Fever 5 - Shadowfever (7 page)

In her chamber, I behold the duality of which I am carved.
Half the concubine’s boudoir is dazzlingly white, brilliantly illuminated. The other half is a dense, seductive, welcoming blackness. It is split evenly down the middle.
Light and the absence of light.
I savor both. Neither disturbs me. I suffer no conflict over things upon which a simpler mind would be forced to bestow labels such as Good and Evil or embrace madness.
Against one frosted crystalline wall of the white half of the room is a huge round bed on a pedestal, draped in silks and snowy ermine throws. Alabaster petals are scattered everywhere, perfuming the air. The floor is carpeted with plush white furs. White logs, from which silvery-white flames pop and crackle, blaze in an enormous alabaster hearth. Tiny diamonds float lazily on the air, sparkling.
The woman hurries for the bed. Her clothing melts away and she (I) is naked.
But no! This is not his pleasure, not this time! His needs are different, deeper, more demanding tonight.
She spins and we gaze, lips parted, at the black half of the room.
Draped in black velvet and furs, covered with soft ebony petals that smell of him, that crush so softly beneath our skin, it is
all
bed.
From wall to wall.
He needs it all. (Wings unfolding, no mortal can see past them!)
He is coming. He is near.
I am naked, wild, ready. I need. I need. This is why I live.
She and I stand, staring at the bed.
Then
he
is there and he gathers her up—but I can’t see him. I feel enormous wings closing around us.
I know he’s there, she’s enveloped in energy, in darkness, wet and warm like sex is wet and warm, and I’m breathing lust. I am lust and I strain to see him, strain to feel him, when suddenly—
I am a simple beast, on crimson sheets with Barrons inside me. I cry out, because even here in this boudoir of duality and illusion, I know it is not real. I know I have lost him. He is gone, forever gone.
I’m not back there in that basement with him, still
Pri-ya
but beginning to surface enough to know that he just asked me what I wore to my prom, and shutting it all down, racing from reality back into my madness, so I don’t have to face what happened to me or deal with what I’m beginning to suspect I might have to do.
I’m not standing there a few days later, looking back at his bed with those fur-lined handcuffs, contemplating climbing back in and pretending I hadn’t recovered so I could keep doing it—every raw, animal thing we’d done in my sexually insatiable state—fully aware of what I was doing and who I was doing it with.
Dead. Dead. I’ve lost so much
.
If only I’d known then what I know now …
The king lifts the concubine. I see her sliding down a body I cannot discern in the darkness, and (I straddle Barrons and slam him home inside me; God, it feels so good!) the concubine strains, arches her neck, and makes a sound that doesn’t come from our world (I laugh as I come, I’m alive, so alive), and when his vast wings spread wide, when they fill the blackness of his boudoir and pass beyond, he knows more joy in this moment than he has ever known in his entire existence, and the bitch queen would deny him this? (And I know more joy in this moment than I’ve ever known, because there is no right, no wrong, only now.)
But, wait—Barrons is vanishing!
Moving away from me, melting into the darkness. I will not lose him again!
I lunge to my feet, get tangled in sheets for a moment, then I am hurrying to catch him.
It grows colder, my breath ices the air.
Ahead I see only black, blue, and a white that is bled of all light.
I run toward the black as fast as my feet will carry me.
But hands are on my shoulders, turning me, forcing me away, fighting me!
They are too strong! They drag me down a black corridor, and I beat at the body that dares interrupt us!
No others are allowed here!
This is our place! The intruder will die! If only for
gazing
upon us!
Cruel hands push me, slam me into a wall. My ears ring from the impact. I am dragged, shoved again, and again. I bounce off wall after wall, until finally it stops.
I shudder and begin to weep.
Arms band me, hold me tightly. I press my face to the warmth of a hard, muscled chest.
I am too small a vessel to survive on a sea of such emotion! I grip his collar and cling. I try to breathe. I am raw, aching with need, and I am empty, so empty.
