me give you a lesson. There are things that can break you. You wouldn’t believe the madness certain kinds of pain can induce.”
I turned to face him. For a moment he didn’t let me, made me push against his body and struggle to move. His body was every bit as electric as Barron’s and Ryodan’s. And I knew he was enjoying it, quite possibly on a level of primitive carnality I didn’t understand.
There are things that can break you
, he’d said. I almost laughed. He had no idea the thing that had broken me most completely was my belief that Barrons was dead.
One look at Lor’s eyes and I decided I would wait until Barrons was back before pressing any issues with him. “You think Barrons has a weakness for me,” I said. “That’s what worries you.”
“It is forbidden.”
“He despises me. He thinks I slept with Darroc, remember?”
“He cares that you slept with Darroc.”
“He cared that I burned his rug, too. He gets a little pissy about those things he likes to think of as his property.”
“You two drive me bug-fuck. Prophecy. Talk.”
He interrogated me for nearly half an hour before he was satisfied. I let myself into my fourth-floor bedroom, weary to the bone. My room was a mess—protein-bar wrappers, empty water bottles, and clothes everywhere. I washed my face, brushed my teeth, slipped into pajamas, and was about to crawl into bed, when I remembered the tarot card from last night that the dreamy-eyed guy had given me.
I dug in the pocket of my coat and pulled it out. The back of it was black, covered with silver symbols and runes that looked a lot like the silver etchings I’d glimpsed on one of the three forms of the
Sinsar Dubh
—the one of an ancient black tome with heavy locks.
I turned it over. THE WORLD was inscribed at the top.
It was a beautiful card, framed in crimson and black. A woman stood in profile on a white landscape tinged with blue that looked icy, forbidding. Against the backdrop of a starry sky, a planet revolved in front of her face, but she was looking away—not at the world at all but staring off into the distance. Or was she looking at someone who wasn’t on the card? I had no idea what THE WORLDcard was supposed to mean in a tarot reading. I’d never had my cards read. Mac 1.0 had considered having your future divined through tarot cards as ridiculous as trying to dial up a dead relative on a Ouija board. Mac 5.0 would happily take any help she could get from any source. I studied it. Why had the dreamy-eyed guy left it for me? What was I supposed to learn from it? That I needed to look at the world? That I was distracted by other things and people and not seeing clearly? That I really was the person holding the fate of the world in my hands?
No matter how I looked at it, the card implied way too much responsibility. The prophecy had made it clear that my involvement wasn’t much at all. I tucked it between the pages of the book on my bed stand, got into bed, and pulled the covers over my head.
Once again, I dreamed of the sad, beautiful woman and, once again, I had the oddest sense of duality, seeing from her eyes and mine, feeling her sorrow and my confusion.
Come, you must hurry, you must know
.
Urgency gripped me.
Only you can. No other way in
… Her words echoed off the cliffs, growing fainter with each rebound.
Trying to
…
for so long … so hard …
Then an Unseelie Prince was there beside her (us).
But he was not one of the three I knew, one of the three that had raped me. It was the fourth. The one I’d never seen.
In that strange way of knowing things in dreams, I knew it was War.
Run, hide!
she screamed.
I couldn’t. My feet were rooted to the ground, my eyes locked on him. He was far more beautiful than the other Unseelie Princes and far more terrifying. Like the others, he looked
into
me, not at me, and his gaze felt like razors slicing through my most private hopes and fears. I knew that War’s specialty was not merely to turn opposing factions, races, or populations upon one another but to find sides within a person and turn them upon themselves.
Here was the ultimate trickster, the destroyer.
And I understood that Death wasn’t the one to be feared. War was the one that laid waste to lives. Death was just the cleanup guy, the janitor, the final act.
Though the same black torque writhed around War’s neck, it was threaded with silver. Though kaleidoscopic colors rushed beneath his skin, a nimbus of gold surrounded him, and, at his back, I glimpsed the flash of black feathers. War was winged.
You are too late
, he said.

I was jarred awake the next morning by an unaccustomed noise and sat up, looking around. Twice more I heard the sound before I figured out what it was. Someone was throwing a rock against my window.

I rubbed my eyes and stretched. “Coming,” I groused, and tossed back the covers. I figured it was Dani. Since cell phone service still wasn’t back up and the store had no doorbell, it was the only way she could get my attention, short of breaking in.