I lost it all, and for what?
I can’t stop trembling.
“What part of ‘if you see a black floor, turn back immediately’ didn’t you understand?” Darroc growls. “For fuck’s sake, you went straight to the blackest of them all! What’s with you?”
I lift my head from his chest, but barely. For a moment, all I can do is stare down. The floor is pale pink. He has dragged me all the way back to one of the dawn-themed wings. I fumble for my spear. It is gone again.
Awareness returns in slow degrees.
I shove him away.
“I warned you,” he says coolly, offended by my anger.
Well, bully for him; I’m offended by him, too. “You didn’t tell me enough, just to stay away! You should have told me more!”
“I do not explain Fae matters to humans. But since you clearly will not obey otherwise—black floors are
his
wings. Never enter them. You are not strong enough to survive there. The residue of all that once transpired there still walks those wings. It can trap you. You forced me to come in after you, putting us both at risk!”
We glare at each other, breathing hard. Although he is pumped on Unseelie flesh and far stronger because of it than I am, I gave him a hell of a fight. It hadn’t been easy getting me out of there.
“What were you doing, MacKayla?” he says finally, softly.
“How did you find me there?” I counter.
“My brand. You were in extreme distress.” The tiny gold flecks in his eyes glitter. “You were also extremely aroused.”
“You can sense my feelings from your brand?” I am incensed. He subjects me to violation after violation.
“Only intense ones. The princes pinpointed your precise location. Be glad they did. I found you just in time. You were rushing for the black half of the boudoir.”
“So?”
“The line that divides the two halves of that chamber is no line. It is a Silver. The largest ever made by the king. It is also the first and most ancient of them, unlike any of the others. When needed, it was used for punishment, to execute. You were running for the Silver that leads straight into the Unseelie King’s bedchamber, in the fortress of black ice, deep in the Unseelie prison. In a few more of your human seconds, you would have been dead.”
“Dead?” I choke out. “Why?”
“Only two in all existence could ever travel through that Silver: the Unseelie King and his concubine. Any other that touches it is instantly killed. Even Fae.”

I glare down at the sheet of paper, but ’cept for the title of my rag and the date, nothing’s coming. Nothing’s been coming for a feckin’ hour.
Here I sit in the abbey’s dining hall, in the middle of this brainless feckin’ herd of
sidhe
-sheep that are so easily led they should wear feckin’ halters and waggle fluffy sheep asses, and the words just ain’t coming. And they got to. I gotta take up the slack ’til Mac gets back. Stupid sheep are back to obeying Ro and she’s yanked ’em back in line again, got ’em all busy trying to clear the feckin’ Shades from the abbey.
News flash dudes, I keep telling you,
they’re reproducing
. They eat, they grow, they split. Like feckin’ amoebas. I been tracking ’em. I been watching ’em so hard I can tell ’em apart now. ’Times I play with ’em, mess with the lights, see how close they can
really
get to me. That’s how I know so much about ’em, but nobody listens to me. Only time I’m heard is when they read my paper. They don’t talk ’bout it, but everybody’s using the Shade-Busters now. Anybody say thanks?
Nope. Not a single “good job, Mega,” not even the teeniest little acknowledgment that I invented ’em.
I need Mac. Been nearly a month and I’m starting to worry that she’s … Nah, ain’t going there.
But where the feck is she? Ain’t seen her since we broke into the Forbidden Libraries together. She in Faery again? She don’t know it, but I read her journal when she was locked up in that cell,
Pri-ya
, and nobody was paying attention to her stuff ’cept Ro. She read it, too. But I took it back. Had to know what Ro knew. It’s one of my hang-ups: I gotta know everything Ro knows and figure out where she’s going ’fore she goes there. If I can do that,
dude
, I can run this place!
I know time spent in Faery don’t move the same way as time in the real world, so I ain’t as worried about Mac as I might be. See, V’lane’s gone, too, so I figure she’s with him.