I pushed aside the drape and glanced out into the alley.
V’lane reclined on the hood of Barrons’ Viper, leaning back against the windshield. Though supposedly the car wasn’t mine (we’d see about that), I instantly assessed V’lane for rivets or any other abrasive elements that might mar the paint job. I love sports cars. All that muscle just does it for me. I decided it was a safe bet the soft white towel knotted loosely at his waist wasn’t going to scratch anything. His perfect body was dusted gold, and his eyes were sunshine sparkling on diamonds.
I pushed the window up. Chilly air wafted in. The temperature had dropped, low-hanging clouds had moved in. It was once again cold and gloomy in Dublin.
He lifted a cup of Starbucks. “Good morning, MacKayla. I brought you coffee.”
I eyed it with equal parts suspicion and longing. “You found an open Starbucks?”
“I sifted to a store in New York. I ground the beans and made it myself. I even … how do you say? Frothed the milk.” He held up some packets. “Splenda or raw sugar?”
My mouth watered. Raw sugar and caffeine in the morning. Only sex could make it better.
“Is Barrons around?” he said.
I shook my head.
“Where is he?”
“Busy for the day,” I lied.
“Anything pressing on your agenda?”
I narrowed my eyes. V’lane wasn’t talking like he normally did. Usually he spoke with great formality. Today he sounded almost … human. I eyed the towel, trying to decide if there might be a Book beneath it. It was possible. “Could you swap that towel for something like, well, skintight shorts?”
He was suddenly nude.
Definitely no Book. “Put your towel back on,” I said hastily. “Why are you talking funny?”
“Am I? I endeavor to learn from humanity, MacKayla. I thought you would find me more appealing. How am I doing? No, wait. I am appropriating human contractions. How’m I doing?”
He was still nude. “Towel. Now. And you contracted the wrong words. ‘I am’ becomes ‘I’m.’ ‘How am’ does not become ‘how’m.’ But, really, it’s okay. Contractions don’t sound right coming out of your mouth anyway.”
He flashed me a dazzling smile. “You like me as the prince I am. That is promising. I came to take you for a day at the beach. Tropical surf and sandbars. Coconuts and palm trees. Sand and sun. Come.” He offered a hand. It wasn’t the only part of him extended in my direction.
I’m surrounded by intensely sexual men at every turn. “
Towel
,” I demanded. I bit my lower lip. I shouldn’t. I had no right. I had the weight of the world on my shoulders. I even had the tarot card to prove it.
“I do not know why you do not enjoy seeing me nude. I enjoy seeing you nude.”
“Do you want me to go to the beach with you or not?”
His iridescent eyes were brilliant. “You have accepted my invitation. I see it in your eyes. They have taken on a languorous sheen. I find it arousing.”
“But not to a beach in Faery,” I said. “No illusion. Can you sift us to somewhere like Rio, in the human world, where only human hours will pass?”
“Command me, I am yours, MacKayla. We shall spend a finite number of human hours, to be specified by you.”
I was fatally flawed. I couldn’t say no. “I’ll take that coffee now.” I reached out the window for it, expecting him to float it up or something.
“I am unable to oblige. The paranoid one’s wards are still active. They keep me several feet from the building.”
“But not off his car,” I said, a smile tugging at my lips. Barrons would go nuts if he knew V’lane had touched his Viper. And stretched out on it nude? He’d have an aneurysm.
“It is all I can do not to sear my name into the paint. I am afraid you will have to come down for your coffee. It is hot; make haste.”
I ran a brush through my hair, splashed water on my face, slipped into shorts, a tank, and flip-flops and, ten minutes later, I was in Rio.
I can’t be on a beach without thinking of Alina. I keep telling myself that, when all this is over, I’ll ask V’lane to give me an illusion of her again and we’ll spend a day playing volleyball together, listening to tunes, and drinking Corona and lime. I’ll say good-bye, once and for all. I’ll let go of the pain and the anger, tuck the wonderful parts of the life we shared into a sacred corner of my soul, and accept living without her.
If Barrons had truly been dead, and enough time had passed, would I have eventually accepted living without him? I was afraid I never would have.
I turned my attention to the Seelie Prince walking beside me. I was glad he’d come to find me this morning. If he hadn’t, I would have summoned him with the sensual sting of his name through my tongue. My dreams last night had unsettled me deeply. I had questions, and he was the only one who might have the answers.
We walked a short distance down the powdery beach to a pair of silken chaises sunk in white sand, close to the salty spray of the sea. My clothes melted away and were replaced by a hot-pink string bikini and a gold belly chain adorned with fiery stones. The beach was deserted. I had no idea if there were no people left or if V’lane had sent them away for privacy.
“What’s with the belly chain?” He seemed to have a fondness for them.
“When I have sex with you from behind, I will use it to pull you closer, push in deeper.”
I opened my mouth and closed it again. I was the idiot that had asked.
“And now whenever you see the gold of it glinting in the sun, you will think about fucking me.”
I sank into the chair and tipped my head back, watching birds fly overhead. The soft rush of waves soothed my soul. “Baseball cap and sunglasses, please.”
He reached over and tucked a cap on my head, propped sunglasses on my nose. I looked at him. He was nude again, towel mounded between his legs.
“I have found it burns. It is most unpleasant.”
“Is your skin real?”
He removed the cloth. “Touch it.” When I made no move to do so, he said, “I regret that you are immune to me. Human seduction of one such as you may take an eon. Yes, MacKayla, in this form my skin is every bit as real as yours.”
A drink appeared in my hand, a creamy blend of pineapple, coconut, and spiced rum.
“Tell me about Cruce,” I said.
“Why?” V’lane said.
“He interests me.”
“Why?”
“It seems he was somehow different from the other Unseelie Princes. The others didn’t have names. Why did Cruce? When I first met you, you offered me the cuff of Cruce. Why was it called that? How did Cruce learn to curse the Silvers? There seems to be so much more history about him than any of the other princes.”
V’lane sighed, in perfect human mimicry. “One day you will wish to talk of
me
. You will have as many questions of
my
existence and my place in Fae history. It is majestic, far more so than Cruce’s. He was a fledgling prince. I have more to offer.”
I tapped my fingers, waiting.
He ran his hand along my arm, wove his fingers with mine. His hand was warm and strong and felt just like a real man’s. He was seriously putting on the human today.
“I have already told you more about ancient Fae history than any human has ever known.”
“And I still know only the barest sketch of events. You say you want me to see you as a man, to trust you, but trust comes from sharing knowledge and finding common ground.”
“If others of my race were to discover how much I tell you …”
“I’ll take that chance. Will you?”
He stared out at the sea, as if seeking wisdom in the turquoise waves. Finally he said, “As you wish, MacKayla, but you must never reveal your knowledge to another Fae.”
“I understand.”
“Once the Unseelie King was satisfied that he had sufficiently improved upon the initial, imperfect efforts of his experiments that resulted in the lesser castes of Unseelie, he began to replicate the Seelie hierarchy. He created four royal houses, dark counterparts to the Seelie royal lines. The house of Cruce was the final one he made. Cruce himself was the last Unseelie ever brought into existence. By the time the king began to work on the fourth royal house, he was a virtuoso at bringing into being his half-life children, even without the Song of Making. Though with their raven hair, black torques, and haunting melodies, they would never pass for Seelie, they were still a match in beauty, eroticism, and majesty for the highest-ranking light Fae. Some say the king stopped with Cruce because he knew if he made even one more of his ‘children’—much like in your own mythologies—the child would kill the father and usurp his kingdom.”
I nodded, remembering my Oedipus from college.
“In the beginning, the king rejoiced in Cruce and shared his knowledge freely. He had found a worthy companion, one to work with in his efforts to make his beloved concubine Fae. Cruce was clever, learned quickly, and invented many things. The cuff was one of his first creations. He made it as a gift for the king to give his concubine, so that when she desired his presence, she had only to touch the cuff and think of him to make it so. It also protected her from certain threats. The king was delighted with the token. Together they forged several amulets to grant her the gift of weaving illusion. The king alone created the final one he bestowed upon his beloved. Some say she could deceive anyone with illusions woven from it, even him. He gave Cruce greater access to his studies, his libraries and laboratories.”
“But how did
you
get Cruce’s cuff?”
“My queen gave it to me.”
“How did she get it?”
“I assume it was taken from Cruce when he was killed, then passed from queen to queen to be protected.”