Weird thing is, I keep stopping by BB&B and it looks like Barrons is gone, too!
Tried to get in to Chester’s last night to ask about him, but the stupid feckin’ feckers bounced me at the door.
Me
. The Mega!
I grin and swagger a little in my seat.
It took six of ’em! Six of Barrons’ freaky fecks had to work their
arses
off to keep me out, and we went at it for over an hour.
I wouldn’ta given up at all but that kinda freeze-framing starves me, and I didn’t have enough candy bars crammed in my pockets. Got hungry. Had to eat. Said screw it and left. One of ’em followed me to Dublin’s edge, like he thought he was throwing
me
outta the city—as if! I’ll try again soon.
Still, I’m getting a little worried.…
Where the feck did everybody go? Why ain’t nobody talking about the LM anymore? Where’s the
Sinsar Dubh
?
’S been quiet, way too quiet, and that creeps the feck outta me. Only other time things got
this
quiet … yeah, well—
dude
—the past ain’t me.
What’s already happened is for has-beens.
I’m all about the future. Tomorrow’s my day.
Today sure as feck ain’t. I ain’t never had it before, but s’pect I got writer’s block. S’pect it’s ’cause I been sitting here watching a couple hundred
sidhe
-sheep do the equivalent of knit. Got an assembly line set up in the dining hall, making iron bullets. But get this—not for
us!
For Jayne and his Guardians.
Don’t know how Ro managed to make ’em all scared of their shadows again, but she did. Little things she says make ’em doubt themselves. Only took her two weeks after Mac disappeared to convince ’em all Mac was dead and to give up on her.
Sheep, I tell ya! Takes everything I got not to stand up, waggle my ass, and yell:
Baaaaa!
But I guess the sheep shit’s too deep in here for me to move, ’cause I sit and chew on my pen and wait for inspiration.
While I’m biding time, I watch Jo. Used to be friends with her. Thought she had a mind of her own. She’s smart, real smart. Puts things together the other sheep don’t.
But she got weird a few months back. Started hanging all the time with Barb and Liz and never had time for me anymore. Used to be she was the only one didn’t treat me like a baby. Used to be they all treated me like a kid. Now they hardly treat me at all. Nobody sits at my table.
Good feckin’ thing, too! Ain’t no room for sheep at my table.
Jo’s sittin’ real quiet, watching Liz. Watching her hard.
I wonder if she turned lezbo or somethin’ and that explains why she changed. Came out of her closet and moved on, maybe got herself a ménage twat with Liz and Barb. I snicker at my joke. Dude, if ya can’t crack yourself up, ain’t never gonna crack anybody else up.
At first, the gunshots are so faint that even my superhearing don’t register what they are. Then, when I do, I sorta figure Barrons’ dudes musta come back for some reason and, like last time, they’re firing warning shots. Even though we got a shitload of Uzis and other guns, we got no use for ’em here. Only in Dublin. They don’t work on Shades. We don’t bring our guns into the abbey. We leave ’em on the bus.
Dawning on me quick now how stupid that is.
Later, I find out it started at the west end of the abbey. Started where Mac slept when she stayed here, where I been sleeping lately, in the Dragon Lady’s Library.
When the screaming begins, I freeze-frame into motion but with caution: Automatic gunfire is something I gotta factor in to my superspeed equation.
I’m fast, but,
dude
, the rat-a-tat-tat of that kinda spray is feckin’ fast, too. Tough to dodge. And what I’m hearing is constant.
I’m in one of the corridors, heading for the screams, but suddenly everything is as dark as it must be where Rowena’s head is—straight up her ass. I snicker again. I’m cracking myself up tonight.
I stop, plaster against the wall, and start moving like a Joe. Watching, straining to see down the dark corridor. I ain’t got my ’Halo, but I got a couple flashlights in my pockets. I pull one out, click it on.
We ain’t never got all the Shades outta the abbey. Nobody puts on their boots without shining flashlights in ’em and shaking ’em out real good first. And then only in broad daylight.
Nobody—but
nobody
—walks down dark halls here.
So why’s it dark and who the feck is doing all that shooting?
Lots of moaning. Lots of wounded. Ain’t warning shots. This is the real deal.
I take a Joe step forward, quiet as I can. Glass crunches beneath my high-tops, and I know why it’s dark. Shooter took out the lights.
I hear a soft, awful laugh that makes my blood run cold. I shine my flashlight down the dark hall, and the darkness kinda
absorbs
it.
I hear somebody breathing fast.
I hear more glass crunching and it ain’t me.
Pretty sure the shooter’s headed straight for me!
I flex my fingers, curl ’em tight around my sword. Ro tried to take it away. Told her I’d be her own personal guard if she let me keep it. I stand watch while she sleeps. I’m learning about tradeoffs.
What the feck is moving down the hall at me?
Later, when I tell the story, I don’t tell the whole truth.
Truth is, the unthinkable happened. I got scared in that dark hall. I felt something coming and it freaked me.
I say I never got to the corridor.
Never admit I backed out with my tail tucked between my legs, retreated to the light, and then freeze-framed back to the dining hall.
The shooting starts again and so does the screaming and we all run, but there’s only one way out and that’s the way
in
, so we’re knocking over tables and scrambling behind ’em.
Jo and me, we end up behind the same table. Long as she doesn’t try any funky lezbo stuff on me, I don’t mind sharing my spot. I tap the table. It’s thick, made of solid wood. Might hold up, depending on bullets and distance.
More screams. I wanna hold my ears.
I’m cowering. I disgust myself.
I gotta look. I gotta know what the feck is doing this to us!
Jo and I move for opposite ends of the table at the same time and crack heads. She glares at me.
“Like it’s
my
fault,” I hiss defensively. “You moved, too.” “Where’s Liz?” she hisses back.
I shrug. On my hands and knees, I waggle my ass. Whole abbey’s falling apart and she’s worried about her little girlfriend. “
Baaaaa
,” I say.
She looks at me like I’m nuts. Then we’re both poking our heads around the table.
Bullets are ripping across the room, ricocheting off walls and wood. Blood’s spraying everywhere, gory as feck, and the screams keep coming. The shooter is framed in the door of the dining hall.
Jo gasps and I just about fall over choking.
It’s Barb!
What the feck’s this all about?
She’s draped in rounds, toting the biggest Uzi I ever seen. White-faced, she’s screaming curses at us, taking us down like sitting ducks. I gape. “Barb?” I mutter. Don’t make no sense.
Weird thing is, Jo looks stunned and bursts out, “I thought it was Liz!”
I stare down the table at her. All I can see is her head, but she kinda shrugs it. “Long story.”
I assess the room, the scene. We’re at the back of the hall. We’ll be last to die. What the feck do I do? Why is Barb shooting us?
I look at Jo. She’s no help. Looks blank as the page I was writing
The Dani Daily
on.
Dude
, I wish Mac was here! What would she do? Should I freeze-frame in while Barb’s shooting everybody and try to take her gun? Am I fast enough? I don’t wanna die today. Tomorrow’s gonna be my day. And I just know it’s gonna be a good one, too! ’Sides, I got too much to do. Somebody’s gotta keep an eye on Ro.
But we’re dropping like flies! Holy feckin’ crikey, Barb’s wiping us out!
I cram a candy bar in my mouth whole, chew it just enough to get it in my gut. I’m gonna need every ounce of energy I got to pull this off. I gotta do
something
. Barb ain’t gonna run outta bullets for a long time. The Mega can’t cower behind a table and do nothing.
I poke my head out from behind the table, take a snapshot of the scene, and lock it down hard in my head. I map where every person, table, chair, and obstacle is.
Problem is Barb. She’s the unknown. She’s moving and spraying fire so erratically, I can’t slam a grid of possibles down over my mental map.