“So, while the king was trusting Cruce with everything he knew, the prince decided to overthrow him and steal his concubine?” I said. I couldn’t keep the note of condemnation out of my voice.
“From whom did you hear that?”
I hesitated.
“Trust must be reciprocal, MacKayla,” he chided.
“I saw Christian in the Silvers. He said he’d learned that Cruce hated the king, wanted his concubine, and cursed the Silvers to keep the king away from her. He told me Cruce planned to take the king’s woman and all the worlds inside the Silvers for himself.”
V’lane shook his head, tawny hair shimmering in the sun. “It was not so simple. Things rarely are. To use a human word, Cruce loved the king, first and above all. The creator of the Unseelie is a being of unbearable perfection. If he is indeed Fae, he is from the most ancient, most pure line that ever existed. Some say he is the Father of All. Some say he had outlived hundreds of queens before the time of the queen he slew. Many of the forms he can take are beyond even Fae ability to absorb. He has been described as having enormous black wings that can enfold the entire Unseelie Court. Were he to attempt to take human form, he would have to occupy multiple bodies and divide facets of himself. He is too vast to be contained in a single mortal vessel.”
I shivered again. I’d seen the hint of those wings in the White Mansion. I’d felt the concubine’s awareness of them, had empathically shared her fascination with their feathery touch on her naked skin. “I thought the queen was the most powerful of your race.”
“The queen is heir to the magic of our people. It is a different thing. That magic has never accepted a male of the True Race, although …”
“Although what?”
He gave me a sideways look from beneath his lids. “I tell you too many things.” He sighed. “And enjoy it too much. It has been a long time since I knew another worthy of confidences. There is an ancient myth that, should all the contenders for the matriarchal throne be no more, the magic would likely gravitate toward the most dominant male of our race. Some say our rulers are your Janus head, your yin and yang: The king is the strength of our people; the queen is wisdom. Strength draws from brute force, wisdom draws from true power. In harmony, the king and queen lead a united court. Opposed, we war. We have been opposed since the day the king killed the queen.”
“But other queens came along. Couldn’t the king make peace?”
“He did not try. Again, he abandoned his children. Upon finding his concubine dead, through his act of atonement he did what he had sworn never to do. By pouring all his dark knowledge into the pages of an ensorcelled tome, he inadvertently created his most powerful ‘child’ yet. Then he vanished. It is rumored among Seelie and Unseelie alike that he has been trying to—as you humans would say about a lame horse—put it down ever since. The Hunter that killed Darroc was allegedly the king’s own for hundreds of thousands of years. It carried him from world to world, hunting his nemesis. The king, like any Fae, loves nothing so much as his own existence. As long as the Book is free, he knows no peace. I suspect the
Sinsar Dubh
was amused to take the king’s steed. I also suspect that if the king is no longer using that Hunter, and that Hunter is here in your city, then the king is, too.”
I gasped. “You mean in Dublin?”
V’lane nodded.
“In human form?”
“Who could say? There is no predicting one such as he.”
He would have to occupy multiple bodies
. I thought of Barrons and his eight. I shook my head, rejecting the thought. “Back to Cruce,” I said hastily.
“Why this fascination with Cruce?”
“I’m trying to understand the chronology. So the king trusted Cruce, worked with him, taught him, and Cruce betrayed him. Why?”
V’lane’s eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared with cool disdain. “The king’s devotion to his concubine was unnatural. It is an aberration in our race. Humans prize monogamy because they have a mere blink of an eye to suffer each other. You are born beneath the shadow of death. It makes you crave unnatural bondage. We do not spend more than a century, perhaps two, with a partner. We drink from the cauldron. We change. We go on. The king did not.”
“Speaking of which, how do you know any of this?”
“We have scribes and written histories. As one of the queen’s High Council, it is my duty to recount our past, on those occasions she passes an edict. She insists I be able to recite any part at any time.”
“So the king was faithful, and fairies don’t like that.”
He gave me a look. “Spend a thousand years with another and tell me it is not unnatural. At the very least, tedious.”
“Apparently the king didn’t think so.” I liked the king for that. I liked the idea of true love. Maybe, just maybe, some people were lucky enough to find their other half, the one that completed them, like a Janus head.
“The king had become a danger to his children. His court began to talk. They decided to test him. Cruce would seduce the king, turn his obsession from the concubine, make him abandon his singleminded focus on the mortal.”