Feck!
I stare, trying to pick up some kinda pattern.
I duck back behind the table as a shot zings by. Poke my head out again. Ain’t no pattern.
I pump breaths superfast, puffing my cheeks in and out, kicking my adrenaline up. I ease my head out, lock the grid down best I can, and am about to give my feet wings, when Barb goes kinda fuzzy around the edges and the room gets so fecking cold my breath comes out white.
Jo makes a strangled sound.
We both see it at the same time.
What’s shooting at us ain’t Barb at all.
Well … it is, and she’s screaming, but not like the psycho-rage-bitch-from-hell I thought she was.
She’s screaming in horror.
She’s fighting for control of the gun and failing. She forces it down and sprays the floor, but it comes up again. She tries to swing it left, toward the wall. It yanks back to the right. Her finger’s tight on the trigger the whole time.
She blurs again.
She’s just Barb.
No, she ain’t! She’s
—dude
—what the feck is that? She’s got too many heads, too many teeth! She’s some kinda monster! And it ain’t no Shade!
It’s Barb again.
Being forced to kill us.
Behind her, a shadow climbs the wall. It’s huge! It towers, it expands, and when it laughs, my blood clots up in my veins and can’t get to my brain, ’cause it’s got so many ice chunks in it.
“Where is the Grand Bitch?” it roars. “I want her fucking
heeeeeeead
!”
Jo and I look at each other.
We get it.
We both know what’s got her, what’s
really
firing those rounds, and it gets driven home like a spike through my skull that I ain’t nearly The Shit Mac thinks I am.
Me and Jo
ooze
real slow back behind the table.
Just two brave little sheep.
Hiding from a book.
The
Book.
The one we been hoping to find. Talking real big about locking it down again. Yeah, right, just what the feck did we think we were gonna do with it?
The nerve of it. It came
here
. Here, where it was trapped for so long. It must feel pretty feckin’ invincible. Pisses me off so bad I’m shaking. It came
here. Gah
—that’s so feckin’ wrong!
I read Mac’s journal. I know how it works. Makes folks pick it up. Me and Barb and Jo and about fifteen others went into Dublin this morning for supplies. We didn’t stick together the whole time. Split up and went off after different things.
It musta got Barb alone and made her pick it up.
I get a creepy chill that goes all the way up my spine so fast I get brain freeze when it hits my head.
Feckin’ A! The
Sinsar Dubh
rode back to the abbey with us this morning! Right there on our bus!
I was sitting on the same bus with the Unseelie King’s Book and didn’t even know it!
I sort through my options. I ain’t impervious to bullets. Dying today ain’t gonna do nobody no good, ’specially not me. Don’t know how to stop it. Ain’t beating myself up for that. Nobody knows how to stop it.
Don’t dare get close enough to let it take me.
Riding me, it could wipe out the entire abbey in record time.
I swallow. I’d been starting to wonder if it was looking for me. Guess it was looking to get any
sidhe
-seer alone, so it could take us down from the inside and gain revenge for its captivity.
They’re dying. They’re all dying out there, beyond my table. It’s killing me that they’re dying.
And I can’t come up with one feckin’ thing to do about it.
Got one chance, and it ain’t to stop it. I grab Jo and freeze-frame outta there.
Ro’s face is pale, bloodless. I ain’t never seen her like this. She looks like she’s aged twenty years in a single day. One hundred eighteen
sidhe
-seers were killed before Barb shot her way out of the abbey, took our bus with all our weapons, and disappeared.
A hundred more were wounded.
The
Sinsar Dubh
paid us a visit, gave us a little look-see, thumbed its beast nose at us, flipped us the motherfeckin’ bird of all birds.
Jo and me, we sit across the desk from Ro.
“You didn’t even try to stop it,” she finally says. She’s been letting us stew. She likes to do that. Potatoes and carrots, they turn to mush if they stew long enough. Time was, I did, too. But I don’t cook down so fast anymore.